Author's Note: Wasn't quite so happy with this section as the first one, but I decided it's serviceable. I really enjoy writing about Mrs. Twist.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lureen talked to Mrs. Twist until her throat was hoarse and her voice was little more than a whisper, until there were no more tears to be wrung, no more secrets to be hidden; she admitted that she hadn't cried for Jack, that sometimes she still pretended he would be coming home soon from a trip, that she hadn't even thought of confronting him about his affairs. Mrs. Twist offered no judgment, no advice; she gave her ears, her sympathy, and the understanding of another woman who had just lost her husband, and Lureen started to think maybe she wasn't insane, after all. Maybe she was going to be okay.

As the first light of dawn bled into the sky, Lureen drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. Mrs. Twist moved slowly, tucking a blanket around Lureen and shutting the drapes to keep the light off of her. With quiet purpose, she went to her bedroom and took Jack's ashes down from the shelf; the wood looked naked and pale when she removed it, much like her husband's side of the bed that still held his imprint. This bedroom told its story in its missing parts.

Although John had been a stubborn man, and wouldn't let Ennis have the ashes, he knew where to draw the line. Mrs. Twist's will was like a small stream of water working against rock; at first, no changes were visible in the rock face, but by the time the water was done you had a whole new landscape—silent, powerful, and inevitable.

She also took down the framed photo of Jack, running her thumb along the edge; the newspaper had faded to a brittle yellow, much of the print was unreadable, but every time she looked at the picture she saw Jack's smile dancing when he handed her the article, saw the hope and pride in his eyes. Look, mama, they used my winnin' picture for their rodeo article. Of course her husband said not a word about it other than think you're some kind a big shot now, eh?, not even bothering to look at his son.

Mrs. Twist let her tears fall on the frame and said, "Well, son, I think it's high time that we all do right by you." She gathered Jack's remains at the kitchen table, unpacking an urn she had purchased with her meager savings a few years ago, going about the necessary but morbid task of re-uniting the pieces of her son. She was glad that she was too old to believe in sacrilegious acts, too old to think there could be anything wrong with the path that God guided her to. When she was done, she sent her prayers and love up to Heaven. No matter what John said, she knew that her son had gone straight from this earth into the Maker's waiting arms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ennis blinked a few more times, trying to clear the drowsiness from his mind. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, and now he had to drive to Lightning Flat on a moment's notice. Not that he begrudged Mrs. Twist the right to ask; he had always told her that if she needed anything he would be there, and he had meant it. Part of what fueled him was guilt; he knew that he should have visited the Twists more often, instead of calling Mrs. Twist the few times a year when the ache in his belly got so bad he thought he'd never be able to draw another breath. Not to mention he had to be mighty tight-lipped to keep from spitting in Mr. Twist's smug face.

Don't got a worry about that old son of a bitch any more. But he did worry about what Mrs. Twist would do now. He couldn't imagine that her husband had left her much. He would do what he could to help, though he didn't have much to offer. Story of his life.

The sun became gradually brighter as he drove, casting reed-thin shadows over the landscape, giving everything a reddish tint. He pulled in front of the house as the afternoon began, casting a curious glance at the truck parked in his usual spot. His hands felt empty, and he fidgeted after he knocked on the door, wishing he had brought something to give Mrs. Twist. He didn't know what a person gave to a new widow.

"Come in, Ennis, come in. Thank you for coming, I hope it wasn't too inconvenient for you." Mrs. Twist went to the kitchen and began making him a cup of coffee, didn't bother to ask if he wanted cake.

"No, ma'am, not at all."

A woman's voice piped in from the direction of the bathroom, "Can I use this blue towel to wash my face, Mrs. Twist?"

"You go ahead, dear, that towel's fine."

She set out his coffee and another for her guest. Ennis didn't ask why he was here; he knew he would find out in due time. He enjoyed the cup; Mrs. Twist seemed to know just how he liked it without asking. The woman from the bathroom came into the kitchen, her face pink from being scrubbed and her blonde hair falling lank around her head. Ennis rose, leaning forward to offer his hand when Mrs. Twist said, "Ennis del Mar, I'd like you to meet Lureen Twist. Lureen, this is Ennis."

Ennis's hand froze midway to extension, and he stumbled as his feet began to catch up with his mind and turned him to the door. Mrs. Twist placed a gentle but firm hand on his elbow, fixing him with a stare that would stop a grizzly in its tracks. "Lureen brought something for you, Ennis." She gestured to an urn that was near the doorway.

It was all Ennis could do to look at the woman. This woman who had let Jack die alone on a dusty road, whose frigid voice had ripped away his last hope that he had misunderstood the clear message on the returned postcard. At first he couldn't even see her; he could only see the tire iron, could only hear the voice that haunted his dreams. Mrs. Twist patted him on the back and his breathing slowed, his vision cleared bit by bit. The first thing he noticed was that the woman looked beat down, about as beat down as he was. Her eyes were puffy, her lips chapped, and there was no defiance in her posture… only defeat. Ennis wasn't sure what he had expected from her, but this wasn't it. The disgust and condemnation he was ready to hurl at her was being reflected right back at him; they were two mirrors of one man.

After the old resentments, the lies, and the assumptions ebbed away, and the stark truth was all that lay between them, something close to respect but far from approval was reached. Ennis could not maintain a righteous anger against another person when he deserved most of it, and to be honest, he was real damn tired of fighting so hard. Breaking out of the reverie, Lureen nodded, gathered her things, and presented her hand to him matter-of-factly. "Nice to meet you, Ennis del Mar. Jack… well, he would a been real happy to know that I did. And I want to… thank you for what you're doin' for him. That's how he would a wanted things."

Ennis shook her hand, struggled for a moment and said in a quiet voice, "It's the least I can do."