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“What difference does it make?”
Norman copped some attitude. “You’re messing in our business, that’s what difference it makes.”
“All I’m doing is getting medical treatment for a sick girl.”
“Sick my ass.” Will rolled off his spine, picked up a can of beer from the scratched and rickety coffee table, and took a swig. “She should’ve known better than to get herself knocked up.”
Earlier, when he’d first seen her in the wrecked truck, he’d noticed that Lisa’s lips were white with pain, but when he’d asked her the nature of her ailment, she hadn’t been forthcoming with an answer.
Since her brothers had seemed indifferent to her condition, he’d consented to drive them home. He’d helped Lisa into the house and, after making a hasty explanation to Pauline as to why he was there, he and the old woman got Lisa into the bedroom.
Sensing the girl’s reluctance to discuss her problem with members of her family, he sent Pauline out of the room to get Lisa a glass of water. Only then had she told him in confidence that she had miscarried. Shamed, she begged him not to tell her mother.
“You shouldn’t go through this alone. Have you told anyone?” he’d asked.
“My aunt and uncle—I live with them in Drakeland—or did. They kicked me out of the house when I told them what was happening. I had to tell my brothers so they would come get me. But I don’t want my mama to know.”
She had started to cry and had been so distraught, he’d given her his word that he wouldn’t tell her mother, but he had impressed on her that if she was in that much pain, she should be seen by a doctor. Either he would drive her or she could call nine-one-one. “The EMTs will keep it confidential. They have to. They’re professionals.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. That’s when he’d offered to bring medical help to her. Knowing what the frightened girl had suffered—and continued to—physically as well as emotionally, her brother Will’s “knocked up” remark infuriated him. He curbed the impulse to yank the younger Floyd off the sofa by his stringy hair and throw him through the window.
He asked, “How old is Lisa?”
Will shrugged and looked over at Norman. “How old is she? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen.”
Will turned back to him. “Fifteen.”
“She and your mother seem to have a close relationship.”
“You know women,” Norman said with a snort. “They stick together.”
“Then why is Lisa living with relatives in Drakeland?”
“None of your friggin’ business,” Will said.
Norman replied more civilly. “Better schools down there.”
“Lisa’s in high school?”
“’Course,” Norman said. “What do you think, she’s a retard or something?”
“I was just wondering if the father of the baby she lost is as young as she is.”
“She works at a Subway on weekends,” Will said. “Who knows who all she’s fucked.” He took another slurp of beer, eyeing him over the top of the can as though hoping he would take umbrage.
He did, but he kept his expression impassive and addressed his next question to Norman. “Have you lived here all your lives?”
“Yep. Well, ’cept for a time a few years ago. Me and Will heard about work up in Virginia. Went up there for a spell.”
“How’d that go?”
Norman scratched his armpit. “Not so good. No sooner got there than the economy went to shit. We both got laid off.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Not really. Mama wanted us back home, and anyway Virginia ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
