PI On A Hot Tin Roof

doing to the family. She’d almost been tempted to offer to clean it one last time. But not quite.
    It took a long time for Lucy to return, but when she did, she’d changed into torn jeans and a skimpy T-shirt in a startling chartreuse. She served the tea on a silver tray that also held a manila folder, and picked up her package. Staring at the book, she looked puzzled.
“Life of Pi?
It isn’t about math, is it?”
    Talba smiled. “Nope. It’s not like any book you’ve ever read. You like animals, right?”
    “Sure. You already know I’d kill for a pet. Not even a dog. Just one little kitty-cat.”
    “Well, check the cover art.” It showed sixteen-year-old Pi in the lifeboat he shared with his friend and enemy, Richard Parker.
    “Is that a
tiger?”
    “Uh-huh. Be careful what you wish for. See that kid? He spends nearly a year in that boat with his little kitty-cat there.”
    She turned up her nose. “Oh. A fantasy. I hate fantasy.”
    “No, it’s not. It’s so realistic it’ll curl your hair. It’s all about animals—and survival. You like metaphor, right? It’s like one big prose poem about your life.”
    “My life, or anyone’s life?”
    Talba felt smug. “Read it and see if you identify with it.”
    The kid put down the book. “Whatever.”
    “So. How’re you doing?”
    Lucy didn’t answer immediately. She stirred her tea a lot longer than she needed to. “Well, at first I was afraid no one at school would speak to me because they thought my dad was crooked. Now they’re avoiding me because they don’t know what to say. And they feel sorry for me.” She spoke matter-of-factly, in that straightforward way children have of avoiding pain. Talba almost wished adults could do it. Lucy smiled. “I kind of think I’d rather be in a boat with a tiger.”
    “Baby, I’m sorry.” Talba pointed to the book. “Just get in that boat with that tiger. You’ve heard of escapism? That’s why God made books.”
    “The goddess.”
    “Oh, right. You’re a pagan.”
    The girl’s eyes widened. “How did you know that? I mean, I know you’re one—you put witch stuff in your poem. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you—because we have that in common.”
    Talba laughed. “I hate to disappoint you, but my mama says I’m a Baptist and I let her get away with it sometimes. But I know about pagans and I know you’re one because nobody has secrets from the housekeeper.” Instantly, she regretted the last part.
    “Well, not from you, anyhow.” Lucy’s tone had turned sullen.
    “If that’s a secret, it stays right here.” She tapped her chest.
    “You sure? I mean, I’m not going to read a headline that says, DEAD JUDGE’S DAUGHTER CAUGHT IN SATANIC RITES?”
    “Give me a little credit, okay? I didn’t see anything Satanic in your room. Just nice girly witch stuff.”
    “Girly! Jesus!”
    It seemed to Talba nothing she could say was right. “Look, I know how powerful magic is. I come from the ethnic group that brought you voodoo, remember?”
    “Voudoun.”
    Talba decided to ignore that one. “But Wicca’s warm and fuzzy, besides being powerful, right? Who’s the goddess if not your mama?”
    “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
    “Uh-uh. I’m just smarter than most adults.”
    Finally, the kid cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t take much.”
    “I was kidding, okay? No flies on your grandma.”
    “Naah. She’s just kind of a bitch.”
    Even in her current kid-friendly mode, Talba knew she couldn’t let that one go by. “She’s a pretty nice lady, actually. And you know it.”
    “She’s a racist!”
    It was on Talba’s lips to say, “And your dad wasn’t?” but she let it go. Instead, she said, “She’s just kind of old-fashioned. And aside from the goddess, she’s the closest thing you’ve got to a mama.”
    “Lucky me.”
    Talba shrugged. “Hey, you could be on the open sea with a tiger.”
    “Sign me up.”
    It was moments like this that made Talba think Darryl was a hero. She’d be in a straitjacket if she had to teach high school. “So,” she said. “The poem.”
    “Oh, forget about it. You’ll probably just think it’s stupid.”
    The kid was still in a lousy mood, but at least now they were on Talba’s territory. She straightened her spine and began to lecture. “Let me tell you something you may not know. Writing is all about people thinking you’re stupid—or being afraid they will. Nobody ever wrote a word and