PI On A Hot Tin Roof

spotted nose into all the corners, making sure all the smells were kosher—no lions or goats in the vicinity. “We’ll see,” Darryl said. “We’ll see.” And then he sneezed.
    “Uh-oh,” Talba said, but Raisa didn’t notice. Her attention was so thoroughly fixed on the kitten that Talba and Darryl were able to whisper unnoticed.
    “I didn’t know she was going to be here—I was just going to try it out on you.”
    “It might be okay—I’m only allergic to some cats.”
    “Omigod, I’m sorry!”
    “Maybe it could live outside.”
    But Raisa heard that one, and had her own opinion: “No!”
    Darryl busied himself making dinner, apparently not ready to deal with it. Meanwhile, Raisa asked for its provenance (though not exactly in those words) and Talba told the story of finding it starving at the marina and luring it home with shrimp. And its name—Gumbo.
    Raisa asked, “Do I have to call it that?”
    “No, you can name it anything you want.”
    “Gumbo!” she said. “I love that name.” She was in heaven. Darryl was sniffling. She fixed up the cat box, and fed the little beast, and then took Talba and Gumbo into her room to see her Mardi Gras Indian tape. It was the first time Talba had ever been invited in.
    By the time Darryl called them to dinner, they were a happy family unit for the first time ever—except that Darryl’s eyes were getting redder and redder.
    Raisa was alarmed. “Daddy, what’s wrong? Are you crying?”
    “Honey, I’ve got a little bad news.”
    “Is that why you’re crying?”
    “Sort of. Gumbo is making me cry. I’m allergic to him.”
    “Her,” Talba said automatically. “All calicos are female.” She hadn’t bothered to mention this to Royce.
    “Oh, Daddy, she’s a girl cat!” Raisa’s face was a montage of pleading and disappointment.
    Darryl patted her. “Honey, we’ll try to work with it. Could we put her in your room for now?”
    Raisa did that, and Darryl got up to get an allergy pill, but even as they ate, Raisa chattering, uncharacteristically happy throughout the meal, his face continued to swell.
    Having finally exhausted the subject of the wondrous thing that had come into her life, Raisa moved on. “Hey, Talba, have you seen the tape Lucy took at the Bacchus party?”
    Darryl and Talba looked at each other, silently deciding to ignore the elephant in the room. “Haven’t had a chance yet,” Talba said.
    “Is it okay for me to have a white friend, Daddy? I really like Lucy. Could I see her again?”
    “Sure you can have a white friend, if Lucy’s willing. But that’s kind of up to Lucy right now.”
    “Good. I already know she likes me. She called me her precious little angel. Can’t we call her, Daddy? Talba, you could call her.”
    Again, the exchange of glances. Finally, Talba said, “Honey, Lucy’s kind of going through a hard time right now. Something bad happened to her daddy.”
    “Her daddy? What happened to her daddy?” Raisa looked anxiously at Darryl, as if she’d never considered that anything bad could ever happen to a daddy, even though something bad was happening to hers right now.
    Suddenly Darryl made a decision. Before Talba could speak, he said, “Sweetie pie, let’s not talk about it right now.” And Talba doubted the girls would ever get together again. Darryl would probably do anything to protect his daughter from learning about the death of a daddy.
    “But, Daddy, I want to know.”
    On the other hand, he’d also do anything to keep her from going into a full-on pout. “When you’re old enough, baby doll. How was school today?”
    Lame,
Talba thought. No kid was going to fall for that.
    But Raisa bit—for once, something unusual had happened. “Kyra’s taking ballet lessons. Do you know what ballet is?”
    “I think I’ve heard of it—something to do with dancing?”
    “Yeah, it is. They wear these really cute skirts and stuff—she showed me pictures of her recedure.”
    Both adults took a moment to ponder. “Recital?” Talba ventured.
    “Yeah! Recital. Hey, Daddy, can I take ballet lessons? I really want to. Can I do it, Daddy?”
    Oh, God, just say yes,
Talba thought.
This kid’s never in her life wanted to do anything but watch television and torture adults—and not in that order.
    “You really want to, huh?”
    “Yeah! I really want to!”
    “Well, what are you going to do for me if I say yes?”
    “I don’t have to do anything for you.” The pout was starting.
    “Yes