“God, my Angela, what am I gonna do without my Angel Baby? Lord, I need to get happy, need to take my mind off these terrible times. I have the Troubles, Ryder Baby, don’t ya see?” Ryder looked into a face that could be as childlike as Angela’s and as conniving as a junkie’s, and shoved her hand away. That day, he walked out the apartment door and never returned.
“M AN, THERE’S SOMETHING IN the air today,” Star said. “The deer can feel it.”
Ryder pointed to the thunderheads gathering in the east. “Storm’s comin’. Don’t take ESP to see that.”
Star touched his arm lightly. Like Angela, Star was a toucher. Ryder knew touchers couldn’t help themselves; they had to handle the world around them. They navigated by grabbing the strings of longitude and latitude and fingering their way to global understanding. They left their fingerprints on everything. Even your soul.
Though Ryder understood touchers, it didn’t make them any less pushy—or terrifying.
“Why are you so grouchy today?” Star asked. “Did you get into another fight with Sam?”
“Antigone said I could eat anything I want.”
“So this is about Froot Loops.”
“You eat a little cereal, and he goes ballistic.” Ryder shrugged then cracked a grin. “There wasn’t that much in the box to begin with.”
Star looked at his pockets. Now how in the hell did she know they were stuffed with cereal? When she first introduced herself to him, she said, “My mama wanted to name me Star, but my daddy said that didn’t sound very African to him. My daddy’s name is Chester, and he’s always wanted an African name. So they called me Kenisha Star Sims. But nobody calls me Kenisha; I’m Star. Like the star that led the wise men.”
Ryder started toward the gate. “You helping today or just here to bug me?” he said. Star followed him. Once through the gate, he secured the door and double-checked the latch. That was the number one rule at the deer farm: make sure the door was latched so no dogs got in. Across a clearing, he saw Antigone starting to heft a bag of grain and hurried to help her.
“I’ll get it,” he said, shouldering her aside. He tossed the bag of feed into the wheelbarrow. In the months he’d been living with Antigone and Sam, his skinny arms had filled out and his muscles had grown hard from lifting feed bags, pushing the wheelbarrow over ruts and through the mud, and eating more food than he could ever imagine. He had even started to like some of the vegetarian crap William dished out over at the O. Henry Café.
He saw Antigone place a hand on her gently rounded stomach. He’d heard her tell Sam that they were through the first trimester. He didn’t know what that meant, except Antigone had stopped eating saltines in bed and upchucking her guts in the bathroom every morning. Which was fine by him. The sound of a heaving woman was not one of his favorite wake-up calls.
They fed the deer a mixture of corn and soybeans. Essentially, it was cow feed, which seemed to Ryder kind of boring. He always thought deer ate trees and stuff. He and Star filled the aluminum water bowls with a garden hose and replaced the big white blocks called salt licks.
The five white-tailed deer ignored them as Antigone and Ryder went about their duties. He knew the deer by name now and how they’d gotten here: Cleo and Lydia had both been shot by hunters. Apple had been run ragged by dogs, barely making it to the farm before birthing the twins, Noodle and Fancy, nearly a year ago. The deer farm was their sanctuary. Inside the eight-foot fence, they were safe from dogs and hunters. Between Antigone and the tourists, they got more attention than most pets. For the most part, Ryder understood the deer. Like Ryder, they had a good setup.
The one creature he didn’t get, and practically nobody else did either, was the cat that had befriended the deer. The calico sauntered among them, as if it were in a still life. It lapped from
“M AN, THERE’S SOMETHING IN the air today,” Star said. “The deer can feel it.”
Ryder pointed to the thunderheads gathering in the east. “Storm’s comin’. Don’t take ESP to see that.”
Star touched his arm lightly. Like Angela, Star was a toucher. Ryder knew touchers couldn’t help themselves; they had to handle the world around them. They navigated by grabbing the strings of longitude and latitude and fingering their way to global understanding. They left their fingerprints on everything. Even your soul.
Though Ryder understood touchers, it didn’t make them any less pushy—or terrifying.
“Why are you so grouchy today?” Star asked. “Did you get into another fight with Sam?”
“Antigone said I could eat anything I want.”
“So this is about Froot Loops.”
“You eat a little cereal, and he goes ballistic.” Ryder shrugged then cracked a grin. “There wasn’t that much in the box to begin with.”
Star looked at his pockets. Now how in the hell did she know they were stuffed with cereal? When she first introduced herself to him, she said, “My mama wanted to name me Star, but my daddy said that didn’t sound very African to him. My daddy’s name is Chester, and he’s always wanted an African name. So they called me Kenisha Star Sims. But nobody calls me Kenisha; I’m Star. Like the star that led the wise men.”
Ryder started toward the gate. “You helping today or just here to bug me?” he said. Star followed him. Once through the gate, he secured the door and double-checked the latch. That was the number one rule at the deer farm: make sure the door was latched so no dogs got in. Across a clearing, he saw Antigone starting to heft a bag of grain and hurried to help her.
“I’ll get it,” he said, shouldering her aside. He tossed the bag of feed into the wheelbarrow. In the months he’d been living with Antigone and Sam, his skinny arms had filled out and his muscles had grown hard from lifting feed bags, pushing the wheelbarrow over ruts and through the mud, and eating more food than he could ever imagine. He had even started to like some of the vegetarian crap William dished out over at the O. Henry Café.
He saw Antigone place a hand on her gently rounded stomach. He’d heard her tell Sam that they were through the first trimester. He didn’t know what that meant, except Antigone had stopped eating saltines in bed and upchucking her guts in the bathroom every morning. Which was fine by him. The sound of a heaving woman was not one of his favorite wake-up calls.
They fed the deer a mixture of corn and soybeans. Essentially, it was cow feed, which seemed to Ryder kind of boring. He always thought deer ate trees and stuff. He and Star filled the aluminum water bowls with a garden hose and replaced the big white blocks called salt licks.
The five white-tailed deer ignored them as Antigone and Ryder went about their duties. He knew the deer by name now and how they’d gotten here: Cleo and Lydia had both been shot by hunters. Apple had been run ragged by dogs, barely making it to the farm before birthing the twins, Noodle and Fancy, nearly a year ago. The deer farm was their sanctuary. Inside the eight-foot fence, they were safe from dogs and hunters. Between Antigone and the tourists, they got more attention than most pets. For the most part, Ryder understood the deer. Like Ryder, they had a good setup.
The one creature he didn’t get, and practically nobody else did either, was the cat that had befriended the deer. The calico sauntered among them, as if it were in a still life. It lapped from
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