“I’m really sorry I never got to meet your son,” I said. “I wish you’d called us, let us know when you were here.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t see the point.”

“But you’re family.”

“Yeah?”

The skeptical look she gave me was so like Andrew or A.K. that even if Mother hadn’t made me promise, I’d have had to say it. “Can I tell the rest of the family who you are? Andrew? My daddy?”

She was clearly torn. “I thought I would one of these years, but now... What with Braz and all...”

Tally stubbed out her cigarette and lifted her anguished blue eyes to me. “I don’t want him left by the side of the road somewhere. That’s why I asked your deputy friend to ask you to come. Do you think I could bury him in your family graveyard?”

I leaned over and gave her a hug. “Of course, you can. It’s your family, too. Honest.”

As if things to do with family are ever that easy.

“What about Andrew?” asked the pragmatist.

“Andrew can damn well lump it,” said the preacher.

CHAPTER 6

SATURDAY AFTERNOON (CONTINUED)

I stayed with my arm around Tally till the worst of her sobs eased off, then wet some paper towels with cold water so that she could soothe her reddened eyes.

“Tell me about Braz,” I said. “Why was he killed?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think.” My newfound niece pressed the wet towels to her eyes even as she shook her head in frustration. “Nobody that really knew him would hurt him.” She hesitated, choosing her words with care. “I mean... he’s had his problems. All kids do. And he wasn’t any angel, okay? I know that. I did the best I could, but hell, I was still a kid myself when I had him. If it hadn’t been for Irene Matusik, I’d have probably dropped him on his head the first week.”

“Who’s that?”

“Irene? She and her husband had the doublewide next door to Hartley’s trailer in Gibtown. Maybe you saw him last night? Skee Matusik, okay? She started with the duck pond he’s still running, Had a couple of other hanky panks, too. She loved children, but couldn’t have any on account of her bad heart. All the same, she’s the one showed me how to take care of Braz when he was born. What does a fifteen-year-old know about being a good mother if you had a tramp for your role model?”

I started to protest, but she brushed away my words with an impatient wave of her hand.

“You think I don’t know why Andrew Knott claims I’m not his? With my grandpa yammering at me how she was the whore of Colleton County? Maybe your brother’s right. Maybe I’m not any kin to you.”

“With those eyes? That mouth? What’s your real hair color?”

“Dirty blond. Even duller than yours,” she said with the same tell-it-like-it-is bluntness of some of my younger brothers.