Lennox steals glances as he holds it tight to the wheel. — That’s me telt!
Tianna laughs, taking the card back, and is suddenly distracted by a passing motor with two racing competition bicycles fastened on to its roof rack. — Awesome, she says, pointing at them. — Did you ride a bike as a kid?
— Aye. Lennox is cut to the quick as he recalls the prized blue-and-white Raleigh he got for his eleventh birthday. How his parents stressed he was to look after it, not give anyone in the scheme a shot of it.
— What was it like?
— Just a bike. His reply curt, as the memory stings home; his gullet acrid with last night’s liquor, his brain razing open old overgrown neural paths. He swallows hard and his sphincter muscle tightens. — What else do you like? he says, changing the subject. — I mean, do you like animals?
Tianna considers this question for a bit. Her grace in giving it the gravity it doesn’t merit paradoxically makes him feel even more of a simpleton for asking it. — I guess I like dolphins. We saw some when we were out on Chet’s boat. And I kind of like seals, alligators, fish and manatees; all the marine stuff.
— You must have seen a lot of that, living here.
— Mostly jus read about em.
— Aye, but you must have seen an alligator.
— Nope, not a real one, she says. — We drove through the Glades a whole buncha times but they always said that we ain’t got time to stop and look at no reptiles. Guess they was jus in a hurry to get to their parties. Momma and Starry and… She turns to the window, unable to finish the sentence.
He could see Robyn and Starry coked up, heading for some soiree, Tianna all drowsy in the back of the car. — Who? he asks. — Who would be driving you? Your mother?
— Momma and some other people.
Lennox watches her chewing her hair and looking towards the floor of the vehicle. — Like Lance and Johnnie?
— I don’t wanna talk about them, Ray. Her face crumples and her voice rises. — Can we
— Okay, sweetheart, no worries, Lennox clumsily pats the distressed girl’s shoulder. He decides not to push it. It’s a long trip; let her tell him when she’s ready. It’s the first time, he realises, that she’s addressed him directly by his name.
Lennox lets some avant-garde jazz soothe him, but it soon morphs into pan-piped rest-home gloop that saps his mojo and really galls Tianna, whose arm lashes to the dial, killing the sound. — This is grossing me out!
— What about the stuff you bought at the mall?
She digs into the sheep bag on her knee, eagerly producing a Kelly Clarkson CD which she slides into the player. Lennox is relieved as the car stereo keeps expelling it. The others get the same treatment. — This is so lame!
— That’s one to report to the car-hire place, he says, struggling to keep the smile off his face. He fails, and she catches him and play-hits his arm.
— You!
They switch over to 101.5 Lite FM, which announces itself as ‘South FLA’s number-one radio station’. Chicago’s ‘So Hard to Say I’m Sorry’ comes on and he thinks of Robbo.
There follow numerous talk adverts from sincere but excited voices proffering personal loans and credit facilities on just about everything, but mainly real estate and cars. Then a plethora of agencies earnestly offering packages of debt consolidation and reduction services. Probably the same people, Lennox considers, raising a bottle of Evian to his lips, another broadside in the battle against his broiling thirst.
An eerie voice interrupts proceedings hissing: ‘If you’re sitting in a dark room holding your shotgun, thinking bout killing your boss, turn on the light. Turn on Lite FM.’
At Tianna’s urging, he changes channels. The Beatles sing ‘Love Me Do’. Lennox is thinking of Trudi, as they pass a truck with a ‘Support Our Boys’ sticker, and begins singing along in an exaggerated Scouse accent. Tianna joins in, at first under her breath, then with increasing gusto. Long before the end they are cheesily serenading each other.
When the song stops, both are embarrassed by the new-found, gaudy intimacy that has crept up on them. They retreat self-consciously like a couple in a Hollywood musical who have just enjoyed a spectacular dance. Tianna pulls her hair from her face and shyly asks him, — Back at the gas station, I guess that was your girlfriend you was callin, right?
— Aye. Eh, yeah.
— Back in Skatlin?
— Naw, eh, she’s here in Miami. He nods to the magazine on her lap. — We’re getting married later this year.
Tianna falls silent and seems to think about this for a while. Then after a bit she asks, — What’s she like?
— She’s nice, Lennox says, instantly feeling the tameness of his response. He’s put her through so much, and here he is, speeding away from her with a kid he hardly knows.
Tianna stares at him in vigilance. — You ain’t, like, one of Momma’s boyfriends?
— No, he says emphatically, as a vision of Robyn’s caterpillar bush and her hand in his trousers, jerking him, almost makes him squirm, — we’re just friends.
That seems to cheer the kid up. — I kinda like you, Ray, she says with a toothy grin.
— I like you, Lennox smiles, looking ahead, suddenly aware that he does. Then his body stiffens as he feels the girl’s arms wrapping round his torso in a reckless hug. Registering his agitation, she immediately retreats, finding his hand simultaneously pushing her back into her seat. — Don’t do that, Lennox snaps, adding, — I’m driving!
He grips the wheel tightly with his right hand, feeling the small fractured bones dig into his tendons as Tianna sits back in her seat, eyes glowing. She gets the baseball cards back out from her bag.
Lennox realises that he fears this child; fears her physical proximity, the damage she could inflict upon him now that she senses her power. He’s frequently observed the calculating tyrant emerge from those who’ve undergone unfair victimisation; all he can do is try and keep her intelligence and humanity to the fore.
The radio plays ‘Angel of the Morning’ and Lennox snatches at the dial. It settles on a hip-hop urban rhythms channel, where the presenter squeals: ‘This is Beyonce with the big titties.’
Tianna laughs as Lennox cringes and hits the dial again. As he drives he can feel her evaluating gaze on him. The silence continues, but as they approach a commercialised Indian village, Lennox pulls up. He needs to get out and stretch. Stiffness and languor have been nibbling at him. He puts on the new Red Sox hat, fiddling with the strap, unable to get it as comfortable as the last one. Sees a sign advertising swamp tours. They had been talking about alligators and he’s never seen one, nor has Tianna. It was crazy, a kid living in Florida. Another hour’s stop would do no harm. Tianna leans forward to put the magazine above the dashboard, and Lennox sees his hot breath bending the thin hairs on her wrist. He gets out the car, aware as he rises that his shirt is stuck to his back like a second skin. He gives a shrug and tries to free it, then accepts the futility of it all. He extends his gnarled limbs, letting the lavish sun spray him. — Let’s have a look at those alligators, he smiles, clocking her widening eyes, waiting for her to say ‘awesome’ again, and she doesn’t disappoint him.
They book a ride on a swamp cruiser: an outboard-motored launch with a wire-mesh cage around the seated passenger area that’s both foreboding and reassuring. Apart from the skinny, wild-eyed guide, whom they sit opposite, so close Lennox can feel their knees touch, there are two elderly women and two young couples, one with a toddler. The engine splutters into action and the boat pulls away as the guide, who has introduced himself as Four Rivers, warns: — Keep them fingers inside the cage if you want em back!
As they splutter on to the mangrove swamps, Tianna is impressed by the ubiquity of alligators of all sizes. Some cruise by like drifting logs with only their eyes above the waterline, others lie partially submerged in the shallows. Most bask on the banked mudflats under the mangrove trees, looking quietly sinister. — This is sooo neat! she squeals in delight.
