let out a long, slow breath and smoke puffed and billowed around his head in lazy, round rings. “The two of you, by God, will do us all in.” Another drag and Uncle Aron nodded for us to follow, leading us toward the fence line and the broken path that led the back way from Bastie’s property and the south end of the river. “Tell me now,” he said, leaning against the fence post, flicking ashes that burned orange-red then faded to nothing as it landed on the black ground. “What’s all the fuss about?”
And so, I told him about Andres and his searching, drunk hands, about him tearing my shirt and me running like loon after I popped that fat white man real good in the eye. It took only a few minutes, with Dempsey adding how he’d come to find me in the treehouse looking more vexed than a kitten, claws deep on the bow of a sinking boat.
Aron was smooth, slow, with everything he did. There was a little white at his temples and he wore his mustache neat and trimmed. He kept himself looking sharp with fine pressed suits and a fedora for whatever job each day would bring. Tonight he wore a pair of dark slacks and a shirt opened at the collar. But the fedora was sharp and pristine and the suspenders he wore had gold clips and teeth. It was date night, and by the look of his slow grin and missed-button state of his shirt, date night had been a good one.
“Well now.” Another drag and my uncle threw the cigarette to the ground, stamping out the small flame with his heel. “Seems to me it’d be best if the pair of you keep to yourselves this lovely night.”
“I can sleep in the treehouse.” Dempsey shrugged as though there was nothing to be debated. Most nights when we stayed at the farm, he slept in the treehouse just to be out of his family’s sight. “There's a blanket up there, I'll be fine.”
“That won’t work,” Aron replied, taking off his hat to smooth back the tips of his hair that had come mused in whatever activity he’d gotten into. “Your daddy is fool enough that he’d come up that ladder and drag you out by your ears.” He thought a second, flopping the hat back on his head. “And Joe Andres might sober up enough to remember who gave him the shiner I bet he’s sporting.” He glanced at me, a hesitant smile stretching across his face.
Dempsey grabbed my hand again, squeezing it tight as though he wanted me to not worry over the ‘might’s Aron laid out for us.
“Nah, I reckon it’s best you both clear out.” He glanced back toward the cottage, then looked at us again, lowering his voice as though he was sure someone was listening. “Can I trust you two to walk out to the fish shack and stay there?” We both nodded, not bothering to look at each other. “And can you promise me, Dempsey Simoneaux, on your honor you won’t be thinking of things you ought not think about with my niece in the same room?”
Dempsey widened his eyes, blushing a little before he nodded quick. “Good. You keep her safe and don’t get up to anything funny. I’ll be down to check up on you in the morning, but mind what you’re doing cause I won’t be telling you exactly how early I’ll come get you.”
“Of course. We’ll… it’ll be all fine,” Dempsey promised, then lifted back the thick brush hiding the small opening to the trail, motioning me to go ahead first. Luckily the moon was out, and though it was slow going, we could see the path to follow.
We walked in silence for a few long minutes until Dempsey didn’t seem to take the quiet and started up whistling “Black Water Blues,” likely because he knew how much I loved Bessie Smith. I’d just started in on a chorus, singing about having no place to go, when Dempsey stopped me, covering my mouth with his hand as he pressed right behind me. He leaned down and the scent of his breath, like peppermint, came softly against my cheek.
“There,” he whispered, nodding to our right beyond the cover of the trail. By then we had walked past my Mimi’s property line and crossed over back into the Simoneaux land that edged along the river. My heart pounded like a scared rabbit, and when