I thought of the assignment Ms. Avery had given me to do over the coming Christmas break. She’d handed me a new journal and asked me what I thought of Henry’s sculptures.
“I enjoyed your report,” she said, “but you didn’t say if you liked his sculptures or not.”
“They’re okay,” I told her.
“But they don’t speak to you?” she said, like I was missing something, some silent and important communication.
I was honest. “Not really,” I said.
I liked Henry’s drawings well enough, especially the ones of his dead wife. I understood that a lot of time, thought, and energy went into his sculptures. Henry was a good workman. But no, the sculptures didn’t speak to me. That’s when Ms. Avery said that I was to study all the sculptures Henry was making for his show and find one piece that reached deep down inside me, tugged at my heart, or spoke my name. This was the one, I thought, admiring the life in it and beginning to understand what Ms. Avery meant about looking until I really saw.
I stood there for almost an hour watching Henry weld and waiting for him to notice me so we could talk. I even called his name a couple of times, but his welder drowned me out, and he was wrapped up in his work. Our talk would have to wait. This time, I was ready for him, but he wasn’t ready for me.
I left him to his work and took my unsettled mind around the side of the house to check the crawlspace for Mr. C. But as I did, I heard someone out front barking Henry’s name, and then Fred marching out on the front porch to snap at whoever was shouting in the drive.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“My business is with Henry,” a voice answered. A hateful voice I knew.
“I handle Dr. Royster’s affairs,” Fred said.
“It’s personal business,” the man said. “About the girl.”
A chill rushed over me like ice-cold water. I froze in place. Ray.
“I think you’d better go,” Fred said.
“I just got here,” Ray insisted. “And if waiting’s involved, I’ll wait inside. You run tell Henry and the girl Ray Sikes is here.”
“I know who you are.” Fred’s voice was sharp as a razor.
“Is that a fact?” Ray snarled.
“It is,” said Fred. “And I don’t like what I know. I think you best go, before I call the sheriff.”
“Suit yourself,” Ray told him. “But I got something I think’ll interest them both.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to. I raised that girl.”
“Near as I can figure, that girl raised herself,” Fred said. “You don’t have any rights here. Not one. You’d best move on.”
My heart swelled when he said that.
“You’re mistaken about me having no rights,” Ray said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere till I speak to her or Henry.”
I heard Henry’s workshop door slide open and saw him roll an empty welding tank outside. Fred heard it too, and shouted Henry’s name good and loud.
“Everything all right?” Henry called.
“You best come,” Fred called back.
Henry walked down the drive on the far side of the house. “Fred,” he said, “this is the man I paid for information about Zoë.”
“I thought as much,” Fred said.
“You wouldn’t know squat without me,” Ray said nervously. “Way I see it, I’ve been real useful.”
“Call Garland,” Henry told Fred.
Fred went inside.
“Well, now,” Ray said. “Just you and me again.”
“Are you here for a reason?” Henry asked irritably. “I have work to do.”
“Aren’t you special?” Ray sneered. “Mr. Big-Shot Artist.”
I couldn’t stand any more. I rushed headlong around the side of the house, breathing fire. “Don’t give him anything, Uncle Henry,” I shouted as I ran. “He’s a low-down dirty dog.”
Henry lunged to grab me around the waist with one strong arm. He lifted me off the ground and held me tight.
“Turn me loose,” I said, trying to wriggle free. “I’m not scared of that snake.”
“That ain’t kind, little girl,” Ray scolded in his oily voice. “If it weren’t for Uncle Ray, you wouldn’t have this fine home. Why, I bet you never want for anything ever again. And who’ve you got to thank for that? Uncle Ray, that’s who, who asks so little for his trouble.”
“What do you want now?” I demanded.
“It’s cold out here,” Ray said, stamping his feet and looking toward the house. “I could use something warm to drink.”
“In your dreams, Ray,” I said. “Go.”
“That ain’t nice.”
“I don’t have nice left for you, Ray. I gave you all the nice I had. You and Mama sucked it right outta me.”
“Listen to you,” Ray spat. “Miss High and Mighty. You got yourself a fancy life thanks to me, and it’s turned you into an uppity, snot-nosed brat.”
“That’s enough,” Henry said.
A siren sounded, and the sheriff’s car sped up the drive, lights flashing. Fred came back out on the porch as the sheriff got out of his car, shaking his head. “Mrs. Bean says I should just move in here.”
“Thanks for coming,” Henry told him. He set me down and loosened his hold a little.
“Good thing I was in the neighborhood,” the sheriff said.
“I’m glad you’re here, too, Sheriff,” Ray said. “I was thinking these three might be about to draw my blood. I only wanted to offer some things I have from Zoë’s mama. A whole boxful of the dear departed’s possessions. Things the child might want.”
“You
