I spent the day drafting a settlement proposal for Winkley v. Winkley, and I was in quite a mood. It was weighted so heavily in Oakleigh’s favor that it was not a true proposal. It was the opening salvo in a war, and it promised that the war itself would be long and dark and bloody. When Dean Macon saw it, he might well crap his pants or recuse himself.
Julian kept me in the loop, texting me all day. Perfect. I wanted my fingers on the pulse of the search, but I didn’t want to hear from Birdwine. Not even a four-word text. Not even a sorry-faced emoticon. Not until whatever sweetness I had discovered at his bedside was ashes, cold and light, easily blown away by any wind.
I went home and fed Henry. I scratched his belly until he’d had enough and batted at me. Then I got in the shower, set the water hot as I could stand it, and scrubbed the day off myself. I stepped out mother naked, and as I dressed, it felt more like I was readying for a battle than a good night out. Maybe I was.
I left my hair to dry naturally, hanging in long shaggy loops and spirals down my back. I chose jeans cut to frame the good ass my mother gave me, paired with a fitted T-shirt that said LUCKY on the front. I traded my diamond studs for long bangles made of a multitude of delicate, free-swinging chains, each with a tiny garnet near its end. I went easy on the makeup: fresh skin, brown mascara, and a pale, glossy mouth. The only part of daytime Paula left was my shoes, their red soles now an invitation, not a warning.
I shook out my drying hair. The little garnets swung on their chains to ting and chime like bell song in my ears. I was going out, and if any god who walked above the earth or under it had mercy, I was getting myself laid.
CHAPTER 10
I have a scoop of eggs, a biscuit, two floppy strips of bacon, a canned peach half with a maraschino cherry resting on it like a nipple, and no place to go. I don’t hesitate or look around, though. I walk to the eight-top table nearest the kitchen and take my usual seat on the end. Two of the four Hispanic kids are already there, eating, but there is an empty chair between me and them. Joya’s former chair is across from me. There’s a third open chair catty-corner to me, so that I am surrounded by absence. The empty spaces are a circle drawn around me, making me the center of a bull’s-eye.
Shar, Karice, and Kim saunter through the door before I take my first bite. They pause, scanning the room, and then Shar finds me. She sets the pace, eye-locking me and strolling slow toward the breakfast line. Karice and Kim flank her, one behind each shoulder.
I’ve settled arguments and ended grudges in the wooded parts of parks or behind the temporary buildings at school. I’ve done fine, thank you, both by myself and backed by Joya. I’m tall and strong and mean. But this? This is a pack. I have to go in smart or it will end very, very badly. They have hyena faces, chins down, eyes bright with heat over smiles so wide I see their red tongues.
I look back, very serious and calm. If a pack smells fear, they come in faster and harder. I don’t even blink, not even when Shar pauses, breaking stride to run her tongue over her bottom lip. She’s got a wide mouth with a host of big, white teeth all snaggled in it.
I lean toward her, show her all my teeth in answer. I am not going to be a punching bag for bitches until my mother comes. It isn’t in my nature.
I see Candace scuttling with her tray right past me, head ducked down, heading for her regular table. So much for last night’s There, nows. Once she sits, she gives me the side-eye, folding a tissue-thin strip of bacon into her mouth, accordion style.
After the pack sits down, I’ll let them eat most of their food. Then I’ll leave, making sure to pass right by their table. If they don’t follow, I’ll cast some shade to spark them up and after me. I will lead them down into the basement of this building. There’s a hallway after the stairs, leading past unfinished storage to the laundry. It’s long and narrow, so they can’t surround me. I’ll retreat down it, try to knock one of them all the way out of the fight before we get to the laundry room. I can make a final stand there, between the shelves and the big machines. Even if I lose, I have to hurt them enough to kill their thirst for repetition.
I know my plan, but I am not prepared for theirs; Shar swerves, bypassing the line to come straight at me. Kim and Karice wheel with her, holding the formation. I feel my spine elongating. I sit tall in my seat. Shar pulls back Joya’s old chair and sinks down into it, her two lieutenants standing behind her, one at each shoulder.
“Good morning,” I say, to Shar and only Shar, as if this fight is one on one. In some real sense, it is.
“How long you think till Joya’s mama go back on that pipe?” Kim says to Karice over Shar’s head. She speaks theatrically, like they don’t see me there, trading the evil eye with Shar across the table.
“Joya be too busy trickin’ herself to worry about that,” Karice says.