For a minute, my dad stared up at the portrait of the boy in the Confederate uniform, who didn't look much older than me. “This painting always had a sheet over it when I was a kid. My grandparents never said much about it, but they weren't about to hang a deserter on the wall. After I inherited this place, I found it covered up in the attic and brought it down to the study.”
“Why didn't you hang it up?” I never imagined that my dad had stared at the same hidden outline when he was a kid.
“I don't know. Your mother wanted me to. She loved his story — the way he walked away from the war, even though it ended up costing him his life. I meant to hang it. I was just so used to seeing it covered up. Before I got around to it, your mom died.” He ran his hand along the bottom of the carved frame. “You know, you were named after him.”
“I know.”
My dad looked at me as if he was looking at me for the first time, too. “She was crazy about that painting. I'm glad you hung it up. It's where he belongs.”
I didn't escape the fried chicken or Amma's guilt trip. So after dinner, I drove around the Sisters’ neighborhood with Link looking for Lucille. Link called her name between bites of a chicken leg wrapped in an oily paper towel. Every time he ran his hand over his spiky blond hair, the shine got shinier from all the grease.
“You shoulda brought more fried chicken along. Cats dig chicken. They eat birds in the wild.” Link was driving slower than usual so I could keep an eye out for Lucille while he beat time to “Love Biscuit,” his band's terrible new song, on the steering wheel.
“Then what? You'd drive around while I hung out the window with a chicken leg in my hand?” Link was so transparent. “You just want more of Amma's chicken.”
“You know it. And Coca-Cola cake.” He hung his drumstick bone out the window. “Here, kitty kitty …”
I scanned the sidewalk, looking for a Siamese cat, but something else caught my eye — a crescent moon. It was on a license plate stuck between a bumper sticker of the Stars and Bars, the Confederate flag, and one for Bubba's Truck and Trailer. The same old South Carolina plates with the state symbol I had seen a thousand times, only I'd never thought about it before. A blue palmetto and a crescent moon, maybe a Caster moon. The Casters really had been here a long time.
“Cat's stupider than I thought, if he doesn't know about Amma's fried chicken.”
“She. Lucille Ball's a girl.”
“It's a cat.” Link swerved, and we turned the corner onto Main. Boo Radley was sitting on the curb, watching the Beater roll by. His tail thumped, one lonely thump of recognition, as we disappeared down the road. The loneliest dog in town.
At the sight of Boo, Link cleared his throat. “Speakin’ a girls, how're things with Lena?” He hadn't seen much of her, though he'd seen more than most people had. Lena spent most of her time at Ravenwood under the watchful eyes of Gramma and Aunt Del, or hiding from their watchful eyes, depending on the day.
“She's dealing.” It wasn't a lie, exactly.
“Is she? I mean, she seems kinda different. Even for Lena.” Link was one of the few people in town who knew Lena's secret.
“Her uncle died. That kind of thing changes you.” Link should've known that better than anyone. He'd watched me try to make sense of my mother's death, and then a world without her in it. He knew it was impossible.
“Yeah, but she hardly talks, and she's wearin’ his clothes. Don't you think that's sorta weird?”
“She's fine.”
“If you say so, man.”
“Just drive. We have to find Lucille.” I looked out the window at the empty street. “Stupid cat.”
Link shrugged and cranked up the volume. His band, the Holy Rollers, shuddered through the speakers. “The Girl's Gone Away.” Getting dumped was the theme of every song Link wrote. It was his way of dealing. I still hadn't figured out mine.
We never found Lucille, and I never got the conversation with Link, or my dad, out of my mind. My house was quiet, which isn't what you want a house to be if you're trying to run away from your thoughts. The window in my room was open, but the air was as hot and stagnant as everything else today.
Link was right. Lena was acting strange. But it had only been a few months. She'd snap out of it, and things would be the way they were before.
I dug through the piles of books and papers on my desk, looking for A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, my go-to book for taking my mind off things. Under a stack of old Sandman comics, I found something else. It was a package, wrapped in Marian's signature brown paper and tied with string. But it didn't have GATLIN COUNTY LIBRARY stamped on it.