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laughing and jostling each other like overgrown puppies. “He’d only just got the thing. I guess Beth said he paid for half of it with his lawn-mowing money.”
    â€œPoor guy,” I said.
    â€œThe scary thing is that whoever is doing it seems to know exactly what to go for. There hasn’t been any forced entry or anything,” she said. “Lock your doors, that’s what I’ve been telling everyone.
Lock your doors.
” Then her eyes seemed to narrow, tracking some logic I couldn’t follow. “Your mother didn’t mention any of this?”
    â€œNo,” I said, thinking the omission inconsequential. “She didn’t.”
    Linda paused for a moment, then swatted the air in front of her, as if it were an unwelcome thought. “Anyhow, I didn’t mean to go on and on,” she said.
    I was searching for a more pleasant subject of conversation when Rose sprang up. Looking from Mrs. Vanni’s face to mine, she began to bounce her knees as she held herself. “I need to pee,” she said.
    â€œOkay, Rosie,” I said, grabbing her hand. “We’re just gonna . . . ,” I said, looking at Mrs. Vanni while gesturing up the street.
    Mrs. Vanni nodded in understanding. “It was so good to see you,” I said, as Rose and I turned away.
    Navigating out of the crowd, with
excuse-us
’s and
pardon- me
’s,
I glanced around for my mother. When I saw her, my feet became leaden. Though surrounded by groupings of neighbors—holding paper plates and plastic cups and talking about taxes and football and reality television—she stood alone, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression pleasant and hopeful. Like a girl who hadn’t been asked to dance. As neighbors passed, they made sure they were looking anywhere but in her direction, suddenly finding the cloud formations overhead or the face of their watch endlessly fascinating. With an urgency Icouldn’t quite explain, I cast my eyes about for Warren and found him walking back up Royal Court. His pace was quick and purposeful. His head was bowed as if against the wind. He was going back to the house, of course. A house from which much that was of value had long ago been taken.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Lemonade Stand
    1954
    T he sun hung fat and heavy in the sky, as if ready to be harvested, glowing the gold-to-orange ombré of late summer. Two months ago, the sun would have still been high overhead, proud and young. But it had settled into itself, no longer having quite so much to prove.
    Priscilla looked at her mother’s arms, which were draped over the table that they had set up next to the big oak in the front yard.
    â€œDo you think we’re going to get any customers?” asked Priscilla, her voice as tiny and lyrical as a bird’s. She glanced at the pitcher of lemonade that they had made, the sugar still a thick layer at the bottom. It had been her mother’s idea, the lemonade stand.
    Her mother turned her head toward her, letting the warm, leaf-dappled light hit her face. “If folks are thirsty,” she answered. Then she smiled, the small gap between her front teeth visible as she closed one eye, resting her cheek on the tablecloth, which was white with big fat red cherries on it.
    Priscilla saw a car approach and straightened as it drew closer, waiting to see if it would stop, if the man driving would step out and with a smile drop a shiny nickel in the cup. Instead it only slowed and floated by—a blue-gray cloud passing on the horizon. “Maybe Daddy will buy some,” she offered. But her mother’s focus had gone elsewhere.
    â€œLook, Silla,” she said, rising from her chair, her gaze angled up toward the sky. Scooting round the table, her mother took a few steps closer to the street, her feet shuffling blindly over the dry, brittle grass. She raised her hand, pointing to a bird on a wire. “That’s a scissor-tailed