Despite our promises to pretend to be people we weren't, neither of us could help but fix our gazes intently, almost hungrily on Fern. I saw immediately that she sensed we were looking at her in a way that was much different from how her parents' other friends might look. Her dark eyebrows rose like question marks.
She was tall for her age and looked more like a girl of twelve or thirteen, which made sense when I recalled how tall Momma Longchamp was. She wore her hair in a pageboy; it was as dark and shiny as black onyx. Momma Longchamp's hair, I thought. She had Jimmy's dark eyes, but hers were smaller.
Clayton was right to characterize her as advanced for her age. Although she was only ten, she had begun to develop a figure. The outline of her training bra was just visible beneath the light green cotton blouse. She had long arms and slim shoulders, her body trim and sleek like a cat's. In fact, I realized she had cat's eyes—narrow, sharp, searching, probing and poking, driven by a feline curiosity.
Even so, she was a pretty girl with a smooth, dark complexion. She had Momma's nose and mouth and Daddy's chin and jaw. It wouldn't be hard to see Jimmy beside her and not know they were related, I thought.
"This is Mr. and Mrs. Longchamp," Clayton said. "Our daughter Kelly."
"Hello," I said first. For a moment I thought Jimmy wasn't going to say anything.
"Hi," he finally added.
She studied us as if trying to decide whether to talk or just glare. Her mouth opened slightly, but she made no sound. She looked from Jimmy to me and then back to Jimmy.
"It's polite to return a greeting when you get one, Kelly," Clayton chastised.
"Hello," she said.
"Sit down, Kelly," Clayton commanded.
Reluctantly, she sauntered over to the easy chair and plopped into it, keeping her eyes glued to us.
"Kelly," Clayton snapped, "since when do you treat the furniture like that? And in front of guests?"
"It's all right, Clayton," Leslie said. "Kelly is just a little bit depressed today," she explained, turning to us. "She's had a bad day at school."
"It wasn't my fault!"
"This isn't the time for this discussion," Clayton said, fixing his eyes firmly on Fern. She shot a gaze at us and then looked away. "Mr. and Mrs. Longchamp are old friends who have come a long way and are here for only a few minutes," he continued.
The way he limited our visit caught Fern's attention, and she turned back to us with renewed interest.
"How far did you come?" she asked.
"From Virginia," I said.
"Did you drive or fly?" she followed.
"We flew," Jimmy said, smiling. His warm expression drew her gaze, and for a moment, a fleeting moment, I was sure I saw something in her eyes, some note of recognition, or at least some deep-seated curiosity.
"Wasn't I born in Virginia?" she demanded of Leslie. Leslie smiled softly.
"I've told you dozens of times, Kelly," Leslie explained. "You were born in the emergency room of a hospital just outside of Richmond, Virginia. Your father and I had wandered off too far while I was in the ninth month."
Born on the road, I thought—the same sort of lie Momma and Daddy Longchamp had told me. When I looked at Fern to see her reaction, however, I found she was already staring intently at me, as if she wanted to see my reaction more than I wanted to see hers. Jimmy flashed a disdainful gaze my way. He didn't think much of their fabrication.
"And what do you do?" Fern asked. "Buy dozens and dozens of stocks and bonds like Daddy's other friends?"
"We own and operate one of the biggest hotels in Virginia Beach," I explained. "It's called Cutler's Cove."
"I've never been to Virginia Beach," Fern moaned.
"Oh, you poor, deprived child," Clayton said, cutting into her with his sarcasm. "You've only been to the beaches in Spain and France and all over the Caribbean islands."
"Do you have any children?" she asked me, ignoring Clayton.
"A little girl, Christie."