Nicola Griffith - Stay

“I agree with all these terms,” I said. He took a pen from his pocket, handed it to me. It was an old transparent Bic ballpoint. “However, before I sign, I’d like to discuss one more matter.” Adeline shifted but said nothing. Jud gestured for me to continue. “Your reassurance that I’m keeping my side of the bargain will come every month, with the money, but we haven’t talked about my reassurance. Mr. Karp received written reports, but I would prefer a more personal arrangement. I’d like to talk to Luz myself every now and again, in person or by phone.”

Adeline stared at her tightly clasped hands.

“You can’t take her from this house,” Jud said.

“Certainly not from the neighborhood,” I said. Not until she was older.

After a long pause, he nodded. His word is his bond, Adeline had said. I nodded back. I filled in the name of my lawyer, along with her address and phone number, signed, and returned the paper to him.

He put his signature under mine. He hesitated a moment, then stood and offered me his hand. I stood, too, and we shook. He seemed momentarily confused as his hard, dry palm encountered mine.

I sat, opened the briefcase, and took out the papers. I separated Bette’s draft, put it back in the case, and tapped the rest into a tidy pile. “These are copies of Luz’s documentation. Birth certificate, adoption, passport, and so on. You’ll need them to register her at school.” I laid them next to me on the sofa. “There’s also the matter of the first payment. In future months, of course, the funds can be wired directly to your account—though I will need the number of that account.” Adeline was trying to communicate something to Jud with her expression. “I have enough cash with me to cover the first payment, but as your cash flow has been interrupted recently you might well prefer to begin with a larger sum, say, three months’ worth. I could get that to you by tomorrow morning.” Hopefully he would prefer nice crisp greenbacks to a personal check, which, with all its personal information, was out of the question.

He cleared his throat. “Appears acceptable.” More frantic expression from Adeline. “The three-month sum. One month’s money now.” Adeline relaxed. “Rest tomorrow.”

I stood, he followed suit, and I counted out seven hundred-dollar bills, two twenties, and a ten—slowly, so he could watch, and not have to appear untrusting by counting it afterwards. I handed him the stack. He seemed unsure what to do with it. Adeline rose and crossed to his side.

“The coffee will be ready about now. Should I take that to the accounts, then fetch it here for you while you finish up with Miz Thomas?” Jud handed her the money gratefully. She scooped the photocopies from the sofa. “Now you two sit. I’ll be but a moment.”

So we had to sit. Jud laid his hands on his knees, nodded at me, as solemnly as if we were sitting on pews.

The silence was complete. No ticking of a clock on the mantel. “Mrs. Carpenter tells me the crop wasn’t too good this year,” I said.

“Been worse.”

“Yes,” I said. “Still, I’m sorry for it. Perhaps next year will be better.”

“Up to the good Lord.”

“As is everything.” I longed for the scent of rain-wet North Carolina dirt, of leaves slowly mulching beneath sturdy trunks. Or perhaps it would be snowing up there already. “But as my father used to say, God helps those who help themselves. And I think—”

Adeline came in with the coffee: not mugs this time but white china cups and matching saucers, decorated with tiny red roses, and a silver-plate set of pot, creamer, and sugar bowl. The teaspoons did not match. She poured, handed out the cups carefully. Once everyone was settled again, I went on.

“Mrs. Carpenter, I was just about to say to your husband that I think Luz is going to need your help. Yesterday was a very hard day. For you and Mr. Carpenter, yes, and Button, but especially for Luz.”

“Yes,” Adeline said, “but she does seem to have come through it nicely. She’s a hardy little thing.”

“She is,” I said. Jud turned his sticky eyes to mine. “But I think in a little while—maybe a few days, maybe as long as a few weeks or even months—she won’t be so fine.”

“Nightmares,” he said. “Had them when she first come.”

“Miz Thomas, there aren’t so many childish fears that a good hugging and a bit of prayer can’t fix.”

“Her fears aren’t so childish. A lot happened yesterday that she won’t have had time to tell you about yet.” I looked from her to Jud. “When she’s afraid, let her tell you what she’s afraid of. And don’t tell her it can’t happen because some of the things that will be in her nightmares have happened.” I would probably star in a few of those nightmares.

“They won’t happen again,” Jud said with certainty.

Adeline shook her head vehemently. “Not while there’s breath in our bodies.”

“No.” I sipped my coffee. “It might help, when she’s scared, to tell her that she’s very brave. She was very brave—very resourceful. There aren’t many children her age who would try to defend themselves against an adult.”

“Brother Jerry,” Jud said, nodding.

“Luz mentioned a Brother Jerry yesterday,” I said. “Apparently he told her that god works in mysterious ways.”

“Brother Jerry was in the army or the marines or some such—” Adeline began.

“Navy SEAL,” Jud said. “Doesn’t much hold with the notion of turning the other cheek. Mite troubling to begin with.”

After a startled pause, Adeline continued. “As my husband says, the elders didn’t share Brother Jerry’s point of view at first, but then after a lot of soul-searching, it was decided that Brother Jerry might have a point. Man, after all, only has two cheeks, and once you’ve turned both of them, it might be reasonable to fight back. So since September, the church has been sponsoring a self-defense class for the children. They seem to like it. I went to the old back field to watch once, lots of healthy yelling and kicking. Brother Jerry does nothing but good for those youngsters.”

“When he doesn’t try to teach scripture,” Jud said.

“Brother Jerry seems to believe that ‘Do unto others …’ means do unto others before they can do unto you,” Adeline explained. “More coffee?”

Early morning frost smells different in Arkansas: like cold straw. With Adeline’s permission, I invited the children to eat breakfast with me in the trailer before I left.

They arrived, brushed and scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Luz seemed different. Not exactly hostile, but wary. When they were seated, I put the kedgeree on the table. She sniffed at her plate suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Breakfast.” She stared at me, I stared back. “It’s kedgeree. Smoked fish and rice all mixed together,” and boiled egg and nutmeg, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Fish,” she said. Button was already tucking into his. She shook her head.

“Try it.”

She put a tiny amount on her fork and ate it. “It doesn’t taste like fish.”

It certainly didn’t taste like fish sticks. “That’s because it’s smoked. Try some more.” She did, a bigger portion this time. Button munched happily. Luz took another forkful.

When I put three mugs of Irish breakfast tea on the table, Luz looked but was too proud to ask. I let her suffer. It’s important to learn that if you want information you have to ask for it. I turned back to the bowl on the kitchen counter. I had made a fruit salad, but I could see how that would be received. I filled a plate for myself and sat down.

This time she couldn’t resist. “What’s all that?”

“This is papaya, this is litchi.” She watched each spoonful, from my plate to my mouth and back. “Do you want some?” She shook her head. “There’s also apple, and orange, and banana.”