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years. Not
that you would know that.”
    Julie bristled. “You need to lighten up,
little girl. Your sister’s had a bad time of it and she could use
your support.”
    Sarah shot to her feet. “Yeah, well why do I
have to be nice to her when she’s never thought twice about me and
Mama? Went off to that fancy cooking school and forgot all about
us. Now she’s back and thinks we’re supposed to care? Like hell.”
Sarah tossed the remote onto the couch and stalked toward her
bedroom.
    Julie’s dozen or so bracelets clinked as she
popped her hands on her hips again and stared after Sarah. “That
little brat. You want me to go get her and make her apologize?”
    Evie shook her head, even as she swallowed
the lump in her throat. “No, forget it. She didn’t get mad
overnight, and she won’t get un-mad that way either.”
    “Your mama’s been too indulgent with her. She
would’ve paddled your behind for acting that way, no matter how old
you were.”
    “Mama’s busy, Jules. And I doubt Sarah acts
that way toward her. Me, on the other hand…” She sighed. “Maybe if
I had been here, she wouldn’t be so hostile. I can’t really
blame her for not trusting me.”
    Julie snorted. “Don’t kid yourself,
girlfriend. She’s a teenager. Brattiness is practically a
requirement.” Julie tossed her hair over her shoulder and peered up
at Evie. “C’mon, you ready to go get laid? That’ll certainly help
your mood, I promise.”
    Evie laughed, though inside she still stung
from Sarah’s rejection. But there wasn’t much she could do about
it. Even if she stayed here, she’d get nowhere with the kid. Sarah
would hide in her room until Mama came home later. “God no. But
I’ll go out to the lake with you and have a beer or two. Then I’m
coming home. Alone .”
    Julie rolled her eyes. “Your loss. Especially
when Matt Girard shows up.”
    “He’s not coming, Julie.”
    “Bet he does. And when I win, you have to
cook your famous gumbo for me.”
    Evie rolled her eyes. “He won’t.”
    Julie looked smug. “We’ll see…”
    * * *
    Rochambeau Lake had a split personality. One
side—the side with picnic tables, charcoal grills, and a big
pavilion—was clear and calm. But the farther you went across the
lake, moss-draped cypress trees crowded together like shadowy
sentinels and the lake became a bayou. Gators swam deep in the
cypress, down the long winding fingers of murky water that branched
and stretched for miles throughout the parish. Snakes coiled in the
trees overhanging the water, sometimes dropping in on unsuspecting
anglers.
    Evie couldn’t see the people splashing in the
dark, but she heard them laughing. Crazy to go swimming in the
middle of the night, even if it was hot. A flash of murky water and
the black S-curve silhouette of a snake flowing toward her were the
most vivid memories of her last foray into the bayou.
    Evie shuddered. She wasn’t getting into—or
onto—the bayou ever again. She’d never been particularly squeamish,
but that afternoon when the snake had fallen out of the tree and
into the little canoe—which she and Julie then proceeded to
overturn in their panic—had seared itself into her memory.
    Just then, Jimmy Thibodeaux reappeared with a
beer and a wine cooler, and Evie gritted her teeth. So much for
avoiding Jimmy. He’d made a beeline for her the minute they arrived
and he hadn’t let her out of his sight in the fifteen minutes
since. He’d been nothing but polite, however, so she couldn’t
exactly get away from him without being rude.
    And she wasn’t prepared to be rude just yet.
She kept thinking of him pulling a knife on Ginny Temple, but she
didn’t think he was crazy enough to do something like that here
with so many people around. The other guys would tackle him if he
tried it.
    Evie craned her neck, looking for Julie, but
her cousin had slipped into Steve LaValle’s arms and didn’t look as
if she was slipping out again anytime soon. She didn’t