The Sisters of Glass Ferry. Kim Michele Richardson

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      Flannery figured Hollis would try to pinch off the pair’s date time by loitering in the school parking lot, smoking, drinking with the other troublemakers who didn’t get approved by Miss Little until she’d open the gymnasium door and spot them and threaten Bible study for the rotten lot.

      Hollis snapped off a bough and dropped it. She wanted to kick him, shove him away from the weeping willow, and yell at him for stealing the life of the tree.

      There was something about him killing the leaves that just lit her nerves. She loved the old willow that she and Patsy and Honey Bee’d planted long ago. They’d found a sapling along the Kentucky banks a decade ago, and together dug it up and planted the tiny life here by the house. Honey Bee’d built a little wooden enclosure around it to protect its tender bark from deer, leaving the fencing up until the branches were high enough that the critters could no longer nibble on them and the trunk thickened.

      Honey Bee’d declared it a fine kissing tree, maybe even a proper hitching spot for his daughters, and had pecked Mama’s, Flannery’s, and Patsy’s cheeks with light kisses.

      Flannery hated Hollis Henry yanking on it like that, groping it the way she’d seen him do the girls at school when the teachers weren’t looking.

      Flannery knew Patsy felt it too, knew the tree was special to both of them. When they were little, the two had played under the branches, dressed up in Mama’s dresses, church heels, and made daisy chains to wear in their hair, pretending they were princesses marrying handsome princes, Patsy’s favorite game.

      Honey Bee had joined them, hunkering low to the grass, sneaking toward them, hopping like a frog, croaking, “Who wants to marry Mr. Toad?” They squealed and ran, and he caught them, pronouncing them each Mrs. Toad, leaving them all tangled on the grass, rolling, laughing in each other’s arms.

      The two pretend princes standing before Flannery today were toads.

      Hollis threw down a wad of crumpled leaves and murmured an obligatory “Yeah, sure would’ve been swell if we both could’ve gone. If only I didn’t have that damn detention on my back, we could’ve,” but looking at Patsy in a way that only Danny should be looking.

      Liar, Flannery thought. You asked Violet Perry first. Patsy must’ve read her mind, because she pinked a little and looked down at the ground.

      “Least I get to take ’em. Stick around some until old bat Little runs me off,” Hollis said.

      Danny laughed. “Better not, big brother. Ol’ Little catches you, you’ll be reading the Good Word for a mess of weeks to come—four weeks to come, maybe more.”

      “Gee, then I’ll be trapped hanging with the old folks forever, not just this evening,” Hollis pouted. “Oh well, least I’m not stuck playing Cinderella to the royalty tonight. Dishing out ice cream and all those fun treats.” He swallowed a snicker. “Gonna have me some fun.”

      Flannery’s nerves itched a little more. She could sense a meanness, a cruelty of sorts in Hollis that had rooted years ago. He was “the disgusting part of a person” as her daddy would put it about bad folks. Flannery couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the man Hollis was growing into.

      “Going to be a blast.” Danny grinned.

      “Nifty,” Patsy piped, then opened her little clutch and pulled out the compact of pressed powder to check her lipstick and eyeliner, sweep the thin velvet puff across her button nose.

      Last Christmas, Flannery had saved to buy Patsy the gold-tone compact. She’d worked it out with Mama to secretly drive her to Purcell’s in Lexington. Flannery’d spent her whole paycheck on the elegant compact with its filigree and inlaid rhinestone clasp.

      For Flannery’s present, Patsy had tossed her a stale Chicken Dinner candy bar Danny’d given her months before.

      Flannery dug into the apron pocket of the blue gingham-print uniform for her soda jerk cap. “I better hurry ’fore Chubby Ray has a hissy. Have fun.” She waved a lame cheer with the paper-cloth hat.

      Hollis stepped forward, pulling a stink of grass and woodsy cologne he’d pilfered from his daddy’s medicine cabinet. Flannery smelled the drink on him before his words cut the air.

      “We’re going to Chubby’s for treats before the prom,” he said. “You can ride with us, peaches. Snug beside me.” Hollis patted the side of his leg. “Ain’t that right, Danny?”

      Danny, who had been chugging on something that looked a lot like whiskey-brown water in a 7UP bottle, lifted the glass neck to his lips in agreement.

      “It’ll be swell. C’mon on, peaches,” Hollis urged.

      Patsy’s cheeks colored, and she shifted her leg, silenced Hollis with a cold eye.

      Flannery stepped back and pulled Patsy to the side, whispered, “Those boys are getting pie-eyed—”

      “Don’t make a fuss and don’t tattle to Mama. Don’t, tadpole. Please,” Patsy hushed.

      “They’re getting sauced, and you know it, Patsy—”

      Patsy put a finger to her lips and grabbed her sister’s arm, turning her around and out of the path of the boys’ nosy glances.

      “I don’t like this one bit,” Flannery said.

      “Please don’t,” Patsy said, pulling Flannery into the sheaves of satin and netted tulle under yards of petticoat trappings that scratched out her echoing pleas. “I have to go tonight; please, it’s important.” Patsy fidgeted with the heirloom pearls collaring her slender neck.

      Flannery pushed her off, popped a worried look over to the Henrys. “Mama’ll have both our hides if you go off with those boys like that,” she said, though she knew Mama never had an angry hand for such harsh matters. But Honey Bee had and would take a switch and light your tail in a short Kentucky second if you showed yourself or shamed your family in the slightest.

      “It’s not my fault Carol Jean got sick!” Patsy swept her fingers under the pearls and scratched the small, rising bumps she got whenever she was upset. The boys stood back watching.

      Clutching the bottle to his frumpy tuxedo, Danny pretended to inspect his trousers and black dress shoes, run a hand through his light brown locks. Hollis leaned against his shiny red Mercury, holding his silver flask, brooding over something.

      “You can’t go off with them like that,” Flannery insisted.

      “I’m going,” Patsy declared.

      “You know how Mama feels about liquor. Don’t get into that automobile,” Flannery warned.

      Patsy raised her chin.

      Flannery gripped her arm, and Patsy jerked away. Flannery tried to yank her back, missed her arm, but caught her shoulder and neck.

      Patsy kicked Flannery’s shin hard enough to make her let go, and then ran over to the Mercury, hopped into the backseat, and slammed the door.

      Danny and Hollis jumped in after Patsy.

      Flannery stooped over and rubbed her leg and saw СКАЧАТЬ