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“As if.” Davis drained the scotch in his glass and poured himself another tumbler full. He took a long drink, smacked his lips, and drank again.
Pokey reached over and took the glass out of his hand. “Listen to me, Davis. We’re serious. Jax was prepared to pay the family thirty million for Quixie. You own a quarter interest. Pete and I want to buy you out. We’ll pay you seven and a half million cash. You take the money, go do whatever you want to do. Buy that house on Figure Eight Island, take a job with Jax Snax, or whatever. Or just sit back and count your money. But you walk away from the company. And you drop your challenge to Dad’s trust agreement.”
Davis got up and walked over to one of the gleaming ebonized kitchen cupboards. He got himself another tumbler, grabbed the Dewar’s bottle, and poured himself another dose. He leaned up against the black granite countertop. “What if I don’t take your offer? What if I decide to stay around and fight?”
“You’ll lose,” Pokey said, her chin jutting out. “And in the process, you will have antagonized everybody in this town. You will have trashed Daddy’s good name, and you will have estranged yourself from your entire family. Including Mama.”
“Mama…” he started to say.
“Mama is feeling hurt and betrayed right now, finding out about Sophie the way she did. Although I’m not really certain she didn’t suspect all along that she wasn’t Mason’s child. She’ll get over it, eventually. And when she does, she will not want that piece of news broadcast all over some lawsuit and the Bayless family name dragged through the mud. And you had better believe she would never, ever, forgive you for the way you betrayed Mason by sleeping by Celia.”
Davis jiggled the ice in his glass and smirked. “All of y’all are go
“And why is that?” Pokey asked.
He chewed on the ice for a moment before answering. “What would you say if I told you we’re together now?”
“You and Celia? Is this a rhetorical question, or is this your ass-backward way of telling me the two of you are an item?”
He shrugged. “It was probably inevitable. We both tried to pretend we weren’t attracted to each other, but hell, it is what it is.”
Pokey shuddered. “What it is is grotesque, Davis. The two of you together? It’s a bad reality show on a third-rate cable cha
“You just said you’d never tell Mason,” Davis pointed out.
“I wouldn’t. But if Mama were to find out…” Pokey shrugged. “You know what Passcoe’s like. It’s a small town.”
“It’s a shithole,” Davis muttered into his scotch. “A two-horse, two-traffic-light shithole.”
“All the more reason you should take the money and run,” Pokey suggested. “Delta’s ready when you are.”
“Maybe I will,” Davis said. “Tell Pete to give me a call in the morning, if he’s serious.”
“No need to talk to Pete,” Pokey said. “I handle all our family finances. I’ll have our lawyer draw up an agreement, and I’ll send it over to you in the morning.”
52
The kitchen table was set with placemats and blue and white checked napkins and blue glass water goblets. A perky bouquet of daisies in a red bowl sat in the center of the table, and tall white taper candles burned from blue glass candleholders.
Mason stood at the stove, long-handled fork poised over a cast-iron skillet full of frying chicken, while A
Sophie came clomping into the kitchen and her eyes widened. She was wearing a pink ballet tutu over her purple pajamas and pink cowboy boots. “Are we having a party?” She climbed up on the stool beside A
“Yep,” Mason said. “It’s a Friday-night party. And you’re invited.”
“Who else?” Sophie asked, noticing that the table was set for three.
“Just us,” Mason said. “It’s a very exclusive gathering. We used to have Friday-night parties a lot when I was your age, Soph. It was the only time my daddy ever cooked. And he only knew how to cook one thing, so we always had fried chicken.”
“I don’t like fried chicken,” Sophie said, her eyes sparkling behind the thick glasses. “I love it!”
“Me, too,” A
“For me?” Sophie looked puzzled.
“It’s a kiddie cocktail,” A
“Mmm,” Sophie took a delicate sip. “Am I allowed to have Quixie?”
“In very small amounts,” Mason said. “For very special occasions. Like tonight.”
A
Sophie picked up her crayons now and began to draw on the sheaf of printer paper she’d borrowed from Mason’s office.
“Whatcha drawing?” A
“I’m ill-luss-stra-ting,” Sophie said proudly, drawing out the word. “Miss Ramona lets us make new illustrations for books in school. This is my homework. I’m illustrating The Runaway Bu
The child’s pink glasses slipped down her nose as she bent over her picture, painstakingly drawing a very small bu
“Then allow me,” A
“Once there was a little bu
Mason flipped the pieces of chicken over in the pan and covered it loosely with the lid. He stepped behind A
Sophie poked out the tip of her tongue as she concentrated on drawing the rabbit’s ears. “I would never run away from my mama, if I was the little bu
“Even if it was just a game, like hide-and-seek, like we play sometimes?” Mason asked.
“No,” Sophie said solemnly. “If I had a mama, I would never, ever run away.”
A
Sophie continued coloring, using a gray crayon to draw a lumpy version of the rabbit’s body. “My real mama’s name is Kristy. She lives in Florida now, and she loved me a lot, but she couldn’t take care of me, so she asked my daddy to take care of me.” Her voice was singsongy, but matter-of-fact.
“You’re killin’ me here,” Mason muttered. “You know, Sophie, when you came here to live with me, I decided I would be your daddy and your mama for a while. Then I asked Letha if she would come and help take care of you while I’m working. And your aunt Pokey helped out, too, and also A
Sophie looked up at him thoughtfully. “The runaway bu