Lousiana Hotshot

deeply it affected you, and we just…” Her hands flew and her perfect red talons were arrowheads. “…that is, we want to accept you for who you are and we’re trying to…”
    Talba set down her wineglass so hard it spilled. “How badly
damaged
I am?”
    She realized she must have spoken loudly. Both Corey and Darryl were staring at her. A pool of silence had fallen at the surrounding tables.
    Corey said, “What’s going on here?”
    “I didn’t mean that. It came out wrong.”
    But Talba knew she was quoting her brother, and the knowledge was balling up in her stomach, as hard as a baseball and about that size.
    Michelle’s face flashed a distress call. “All I meant to say… I know you’ve had a really hard time… even
you
don’t know…”
    “You’re goddam right I don’t know. And why the fuck don’t I?” The little pool of silence had overflowed into every corner of the restaurant. Even the wait staff had frozen. Darryl put a hand on her thigh, but she ignored it. “It makes you feel so damned important to have a secret, doesn’t it? You’re so pitiful. Just
so
insecure with your little half-baked psychological homilies— as you damned well ought to be. Anybody as inadequate as you
should
feel inadequate— and if your pathetic little secret knowledge makes you feel like a real person for once in your pathetic little life…”
    The maître d’ appeared, running. “Everything all right here?”
    Talba would have expected Corey to grovel and snivel. To her surprise, he barked at the man. “Everything’s fine. We won’t be needing your help.” He turned to Michelle. “Leave. Quickly.”
    “
Me?
But Sandra’s the one…”
    “Michelle. Leave. Wait in the car.” She stared at her husband in astonishment, biting her lip, then pushed back her chair and swept out.
    This turn of events was so unexpected that Talba’s anger began to abate, and the restaurant came back into focus. It was as if she’d passed out for a moment. Darryl had risen and put an arm around her, but it was Corey’s face she was staring at. He said, “You okay, little bird?”
    She couldn’t speak to him, only stood and let Darryl steer her out. Corey followed, having apparently made some deal to settle up later with the restaurant. Talba could only imagine what sort of apologies he’d given— “under a strain,” “medication,” something like that.
    She was intensely moved by the way he’d rescued her; and constitutionally unable to face him. Saying nothing, she let Darryl lead her to the car, and bundle her into it. He tried to hold her, but she couldn’t stand being touched, couldn’t even stand to look at him. He started the car.
    “You taking me to the emergency room?” she said.
    “Would you like me to?”
    She shook her head. “No. I want to go home.” Her voice was a watery trickle.
    She didn’t speak again till they’d arrived at Miz Clara’s, and neither did Darryl.
    Her mother met them at the door. “Ohhhh, baby. Oh, my baby. Come on in this minute.”
    Corey had phoned and told the whole sorry story. Talba felt a sudden automatic jet of fury, but humiliation smothered it. She covered her face with her hands. Darryl said, “I think she needs to be alone,” and what happened next was at least as amazing as Corey’s ordering Michelle from the restaurant.
    Miz Clara said, “You take her to her room— will you? In case she needs any help.”
    Even in her stupor, Talba knew that her mother had just given Darryl permission to enter her daughter’s bedroom, indeed to stay with her all night if need be. She was too far into her turtle shell to contemplate the meaning of it.
    She lay down on the bed without even thinking, but Darryl lifted her shoulders, took her by the arms, and pulled her to a sitting position. “You can’t sleep in that.”
    And she had let him take off the African-print jacket, the three silver necklaces, the beaded belt, and, finally, her green dress and bra. He had let her keep her panties, but she wriggled out of them. “I’m cold.”
    He found her a T-shirt to sleep in, and asked her if she wanted him to stay. She shook her head, once again unable to speak. He kissed her forehead and left.
    She heard him talking to Miz Clara, but she was past caring.

Chapter 19
    Her mother woke her as usual: “Who you think you is, Queen of the May?”
    But it was Saturday, and Talba was damned if she was getting up. Miz Clara was gone by the time she got around to