Free Dollbaby: A Novel by Laura L McNeal Page A

Fannie drove her car right up to one of the barricades. She flagged down an officer.
    He leaned in and put his elbow on her door. “Why, Fannie. I haven’t seen you out in a while.”
    “What’s going on, Kennedy?” she asked.
    “Another sit-in at the lunch counter.”
    Fannie shook her head. “Another one? Anyone I know in there?”
    “Not at the moment,” he said before he patted the door and walked off toward the commotion.
    “Thank God,” Fannie said.
    As they drove off, Ibby wondered how Fannie knew so many people. Where she was from, everyone kept to themselves. It was true, Fannie had lived in New Orleans for a long time, but it still seemed curious how people like Lucy the duck lady knew Fannie. She was itching to ask Fannie about it, but she kept her mouth shut.
    Rule Number One. Don’t ask Fannie about her past.

Chapter Ten

    B etween arriving yesterday with her father in a jar, Fannie fainting, and her mother and Fannie having words, Ibby didn’t know what to expect the next day when she went down for breakfast. She was pleasantly surprised to find Fannie sitting at the dining room table sipping a Coca-Cola from a bottle and reading the morning paper as if nothing had happened.
    Queenie came out of the kitchen as Ibby took a seat at the table. “Yes, Miss Fannie?”
    “Make Ibby some breakfast, will you please?”
    “Sure enough. What you usually take for breakfast, Miss Ibby?”
    “I usually have cereal,” Ibby replied. “And maybe some Tang?”
    Queenie scrunched up her face. “Tang? You ain’t no astronaut, Miss Ibby. We gone feed you real people food. How about some
pain perdu
with syrup and fresh-squeezed orange juice?”
    “Pan what?” Ibby said.
    “You know.
Pain perdu.
It’s like French toast,” Queenie said.
    Fannie cleared her throat. “Here’s the word of the day, Queenie.
Oxymoron
.”
    “Oxymoron. That’s a right funny-sounding word. What it mean?” Queenie asked, looking over Fannie’s shoulder.
    “It means contradictory words that come together to form anincongruous meaning. For example, ‘a deafening silence’ or ‘even odds.’ ‘Pretty ugly,’ how about that one?”
    “Uh-huh. ‘Pretty ugly,’ I can relate to that one.” Queenie winked, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
    Fannie was now concentrating hard on something else in the newspaper. She squinted between drags of her cigarette. Finally, Fannie put the paper down and stubbed out her cigarette. “How’d you sleep?” Fannie asked.
    “I could have sworn I heard a tiger.” Ibby shrugged. “I must have been dreaming.”
    “No, dear, you weren’t dreaming. The Audubon Zoo’s only a couple of blocks from here.” Fannie pointed behind her. “When the wind blows north toward the lake, you can hear the foghorns from the ships on the Mississippi River and smell the molasses coming from the plant next to Audubon Park.” Fannie leaned in and said in a much lower voice, “And on still nights, over the din of the attic fan, you can sometimes hear the screams from the nuthouse over on Henry Clay Avenue.” Fannie closed one eye as she lit another cigarette. “Found one walking up the street just the other day.”
    “A tiger?” Ibby asked.
    “No, dear, a woman from the nuthouse.”
    “Did they catch her?”
    “I’m not sure.” Fannie smiled ruefully.
    Ibby looked around for the urn she’d left on the table.
    “Something wrong, dear?” Fannie asked.
    “Uh, no ma’am,” Ibby answered, not wanting to upset her. She fiddled with the napkin in her lap, praying that Doll hadn’t disposed of the urn in her haste to calm Fannie down yesterday.
    The kitchen door swung open, and Queenie set a large tray of food on the table. Ibby had never seen so much food—scrambled eggs and bacon, a plate of
pain perdu
drizzled with syrup and powdered sugar, and a bowl full of white mush with yellow liquid floating in the middle of it.
    “What’s that white stuff?” Ibby pointed.
    “Grits, baby. Just