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“Bernice put her name in for Dominic,” said Kit. “He also likes black and curvy.”
“That’s not fair. I’m black!”
“You ain’t curvy.”
“But I wasn’t even offered—”
“Hey, girls!”
Tracina snuck in through the side door, accompanied by her fifteen-year-old brother, Trey. He was
a nice kid, but because of his autism it was difficult for him to play with his peers. Still, Tracina had
begun to make more of an effort to involve him in adult social activities, and sometimes Will let him
help upstairs to keep him busy, when coloring books stopped working.
“Who likes curvy black girls?” she asked. “’Cause that’s all I am, just a big ol’ curve!”
“New bartender at Maison I got my eye on,” Angela said. “Did you two walk here?”
“Yup, Trey was my big helper. Baby, go play with Boots. Girls gotta talk.”
Angela patted around on top of the fridge. “Here’s the remote for the TV,” she said, tossing it to
Trey. “You remember how to use it, right?”
He nodded and headed to the bedroom, then Angela launched into big-sister mode.
“You’re gonna have a baby in less than three weeks and you walked here? Will’s gonna get a kick
right in the middle of his skinny white ass.”
“I told him I wanted to walk. And Trey needs more exercise too. Will knows to pick us up—and all
the presents,” she said, shaking her behind in joy.
I watched the three of them, Kit, Angela and Tracina, gauging their level of intimacy. Did Tracina
know about S.E.C.R.E.T., or had they kept it from her? It was impossible to tell.
Tracina offered a wan “Hey, Cassie” over her shoulder, followed by “Will’s niece Claire’s
working out, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, Will lucked out with her,” I said, arranging baby carrots on a veggie tray.
“No, we lucked out. Me and you,” she added. “She’s gonna babysit for me, and work your night
shifts. Let the young’uns take over is what I say. Dell should just pull up a stool at the cash register
and call it a day. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to lift a finger in the new place. I don’t want to wait
tables ever again. All I want to do is make the schedule, sample the menu and taste the wine.”
Had Will told Tracina that he’d offered me the manager job? Did it matter? She’d find out sooner
or later, and hopefully when she’d be too blissed-out over her baby to care.
The rest of the guests began to arrive, including Dell, who wore her pale yellow church hat and
matching gloves. Tracina carefully navigated the small room, passing out punch, frequently coming
perilously close to toppling Angela’s vases and framed photos with her belly. Angela abided by
Tracina’s only request—“no stupid shower games”—but she was forced to wear the bows from every
gift on a paper plate hat. Maybe because the room erupted into laughter over the last of the gifts—a
set of Luna beads from Kit for “post- pregnancy fitness”— no one heard the knock at the door. Even I,
sitting right next to it, didn’t hear it until it became so insistent I finally got up to answer.
Standing there was a stony-faced Will, and he was not alone. Next to him was Carruthers Johnstone
himself, who’d just won re-election as the D.A. of Orleans Parish. Something told me he wasn’t here
to thank his constituents. I took a step back as though whatever ire now possessing the two men was
catchy.
Tracina’s face was grim—grey even. She was sitting in her silly “chair of honor,” wearing a now
terribly ridiculous hat covered in festive bows, holding a set of ebony Luna beads in her hand.
“Tracina, everyone, I’m sorry to barge in on you all like this,” Carruthers said, not sounding like a
politician at all, but like a broken man. “I saw you walking down the street and I’ve been circling the