being like this, although sheâs gotten a little worse. She seems, even to Hank, like one large exposed nerve.
âSorry. I didnât mean to scare you.â
Sheâs dropped some of her cigarettes out of the package. The brand advertises on billboards all around Saraw and Newport: A young woman, carefree, perky and athletic, cavorts above large green letters that say âSlim and cool.â
Naomi is slim, and she is cool. With her dark hair pulled back and the makeup and arched eyebrows, she looks as if frost might form on her forehead. To Hank, no rock himself, she seems to fluctuate between flustered and frozen.
âThatâs OK. Itâs been a long day,â she says as he tries to help her pick up the rest of the cigarettes but mainly succeeds in bumping her head with his. âAny day that involves changing planes in the Atlanta airport is a long day. And that thing weâve got in Denverâdonât get me started.â
But she does get started, talking at great length and with great heat about the foibles of a distant airport into which Hank will never fly. He shakes his head sympathetically.
She stops to take another drag. Sheâs leaning against the deck railing. Behind her, the Gulf is whispering in the dark, sending up waves too short to matter. There is barely enough wind for them to smell the salt.
Hank asks about Thomas and Grace and Gary. Theyâre fine, she says. Thomas Ferrell III is raking it in. Grace is doing well in law school. Garyâs trying to find himself.
Naomi and Tom met when she was the semi-famous Naomi Crowder and he was in law school. She went all the way across the country to UCLA to fall in love with another North Carolinian, Ruth said at the time. Although Naomi would graduate from law school, too, Thomas Ferrellâs skills as a corporate lawyer created a world in which she didnât have to practice for long, and she didnât.
Hank and Naomi talk for a while, catching up.
Finally, he canât help himself.
âSo,â he says, âare you and Momma going to play well together?â
She gives out a short burst of laughter; such mirth as there is doesnât come anywhere near her eyes. Smoke floats out of her mouth.
âHell, Hank. You know her better than I do. Do you think we can play well together?â
âYou know she loves you, Naomi. You know sheâd rather cut her tongue out than upset you.â
Naomi stubs the butt out on the deckâs bourbon rail and flips it into the sand below.
âHer tongue, huh? Then why does it always work out that way, Hank? Huh?â
She turns away from him, toward the Gulf.
âWant to go for a walk?â he asks. Heâs tired, but heâs been cooped up in a car all day and would like to take big, long steps along the beach, stretch out and talk with his sister.
âUh, no. I donât think so, Hank. Iâm really tired. Maybe later. I think Iâm going to turn in.â She walks toward the door, then turns, as an afterthought, and says, âIt was nice talking with you, though. And donât worry, weâll be fine. Weâll play well together.â
And she graces him with a smile, the first one heâs seen from his sister in some time.
Ruth has been watching from inside, half engaged in conversation with Paul and Tran as she wonders what her other two children are talking about. Me, probably, sheâs thinking. She hopes that, if nothing else comes of this visit, she will at some point be alone on a quiet deck with Naomi Crowder Ferrell, just the two of them.
Back inside, Naomi moves toward her mother, who has turned momentarily to the table. She reaches to put her arm around Ruthâs shoulder, amazed at what an awkward, unnatural thing this seems to be. At that moment, Ruth leans over to pick up a deviled egg. Upon being touched, she looks up and reaches, too quickly, to put her arm around her daughterâs waist. They wind
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