Sisters in the Wind(73)

I was analyzing the risk and reward of asking him point blank if he had killed Diego when Boyd stood up suddenly. I reacted by clumsily doing the same. He walked to his bed instead of toward me.

“I was gonna walk away. But I saw you on top of him.” Boyd shook his head as if dismissing the image. “There was that old shovel that Missus uses for planting new trees.”

I remained frozen. It was happening without my prodding.

“It was quick, Lucy. He didn’t hear me come around behind him. He never knew what happened. He was still smiling.”

I waited for more. Then I realized I didn’t want more. The images in my mind were already too much to handle.

“Now what?” I said, conveying that Boyd had all the power. I’d take my cues from him.

“You want money too. You’re gonna be eighteen next year. Christina got a new car and enough money for an apartment. You know … security deposit, first month, last month, whatever.”

Boyd sat on his bed. The candles gave the loft a romantic glow.

“Maybe you’ll give me another chance,” he said.

Risk and reward. I analyzed my situation more quickly this time and made my decision.



* * *



Missus met my stare.

“It’s been an awful night. You must be so tired, Lucy. I have some sleepy tea that might help you.”

“Thank you, that would be nice,” I replied.

I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. The gas burner ignited, making sizzling pops of the drips of water on the bottom of the kettle.

“What will the police do now?” I asked.

“It’s a straightforward matter, really,” she said, not as sad as I would have expected. “We know Boyd died in a fire that started from a candle. It was a horrible accident.”

She searched in a cupboard, finally finding an assortment of individual tea packets. She selected a few before also retrieving the sugar bowl, two mugs, and a spoon.

“I assume the police will close the investigation … unless anyone comes forward with information. If anyone saw anything unusual last night.”

She washed her hands, drying them with a dishtowel before applying lotion.

I remained silent, unsure whether Missus was sending me a message along the lines of Someone saw you leave Boyd’s last night.

The kettle whistled. Missus poured boiling water into each mug. She offered a tea packet labeled CHAMOMILE, the same as she fixed for herself.

We waited while the tea steeped. She had an egg timer for the purpose. When the colored sand filled the bottom portion, we fixed our tea. Plain for mine. A dash of cream for hers.

I blew into the mug before taking a careful sip. Chamomile was my dad’s favorite.

“You’re right. It’s been an awful night,” I said. “I’d like to take a nap, unless you need anything from me.”

“I think we’re good.” She paused to sip the tea, watching me the entire time.

As I climbed the stairs with my mug of tea, I allowed my face to relax from the careful mask it had been. What had we just agreed to keep between us? I wasn’t sure. I dumped the hot tea in the bathroom sink before sliding beneath the covers, shivering in the mid-August morning.



* * *



On Labor Day, I had finished the last book on my reading list and Tonya had packed her belongings and was ready to transition out of foster care. So had Otto, which meant there were no more male fosters at Hoppy Farm. Tonya was sad to leave, but Missus assured Tonya of how special she was. How much potential she had.

I hugged Tonya and made her promise to call me. She was going to attend Lansing Community College. She had an apartment and part-time job lined up. Her caseworker transferred her case to someone at the state Department of Human Services who worked with foster kids who were no longer kids. Michigan had certain support systems that other states did not.

When I hugged Tonya, she squeezed hard enough to smush my chest. My breasts were a strange, disconnected part of my body. I’d developed early for my age and was on the receiving end of people’s stares before I could learn that I hadn’t done anything to cause their reactions. Steven Sterling had stared at my breasts, licking his lips and imagining me topless without any regard for me as a person. There were sleep positions that I couldn’t manage. There was a constant ache from bra straps digging and rubbing raw grooves in my skin.

The morning after I’d had sex with Diego, I had felt sore. Tender in an unfamiliar way. Not just where he’d been inside me, but on my breasts from where his hands and mouth had touched and tasted. It had been a different sort of ache from what I felt each month before my period began. I hadn’t known my breasts could tingle from the feeling of someone’s lips on them. Or could feel bruised and delicate the next day.

The Sunday before Labor Day, Missus used the rusty shovel to dig two holes in the hammock grove. We planted two trees. One was for Tonya and the second was for Otto. Both were crabapple trees, because Missus insisted the trees be the same species. Joy said it was hilarious that Tonya’s tree was a crabapple.

“You know she had her crabby moments,” Joy said.

After the trees were planted, I remained sitting at the picnic table. I stared at the double hammock, which was anchored by a pair of silver maples. Maybe they had been planted at the same time. One tree had been struck by lightning at some point in its middle years. Besides having the resulting hole in its trunk, it had grown differently than its pristine sibling. Above the hole, the trunk had split into two arms as if to wave off any future strike.