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wipe Sasha s filthy nose. The little boy moaned and shook his head
from side to side, resisting. The crayon he was using fell from his
hand, and he burst into tears.
Erica took a long drink of the Jack Daniel s and Coke that Haley
had fixed her, then focused again on her notes. She was glad to be
away from her house, away from Pamela and her senseless drivel.
The woman had become a permanent, unwanted fixture, always
pestering her for information, trying pathetically to be her friend.
Outside, owls trilled on the small bayou, awaiting their nightly
hunt. Erica s father once told her that many of the older Cajuns
believed owls were old souls. The superstitious ones thought that
when you heard an owl at night, you should get out of bed and
turn your left shoe upside down to prevent disaster. Her father was
Louisiana backward. Of course, he d believe in ignorant folklore
like that. Erica, like her mother, had never in her life turned a shoe
upside down and she never would.
Mrs. Landry s bedroom door opened, and she shuffled out, car-
rying a silver dog bowl. Her clothes were mismatched, and she was
only wearing one sandal. With bleary eyes, the woman took all of
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them in one-by-one. Sasha gaped at her from the counter, as though
a dead person had just entered the room.
Hi, doodlebug, she said.
Sasha sat silently, the crayon he d been crying about forgotten.
Mrs. Landry moved across the living room and into the kitchen,
patting the little boy on the head as she walked by. She filled the
bowl with water, then headed back into the living room.
An old, frail dog wandered out of her bedroom, its claws tap-
ping loudly on the hardwood floor. It stretched its long body, and
a few of its joints popped. It glanced at Erica with near-dead eyes.
Hi, Missus Leendry. You steel seek? Sasha asked, finally find-
ing his voice. His eyes were bug-like behind the thick lenses of his
glasses.
Mrs. Landry smiled at the boy, but said nothing.
Mama, this is Erica, Haley said, walking into the living room
and gesturing at her.
Hello, Mrs. Landry said, not making eye contact with her.
She made her way to the screen door and set the water bowl on the
porch.
Want anything to eat, Mama? I m making an étouffée, Haley
said. I was going to carry some in for you after it was ready.
The woman shook her head. No, thanks, baby.
Mrs. Landry opened the door a little wider and stepped out.
The old dog followed her. Then the screen door slapped shut, and
Mrs. Landry was gone.
Erica could see Haley s face was drawn and that there were
tears in her eyes. She got up and went to the kitchen counter. You
okay? she asked.
I m . . . I m not really sure.
8
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JENNIFER JAYNES
Later that evening, after the girls finished dinner, Haley got a prank
phone call.
Erica was sitting at the kitchen counter next to her, pouring
drinks. It was the third each of them had had that night.
Hello? Haley asked. Who is this?
Another prank call? Becky called from her place on the couch
once Haley hung up. That s like the third one today.
I d be pissing my pants if I were you, Seacrest said.
Haley hung up. It was just a breather, she said quietly, her
eyes glassy. Erica had noticed early on that it took the girl less than a
drink before she started to get drunk. But regardless, she kept drink-
ing. Erica knew that she was the one who had introduced alcohol
into Haley s life. Now she wondered if she d done a bad thing.
Becky straightened on the couch. That creeps me out. You
know, it could be the guy who kidnapped Tiffany. And he keeps
calling us.
Yeah, it could be a killer, Seacrest said. He could be stalking
you. Holy shit, he could be watching the house right now.
A keeler? Sasha gasped, and a blue crayon tumbled out of his
hand, onto the floor.
She s just joking, baby, Haley muttered, and threw Seacrest a
nasty look.
Sasha climbed down from the barstool, trotted into the living
room, and stood in front of Becky. He screwed up his round face.
What are you looking at? Becky demanded.
Guess! he squealed.
No, Sasha. I m not guessing.
Sasha inched a little closer.
Get out of my face, dammit, Becky snapped. Why are you
staring at me?
Why s yo face that culuh? Sasha demanded.
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Erica looked across the room at Becky. Squinting, she could
make out orange streaks across the slouching girl s cheeks and neck,
even her arms.
Go color in your stupid book, Sasha, Becky spat.
Seacrest giggled from her place on the couch. It s tanning
lotion gone wild. She put it on a little while ago. Why d you put
all that cheap tanning lotion on yourself anyway, stupid? I told you
not to.
Becky grabbed a bag of Doritos from the coffee table. She stuck
one in her mouth.
You have beautiful skin, Becky, Haley said, stumbling on the
words. You shouldn t . . . mess with it like that.
I like yo face da otha culuh, Sasha said, his face serious. He
took a step closer to Becky and stuck out his index finger. Does it
huht?
Becky ignored him. How can you say it s beautiful? It s so
pale, she whined.
Pale can be beautiful, Erica said. My mother has pale skin,
and she s the most beautiful person I ve ever seen.
Becky looked at her, uncertain what to say.
I think she needs more color, Seacrest piped up. Not orange.
But something. Maybe a lot of makeup. Like that pancake crap.
Would cover all her freckles.
Nothing s wrong with . . . Becky being pale, Haley slurred.
And I don t want to ever hear you call my sister stupid again. You
understand me?
Seacrest shrugged. It doesn t look healthy. And I was only jok-
ing when I called her stupid. You know that, right, Becky?
Becky nodded, but she looked unsure.
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