Asher gets ahold of Justin’s shoulders and turns him around so he won’t face them.

“What’d you do that for?” Justin says, loud, and Asher shushes him.

“Be quiet,” he says, and starts to say more, but then, all at once, Asher is stumbling sideways and then falls, catching himself with one hand that lands palm-spread-out.

“Daddy!” Justin hollers out. “You okay?”

Asher is hunched over, shaking his head, little beads of sweat standing above his lip.

“It’s alright,” he says, and dusts the grit from his palm. “I just got dizzy a minute.”

Asher climbs onto his bike. He knows it doesn’t make much sense to climb on a bicycle right after a dizzy spell, but they need to get back to the cottage.

“Let’s go,” Asher says, and nods to Justin’s bike so he will get on. “I’ll stay close behind you.”

Their legs pump them up Whitehead, back toward Olivia Street, back to what passes for home.

18

18

While Justin is cannonballing into the pool Asher is searching the kitchen drawers for a box of matches. When his eyes aren’t on Justin, he hears him splash in the water, but he turns back to the front door after every drawer search, checking on the boy.

In the farthest reach of the last drawer, Asher finds matches in a small red box. Galatoire’s New Orleans.

He has managed to gather up three or four dozen cards from the post-office floor and garbage can. He tears them into small strips, watching Justin’s photographed face as he shreds the papers, and stacks them into a large, black ashtray on the porch. He strikes at the flinted side of the matchbox several times and then finally the flame startles to life. Asher shoots a nervous glance at Justin, who is racing back and forth in the pool (always alone—never a child to play with).

Luke, where are you? I’m alone. I need you.

The small squares of the card smolder and he has to keep lighting matches to the pile until they flame into a brilliant orangeness.

“Everything alright, darlin?”

Bell stands with one foot on the step, her eyes alternating between him and the pile of ashen-edged paper in the ashtray. He maneuvers around to stand between Bell and the cards.

“Just mind your own business,” Asher says. He hasn’t even realized he had that kind of rudeness in his mouth. But he says nothing else.

Bell comes closer, then pulls Asher toward her, swallowing him up with her big arms and her muumuu and her scent.