The sisters looked wary.
“Really.”
I released Boyd and turned on the kitchen lights. The chow hopped forward and began sniffing Tamela’s legs, his tail doing double time.
Geneva stiffened.
Tamela reached down and tentatively patted Boyd’s head. The dog twisted and licked her fingers. They looked so delicate, the hand could have been that of a ten-year-old child. Except for the bloodred nails.
Boyd shifted to Geneva. She glared at him. Boyd shifted back to Tamela. She squatted, rested one knee on the floor, and ruffled his fur.
“A lot of folks have been searching for you,” I said, looking from one sister to the other. I tried to mask my surprise. After all this time, Tamela was actually standing in my kitchen.
“We’re OK.” Geneva.
“Your father?”
“Daddy’s fine.”
“How did you find me?”
“You left your card.”
My surprise must have broken through at that.
“Daddy knew how to find you.”
I let it go, assuming Gideon Banks had obtained my home address through some university source.
“I’m very relieved to see you’re safe. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“Coke?” Tamela asked, rising.
“I have Diet.”
“OK.” Disappointed.
I gestured to the table. They sat. Boyd followed and put his chin on Tamela’s knee.
I didn’t want Coke, but popped three cans to be sociable. Returning to the table, I placed a soda in front of each sister and took a chair.
Geneva was dressed in a V-necked UNCC Forty-niners jersey and the same shorts she’d worn the day Slidell and I visited her father. Her limbs and belly looked bloated, the skin on her elbows and knees cracked and wrinkled.
Tamela wore a backless red halter that tied behind her neck and ribs, orange and red polyester skirt, and pink flip-flops with rhinestones on the plastic band. Her arms and legs were long and bony.
The contrast was striking. Geneva was hippo, Tamela pure gazelle.
I waited.
Geneva looked around the kitchen.
Tamela chewed gum, nervously scratched Boyd’s muzzle. She seemed skittish, unable to remain still for more than a second.
I waited.
The refrigerator hummed.
I waited long enough for Geneva to collect her thoughts. Long enough for Tamela to settle her nerves.
Long enough for the entire five movements of Schubert’s
Finally, Geneva broke the silence, eyes now on her Coke.
“Darryl off the street?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s he in jail?” Heat lightning pulsed in the window behind her.
“There’s evidence Darryl’s been dealing drugs.”
“He gonna do jail time?”
“I’m not a lawyer, Geneva. But I would guess that he is.”
“You guess.” For some reason Tamela directed the comment to Geneva.
“Yes,” I said.
“How do you know?” Tamela canted her head sideways, like Boyd studying a curiosity.
“I don’t know for sure.”
There was another long silence. Then, “Darryl didn’t kill my baby.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It weren’t Darryl’s baby. I was with him, but it weren’t Darryl’s baby.”
