upswing.
As far as she could tell, the article was a load of hooey from an infomercial king who was trying to convince down-on-their-luck investors to buy foreclosures and make a killing. Still, Tracy thought it was probably interesting enough to provide the in she needed with Lee.
Along the path to Alice’s, she could hear the crashing of waves. Sunset was still hours away, but the sky was rapidly growing dark, and far off in the distance she could hear the rumbling of thunder.
She wondered what it would be like to watch one of these fabulous Florida storms sweeping in from Marsh’s porch. Of course, Marsh’s house looked as if it had sprouted from the swamp over the last century or more, like some indigenous mushroom. The architecture had none of the class or style she was used to, and no trilling interior decorator had ever rhapsodized about the magical incandescence of pink with hints of Fudgsicle-brown. The house had a shabby-around-the-edges feel to it. The porch was probably home to ravenous insects and snakes, but she still thought sitting there, watching a storm come in, might be pretty wonderful. It might not even be such a terrible thing to have Marsh there watching it with her.
She had only seen him to talk to twice since the night of their canoe trip. Once when he picked up Bay after youth camp and they chatted about the program. Once when he stopped by the cottage after work to give her a packet of papers. Wild Florida had finally put something on the table, and he brought it directly to her, since he despised Maribel. She had scanned the top two sheets and handed the packet back without a word.
“You’re clairvoyant? You can already tell you’re not interested?” he’d asked.
“Marsh, what you want to pay isn’t anywhere near what I’m asking, what I need.”
“Just out of curiosity, say some developer is dumb enough to buy this for anywhere near what you want, believing he can bribe his way through all the regulatory agencies without tipping us off. So you pay all the taxes, quit your job at the center—”
“I’m only a sub. I don’t have to quit anything. The job ends in the fall, when the permanent supervisor comes back.”
He shook his head in disgust. “So you pay all the taxes, tell Gladys and Woody you don’t want the job, and you hightail it out of here. Where’ll you go and what’ll you do? Will even that amount be enough money to make things right in California? Can you buy back your old friends?”
She didn’t know what to say. Choked by anger and a suspicion he might have a point, she was mute.
“Tracy…take this.” He shoved the packet back into her hands. “Get your priorities straight, how ’bout it?” Then he’d turned and sauntered back to his car. And she’d let him.
Now she wondered if there were normal men anywhere on the planet. And even if she happened to find one, would she be attracted to him? Or would he just seem like some kind of freak?
Alice’s stoop had not been swept this afternoon. Even the oncoming storm couldn’t account for all the sand that had blown across it. But Tracy knew where Alice had been. Most likely she was tired after Janya’s celebration.
She knocked and heard footsteps. Olivia let her in, but the girl wasn’t smiling.
“S’up, Olivia?” Tracy asked, extending her hand palm out for a hand slap.
Olivia complied, but without force or enthusiasm.
She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Nana’s not feeling well.”
“Is your dad here?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Maybe I’d better see if she’s okay.”
Olivia put her hand on Tracy’s arm to stop her. “She’s not okay. She’s—”
But Tracy didn’t need additional explanations. On the table, just in front of her, was a tangled pile of crochet thread. And Tracy was afraid she knew exactly what it was, or at least what it had been.
For a moment she simply stood there and stared. She was looking at months of effort and dreams, of memories of another tablecloth and beloved hands extended across generations all the way to Olivia. Alice had already lost so much, and now Tracy was very afraid she might have lost her mind, as well.
She felt sick as she reached over and touched the pile. It seemed to recoil under her hand, and she moved back.
“What happened?” She turned to Olivia and moved her hand to the girl’s shoulder. “Is that the pineapple tablecloth?”
Olivia spoke in a low