Part 11 (1/2)

That's it. I'm sick of her c.r.a.p. Tossing my rag on the counter, I race though the swinging kitchen door to the living room. ”What's going on?”

The scent of Taneea's spicy perfume smacks me in the face. It's especially strong, as if she just sprayed it on. Today she's wearing a skintight, black and white zebra-striped tank with a chunky belt over black capri leggings. Her neck is dripping with beaded necklaces and her arms are covered with bangles. But she seems especially protective of the quilted, white leather handbag that's slung over her shoulder, its handle gripped in her curled hand. An alligator-foot key chain dangles from one of the gold loops that connects the straps to the bag.

Taneea's upper lip curls as she takes me in, then tucks the key chain into the body of the bag. ”Ugh. Why don't you go back into the kitchen where you belong?” Only it's not really a question. From her repulsed expression it's clear she wishes I'd go a lot farther away than the next room. Like maybe Australia. But I'm not going anywhere except to plop on the couch to monitor their confrontation.

”I'll ask you again. Where did you get that?” Miss Delia's narrowed gaze zeroes in on the bag.

”In Chicago. Before I came here.” Taneea's eyes s.h.i.+ft down and off to the side.

Miss Delia crosses her arms. ”Do I look stupid?”

Taneea's eyes flicker with light and for an instant she looks as if she might answer the rhetorical question, but sanity must take over because she keeps her mouth shut.

”Smart girl,” Miss Delia says, and then leans forward in her chair. ”Don't think for a second I don't know what comes in and out of this house. Now, this time I'd like the truth. Where did you get that bag?”

”On Hilton Head.” Taneea's eyes drop to her patent-leather peep-toe shoes. ”In a boutique.”

Miss Delia's eyebrows shoot up as she grips the arms of her chair. ”How did you pay for it?”

Taneea's jaw juts forward. ”With a credit card.”

”You don't have one.”

”Yes I do. My mother gave me one.”

”She gave it to me. For emergencies. And so far we haven't had any.”

Taneea shrugs, but her eyes blaze with anger. ”Why does it matter whose card I used? It's my bag, and it's not returnable.”

”It matters very much. Regardless of who you grow up to be or how rich or poor you are, your character and integrity are all you'll ever have in this world, the only things you truly earn for yourself. Whether you stole your maamy's card or got someone else to buy that ugly bag for you, they're shortcuts to getting what you want. You won't appreciate-or deserve-that bag until you can earn it yourself.”

Taneea rolls her eyes. ”Please, spare me the public service announcement. Not everyone can be Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes like Emma over there.” She tosses me a hateful glare, lingering over my cotton shorts and V-neck T-s.h.i.+rt.

Though I know it's dumb, I suddenly feel underdressed. And completely inadequate. Which only propels me to speak before I think. ”Hey, don't be mad at me. It's not my fault you bought a hideous bag.”

”The fact that you think this bag is hideous proves how little you know about fas.h.i.+on.” She forces a condescending laugh as she strokes the gold chains hanging off her new purse.

I want to tell her exactly where she can shove that fugly purse of hers and her equally grotesque key fob. I don't care what she says, she's the one with a hunk of dead alligator dangling from her handbag. If hauling around a piece of a carca.s.s is fas.h.i.+on, then I guess that ends my dream of walking the catwalk. Not.

She leans toward me, a smug expression on her lips. ”Don't worry. Soon I'll have plenty of money to buy a hundred more just like it.”

Miss Delia crosses her arms. ”Really? And how are you going to manage that?”

Taneea smirks. ”I stopped by the King Center today. That Claude guy gave me a job as his personal a.s.sistant.”

Chapter Thirteen.

Miss Delia's eyes narrow. ”Claude Corbeau did what?”

Taneea s.h.i.+fts her weight and pops her hip to the side. ”Gave me a job. So I can earn enough money to buy a ticket back to Chicago and get out of this prison.”

”What makes you think your maamy's going to have you back?” Miss Delia asks.

”If she doesn't, I'll go somewhere else. It's not like I want to live with her lame husband anyway. Maybe I'll go back to Kansas City and try living with my real dad again.”

Miss Delia sighs. ”Child, no matter where you go, you'll never settle anywhere until you're settled on the inside.”

Taneea rolls her eyes. ”G.o.d, don't you ever get sick of hearing yourself talk? Seriously, who do you think you are? Some kind of Gullah Yoda?”

Miss Delia turns to me, her brow crinkled. ”Yo who?”

I shake my head. ”Never mind. It's a movie thing.” Then I level my evil eye on Taneea. ”Nice way to talk to the only person who'd take you in.”

”Just because you suck her b.u.t.t doesn't mean I have to.”

Miss Delia throws up her liver-spotted hands. ”Enough bickering.” She points her crooked finger at Taneea. ”You want to get a job, I won't stand in your way. But I don't like the idea of you working for Mr. Corbeau.”

”Why not?” Taneea asks.

I'm so sick of her and her c.r.a.p, I can't stay quiet. ”Um, h.e.l.lo? Don't you remember his little visit here? He basically accused your great-grandmother of doing something shady with her donation.”

Taneea smirks, causing the diamond stud above her lip to glint in the light. ”Accusations don't mean anything unless they're true.”

”I didn't do anything I need to explain or justify to you.” Miss Delia's voice is deep and stern.

Taneea hoists her bag farther up her shoulder. ”Then you shouldn't care if I work for him. By the way, I start tomorrow.”

Heavy footsteps clomp up the walkway leading to the front of the house. A second later Jack and Cooper trudge up the porch steps. They must be finished in the backyard. Cooper wipes his work boots on the mat before opening the screen door. Jack follows and does the same.

Whoa. The air fills with the pungent scent of their hard work and sweat. It stinks but at least it's overpowered Taneea's heavy perfume.

Cooper removes his baseball cap, then folds it in half and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans. ”We cleared as much of a path as we could for you, Miss Delia. You should be able to roll your wheelchair back there now, but I still think we ought to lay another stone path for you. I'm afraid you're going to get stuck in the gra.s.s.”

She waves away his concern. ”I'll be fine. Besides, I don't have much need to go back there anyway. Maybe just one or two trips. Emma can handle the bulk of what needs doing out there from now on.”

Jack collapses on the couch next to me and drapes his arm around my shoulder, unleas.h.i.+ng the full brunt of his armpit stench. I catch my breath and jerk out of his grasp. ”Gross!” I push him, unfortunately laying my hands on his soggy s.h.i.+rt. ”And get off the sofa, you're going to make the fabric reek too.”

”What? You don't like Eau de Man?” Jack laughs as he flexes his muscles.

I choke on the odor that's so strong I can almost taste it. ”Not really.”

Miss Delia levels her gaze at him. ”Neither do I. Get up.”