But that was another day’s work. Right then she was hungry, and she hadn’t even thought about bringing groceries with her. She wandered into a country kitchen with cabinets making a U on three sides and a small maple table and four chairs set right in the middle. A picture of her, back when she was ten, was stuck to the front of the refrigerator. It had to have been taken that summer when she showed Raylen up by staying on the top of the fence longer than he did. There was only one more photo, but this one was framed and sitting on the window ledge above the sink. She was fourteen in that one. Those were the only two times her mother let her spend the day at Uncle Haskell’s place.

She remembered her short, stocky uncle inviting her for the day and her mother shaking her head.

“What can it hurt, Marva Jo? She just wants to see my new puppy. His name is Hooter, and he loves little kids,” Haskell had said. “Come on. I promise not to put fertilizer on her feet.”

On the way to his house, she’d asked him why he’d want to put fertilizer on her feet. “It’s a joke, Lizelle. Your mama is afraid if you see how I live that you’ll like it.”

Later, when she was older, her mother had admitted that she had seriously never wanted her to get acquainted with the way the other side of her family lived, for fear she’d want that instead of the carnie life.

“We were all born into the same family. All grew up in the carnival. But Haskell, the one who is supposed to be running this business, wanted roots. I don’t want that for you, my child. I want freedom and wings for you. And I’ve been afraid you’d get more of his DNA than mine—that you’d want the other side’s life. He is like Mama. She stayed with the carnival because she loved Daddy, but she always liked it best when we settled down for the winter months and were in one spot,” Marva Jo had said.

Liz’s stomach grumbled and she forgot about the pictures of her young self and looked inside the refrigerator again. It was empty except for a chunk of cheddar cheese and the half empty pitcher of sweet tea. She found half a loaf of bread still within its date on the cabinet. She opened a pantry door to find a walk-in room with loaded shelves on three sides. Supper would be soup and cheese, and soon, because she was starving. She’d left Jefferson, Texas, that morning with butterflies the size of dragons in her stomach, so she’d skipped lunch.

She heated a can of vegetable soup, leaned against the counter, and let the scene from two days ago replay in her mind. Her mother had come into the trailer late and opened a can of beer. She’d propped a hip against the cabinet in the tiny kitchen and took a long gulp as she watched Liz remove her fortune-teller’s makeup.