Lousiana Hotshot

June…dry those tears and flap those wings…
    Open that beak and…
    And what? Talba stared at the paper, wondering where on earth this stuff came from.
    Little Bird?
She had no recollection of Corey ever calling her that. And yet it came out so naturally. She focused on her chewing, staring out the window, trying to clear her head.
    A picture came gradually into her mind— of herself, watching television.
Sesame Street
was on. And she was crying. Corey came into the room and left again, perhaps saying something to her.
    Then he came back, wearing some sort of yellow outfit— pajamas? His? Miz Clara’s?— and he’d used something to simulate feathers. Maybe it was the kind of grass that came in Easter baskets… something like that, anyway. And he pretended to be Big Bird, and she laughed.
    And maybe then he took her out to get a po’ boy. That wasn’t part of the memory, if this
was
one, and she had a feeling it was. It was too vivid simply to have popped from whatever mysterious place poems come from.
    How strange,
she thought,
to forget a thing like that.
    And then:
    He was the only father I had.
    Her eyes started to water, taking her by surprise. It wouldn’t have occurred to her in a million years to go all gooey over her yuppie brother.
    With the aid of the Barq’s, she swallowed the last of the sandwich— a good thing, since she felt her throat swelling. She was getting into father territory again, and she hated it. But it was more than that— it was a sense of wonder that so much of her childhood seemed lost— specifically, that whatever tenderness there had been between her and her brother had been allowed to die.
    By me,
she thought.
By me. Corey didn’t do it.
    But in some ways he had, and she understood that, even as she romanticized him. He chose to go snobbish and materialistic and judgmental when he became a doctor. She didn’t do that to him. In spite of it, though, Miz Clara still loved him. Why couldn’t Talba?
    Maybe I do,
she thought.
I guess I still do. I wonder what he knows about our father?
    The last thought, the thought about her father, came tacked on to the rest of it, clear out of left field, and, as with so many things lately, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.
    Probably because they walked on eggshells around each other. She never voluntarily asked him for anything. If Miz Clara needed something other than medical care— where Talba happily bowed to her brother’s expertise— she’d customarily get it herself even if it meant taking some job she hated.
    Like the one at United Oil, which had replaced the rotting stoop and painted the house. The cottage looked like new now, put the others on the block to shame, and Corey had chided her for it— said he didn’t see why she hadn’t asked him for the money.
    She hadn’t said what was on her mind:
You could see what she needed as well as I could.
    And she wondered why she hadn’t.
    She picked up the photos from Shoney’s and found herself pleasantly surprised— not bad at all, though she only had two of the men. Still, she had hopes.
    She strolled into Millie the Milliner’s, happily full of her favorite food, confidently carrying a possible break in the case, happy to be there. She’d put the morning behind her— the rain, the near faux pas of barging in on the prayer breakfast, Eddie’s wrath, and most of all, her shame. She had done a truly bad thing, and she knew it, but she hadn’t thought of it for half an hour. She was looking forward to a little browse through Millie’s, and also to a chat with Millie herself.
    Millie was helping a customer. She was dressed today in purple— flowing purple pants worthy of Talba herself, gorgeous purple top in tie-dyed silk, knee-length lavender jacket. Her
chapeau dujour was
something D’Artagnan would have been proud of, royal purple felt with a luxuriant black feather. Her nails were blood red.
    Talba caught her eye and gave a little wave and a smile, but evidently Millie didn’t see her. Either that or she ignored her, and Talba couldn’t see that. Still, she seemed to be taking a lot of time with her client.
    Another came in, and Millie went right to her, leaving Talba feeling snubbed.
Oh, well,
she thought,
I’m not a paying customer.
She amused herself trying on hats.
    And finally, when the second customer had gone, and they were alone in the shop, Millie disappeared into the back. Something was up.
    Talba followed her, but with care. She