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of those men all his life. Staggerlee leaned out the window and squinted against the wind. Her mother didn’t have this—a group of people to laugh with. She spent most of her time alone or with the family or knitting or reading.
    “You think Mama’s lonely?” Staggerlee asked, poking her head back in.
    Her father glanced at her. “Where’d that come from?”
    Staggerlee shrugged. “It’s just that you have your men-folk friends in town and Sweet Gum’s mostly all black people. Mama doesn’t have anyone.”
    “You think she doesn’t have anyone because Sweet Gum is mostly black folk?” Daddy asked, raising an eyebrow.
    Staggerlee shrugged again. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, she just doesn’t have anyone. I don’t know if it’s about black or white.”
    Daddy frowned. “Good—’cause it’s not. Your mother’s always been on solo. And I wouldn’t have brought her back to Sweet Gum if she hadn’t wanted to come here.” He looked over at her.
    “She seems so alone, though.”
    “She is alone. Some people go crazy if they feel like they don’t have any type of community or close friends and whatnot. Your mama’s not like that. She never did like a big social kind of lifestyle, always preferred to be by herself. Or now, with me and you kids.”
    “Well, I figure I’d like to have me a good friend in my lifetime.”
    Daddy patted her leg. “Then you will, Miss Staggerlee. You will.”
    But she wasn’t sure she believed him.

Chapter Seven
    THE RAIN STOPPED HALFWAY TO TUDOR. BY THE TIME they arrived, the roads were hot and dusty again.
    Tudor Station was small—not much more than a store-front with a ticket counter and a dusty red dirt road where Trailways pulled in once a day. Staggerlee climbed down from the truck and looked around at the station. Today it seemed shabby, dusty and bare. She swallowed. What would Tyler think of it?
    “I guess she’s on her way,” she said, brushing off the knees of her overalls and smoothing her ponytail back. Her feet were sweating inside her hiking boots, and she couldn’t tell whether it was nervousness or heat.
    When the bus pulled in, it took the driver a moment to get the door open. Staggerlee bit her cuticle. She moved a step closer to her father and waited.
    Tyler stepped down carrying a duffel bag. The sun was hot and bright now, and she shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted at them—a half smile working one side of her face. Staggerlee felt her mouth go dry. Tyler was beautiful, like nobody she had ever seen before.
    Daddy rushed over, smiling and taking her duffel. “Tyler, I’m your uncle Elijah. Good to see you. Real good!” He gave her a quick hug. “Come meet your cousin, girl.”
    Staggerlee shoved her hands in her pockets and stared down at her boots. It was the kind of beautiful you couldn’t put a finger on. Separately, all the parts of Tyler’s face didn’t add up to anything. But together they were beautiful. She tried to keep her eyes on her boots, but something kept pulling her gaze back.
    “I’m Stag . . . Staggerlee,” she said when they walked over.
    Tyler gave her a strange look and shifted her knapsack higher onto her shoulder. She was wearing a dungaree jacket with TROUT stitched across one of the pockets. Underneath the jacket, she was all in black.
    Staggerlee took a deep breath. “Guess you’re Tyler.”
    Tyler shook her head and raised an eyebrow.
    “My name is Trout.” Her voice was soft and even. She looked Staggerlee over, and her eyes seemed to click into place as though she had just decided something. She pulled her lips to one side of her face. It made her look older than fourteen. “I thought your name was Evangeline Ian.”
    Staggerlee hadn’t expected her not to have an accent. It sounded strange, how clear her words came out.
    “I thought yours was Tyler.”
    She smiled, and Staggerlee smiled back, kicking one of her hiking boots against a rock.
    “Yeah,” she said. “Well, Ida and Jonathan