Mama crosses her arms over the steering wheel and buries her face there. Caroline glances back at Annie, having forgotten for the moment that she’s angry.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Mama says, her head still buried in her arms. “I thought Ellis was here again. Thought he’d come back, but we just left him, didn’t we?” She lets out a laugh that might turn into a cry. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Grandma looks angry, Mama,” Caroline says.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Mama says and throws open her door.
“Is she with you?” Grandma shouts, stepping down to the second stair and shielding her eyes with one hand to get a better look in the car. She limps as she does it, which means she’s angry enough to forget about pretending. “Annie,” she shouts out again. “Is Annie with you?”
“Yes,” Mama says. The panic in Grandma’s voice grabs hold of Mama. She pulls open Annie’s door and yanks her from the car. “Annie’s here. She’s fine.”
“Inside,” Grandma says. The cut on Grandma’s face has healed over, but as she waves an arm at Annie, Mama, and Caroline, she can’t hide the blue bruising on it that only seems to have worsened since the fall. “Inside, the all of you.”
Grandma’s lavender is simmering again, and they all sit around the table—Daddy, the sheriff, and Miss Watson. Grandma is calming them all, which means something has happened. Abraham Pace stands behind Miss Watson, one hand on her shoulder, looking small for the first time in his life.
“She looked just like her,” Miss Watson says, pointing a finger at Annie as she crosses into the kitchen. “I’d have thought it was Annie staring in my windows if I didn’t know better. Was it, Annie? Was it you?”
Annie shakes her head and takes a step backward. Mama wraps an arm around Annie’s shoulder and draws her in tight.
“What’s happened?” Mama says, shifting herself around so she stands between Miss Watson and Annie.
Black smudges frame Miss Watson’s eyes as if she’s been rubbing at them or wiping at them and she’s smeared her eye makeup. Her chest shudders every time she inhales, and her hair has yet to see a comb or brush this morning.
“Then it was Juna I saw,” Miss Watson says, looking up at Abraham. “Even after all these years, I still knew her. Would know her anywhere. She looked just like Annie. Exactly like her.”
“You need to hush that talk,” Abraham says, smoothing a hand over her hair and locking eyes with Daddy.
It’s nearly out for everyone to hear. Miss Watson saying Aunt Juna looks like Annie, exactly like Annie, is as near to the surface as the secret has ever been in this house.
“Says someone was poking around her place last night.” Grandma leans in so she can whisper to Mama. “Says she got a close-up look. Says Juna looked right in her window.”
“You can’t leave me no more, Abey,” Miss Watson says. “Promise you won’t leave me no more.”
Abraham looks around the room, his eyes passing over every one of them. He’s apologizing in that silent way families have of apologizing to one another.
“I won’t leave you. And we’ll be married before you know it. Ain’t that right, Mary?” he says to Grandma, who is watching out the kitchen window and not much listening to Abraham. “Ain’t that right, Sarah? They’re going to see to a perfect day, aren’t you? A perfect day and we’ll be married. Juna ain’t going to ruin that. Ain’t no one going to ruin that.”
“Did you find cigarettes?” Annie asks, pulling away from Mama and stepping up to Miss Watson. “And did she have eyes like mine, as black as mine?”
Miss Watson’s eyes stretch wide. Even small as they are, they stretch open until they look almost like normal eyes. She nods, slow at first and then faster.
“Why is she here, Annie?” Miss Watson says. “What have you done to bring her here?”
“Don’t you ask such a thing of this child,” Grandma says, pushing between Mama and Annie to stand at Annie’s side.
“Please,” Mama says. “Let’s not stir up trouble. It was probably a neighbor, Abigail. Or kids, kids pulling a prank.”
“I’d rather stir up trouble,” Grandma says, “than see something befall this child.”
“Mother,” Daddy says, “you’ve no call to say that.”
“No call to say what?” It’s Caroline. She’s standing at the end of the table, staring at Miss Watson.
“Your Uncle Dale died because I didn’t speak my mind back then,” Grandma says. “Or rather I did speak my mind, but no one cared to listen. I knew that girl was bound to bring heartache, and I’ll not have it happen again.”
Mama takes a backward step.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Grandma says. “I don’t mean no harm, but I’ll not let you make light of what this girl’s telling us.”