“ ‘Yeah, I have plenty money,’ I said. I reached into my pockets and took out the thousand dollars I’d taken out of the kitchen petty cash box. She was appropriately flabbergasted. She took it with her left hand and shoved it in a pocket under the covers. Or just under the covers.

“The baby was miraculous. I had never seen one so tiny, so nearly newborn. Its little wrinkly new hands were marvelous. It already had a head of dark wispy hair. My heart went out to it.

“ ‘Brittany, hurry up with that grits,’ said the woman, ‘and go get those kids, I’m going to need you to walk into town and get some groceries.’ She looked up at me. ‘You want some breakfast? This child cooks the best breakfast. Brittany, put on the bacon. Go get those kids.’

“ ‘I’ll take her into town,’ I said. ‘Where’s Tommy?’

“ ‘Out in the woods,’ she said in a sardonic tone. ‘Like he always is. Reading a picture book. I told him if he didn’t take that book back to the store he was going to go to jail. They’re going to come get him. He stole that book. And they knew he did. That woman at the store is as crazy as he is. They’re going to come get him. And they ought to take her to jail too.’

“ ‘Does he have any other books?’ I asked.

“ ‘Who’s got money for books?’ she asked. She was becoming incensed. ‘Look around this place. See that broken window? Look over there. Look real good. See that little girl? She don’t talk. Brittany, give Bethany some grits. What happened to the coffee? Sit down here at the table. Just move that stuff. This child makes the best coffee. I’m telling you, I thank God every day that he sent me Brittany, and he sent her first. Brittany, go get Matthew and Jonas. I done told you twice to do that! This baby’s wet. Hurry up about it. I don’t have money for books. My washing machine’s been broken for two months. Pops never gave me money for books.’

“ ‘All right,’ I told her. ‘I’ll be back.’ I went out into the woods. It wasn’t dense, just the spinally piney woods in these parts where there aren’t many live oaks. I could see this little boy sitting on a log and he was reading.

“He had black curly hair like mine and he was lean yet well proportioned. He had sharp blue eyes when he looked at me. The book was about art. It was open to Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

“The boy had on a dirty polo shirt and jeans, and there was a huge black-and-blue mark on his face and one on his arm. On the back of his left hand was a visible burn.

“ ‘Did Charlie hit you?’ I asked.

“He didn’t answer me.