Way off in the distance, a flock of white birds skimmed over the water.
“Egrets,” Emerson said. “They’re monotonous. That means they mate for life.”
“You mean monogamous.” Red glanced out his window. “But I’m not sure that’s true for egrets.”
“Is too. The boy egrets bring twigs and stuff to the girls. They make nests. If you don’t believe me, call Chatham Academy. They’ll tell you about egrets.”
Sir poked his damp nose against my arm and shuddered.
Emerson’s lips stretched into a wide-open frown, showing pink gums and small teeth. Once again, I was struck by her unusual features. I glanced at Coop—his mouth was plush and sculpted, and not nearly as wide as Emerson’s. His upper lip formed an M with well-defined peaks; hers was level. Lester’s mouth resembled an anchovy, and Barb’s mouth was shaped like a piece of red licorice.
I studied Emerson’s expansive, cartoonish lips. Could a smile be inherited? Or was the child going through an awkward growth spurt, which gave the illusion of an overly wide mouth? I touched my own lips and wondered where I’d gotten them. They didn’t look like Mama’s or Aunt Bluette’s. I assumed I’d taken after my dad, but no one knew who he was. According to Mama, he was either a redheaded hashish dealer or a green-eyed proctologist, but neither man had been local.
We drove past the Dairy Queen. I averted my gaze, but not before I saw a ghost of myself, an eight-year-old kid in pigtails holding two dripping cones. I’d stood outside, searching the parking lot for Mama’s car, until a policeman took me to Aunt Bluette’s farm.
Don’t look back. You are so over this, Teeny.
I turned away from the window, trying to shake off the image, but everything was so clear. It had been a hot day. The sun had pushed between my shoulders like melted butter. A burned, curdled smell floated in the air. As the cones melted, white ribbons streamed over my wrists and tapped against the pavement.
I drew in a hitching breath. Coop’s hand covered mine, as if he were blotting up that spilled cream. He looked into my eyes.
“How much farther?” Red asked.
“Take the next right,” I said.
The van swerved down a gravel lane. Peaches were lined up on both sides like a welcoming committee. He parked in front of a white clapboard house. My pulse beat out a soothing rhythm, I’m home, home, home.
The guys opened the back of the van and unloaded the groceries. I ran to the porch, unlocked the front door, and stepped into the foyer. Sweltering air pressed in from all directions. The house had been empty for months, but it smelled the same as always, like country ham and browning biscuits. The welcoming bouquet drew me inside, as if my aunt had put her arms around me.
“This place is icky,” Emerson said.
Red climbed onto the porch, a grocery sack in each arm. “Don’t worry, kid. You won’t be here long.”
“Good,” she said, but her pewter eyes held a glimmer of fear.
I moved from room to room, turning on air conditioners. Within minutes, cool air spun in eddies, pushing back the peppery heat. I made my way to the sunny kitchen. The old, humpbacked refrigerator was still running. I’d left it clean and empty. I passed by the black cat clock. Its eyes and tail hadn’t moved in years, but the time was accurate: one o’clock. I smacked the tail and it whipped back and forth.
Emerson charged through the door, braids swinging. “I’m hungry, Teeny. Fix me something to eat.”
“You like hamburgers?”
“Only if they’re from McDonald’s.”
Red squatted beside Emerson. “Sure, kid. We’ll feed you. Just tell us your dad’s phone number.”
“Bite me,” she said.
After I put away the groceries, Coop and I walked to the backyard. He piled charcoal bricks into the rusty grill, humming to himself. I couldn’t stop looking at his hands. He had sturdy fingers, short nails, and knuckles the size of macadamia nuts. I wanted to press his
“Egrets,” Emerson said. “They’re monotonous. That means they mate for life.”
“You mean monogamous.” Red glanced out his window. “But I’m not sure that’s true for egrets.”
“Is too. The boy egrets bring twigs and stuff to the girls. They make nests. If you don’t believe me, call Chatham Academy. They’ll tell you about egrets.”
Sir poked his damp nose against my arm and shuddered.
Emerson’s lips stretched into a wide-open frown, showing pink gums and small teeth. Once again, I was struck by her unusual features. I glanced at Coop—his mouth was plush and sculpted, and not nearly as wide as Emerson’s. His upper lip formed an M with well-defined peaks; hers was level. Lester’s mouth resembled an anchovy, and Barb’s mouth was shaped like a piece of red licorice.
I studied Emerson’s expansive, cartoonish lips. Could a smile be inherited? Or was the child going through an awkward growth spurt, which gave the illusion of an overly wide mouth? I touched my own lips and wondered where I’d gotten them. They didn’t look like Mama’s or Aunt Bluette’s. I assumed I’d taken after my dad, but no one knew who he was. According to Mama, he was either a redheaded hashish dealer or a green-eyed proctologist, but neither man had been local.
We drove past the Dairy Queen. I averted my gaze, but not before I saw a ghost of myself, an eight-year-old kid in pigtails holding two dripping cones. I’d stood outside, searching the parking lot for Mama’s car, until a policeman took me to Aunt Bluette’s farm.
Don’t look back. You are so over this, Teeny.
I turned away from the window, trying to shake off the image, but everything was so clear. It had been a hot day. The sun had pushed between my shoulders like melted butter. A burned, curdled smell floated in the air. As the cones melted, white ribbons streamed over my wrists and tapped against the pavement.
I drew in a hitching breath. Coop’s hand covered mine, as if he were blotting up that spilled cream. He looked into my eyes.
“How much farther?” Red asked.
“Take the next right,” I said.
The van swerved down a gravel lane. Peaches were lined up on both sides like a welcoming committee. He parked in front of a white clapboard house. My pulse beat out a soothing rhythm, I’m home, home, home.
The guys opened the back of the van and unloaded the groceries. I ran to the porch, unlocked the front door, and stepped into the foyer. Sweltering air pressed in from all directions. The house had been empty for months, but it smelled the same as always, like country ham and browning biscuits. The welcoming bouquet drew me inside, as if my aunt had put her arms around me.
“This place is icky,” Emerson said.
Red climbed onto the porch, a grocery sack in each arm. “Don’t worry, kid. You won’t be here long.”
“Good,” she said, but her pewter eyes held a glimmer of fear.
I moved from room to room, turning on air conditioners. Within minutes, cool air spun in eddies, pushing back the peppery heat. I made my way to the sunny kitchen. The old, humpbacked refrigerator was still running. I’d left it clean and empty. I passed by the black cat clock. Its eyes and tail hadn’t moved in years, but the time was accurate: one o’clock. I smacked the tail and it whipped back and forth.
Emerson charged through the door, braids swinging. “I’m hungry, Teeny. Fix me something to eat.”
“You like hamburgers?”
“Only if they’re from McDonald’s.”
Red squatted beside Emerson. “Sure, kid. We’ll feed you. Just tell us your dad’s phone number.”
“Bite me,” she said.
After I put away the groceries, Coop and I walked to the backyard. He piled charcoal bricks into the rusty grill, humming to himself. I couldn’t stop looking at his hands. He had sturdy fingers, short nails, and knuckles the size of macadamia nuts. I wanted to press his
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