Ibby picked up the menu, turning it upside down, then right side up again.
“Unless you can read French, don’t bother trying to understand it,” Fannie said as she slipped off her gloves.
“You speak French?”
“No, dear, but most people in New Orleans can at least read a French menu. I’ll order for you. I practically know it by heart anyway.”
As Fannie was making up her mind about what to order, Ibby took the opportunity to ask a question that had been on her mind ever since her conversation with Birdelia the day before. “Grandma Fannie, where is Sorrowful Swamp? Is it in the bayou where the Cajuns live?”
Fannie peered over the top of the menu with a puzzled look. “Ibby dear, please just call me ‘Fannie.’ I’m barely fifty-two. ‘Grandma Fannie’ makes me sound so old. As for Sorrowful Swamp, I’ve never heard of such a place. Why do you ask?”
“Birdelia told me that’s where her daddy lives.”
Fannie frowned. “Listen, honey, that’s probably just a story Dollbaby made up to satisfy Birdelia’s curiosity. Birdelia was a boo-boo baby.” Fannie cleared her throat. “There was an unfortunate incident. As a result, Dollbaby got pregnant. She was just a child. It never should have happened, but it did, and now we have Birdelia. There never was a daddy in the picture. Dollbaby doesn’t like to talk about it, so don’t bring it up. And don’t go bursting Birdelia’s bubble. Let Birdelia believe what she wants.”
Ibby thought about it for a moment. “Was I a boo-boo baby, too?”
Fannie squinted one eye. “Why, no dear. Get that silly notion right out of your head.”
When Numa returned, he stood at the table with his pencil and pad, waiting for Fannie to order. Fannie took her time, sipping her cocktail.
“Ibby will start with the shrimp rémoulade, then for an entrée she’ll have the pompano en papillote. I’ll have the turtle soup and trout meunière. And please bring a platter of soufflé potatoes.” Fannie handed the menu to Numa. “And another drink please.”
“Right away.” Numa took away the empty glass.
“Did you used to come here a lot?” Ibby asked.
Fannie squinted. “Yes dear, once upon a time. This was your grandfather’s favorite restaurant. He proposed to me at this very table.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Fannie glanced up at the ceiling. “I used to bring Graham and Balfour here on special occasions, too. I ordered you the same thing I used to order for your daddy.”
After a few seconds, Ibby asked, “Who’s Balfour?”
Fannie rubbed her bottom lip with her finger, as if she were trying to decide how to answer the question. “Didn’t your daddy ever mention that he had a brother?”
“No, ma’am,” Ibby said.
Numa returned with the potatoes and appetizers. “Bon appétit.”
Ibby took a bite of the shrimp as she waited for Fannie to answer.
“He didn’t tell you much about your family, did he? Perhaps that’s for the best.” She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Balfour was your father’s younger brother.”
“Where is he now?”
“There was an accident.” Fannie’s voice drifted off, and she began staring off into the distance.
Rule Number Two. If she talks about her past, don’t ask questions.
Fannie turned to Ibby and looked her squarely in the eye. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like how you got that black eye, for instance.”
“Oh.” Ibby touched her eye lightly.
“Think I hadn’t noticed?” Fannie said. “That makeup Doll smeared on your face isn’t exactly helping.”
They ate in silence, but Ibby could tell Fannie was thinking hard about something. Her eyes had become glassy and distant.
Numa came over to the table and placed a plate topped with a brown paper bag in front of Ibby. Ibby was wondering what on earth Fannie had ordered for her when Numa brought out a knife and slit the bag open. Steam filled the air as he cut away the bag and slid the fish out onto the plate, butter and crabmeat tumbling out with it. He placed a plate of fish in front of Fannie.
Numa turned to Fannie. “Would Madame like some wine with dinner?”
Fannie stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, never having touched her soup. “Why ever not?”
Just as Ibby picked up her fork, Fannie asked, “So, dear, tell me how you came about that eye.”
Ibby put her fork down, wondering if she should make up a story or just tell the truth. She decided it was time for the truth. “Annabelle punched me.”
“And why did she do that?”
“I accidentally hit her with the swing. She got mad and whacked me in the eye with her fist.”
“And did you fight back?”
Ibby looked down at the fish on her plate. “Yes, ma’am.” She said it quickly, hoping maybe Fannie wouldn’t catch what she said, but the crooked grin on Fannie’s face told her she had.