P. Parrish - South Of Hell

“I’m Alice Channing,” the woman said. “Lily’s my grandchild.”

Eric Channing suddenly emerged from the back. Before he could say anything, the bell tinkled, and two women came in, stopping behind Louis because there was no room to move in the tiny shop.

“Momma, go take care of your customers,” Channing said.

The woman held Louis’s eyes for a moment longer, then, with a shake of the head, she came forward. Louis squeezed back into a rack of hats to let her pass.

Channing motioned Louis forward with a wave of his hand. Louis followed him behind the register and into the back room.

She was sitting on a bench in a corner, almost hidden behind a stack of boxes. She sat with her back straight, ankles crossed, her small hands gripping a pink drawstring bag. She was wearing a pink leotard and tights, a filmy little skirt, and pink ballet slippers. Her eyes went first to Channing, who had stopped at the door, arms crossed over his chest. Channing gave a subtle nod of his bald head.

Lily looked at Louis from under spirals of golden-brown curls.

Kyla… she was there in the girl’s high, broad forehead and full lips.

But he… oh, God, he could see himself there, too. He was there in her pale gray eyes.

He came further into the room, not knowing where to stand, exactly. There was no room for him on the bench, and he wasn’t sure she would let him sit down there anyway.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“How about Louis?” he said.

She nodded and brushed at something on her tights. Her face scrunched in thought when she looked back up at him.

“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” she said.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “People can’t help how tall they are.”

Louis glanced at Channing. He wished he would leave them alone, but Louis understood his need to stay. Channing didn’t know Louis, and he probably just wanted to make sure he said nothing inappropriate. In fact, he seemed mildly amused at Lily’s last comment.

Louis took a step closer. The room was very small, and he had a thought that maybe she felt overwhelmed by him. He knelt down.

Her eyes found his again. He was the one who felt overwhelmed.

“Where do you live?” Lily asked.

“In Florida,” Louis said. “Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s shaped like an upside-down thumb at the bottom of the country. The capital is Tallahassee.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It’s also where Disney World is. Have you ever been there?”

“No,” she said. “But I took the train to Chicago and saw the Degas ballerinas at the museum of art. I’ve seen the Nutcracker, and I saw Cats, too. At the Fisher Theater.”

He shook his head. Here he was talking Disney World, and this little girl was telling him about museums and ballets. Kyla always had more class than he did.

“What is your job?” Lily asked.

“I’m a private investigator,” Louis said.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” Louis said, “it’s a little like being a police officer, but you work for yourself, not for a department.”

“Are you married?” Lily asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I just haven’t made that decision yet,” Louis said. “It’s not something people should do until they’re ready.”

“Is that why you didn’t marry my mother?” Lily asked. “You weren’t ready?”

Here it was, the first of the tough questions.

Louis glanced back at Channing, but there was no answer there. He stared at the carpet for a few seconds, trying to find the right words to explain something like this to an eight-year-old. But then he realized she had said it more aptly than he ever could.

“I was immature,” he said. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yes,” Lily said. “It means you act like a child when you’re old enough to know better.”

“That’s right.”

She lowered her head, and for a moment, her face was lost behind the cascade of curls. Her voice was almost a whisper. “How old were you when you made me?” Lily asked.

Louis closed his eyes for a second. “Twenty.”

“How old are you now?” she asked.

“Twenty-nine.”

“So, you didn’t get mature at all until now?”

If he could have vanished from the room, he would have. What the hell was he supposed to say? The truth was, he didn’t know she existed. But if he said that, her next question would be What did you think happened to me? And he sure couldn’t answer that one.

He couldn’t even bring himself to meet those tender eyes until he heard Channing clear his throat.

“Lily,” Channing said. “Mr. Kincaid didn’t know where you were. When he and your mother broke up, they stayed mad at each a long time and didn’t talk.”

Thank you, sergeant.

Lily seemed to accept that explanation, and she looked back at Louis, her eyes deep with a new thought.

“Do I have more grandparents?”

“My mother has passed on,” he said, “but you have…”

He paused. He was about to tell this girl she had a grandfather whom he not only knew nothing about, but whom he despised.

“You have a grandfather,” he said. “But I haven’t seen him for many years. Not since I was a baby.”

She blinked, a strange shadow coloring her eyes. “So your father never got mature, either?”

She was breaking his heart.

“No, I guess not.”

“My daddy’s father isn’t mature, either,” she said, looking to Channing. “He lives in California and doesn’t care about us.”

Louis glanced at Channing. He shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable that Lily had revealed this little slice of family history to Louis. But it explained Channing’s motives in telling Louis about his daughter. Channing was a man with holes in his heart, too.

When Louis looked back at Lily, she was studying him, her gaze moving slowly over his face, then to his hair, and finally coming back to his eyes. It was an intriguing stare, and he wondered what her next question would be.

“Is your father white?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her face scrunched again. Louis wondered why Kyla had never shared at least this part of Lily’s ancestry with her. Or maybe she had told her there was some white blood in her but not where it came from.

“So that makes me a quarter white?” she asked.

“Yes,” Louis asked. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” she said. “I like how I look. Momma says I’m like a bouquet of wildflowers put together by God and all the prettier for it.”

Louis smiled.

Lily sighed and folded her hands in her lap, the little drawstring purse hanging from her wrist. She didn’t seem to have any more questions. But Louis was wondering what she was thinking. Would she simply dismiss this as a necessary but uneventful meeting, or did she want something more? And again, he couldn’t ask. He did not want her to feel obligated to see him again. He looked again to Channing for help.

“Lily,” Channing said, “if there’s nothing else you want to say to Mr. Kincaid, it’s time to go.”

Lily hesitated, then pulled open the drawstring purse. She dug inside and pulled out a photograph. She held it out to Louis.

“This is a picture of me,” she said. “You can have it. If you want it, I mean.”

Louis took it. “Thank you very much, Lily.”

She pushed off the bench and padded to the door in her pink slippers. She turned back to Louis, but before she spoke, she took Channing’s hand. His large fingers closed tightly over hers.

“Can I see you again?” she asked Louis.

Louis glanced at Channing. He gave a tight nod.

“Any time you want,” Louis said.