holding a book in one hand as if reading to the girls below or the gulls above.
"Shawanda's daughter."
"That's her? The little black girl you brought home?"
Scott nodded. "Her mother died. She's mine now."
"She's living with you in Highland Park?"
"Yep."
"How's that working?"
"It has its moments."
"I read you got her mother off."
"She was innocent."
"So am I."
They watched the girls a while longer, then Scott said, "She might act mad at first, so be prepared."
Rebecca took a deep breath and opened her door. They got out and walked to the beach. Pajamae spotted them and waved. Boo looked their way then shielded her eyes from the sun. Her hand dropped, and she stood frozen, as if trying to choose between her anger or her mother. After a long moment, she broke into a big smile and ran to her mother. Rebecca dropped to her knees and held her arms out; Boo dove into her arms, and they fell to the sand. Their heads of red hair became one. Scott left them alone and walked over to Pajamae and Louis.
"Boo's real happy to see her mama," Pajamae said.
Louis looked up from his book. "I expect she is."
Pajamae stood motionless, watching Boo and her mother and wondering if she would lose her sister to that white woman.
Scott arrived and said, "Honey, let's find some seashells."
"Soon as I finish this chapter, Mr. Fenney," Louis said.
"I meant Pajamae."
"Oh. Say, I like this Cormac dude. Writes like real folks talk." He snapped the book shut like a preacher who had just finished his sermon. "Reckon I'll build us a fire ring. Mr. Herrin, he says we're gonna barbecue shrimp on the beach tonight."
"Shrimp on the barbie and man beer on the beach," Bobby said. "Doesn't get any better than this."
They were drinking bottled beer iced in a tin bucket stuck in the sand and eating char-broiled shrimp dipped in Louis's homemade Cajun-style barbecue sauce. Louis had constructed a fire ring from rocks that would have made a brick mason proud. Inside the ring, the fire spit flames up through a black grill that made the shrimp sizzle. They were sitting around the campfire like cowboys on a cattle drive. And there among his friends and his children and his wife—ex-wife, anyway—Scott Fenney felt whole again.
The air had cooled enough for the girls to need sweat shirts. Boo's head lay in Rebecca's lap and Pajamae's in Boo's lap. They were fighting sleep, afraid they might miss something grownup and interesting. Consuela held Maria in her arms; the baby was wrapped in a blanket like a papoose. The moon and fire provided the only light. The burning wood cracked and popped and spit sparks that floated up into the dark sky and filled the air with a sweet aroma. Rebecca's face glowed in the light of the fire. She had showered, and her red hair was now full and fluffy in the night breeze. She did not look like a murderer.
"You're in your eighth month?" she said to Karen.
Karen was eating cookie-dough ice cream out of the carton. Bobby was helping her.
"And enjoying every constipated moment of it," she said.
"Louis's barbecue sauce will take care of that," Bobby said.
"Guaranteed cure for all that ails a body," Louis said.
Rebecca held her plate out to Louis again. She was eating as if she'd been a political prisoner on a starvation fast in jail; but the food had improved her spirits. She had spent the rest of the day walking the beach with Boo. When Boo had gone inside to clean up, Rebecca had stood alone on the beach, staring out to sea, as if the answer to her prayers lay out there, somewhere. Scott had gone to her and stood by her. She had seemed depressed, but that was to be expected. She was the prime suspect in a murder case. Rebecca now turned to Karen.
"Did you go to SMU?"
"Rice."
"But you're pretty enough to have gotten into SMU."
"I was smart enough to get into Rice."
"Oh. So how'd you hook up with these guys?"
"I worked for Scott at Ford Stevens. Didn't care for that life, so I left to help them with Shawanda's case.
"Shawanda's daughter."
"That's her? The little black girl you brought home?"
Scott nodded. "Her mother died. She's mine now."
"She's living with you in Highland Park?"
"Yep."
"How's that working?"
"It has its moments."
"I read you got her mother off."
"She was innocent."
"So am I."
They watched the girls a while longer, then Scott said, "She might act mad at first, so be prepared."
Rebecca took a deep breath and opened her door. They got out and walked to the beach. Pajamae spotted them and waved. Boo looked their way then shielded her eyes from the sun. Her hand dropped, and she stood frozen, as if trying to choose between her anger or her mother. After a long moment, she broke into a big smile and ran to her mother. Rebecca dropped to her knees and held her arms out; Boo dove into her arms, and they fell to the sand. Their heads of red hair became one. Scott left them alone and walked over to Pajamae and Louis.
"Boo's real happy to see her mama," Pajamae said.
Louis looked up from his book. "I expect she is."
Pajamae stood motionless, watching Boo and her mother and wondering if she would lose her sister to that white woman.
Scott arrived and said, "Honey, let's find some seashells."
"Soon as I finish this chapter, Mr. Fenney," Louis said.
"I meant Pajamae."
"Oh. Say, I like this Cormac dude. Writes like real folks talk." He snapped the book shut like a preacher who had just finished his sermon. "Reckon I'll build us a fire ring. Mr. Herrin, he says we're gonna barbecue shrimp on the beach tonight."
"Shrimp on the barbie and man beer on the beach," Bobby said. "Doesn't get any better than this."
They were drinking bottled beer iced in a tin bucket stuck in the sand and eating char-broiled shrimp dipped in Louis's homemade Cajun-style barbecue sauce. Louis had constructed a fire ring from rocks that would have made a brick mason proud. Inside the ring, the fire spit flames up through a black grill that made the shrimp sizzle. They were sitting around the campfire like cowboys on a cattle drive. And there among his friends and his children and his wife—ex-wife, anyway—Scott Fenney felt whole again.
The air had cooled enough for the girls to need sweat shirts. Boo's head lay in Rebecca's lap and Pajamae's in Boo's lap. They were fighting sleep, afraid they might miss something grownup and interesting. Consuela held Maria in her arms; the baby was wrapped in a blanket like a papoose. The moon and fire provided the only light. The burning wood cracked and popped and spit sparks that floated up into the dark sky and filled the air with a sweet aroma. Rebecca's face glowed in the light of the fire. She had showered, and her red hair was now full and fluffy in the night breeze. She did not look like a murderer.
"You're in your eighth month?" she said to Karen.
Karen was eating cookie-dough ice cream out of the carton. Bobby was helping her.
"And enjoying every constipated moment of it," she said.
"Louis's barbecue sauce will take care of that," Bobby said.
"Guaranteed cure for all that ails a body," Louis said.
Rebecca held her plate out to Louis again. She was eating as if she'd been a political prisoner on a starvation fast in jail; but the food had improved her spirits. She had spent the rest of the day walking the beach with Boo. When Boo had gone inside to clean up, Rebecca had stood alone on the beach, staring out to sea, as if the answer to her prayers lay out there, somewhere. Scott had gone to her and stood by her. She had seemed depressed, but that was to be expected. She was the prime suspect in a murder case. Rebecca now turned to Karen.
"Did you go to SMU?"
"Rice."
"But you're pretty enough to have gotten into SMU."
"I was smart enough to get into Rice."
"Oh. So how'd you hook up with these guys?"
"I worked for Scott at Ford Stevens. Didn't care for that life, so I left to help them with Shawanda's case.
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