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“Oh my god,” someone said from the direction of the park. A gasp from below, more exclamations. I kept going.
“Priscilla Marie!” Presley said from the foot of the ladder, her voice shaking.
At that, the little girl stopped and stood to look back, not realizing how high up she was. Her little face opened wider in fear, and in her hesitation, her foot slipped. A small scream came from above, many from below. The music had stopped.
“Hey,” I said as I reached the top, trying to keep my cool, smile on my face. “This is pretty high up. Can I help you down?”
Torn, she looked back in the direction of the cat, who had taken a seat on the peak of the roof to watch us blandly. “Kitty ran up the tree, and I can play with her.”
I climbed onto the roof, careful of my footing, almost close enough to grab her. “I think kitty might be done playing for today. Can you come here? I’ll help you down to your mama.”
She glanced down at her mother, who looked scared shitless, pale as a sheet and hands over her mouth. Sebastian came running up with half the town.
“Hi, Mama!” she said, waving. “I’m okay.”
“Come down with the nice man, baby,” Presley called up.
“Can I have a pokkacicle?” she asked.
A nervous roll of laughter. “Sure. You can have as many popsicles as you want. Just let him bring you down, okay?”
The little girl with ebony hair eyed me for a second. “You has candy?”
“No, but there’s a cotton candy machine over there.”
“So I can has pokkacicles and cotton candy? But no kitty.”
I could have grabbed her, but I didn’t want to scare her into thrashing and send both of us over the roof. “Yup, no kitty.”
She sighed, looking back at the cat. “Bye, kitty.” And then she held her arms open in the universal sign for Up, please.
I hitched her to my hip, and the crowd below collectively sighed. Carefully, I found my way onto the ladder, then down as Sebastian held it steady. When I was close enough, I handed her over, and her parents converged over her, scolding her gently, smoothing her hair, and making in the direction of the concessions.
My knees were weak when my boots hit the ground, and when I turned, I hoped to find Jo there. Instead, I found myself in a knot of townspeople and a quiet chorus of clapping.
Surprised stupid, I accepted handshakes and well wishes and hands to chests and thank the Lords. Someone put a can of Miller Lite in my hand, others clapped my back. And then Jo was smiling at my side, interjecting to thank them for their thank yous for some reason, before leading me toward the park.
“You okay?” she asked after a second, smiling.
“Yeah, I just didn’t expect all that.”
“People thanking you?”
“Or to climb a two-story building chasing a small child.”
“Well, Cilla gets herself into all kinds of trouble, so I don’t think anyone was surprised. Scared to death, but not surprised. She’ll be drunk on popsicles in the hour. Honestly, that might have been her plan all along.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Is she scared of anything?”
“Not a damn thing, and it might kill her mama and daddy.”
We were interrupted by a few more people before walking on again.
“You’ve made quite the impression,” she said. “I haven’t seen Jemima Jenkins smile at anyone but Priscilla and now you in twenty years.”
“Good to know I still got it.”
“You didn’t even realize what you were doing, did you? You moved up that ladder like a cat yourself.”
“I didn’t think about it. Jesus, that scared the shit out of me. And that cat watched on like it was plotting to kill us both.”
“There’s no telling what she did to the poor cat before it made it to the roof. She’s been known to love things a little too much.”
I must have had a disturbed look on my face because she laughed.
“She doesn’t pull heads off mice or anything, just gives insistent hugs.”
“Me and her both.” I pulled Jo into my chest, smothering her in my chest as she laughed and wriggled, swatting at me. When my grip eased, she lifted her face to mine, and it was the color of joy.
So I kissed her, hoping a little bit of it would rub off on me.
I didn’t want to lose the feeling.
19
Dinner With The Devil
JO
A couple of days later, my sisters, Grant, and I were chopping vegetables for fricassee in my family kitchen. Mama had run to Mariel’s to pick up a couple important things we’d forgotten, like ice cream.
The sun hung low on the horizon, the days getting shorter as time marched toward October with the unrelenting pace it favored, sweeping us along with it.
It’d been nearly three weeks since I’d first seen Grant standing at that podium in a black suit and an intensity that’d hit me like a brick wall from thirty feet. And somehow, the man next to me was that same person. His hair was a little longer, his jaw dusted with stubble since he only shaved every few days. I’d gifted him my favorite baseball cap—a blue Ranger’s cap that was the color of his eyes—simply because it looked too good on him. No point in keeping it to myself when I could admire him in it instead. Daddy had gotten it for me at a ball game when I was little, saying I’d grow into it. But I’d worn that cap ragged the bill all frayed on the edges and the blue faded from time. I didn’t mind seeing it go, not when I had a dozen other hats, most that were my father’s and all that I’d be keeping for myself.
