High Noon Page 0,107

Look at me, Mama. Nothing happened to me. Nothing. All right?"

"All right."

"Carter, pour Mama some of that lemonade there. You sit down, Mama. I'm going to say I know you think I share too much of what I do, what there is, with Carly. I'm sorry we don't agree on the boundaries of that. Well. I think I could use something stronger than lemonade right off."

"I'm going to get you some wine, and some food." Ava walked to her, squeezed her arm. "You ought to sit down, too."

"I ought to. I will. I want to change these pants first. I'm going to be right back," she said to Carly.

Duncan glanced over ait Essie as Phoebe went out. "Essie, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to go up with her."

He didn't wait for permission, but caught up to Phoebe on the steps.

"I'm just going to change my pants."

"I'm not looking to grab a quickie while you do. You look exhausted."

"It was a bad day. Very bad. I can't talk about it yet. I only want to talk about it once."

"I'm just going to be here, you don't have to talk."

In her room, she pulled out a pair of cotton pants. She stripped off the blood-smeared trousers, tossed them in the hamper. "Mama will likely perform some miracle of science and get that poor boy's blood out of those." She pressed her hand between her eyes as the grief swamped her. But before Duncan could take her into his arms, she stepped back, shook her head.

"No, no comforting hugs just yet. And no tears. If I have to cry, it'll wait until later. My mother's worried. She'll stay worried until I get back down."

"Let's go back, then."

He went down with her. Ava had already set a plate on a tray, had a glass of wine waiting.

"It'll be on the news," she began. "Probably has been. There was a situation over on Hitch Street. Gang-related. Hostages. The boy was sixteen. Just sixteen, grieving, so angry, so misguided. It took time to talk him down, but I did, I talked him down, and told him it would be all right. So he came out, just the way I told him. Unarmed, hands up high. And someone shot him. They shot him while he stood with his hands up, when he was surrendering. His mother was there, close enough I think she must have seen it happen."

"Is he going to be all right?" Carly asked.

"No, honey. He died." Before I got to him, Phoebe thought. "But why did they shoot him?"

"I don't know." She stroked Carly's hair, then bent down to kiss it.

"I just don't. We don't know why or who. Not yet. There'll be talk, on the TV about it. I wanted you-all of you-to know what happened."

"I wish it hadn't happened."

"Oh, baby, so do I."

Carly snuggled up. "You'll feel better if you eat. That's what you say."

"It is what I say." Deliberately she speared something on her plate.

It didn't matter what, she couldn't taste it. But she ate it with a little flourish. "And as usual, I'm right. Now, everybody should stop worrying and tell me what you did for fun tonight."

"Uncle Carter and Duncan played a duelette."

"A duelette?"

"That's what Uncle Carter called it. On the piano. That was fun. And Aunt Josie told the joke about the chicken."

"Not that again."

"I liked it." Duncan worked up a smile. He saw what she was doing, needed to do. Get everyone back to normal.

"And Duncan said you and me could go on his sailboat on Saturday if you said we could. So can we? Please? I've never been on a sailboat before. Ever."

"You're obviously a neglected and abused child. I suppose we probably could do that."

"Yes!"

"But right now it seems to be somewhat past someone's bedtime."

"But we have company."

"And a polite, self-sacrificing child, too. How'd I get so lucky? Now, say good night, and I'll be up in a couple minutes."

Carly dragged her feet all around the room, stalled, looked beseechingly toward the other adults for intervention. She circled her way around to Duncan, sighed heavily. "I wish I didn't have to go to bed, but thank you for coming to dinner."

"Thank you for having me. We've got a date on Saturday, right?" The sulks flew away. "Okay. 'Night."

The minute she was gone, Phoebe set down her fork. "I'd better get on." Duncan rose.

There were polite protests, mutual thanks, cheek kisses and handshakes. "I'll walk you out."

It felt so good to step outside,