Blossom

'How come you do that…raise butterflies?'

'When I was a kid, I used to try and catch them. The way kittens do. Not to be vicious, just chasing them because they're so pretty. My mother explained it to me. If you love something, you don't crush it. You can't hug a butterfly. She got me some caterpillars. Monarchs, they were. I remember, they only lived on milkweed. I learned patience, watching them eat, get fat, spin their cocoons. When the butterfly comes out, it's never so lovely as it is then. They come out wet. That's when they're most vulnerable. Until the powder dries on their wings and they can take to the sky. You hold them right on your fingers. They trust you then. Let them flap their wings until they're ready. Then you raise your hand and they fly away. I bring the cocoons into the hospital. On the children's ward. It's so good for them to see something get better. Fly away.'

'I tried something like that once.'

'Butterflies?'

'No. One foster home I was in. Out on Long Island. The old lady who ran the place, she had these rose bushes that she loved. Her pride and joy. All different kinds. That summer, we had this attack of Japanese beetles. What they do is eat rose bushes. Mrs. Jensen, she sprayed and sprayed. Tried everything. But the beetles kept on coming. It was breaking her heart.'

She brought her cup to the kitchen table, holding it in two hands, watching.

'I was just a kid. Tried picking off the beetles, one at a time. But it didn't do any good— they just kept coming. So I went to the library. Looked up Japanese beetles. I found out they had what you call a natural enemy. Praying mantis. You ever see one?'

She nodded.

'Anyway, the praying mantis, it makes a cocoon. Like your caterpillars, but much bigger. Heavy strands like fiber, light brownish color. About half the size of a golf ball. I found some in a field near her house. Spent days collecting them. Put each one in a mason jar. I figured, one giant praying mantis would come out of each one. I'd hatch them, put them on the rose bushes. Have them stand guard.'

'What happened?'

'When the first one hatched, it wasn't one praying mantis, it was like thousands of them. Little tiny things. So small you could hardly see them. Then I was stuck. See, I knew that birds would eat the little ones. But if I left them in the jar where they'd be safe, they'd starve to death. So I poured the whole jar over the rose bushes. When each one hatched, I did the same.'

'Did it work?'

'Oh yeah. I poured out so many of the little suckers that the birds couldn't deal with them all. We had wall- to-wall praying mantises. They whacked every Japanese beetle for miles. When they get their growth, they're huge. Those front paws, hell, you could really feel them when they grabbed. So Mrs. Jensen's rose bushes were safe. But you couldn't go outside without getting dive-bombed by the praying mantises. They were all over the place. On the bushes. In the trees. In the house. All over the cars. The neighbors wanted to murder me.'

'Sounds like you went overboard.' She chuckled.

'Mrs. Jensen, she stood up for me. Said I meant well. I was only a little boy.'

'She sounds like a fine woman.'

'She was.'

'Did she raise you?'

'No. I was only there for the summer. The State raised me.'

'Are your parents dead?'

'I don't know. Never met them.'

'Oh.'

'You can get that sappy look off your face. You don't miss what you never had.'

'You don't know my looks. You don't know what they mean. And folks do miss what they never have. They do it all the time. Now tell me what you found out.'

87

LATER, I WAS on the couch in her living room. Blossom was curled up at the other end.

'Why are you in this?' she asked.

'Virgil's my brother.'

'I understand that. But you came to help Lloyd, right? I know he's been arrested and all, but nobody thinks he did it. Why don't you go back home?'

'I could never explain it to you. The guy who did this, I know him. Not his name. I was raised with humans like him. I know why he does it.'

'You want to stop him before he does it again?'

'I'm no hero. That's not it. I told you, I can't explain it.'

She slid closer on the couch, voice quiet. 'Cyndi tell you what I told her? About you?'

'To stay away from me?'

'Yes. She tell you why?'

'Not exactly.'

'You're a trouble-man, Mr. Burke.'

'What's that?'

'There's men who walk on the edge because they like the way it feels under their feet. Risk-takers.'

'That's not me.'

'Yes. Yes, it is. You've got the mark. Clear as a signpost. It's got nothing to do with bravery. But wherever you go, there's trouble. Trouble for somebody.'

'You don't know me.'

'And you don't know the sniper?'

I dragged on my smoke to have something to do. Thought it through. 'I won't be around here long.'

She stood up. Held out her hand to me. 'You'll be around here till it gets light anyway.'

88

IN HER BEDROOM, she pulled the T-shirt over her head and stepped into my chest, tilting her face up. Her lips were full and rich. Swollen. I kissed her softly, my hands trailing down her back. Her skin had a fine sheen of powder and sweat. Her arms came up, linked around my neck. She leaned back, one bare foot on my shoe. Her breasts were small, round perfect things, tiny nipples dark against the milky flesh.

Blossom pushed my jacket off my shoulders, opened the buttons on my shirt with a pickpocket's touch. She sat on the bed while I pulled off the rest of my clothes. Held out her hand again. Pushed me onto my back on the bed. Got to her feet. Hooked thumbs in the waistband of her powder-blue panties and pulled them down to her thighs. Bent at the waist as she stepped out of them. Came onto the bed again, her face in my neck. I gazed down the line of her back. Her ankles were slim, calf muscles standing out strong. A woman who spent a lot of time on her feet. Her buttocks swelled from a tiny waist. I patted her, feeling the firm flesh bounce back against me.

'It's a handful, huh?'

'Bigger than I would've thought.'

'I had to learn how to walk to keep it down. Boys used to follow me home from school.'

'I would have, I saw all this in motion.'

She slid one leg over mine, trailing wetness. Kissed me deep, tongue curling up against the back of my top teeth. Her hand found me. 'You left something in your clothes,' she whispered. 'Go get it.'

'What?'

She propped herself up on her elbows, regarding me with those searchlight eyes. 'Don't tell me…'

'What?'

'Why do you carry that pistol, trouble-man?'

'For protection.'

'Yeah. You wouldn't leave home without it. That the only kind of protection you can think of?'

'Oh.'