Lousiana Hotshot

come see her— but she wouldn’t get up even for the Reverend Clarence Scruggs, which deeply embarrassed her and scandalized her mother. But she couldn’t do it. Truly couldn’t.
    The thing that finally got her up was the discovery of Aziza Scott’s body in the woods at Algiers Point, buried in a shallow grave. Or more properly, Miz Clara was the thing that got her up. She brought in the
Times-Picayune
and thumped it. “Bless that poor little child’s heart, her mama dead! Bad enough, ya won’t even get up and go see ya own boss in the hospital. Ya can’t be bothered visitin’ a little girl whose mama died a horrible and violent death, the good Lord forgive ya.”
    Miz Clara was right about this one. Even if she had to take Prozac, she had to visit Cassandra.
    She made it without benefit of chemicals, and she was touched by the girl’s reception. As soon as she walked into the crowded living room, Cassandra ran to her, threw her arms around her neck, and held on. Cassandra’s dad thanked her for saving his daughter. Shaneel was there, too, with her mama, a nice woman who seemed to consider her an old friend.
    And so was Pamela. “Girl!” Talba blurted. “You don’t know how worried I was about you.”
    The little redhead looked bewildered.
    Remembering they’d never actually met, Talba introduced herself.
    The girl’s face glowed. “Oh! The woman who saved Cassandra. Let me shake your hand.” While Talba complied, Pammie kept talking, nervously. “I’m a little embarrassed that I disappeared, but you have to understand how freaked out I was. See, Toes called and threatened to kill me if I ratted him out. I didn’t even think— all I wanted was out.” She laughed a sad little laugh. “I wish I was more proud of myself. I found out later I wasn’t the only one— he called Shaneel and Cassandra too.”
    “You did the right thing, little pumpkin head.”
    “I don’t know— I was scared, that’s all. I didn’t even tell my parents— -just took the bus to Millie’s. She’s like my aunt, kind of.” The girl said the last part shyly, as if confessing a secret crush. “You know— Millie the Milliner? She felt bad about freezing you out— she thought she had to do it to protect me.”
    “Well, that clears that up. I thought she had a sudden attack of racism.”
    Pamela was clearly mortified. “Oh, no! She’d die if she thought—”
    “I was just kidding. But one thing puzzles me— your parents said they sent you out of town.”
    The girl looked at the carpet. “I guess they were embarrassed they didn’t know where I was. I did call to say I was okay.”
    Cassandra had stood by during the conversation, listening mutely, wearing a slightly dazed expression but conveying as well an aura of urgency, as if she had something on her mind. Talba bided her time till she could get the girl aside. When it was finally accomplished, Cassandra said, “I thought about you a lot— about what you did, how you saved me and Tony.”
    Talba was embarrassed, but Cassandra was even more so. She kept talking, fast. “I wanted to… well, I wanted to…I can’t say it. I thought you were really great, and so I did something really weird. I wrote a poem.”
    Talba was so bowled over by this revelation that she could only repeat the words: “You wrote a poem?”
    The girl nodded. “Uh-huh. About my mom. About what she meant to me. Maybe when… when this is all over or something, you could take a look at it.”
    Talba said, “Sure. I’d be glad to. I think that’s wonderful, baby.”
    The girl had something else to say. “Is Eddie okay? How’s he doin’?”
    “He’s better.” That was the rumor, anyway.
    “Listen, I…” She was squirming with embarrassment. “Could you tell him it’s okay? I know he did all he could. Could you tell him I know he tried?”
    “Well… sure. But I don’t understand, exactly.”
    The girl closed her eyes and water squeezed out the bottom of each. She could only whisper. “He told me he’d find my mama for me. I know he feels real bad.”
    Talba felt as if someone had sprayed her face with rosewater. She couldn’t believe what the kid had done— how she was handling this thing. The girl seemed to have grown up overnight.
    Talba thought,
She’s doing better than I am,
and felt ashamed. She went home and wrote a poem about the kid who wrote a poem about her mother.
    After that, she didn’t go back to bed except during normal sleeping hours. Somehow