Suzy prattled on: Reesa wasn’t going in to the Lodge Salon, she’d be with the kids all day . . . Might be good to distract Squee from everything, play with Mia, and Stacey and Mark. Reesa was thinking of setting up the Slip ’n Slide . . .”
Eden said, “Well, I’ve got him here now in the shower—”
“Oh, good!” Suzy said. “I was thinking we’d have to have Reesa toss a bar of soap on there with them!”
“He was getting a little ripe.”
Suzy faltered: “I told Reesa about last night . . . about Squee, I mean, that he ran away from Penny and Art’s . . . anyway, she said she’ll keep a close watch.” Her pace picked up again. “I was thinking if he ran from Reesa’s, that if he runs, it’d just be back to your place probably . . .”
“Maybe,” said Eden. “That may be.”
A terribly awkward pause followed.
“Suzanne,” Eden said, “we’ve got history, you and me, but I’ve got no problem in the world with you, dear—you should know that—and no troubles with whatever’s going on between you and my son. So please, sweetheart, calm down.”
Suzy laughed. “This island is too small!”
“Well, that may be true,” Eden agreed reluctantly. She was ready to let the whole conversation go. “Why don’t you come by here and pick up Mister Squee on your way to Reesa’s, OK? How’d that be?”
“Think I can manage that,” Suzy said, relieved. “That’d be fine.”
If it weren’t for Squee climbing into the passenger seat of Roddy’s truck and insisting on coming with him to help at the Lodge, Roddy would almost certainly have been gone before Suzy made it over to Eden’s that morning. As it was, Suzy pulled up to find Roddy’s truck blocking the driveway, Roddy standing outside the passenger window, talking to Squee in the seat.
“You just can’t,” Roddy was saying. “I don’t want you around there. It’s dangerous, besides. You can come back in a few days— when your dad comes back. You want to help with the construction then, we’ll see about that. But not when it’s . . .”
“Morning!” Suzy called. Roddy had lifted his head when her truck pulled in, then turned back to Squee, no acknowledgment. Now he lifted a hand in greeting before he faced the boy again.
Suzy came and stood beside Roddy at the open window. “What’s happening here?” She was rested and showered, her hair still wet, pulled back into a ponytail that was leaving a damp splotch on her back. Roddy hadn’t yet bathed, and his beard was getting beyond shadowed to scraggly. He’d at least put on a clean T-shirt.
“Come on, partner,” Roddy tried again. “Look, Suzy and Mia are here, all set to take you over to Reesa’s. Come on, Squee, OK?”
Suzy leaned in closer, put her hand on the small of Roddy’s back as she spoke: “You got your swimsuit, kid?” she said. Roddy tensed beneath her touch. “Reesa’s setting up the Slip ’n Slide as we speak . . . Mark and Stacey are psyched you guys are coming over to play . . .”
And then, suddenly, there in Roddy’s truck in the middle of the driveway, more than a full day after the news of Lorna’s death had been made known to him, Squee began to cry. What broke him right then was anyone’s guess. Most likely he was too tired to hold it in anymore. His face did not contort and twist. He did not look like a child crying. He looked as though his tear ducts had been pierced and left to run themselves dry.
“Oh, baby,” Suzy said, and she reached past Roddy to open the door, step close, and take Squee in her arms. She cupped a hand around the back of his head and held him to her, stroking, soothing. Instinct drove her movements, and Roddy backed away.
Squee did not sob, or choke, or cough as crying children do. Suzy held him to her like a slump of towels. Every so often he gave a gasp on the intake of breath, but otherwise he wept silently, too exhausted to do anything but let the tears drain from his body. Then, somewhere in the midst of that outpouring, his body gave a sudden jerk. He seemed surprised. He pulled himself away from Suzy for a second and waited, then spasmed again. Hiccups. It took about three rounds for his brain to catch up and figure out what was going on, and