palm against my cheek. The fear and anger I’d felt last night had gone flat and shiny, too slick to catch. If we’d been alone, I would have reached for his hand, but I could hear Emerson’s sassy, strident voice coming from the kitchen.
I looked toward the orchard. Egrets skimmed over the trees, flowing across the sky like spilled cream.
“Emerson’s monotonous birds are back,” Coop said, grinning. He lit the charcoal, and flames licked up. “Why is she so preoccupied with animal facts?”
“She’s keeping her mind busy. That way, she won’t think about Barb.”
He watched the egrets circle back toward the creek. “Is that why she’s got a sharp tongue? Because deep down, she’s worried?”
“When dogs are scared, they bite. She’s fear-biting. But with words.” I’d done that a time or two myself, until Aunt Bluette had filled up the gaping hole that mama had left.
He laced his fingers around my neck. “I’m so glad you came with me. And you’ve been so kind to Emerson. You really understand children.”
“Nah.” I shrugged. I just knew how it felt to misplace a mother. I heard a thumping noise. I looked down. Coop’s right foot drummed the grass, not an impatient gesture, but a controlled kinesis. Ten deliberate beats with each foot. It went still, and his left foot began tapping. I’d never seen him do this except when his mother called—Miss Irene was soft-spoken, but she could shake him up over silly things.
He leaned back and his forehead puckered. “Maybe I should I call Lester and let him know we’re here. I don’t want him to accuse us of kidnapping.”
“He can’t do that. Emerson might be your daughter.”
“Lester is her legal parent.”
The screen door creaked open and Emerson skipped out, holding a squirt gun that we’d bought her at Piggly Wiggly. Red was right behind her, gripping a platter in one hand. He stepped around us and set the patties on the grill. Flames spiked through the metal rack. He glanced at Emerson. “You, with the pistol. Douse this fire.”
Emerson marched to the grill and aimed her gun. A glistening strand of water arced through the air and hit the coals. They hissed and smoke boiled up.
“Maybe you got a future as a fireman,” Red told her.
She tucked the gun in her pocket. “I don’t want a blue-collar career. I’m going to be a volcanologist and live in Iceland.”
“That’s a big word for a little girl,” Red said.
“Huh, I’m not little. I’ve got a big brain. I know everything.”
“Yeah?” He hunkered beside her and tugged her braid. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“I went to my new dad’s house and ate jalapeño dip.”
I drew in a sharp breath. Why was Red quizzing her? He had an associate degree in psychology, but I wasn’t sure if he knew how a child’s mind worked.
“What about before?” he asked. “At your mom’s place. Did she tuck you in bed?”
“She never does that.”
“You didn’t hear her leave?”
“Nope. My iPod was blasting.”
The kitchen phone rang. Each short, decisive trill made me wonder how the gossips had figured out that I’d returned to the farm—with two men and a ten-year-old. I stepped into the kitchen and lifted the receiver.
“Hi, Teeny. This is Lester Philpot.” His voice had a sour edge, making me think of pickle relish. “I heard you were back in town. And before you ask how I know, one of my loyal customers saw you and Mr. O’Malley at Piggly Wiggly.”
“We stopped by your pharmacy earlier,” I said.
“Sorry I missed y’all. I had an emergency.” He paused. “Barb has passed on.”
“Passed on?” Part of me knew what he meant, but another part imagined a BMW speeding past the minivans on I-16.
“Dead.” Lester blew out a sigh. “She killed herself.”
five
I lowered the phone to my chest and bent over, forcing myself to breathe. Barb had killed herself? No, not possible. I pictured that night on Sullivan’s Island, her
I looked toward the orchard. Egrets skimmed over the trees, flowing across the sky like spilled cream.
“Emerson’s monotonous birds are back,” Coop said, grinning. He lit the charcoal, and flames licked up. “Why is she so preoccupied with animal facts?”
“She’s keeping her mind busy. That way, she won’t think about Barb.”
He watched the egrets circle back toward the creek. “Is that why she’s got a sharp tongue? Because deep down, she’s worried?”
“When dogs are scared, they bite. She’s fear-biting. But with words.” I’d done that a time or two myself, until Aunt Bluette had filled up the gaping hole that mama had left.
He laced his fingers around my neck. “I’m so glad you came with me. And you’ve been so kind to Emerson. You really understand children.”
“Nah.” I shrugged. I just knew how it felt to misplace a mother. I heard a thumping noise. I looked down. Coop’s right foot drummed the grass, not an impatient gesture, but a controlled kinesis. Ten deliberate beats with each foot. It went still, and his left foot began tapping. I’d never seen him do this except when his mother called—Miss Irene was soft-spoken, but she could shake him up over silly things.
He leaned back and his forehead puckered. “Maybe I should I call Lester and let him know we’re here. I don’t want him to accuse us of kidnapping.”
“He can’t do that. Emerson might be your daughter.”
“Lester is her legal parent.”
The screen door creaked open and Emerson skipped out, holding a squirt gun that we’d bought her at Piggly Wiggly. Red was right behind her, gripping a platter in one hand. He stepped around us and set the patties on the grill. Flames spiked through the metal rack. He glanced at Emerson. “You, with the pistol. Douse this fire.”
Emerson marched to the grill and aimed her gun. A glistening strand of water arced through the air and hit the coals. They hissed and smoke boiled up.
“Maybe you got a future as a fireman,” Red told her.
She tucked the gun in her pocket. “I don’t want a blue-collar career. I’m going to be a volcanologist and live in Iceland.”
“That’s a big word for a little girl,” Red said.
“Huh, I’m not little. I’ve got a big brain. I know everything.”
“Yeah?” He hunkered beside her and tugged her braid. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“I went to my new dad’s house and ate jalapeño dip.”
I drew in a sharp breath. Why was Red quizzing her? He had an associate degree in psychology, but I wasn’t sure if he knew how a child’s mind worked.
“What about before?” he asked. “At your mom’s place. Did she tuck you in bed?”
“She never does that.”
“You didn’t hear her leave?”
“Nope. My iPod was blasting.”
The kitchen phone rang. Each short, decisive trill made me wonder how the gossips had figured out that I’d returned to the farm—with two men and a ten-year-old. I stepped into the kitchen and lifted the receiver.
“Hi, Teeny. This is Lester Philpot.” His voice had a sour edge, making me think of pickle relish. “I heard you were back in town. And before you ask how I know, one of my loyal customers saw you and Mr. O’Malley at Piggly Wiggly.”
“We stopped by your pharmacy earlier,” I said.
“Sorry I missed y’all. I had an emergency.” He paused. “Barb has passed on.”
“Passed on?” Part of me knew what he meant, but another part imagined a BMW speeding past the minivans on I-16.
“Dead.” Lester blew out a sigh. “She killed herself.”
five
I lowered the phone to my chest and bent over, forcing myself to breathe. Barb had killed herself? No, not possible. I pictured that night on Sullivan’s Island, her
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