different sizes, densities and weights, and she already knew Olivia liked to experiment. On one of her shopping trips with Rishi, she had bought cheaper sketch pads for practice. He had not chastised her for spending their money on a stranger’s child.
“It’s hot outside. Can we stay here?” Olivia asked.
“Let’s work at the kitchen table. You’ll not be in trouble for coming inside?”
“I’ll check on Nana in a little while.”
Janya wondered who was taking care of whom in Olivia’s household. She knew Olivia’s father must be gone, or the little girl wouldn’t be here.
“Would you like to work on your still life?” Last time Olivia had come, they’d set out a pitcher with dried flowers, a conch shell, and an open book with a wooden apple sitting on the pages. Janya had left the items in place.
“Will you show me how to blend the pencils again?”
They settled at the table. In the past, whenever Olivia bent her head, her hair would fall forward and cover her profile. With the new short haircut, this no longer happened. Her snub nose was perfectly evident, as was her cute little pointed chin.
“I think I’ll sketch you,” Janya said.
“No. Now I look like a boy.”
“No, you look like a beautiful little girl. Let me show you.”
“I don’t even want to look in the mirror. I hate brushing my teeth.”
Janya thought the worst of the adjustment must be over, because this morning Olivia sounded more matter-of-fact than sad. “Change can be hard. But you made a choice, and now you should enjoy what you can.”
“It was Daddy’s idea. He hates messy hair, and I get hot and sweaty.”
“Yes, that is a problem with long hair.”
“He made the lady cut it short because I was arguing.”
Janya wished they weren’t having this conversation. She had spent the morning trying not to be angry, and now she could feel anger simmering again.
“It was my fault,” Olivia said matter-of-factly. “Daddy doesn’t like arguments.”
“Many people do not,” Janya said.
“My grandmother argued with him, too. Daddy said I upset her, that I shouldn’t do that. I didn’t mean to.”
“I’m certain that wasn’t your intention.”
“She was more upset this morning.” Olivia looked up. “Do I use my finger to smear it? Or that cotton thing.”
“You can use your finger,” Janya told her. “Just lightly. Then let’s put in some more detail.” She waited until Olivia was finished blending some of her lines, then she began her own sketch. “Is Alice all right now?”
“No, her fish died.”
“Fish?”
Olivia looked up. “She has an aquarium. A big one with lots of fish. You have to come and see.”
Janya thought that was unlikely. “Fish must be difficult to take care of.”
“She had a big angelfish. She called him Michael, like some important angel in the Bible.”
“I’m sorry he died.”
“When she found him floating last night she took him out and flushed him down the toilet, only this morning she didn’t remember doing it. And Daddy saw her.” She looked up again. “He gets worried when she forgets.”
“Your father has a lot to think about.”
“I think that’s why he got mad about my hair, and you know… He has to take care of me, and of Nana, and my mommy is dead.”
Janya thought that was all probably true, but she wondered how often he said this to the child. To be fair, Janya knew she was not an expert in the way Americans reared children, but she did think, from what she had seen here, that girls Olivia’s age were usually allowed more freedom.
They sketched in silence. Olivia concentrated on every line, tongue clenched between her lips at the corner of her mouth. She showed natural talent and, more importantly, enjoyment in the process. Janya tried to capture this as she drew the girl’s expression.
“Can I see?” Olivia asked, when she realized that Janya really was drawing her.
Janya turned the sketch pad toward her.
“Am I really that pretty?”
“Charcoal can’t do justice to your lovely face.”
Olivia cocked her head. “Will you finish it for me? May I keep it?”
Janya smiled. “The drawing will be just for you.”
Wanda woke up with a headache, and it only got worse as Monday unfolded. By the time she finished her shift—hot day and lousy tips—she felt like a piece of bait cast into the water one too many times.
The heat and tips were just part of it. She was getting tired of feeling ashamed of herself. Shame had its place, but hit a woman with an overload, and she sank lower than