towering, thin young woman in an SBC habit. She had cheekbones like wings, huge slanted eyes, and skin as shiny and black as a pocket comb.
“You’re a Dinka,” Paz said, with his neck hair wriggling at the reality of her presence, andThe Confessions of Emmylou Dideroff burst into vivid life.
“Yes, I am,” said the woman, but then Emmylou was there and with a cry she threw herself at the Dinka girl and they embraced and chattered away in that ringing tongue. Introductions were made: this was apparently Mary Dyak, Mary number three, from the famous gun, now all grown up and a novice. Then more Dinka. Paz waited a decent interval and said, “Well, so long, Emmylou.”
She said, “Give my best to Lorna and please don’t think bad of me.”
“I don’t,” he said. “You played the cards you got dealt. But I’m a cop, or was, and people lying to me gets on my nerves.”
He held out his hand for a conventional shake, but she grabbed it in both of hers and fixed him with her blue eyes, gas flames now, and she said, “Remember, lives in your hands.”
“You going to have me whacked if I tell?” he asked lightly.
“No, but you may sleep uneasy.You know what I mean.”
He did and he felt sweat on his brow.
Then the two sisters trotted down the walk, and at that moment Paz saw the way their dark dresses swung with their walking and realized that one wore a dress of cotton, one of wool. He had to lean against the doorpost, so rubbery were his knees, as they got into a black car and drove off.
“Well, we won’t see her like again,” said Lorna later on, after their glorious reunion, having been to bed and become hungry and giggled around the kitchen with no clothes on, Paz making omelettes in a silly position so as not to spatter his groin with spitting butter, and afterward eating a hilarious naked lunch, or supper, outside on the patio to the scandal of the birds.
“I sure hope not,” agreed Paz. “She was a pisser all right. Saint or devil?you choose.”
“I don’t think you do choose. She once told me something to that effect. Not even saints ever get rid of the demons, maybe especially not saints. One other thing, though, and don’t laugh, but I knew at the bottom of my bones that I had stage-four lymphoma when I walked out of here, and she said she’d pray for me, and when I got to the doctor’s office I didn’t have it anymore. And I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
“A miracle, you think?”
“Or a medical error?you choose. In a funny way I think I’m going to miss her.”
“You’ll get over it,” said Paz. “And whatever it was, it couldn’t’ve happened to a nicer person, is what I say, and I’m sure little Jennifer or Jason will agree.”
“Little Amy,” said Lorna. “My mother. Is that cool?”
“Absolutely. Amelia, to give it that Cuban tang. And if a boy, how about Jesus?”
“That will guarantee my dad will never speak to me again, although marrying someone without a graduate degree will start the disownment process.”
“You can tell him I’m a full professor at the University of Girl.”
“Which has closed its doors and is no longer accepting applications.”
“Boy, that’s harsh. You’ll have to take total responsibility for improving my mind. Can you do that?”
“I can but try,” said Lorna. “But back to Jennifer and Jason, what’s your position on sonograms? I mean do you want to know the sex beforehand?”
Paz looked at her with a kindly look, but one tinged with some sadness too. The poor woman really had no idea. He said, “Dear, in this family we don’t need sonograms. My mom will tell you what sex the child is if you ask her, and probably even if you don’t. In fact, she’ll probably call us right now and let us know.”
“Plate o’ shrimp,” said Lorna with a laugh. “The old voodoo man’s trying to scare me,” but she stopped laughing when the phone rang. They both stared at the cordless on the table. It rang and rang, but neither of them was in any hurry to pick it up.
