Joe pulled the Bronco to a stop, and Louis looked out the window at the Kerrytown market. The place had once been the site of the old farmer’s market, but now it was a bustling complex of shops and eateries, the fruit and vegetable vendors competing with cafes, hair salons, toy stores, and boutiques. On this sunny Saturday afternoon, Kerrytown was crowded with families pushing strollers and carrying bags of gourmet cheeses, wines, and fresh-baked breads.
He tried to conjure up an image of Jean Brandt selling tomatoes out of the back of her truck to Shockey but couldn’t see it. All he could see was that faded snapshot of Jean’s wan face. All he could think about was Shockey’s desperation to prove that Amy was his daughter.
“Is that her?”
Louis turned to look where Joe was pointing.
Lily was sitting alone on a park bench in front of Zingerman’s deli, wrapped in a bright red sweater, a plaid skirt, red tights, and patent-leather shoes. A second later, Eric walked up with a wad of napkins. Louis watched as Eric gently held a napkin to Lily’s face while she blew her nose.
“She’s beautiful,” Joe said.
“She looks like her mother,” Louis said, regretting it immediately. He didn’t have to look at Joe to know his words wounded her. She had been unnaturally quiet all morning and he knew that Lily — and, by extension, Kyla — was the reason.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Joe said. “We need to be at Dr. Sher’s at two.”
Louis glanced at Amy sitting in the backseat. Then he leaned over and put his hand around Joe’s neck. He pulled her to him and kissed her. He felt her respond, but when he let go, her eyes still held doubt.
“Thanks,” he said.
He got out of the Bronco and started across the old brick street. Eric saw him before Lily did, and he rose, holding out a hand.
Louis shook it. “Sergeant.”
Eric glanced down at Lily, then back up at Louis. He looked like he was about to hand over his most precious possession in the world. With a small kick to his heart, Louis realized that was exactly what he was doing.
“You be good now, baby,” Eric said to Lily. “Remember what we said.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “No chocolate.”
Eric looked at Louis. “She’s allergic.”
Louis nodded.
“I’ll be nearby,” Eric said, nodding to the cruiser parked around the corner.
“Thanks,” Louis said.
Eric hesitated. Then, with a stiff nod and a last glance at Lily, he walked away.
Louis waited until he had disappeared before he looked down at Lily. “I’m hungry,” he said. “How about you?”
She smiled. “Do you like hot dogs?”
“Sure.”
“They have really good ones here. Let’s go.”
Louis wondered for a second if he should take her hand. But before he could decide, Lily hopped off the bench and led him to the door. The deli was swirling with noise and mouthwatering smells. Lily seemed to know where to go, so Louis followed her up to the counter, getting a tray for each of them. Lily asked him for a Coke. He got two. When the man asked Louis what he wanted, Louis looked down at Lily.
“Two Icky dogs,” she said. She looked up at Louis. “Do you like French fries?”
“Love them.”
“And a large order of fries, please.”
They took their trays of food to the picnic tables outside.
Lily settled in across from Louis, spreading a paper napkin carefully across her skirt.
“This is my daddy’s favorite restaurant,” she said. “Momma doesn’t like it, so he brings me here.”
“It’s a nice place,” Louis said. Lily was having trouble opening the tab on her Coke, so Louis reached over and popped it open for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
There was a long, awkward silence. But then Louis realized that it was awkward only from his viewpoint. Lily was biting into her hot dog, sipping her Coke, and looking around at the other diners with interest.
“Momma says hot dogs are bad for you,” she said.
“This one’s really good,” Louis said, wiping the mustard from his mouth.
“That’s because it’s a coach dog,” Lily said.
“Coach dog?”
“You know, a Jewish hot dog.”
Louis frowned, then smiled. “Oh, a kosher dog.”
“Yes, kosher. That’s what I meant to say. Momma says regular hot dogs are made out of pigs’ lips. But pigs don’t really have lips!” She laughed, throwing back her head, sending her ringlets dancing.
Louis’s heart melted.
They ate in silence. Louis finished his hot dog and was trying desperately to think of what to say to this little person — no, his daughter — sitting across from him, when Lily spoke.
“Who was that lady in your car?”
“Her name is Joette,” he said. “I call her Joe. She’s a sheriff up north.”
Lily looked up at him, the last bite of her hot dog poised at her lips. “But who is she to you?” she asked.
Louis hesitated. He did not want to go into this with Lily for several reasons, but he wasn’t sure if Lily had seen him kiss Joe goodbye. If she had, to hedge around the truth now was dead wrong. He guessed that Lily hadn’t seen Amy sitting in the backseat.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Louis said.
Lily lowered her hot dog and wiped her lips with the napkin. “Momma thinks black men ought to marry only black women,” she said softly.
Louis crumpled the food wrappers and stuffed them inside his empty cup, then took a long look over at the market across the street, completely lost for anything to say. Who was he to pass along his philosophies on race and relationships to a child he had no part in raising?
He looked back at her. “I understand why your mother feels that way,” he said gently. “But we can’t always help who we fall in love with, Lily.”
Lily began to wrap up her papers. Louis watched her, sure she was still bothered by the idea of Joe and maybe the idea of having to tell Kyla that there was a white woman in Louis’s life. And he had the horrible feeling that maybe this would be their last meeting.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Lily asked.
“Sure.”
“There’s a boy at school,” Lily said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “His name is Kurt Vanderloop. He’s ten. He likes me, but I don’t think I’m allowed to like him back.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s white.”
Louis leaned over the picnic table and gently covered Lily’s small hand with his. She didn’t pull away.
“Liking people is about what you feel in your heart,” he said. “Not about what you can see with your eyes. And I think if you explained it to your momma like that, she might understand it better.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said.
Louis smiled. “Well, she let you make the decision to see me,” he said. “I have a feeling she’ll let you make some other decisions, too. You have to trust her to do that, okay?”
“Okay.”
He sat back and looked again toward the street. He wanted to take a walk, but Channing’s cruiser was gone, probably on a call. Louis wasn’t sure they should leave.
“Can I ask you another question, Louis?”
“Sure.”
“Do I have more family on your side?”
Her pale gray eyes were steady on his. In them, he could see the same look he had seen sometimes on Amy’s face when she spoke of finding her mother. That odd little look of hunger, a hunger for connection to your past, a hunger to know where you had come from. A hunger he had never acknowledged in himself, despite the fact that he kept a picture of his father in his drawer. One he usually looked at only through the amber glow of a brandy bottle.
“Yes,” he said. “I have a half-brother and sister.”
“Where do they live?”
“Mississippi, I think,” he said. “I…”
Hell, there was nothing to say here but the truth.
“I haven’t seen them since I was seven,” he said. “The three of us were split up and put in foster care. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes,” she said. “Daddy told me about it. Why did that happen to you?”
“My mother got sick.”
“And you had no grandma or anyone else who could take care of you?”
Louis rubbed his brow. “No.”
Her face wrinkled with a mix of sympathy and pity. He didn’t like the idea that an eight-year-old felt sorry for him.
“I had good foster parents,” he added. “Right here in Michigan. I was fine.”
“And even when your momma got sick, your father didn’t come back for you?”
“No.”
“Couldn’t you have called him or something?”
Louis sighed. “Truth is, Lily, I wouldn’t have known where to call,” he said. “I’ve never even met him. He left my mother before I was born.”
“Like you did me?” she asked.
Louis met those eyes. The questions were getting tougher again but somehow easier to answer.
“Yes.”
“But you came back looking for me,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But your father never came back for you?”
“That’s right.”
“How come you never went looking for him?” she asked. “Didn’t you want to ask him why he didn’t care about you being born?”
Yes, a thousand times.
“No,” he said. “I… I told myself, if he didn’t care about me, then I didn’t care about him.”
Lily was staring at him, either not understanding him or not believing him. Could she hear the lie in his voice?
“Would you do it now?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Would you find him now?”
He was quiet.
“You’re a private investigator,” she said. “You could do it easy.”
“What would be the point?” he asked. “I’m a grown-up now. You need fathers when you’re young, like you. Plus, I’m not sure I’d have much to say to him.”
“But don’t you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“Where you come from?”
Louis couldn’t think of an answer for that one.
Luckily, Lily didn’t demand an answer. Her eyes had wandered away from him, off in the direction of where the cruiser had been parked, as if she wanted to end the lunch right now and head back to Channing.
He wondered if he’d been too honest, maybe too sharp in his reply, or worse, if he had disappointed her somehow. He was reminding himself that she was only eight and trying to think of a way to soften what he said, when she looked back at him.
“I didn’t know what I was going to say to you, either,” she said, “but here we are talking.”
Jesus.
“Would you find him for me?” she asked.
Louis sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, Lily. That’s not as easy for me to do as you might think. I might be a grown-up, but there’s still a little hurt there.”
“I understand.”
Louis gathered up the wrappers and rose to throw them away. When he got back to the table, she was standing and trying to work the puffs from the knees of her red tights. Beyond her, Louis could see Kyla walking toward them. She was all in black, with a red shawl thrown over her shoulder. His heart quickened. He had not expected her to come anywhere near him, and he didn’t want words shared in front of Lily.
Lily saw her coming and looked quickly to Louis. “Will you come back to Michigan for my birthday?” she asked.
“For your birthday?” he asked.
“I forgot,” she said. “You don’t know when that is, do you?”
“No.”
“It’s September 2,” she said. “If Momma says it’s okay, will you take me to Mackinac Island?”
“You’ve never been?”
“Momma says it’s ticky-tacky, but I saw a movie about it in school and want to go. Will you take me?”
“Sure. If it’s okay with your mother.”
Kyla stopped next to Lily. Her hand closed over Lily’s, but her gaze was pinned on Louis — not with anger, just coolness.
“I don’t know what to say to you except thank you,” Louis said. “She’s beautiful, and it’s obvious you’ve been a great mother.”
Kyla ignored the comment. “When are you leaving?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Louis said. “Maybe a week or so.”
“We need to talk before you do,” Kyla said.
“I know.”
Kyla turned and led Lily away. Just before they reached the parking lot, Lily broke her mother’s hold on her hand and said something to her. Kyla nodded. Lily ran back to him, out of breath by the time she reached him. He knelt down to meet her eyes.
“I just wanted to tell you,” she said, “I’ll help you find him and talk to him if you’re scared to do it alone.”
Louis stared at her.
“’Bye,” she said as she ran off again.
He rose slowly and watched her until she was inside the car and Kyla had buckled her into the passenger seat. When the car left the parking lot, he turned and wandered the market until he found a cafe.
He needed to wait for Joe. He took a seat near the window, ordered a beer, and thought about Jordan Kincaid and the courage of eight-year-old girls.