Patsy set the plate on the iron skillet and flipped them, dumping the pone of cornbread, fresh from the oven, on the plate without breaking any of the crust loose. Mama always gave Patsy the job of cooking the cornbread because she did it better than anyone else, even Mama. Patsy set the hot pan on the stove eye and carried the plate of bread to the table. 

“Better slice that cornbread,” Mama said. “With Jim Bob McClure at it, he'd break off half the pone for himself and wouldn't nobody else get but a mouthful.”

Janie Sue brought the bowl of pinto beans to the table while Patsy sliced the cornbread and Mama finished pouring the tea.

“All right, we're ready,” Mama said. “Call your daddy and them to the table, Patsy. And Janie Sue, you go call the children.”

“Yes, ma'am,” they said, almost in unison.

When Patsy got to the front door, Jim Bob McClure was holding forth on his favorite subject: politics. He appeared to be oblivious to the withering glares both Daddy and Uncle Thomas directed his way. Patsy pushed through the screen door and stepped from the heat of the house onto the cooler porch. She waited for an opportunity to issue the summons to supper.

“Yessiree,” Jim Bob said. “We don't want no governor like Macey. He thinks he's a big white hoss but he ain't even a spotted pony.”

Daddy gritted his teeth. Daddy was a Macey supporter, but Patsy knew he'd be polite to this unexpected guest if it killed him. He caught sight of Patsy and a look of relief passed over his face. He asked, “Your mama got supper ready?”

“Yes, sir. She said y'all come to the table.”

“Jim Bob, we getting ready to set down and have a bite of supper, such as it is. Won't you join us?”

Patsy knew what Jim Bob's answer would be. He had a habit of showing up on folks' doorsteps at midday or in the evening when they were ready to eat.

“Why, thankee, Virgil. Don't mind if I do.” He looked past Patsy as he hefted his over-sized body onto his feet with a grunt. “June, get a move on, boy.”

Patsy's head swiveled. And her breath caught in her throat as her eyes caught sight of June: James Robert McClure, Junior. She hadn't known June had accompanied his daddy. She wished she'd checked her appearance before she'd stepped onto the porch, and her hand unconsciously rose to pat and smooth her hair. She turned, fumbled with the screen door and rushed inside to her room. 

A quick look in her mirror showed the bright flush of red on her face. Nothing I can do about that, she thought as she ran a comb through her hair with a trembling hand. 

Wish I was wearing my poodle skirt. 

The girls all said Patsy looked good dressed in her pride and joy: a charcoal gray skirt with a pink poodle cavorting on one side, the coordinating pink blouse and gray neck scarf. She'd gotten the outfit for her birthday. But this day, she wore a blue-flowered everyday dress Mama had sewed for her from flour sacks. She smoothed it, swallowed, took a deep breath and hurried to the dining room.

Mama directed the seating. She and Daddy sat at opposite ends of the table, like always. She put Uncle Thomas, June and his daddy directly across from Patsy and Janie Sue, with the younger children seated around the oval ends of the table next to their parents. Patsy had an unobstructed view of the handsomest boy in the mill village: June McClure.

“Fine cornbread, Mrs. Annie,” Jim Bob said, as he scooped a forkful of beans. 

“Thank you, but Patsy's the one made it,” Mama said. “She's real handy in the kitchen.”

Jim Bob said nothing more, his mouth otherwise occupied.

“It's real good,” June said softly, looking straight at Patsy.

She felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck, and she lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”

“And Patsy made the tea, too,” Mama said. “I never can get it right. Always too sweet or not sweet enough. But Patsy, she does it up just so.”

“Yes'm,” June said, keeping his eyes fixed on Patsy. “It's real good, too. I like things sweet. 'Specially… my tea.”

Patsy wished she had one of the funeral home fans they used at church. She wondered if anyone had ever melted from the heat of unrequited desire.

After the meal, when she and Janie Sue started clearing away the dishes, Jim Bob patted his stomach and said, “Wonderful meal, Mrs. Annie. But I reckon we've overstayed our welcome, me and June. We'd better be getting along.”

“You go on ahead, Daddy. I've got some other things to see to afore I head for home,” June said.

“Well, don't be too long. You know you still got some chores to do for your Aunt Minnie.”

The elder McClure left. June went to the front porch with Daddy and Uncle Thomas. Patsy and Janie Sue washed the dishes while Mama put the leftovers away. They finished the dishes and Patsy turned from the sink.

“Miss Patsy,” June said from the kitchen doorway. “I was wondering. Since it looks like you're done with the dishes, maybe you could come sit a spell on the porch with me.”

Patsy turned to Mama. “Yes, I suppose you can.” Mama said.

“Thank you, ma'am,” June said. He hesitated. “It's still warm out on that porch. Do you suppose I could trouble you for another glass of your sweet tea?”

Patsy smiled at June, dried her hands on a towel and started for the refrigerator. “Why, sure, Mr. McClure.”

“Call me June.”