Free Sweet Water by Christina Baker Kline Page B

small white teeth and high cheekbones. She was pretty. She wore berry-colored lipstick, jeans, sandals that revealed berry-colored toenails, and a pink T-shirt. In her free hand she was carrying a foil-covered casserole dish.
    “Hello, Clyde,” she sang through the screen. She couldn’t see me standing in the background. She lifted the casserole and patted the kid’s diaper. “Sorry to make you come running. I got my hands full.” She moved aside for Clyde to let her in. Once in the foyer, she bent down and kissed Clyde’s cheek, tipping the baby forward.
    “Mama,” he said, pushing his stubby finger into Clyde’s chest.
    “She’s your great-grandmama, you know that,” Alice scolded. “I’m your mama.” She straightened up.
    “Alice, this is Cassandra,” Clyde said.
    “Well, hello. Did you just get here? You must be beat.”
    “She’s been sleeping all afternoon,” said Clyde, taking the casse-role from Alice and disappearing into the kitchen. Alice adjusted the kid to her other hip. He was playing with a strand of her hair and talking to himself.
    “What’s your name?” I asked, holding out a finger. He reached for it tentatively and squeezed it, then let go and hid his face in his mother’s hair.
    “He’s not usually shy,” Alice said. “Eric Amory Sommers, be polite and say hello.” She jiggled him a little, but his face stayed buried. “Turned three in June.” She glanced toward the kitchen and lowered her voice. “And just so it doesn’t come up later and embarrass anybody, his daddy and I split up about a year ago. Oh, and Chester too—Horace and Kathy’s oldest? He’s been divorced twice. Clyde’s kind of sensitive about it.”
    I nodded. “I got that idea. Till death do you part.”
    “That’s it,” said Alice. “And at the rate we were going, death probably would’ve parted us pretty soon. Then we would’ve broken another rule in the Bible. You can’t win.” She smiled, and I smiled back. I liked her.
    She stood back and surveyed me. “Now, that’s a nice dress. You look just like anybody. Horace told so many stories about your parents being radicals I thought you might have a ring through your nose or something.”
    As we were talking a car had pulled up out front. “That’s Elaine and Larry. My mother and daddy,” Alice said as a couple got out of the car and started up the walk. “I kinda wish you did have a ring in your nose. It’d give them something new to talk about.”
    Elaine was soft and bosomy, with frosted hair, a thick waist, and long, thin legs. She was wearing a halter-top pantsuit and high-heeled sandals. Larry, coming up behind her, seized my hand with a practiced grip. His skin was leathery, and his eyes were cautious and alert, like a German Shepherd’s. His black, shiny hair was combed back from his forehead.
    “She doesn’t look a thing like her,” said Elaine, pantomiming a hug with me. “Not a thing.”
    “She looks like her granddaddy,” Larry said.
    Elaine took Eric from Alice. “You are too cute,” she cooed. “Alice Marie, the turkey and everything’s in the trunk. I was afraid to even try in these heels, and your daddy’s back is hurting again.”
    “You know I hate it when you call me that, Mother.”
    “Well, then,
Alice.
My, we’re awfully sensitive today. And in front of our guest.” She smiled thinly at me.
    “Let me have the keys, Dad,” Alice said.
    I offered to help, and we walked down to the big pink Cadillac with a Mary Kay sticker in the back window. “Mother sells that crap,” said Alice. “She’s good at it.” She opened the trunk and began to load me up with Tupperware and Pyrex dishes. While we were standing there a minivan turned onto Red Pond Road and pulled up behind the Cadillac. “It’s really too bad you’re so damn presentable,” Alice said again, slamming the trunk. “I’d just
love
for you to shake them all up a little bit.”
    “Hello, cousin.” A round-faced, beaming man strode