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Moving back to my separate office, I propped open the door with a plaster cast of a head and got ready to greet the day.

[separator color=” thickness=” up=’30’ down=’30’] There’s a sucker born every minute. Me, on my knees beside my bed, hands clasped earnestly as I asked for nothing more than people as dumb as a box of hair to chase me down the street and throw money at me. Of course, it was a nice image but not strictly true. Sliding green out of sweaty palms came naturally to me, an instinct so strong I probably popped out of the womb with it.

It was why I’d only conned them at the carnival, but I’d known that if I wanted to move up one day, that would have to change. I learned to handle the uncomfortable nature of it. It hadn’t helped me find Glory, but it had helped me start the business. After opening one of the envelopes from the mail, I fanned out fifteen twenties and grinned darkly at a whole new classification of lunch money.

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It didn’t stop a hand from yanking a shotgun out of a closet with a warped wooden door. I didn’t have to be on the receiving end of one to realize that oh-so-fascinating bit of news. That’s where I was walking home from, selling the blackberries. It wasn’t much to look at, a few boards I’d clapped together. He hadn’t wanted to be bothered, that was Boyd all over. Tess and Glory were hell on wheels, no getting around that, but taking care of your kids is supposed to come with the territory. I’d cut through our neighbor’s property, twenty-five acres of scrubby grass, black snakes, and the foundation of a hundred-years-gone ice house. My grip spasmed around the shoe until I heard the crack of a splitting sole. Sticky cotton-candy fun for her, but for me it was a different story.

I’d lived every day of every year since then knowing I’d never see it again. Unlike the sky and the earth, which belonged although I didn’t, not anymore, the knife and the shotgun shouldn’t have been there. It didn’t stop the bright sliver of metal lying on a dusty kitchen counter. I’d known this whole nightmare would end in violence, I’d known it would finish in a pattern of blood and brutality, but I didn’t imagine that it would end here. With hands stained berry purple and hair in lopsided pigtails she’d done up herself, she would skip along in denim overalls, shirtless, ignoring the thorn scratches on her arms, and beam at the sight of those damn awful shoes. He hadn’t even wanted to make Tess lunch and take her temperature for a couple of days, but he gave in rather than have Mom miss work and bring home a day less paycheck. The bite that itched on my calf was courtesy of Glory, and the cartoon Band-Aid over it was from her twin. I was heading home in the lazy afternoon, still idly scratching the Glory bite, when I first saw the gleam of pink. It had come to roost for a while in a podunk town about an hour south of Atlanta, and she’d jumped at the chance to see her parents.

It wasn’t wine and roses, but it was beer and barbecue. I stuffed the money back in and dropped the envelope into Abby’s in-box to be sorted later for a reading.

I might charge an arm and a leg, but I did deliver.

I’d lived every summer of my life until I was fourteen with that sky, that heat, that ground. Pink patent leather with bedraggled ribbon ties and rhinestone starbursts on the sides, they were ugly as hell and louder than Aunt Grace’s good church dress. She wore them everywhere and with everything, even when we went blackberry picking. A mean-spirited, beery-breathed sponge that did nothing but suck up money. It was a different carnival but in the end just the same.

The grass an identical faded green splotched with crisp dead brown. [separator color=” thickness=” up=’30’ down=’30’] A lost shoe. Tess was a typical five-year-old, careless with her things. She’d paid two dollars for them, but that didn’t stop me from thinking she’d gotten ripped off. If they took it to be something else, took me to be something more than I was, all I could do was lean back and rake it in. What you did with what I gave you wasn’t my concern. Abigail, who had never given up on me and had written enough letters to fill a steamer trunk, was off visiting her family.

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