Daffodils in Spring. Pamela Morsi

familiar figure standing on the porch was visible only in profile. Her long, thin legs and round backside were encased in tight jeans. Her skimpy jacket showed off her curves but wouldn’t provide any protection if the weather turned colder. And her long dark hair was a flawless mix of braids and curls.

      Her expression, however, even from the side, appeared wary and secretive.

      Calla opened the door.

      “Good morning, Jazleen.”

      The girl’s suspicion toughened into something that looked like hostility.

      “Where’s Nathan?” she demanded with no other greeting.

      “He’s sleeping,” Calla answered. “It’s Saturday morning. That’s what he does on Saturday mornings.”

      “We’re going…someplace,” Jazleen hedged. “He’s supposed to be ready.”

      “He probably overslept. Come in and I’ll wake him up.”

      “I’m okay on the porch,” Jazleen said, her chin slightly in the air.

      “Come in,” Calla insisted, knowing the girl’s hesitation to enter the house was because of her. Jazleen had been inside with Nathan many times.

      Hesitantly she followed Calla. “I’ll go wake him,” Jazleen said.

      “No!” Calla answered firmly. “You wait here, pour yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll wake my son.”

      As she went up the stairs, Calla glanced back towards the girl. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her as if she were cold or protecting herself.

      At the top of the stairs, Calla turned right and knocked on her son’s door.

      “Nathan? Nathan!”

      An unintelligible rumbling was the only reply. Calla opened the door and peered into the shadows for an instant before crossing the darkened room and pulling up the shades. A wide shaft of sunlight revealed her son completely cocooned in a tangle of blankets.

      He groaned.

      “Better get up,” Calla told him. “You’ve got company downstairs.”

      “Huh?” he asked, without bothering to poke his head out of the covers.

      “Jazleen is here,” she said. “Apparently you were going someplace together this morning.”

      Nathan moaned again and rolled over, flipping back the blankets to reveal his face and T-shirt clad torso.

      “Oh yeah,” he said. “I told her I would take her to Oak Street Beach. I couldn’t believe she’d lived here all her life and never been.”

      Calla nodded.

      With a sigh of determination, Nathan rolled out of bed. “Let me get a quick shower,” he told his mother. “Tell her I’ll be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

      Calla left him to get ready and returned to the kitchen. Jazleen was still standing in the middle of the floor.

      “Nathan says fifteen minutes,” Calla told her. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

      “No,” Jazleen answered too quickly.

      “Are you sure?” Calla asked. “I’m going to have another cup.”

      Jazleen hesitated. “I don’t mind,” she said, finally.

      It wasn’t exactly “yes, please,” but Calla decided it was the best excuse for manners that the girl could muster.

      “Sit down,” she told her as she set the cup on the table. “There’s milk and sugar.”

      Jazleen reluctantly seated herself. Calla took the chair opposite her. The girl continued to eye her warily. The silence lengthened between them. Calla was racking her brain for a neutral subject and was just about to comment on the weather when Jazleen spoke.

      “That man next door has got a shovel,” she said. “I think he’s burying something.”

      Calla glanced in the direction of the window. She couldn’t see Landry Sinclair at this angle, but she could still perfectly recall the sight of the man.

      “He’s digging a garden,” Calla said.

      Jazleen’s brow furrowed and she snorted in disbelief. “This time of year? Not likely. He’s burying something.”

      So much for neutral conversation, Calla thought.

      “Nathan said you two are headed for an outing to Oak Street Beach.”

      Jazleen didn’t answer. She eyed Calla suspiciously and then sipped her coffee as if that gave her permission not to comment. Her eyes were widely set and a rich dark brown. She was wearing a bit too much make-up, but a cleft in her chin made her look vulnerable.

      “We used to go to Oak Street Beach a lot when Nathan was a little boy,” Calla told her. “Lots of fresh air and room to run around. On a crisp fall day it’s absolutely the best. He would sit and just look at the boats on the water.”

      She paused, but again Jazleen said nothing.

      “I’m sure that’s what he wants to share with you,” Calla continued. “Even if it does mean giving up a sleepy Saturday morning.”

      Calla was frustrated when the girl made no attempt to keep up her side of the conversation. She decided maybe questions and answers would be easier.

      “Nathan says you watch a lot of TV?”

      “Some.”

      “Have you seen anything good lately?”

      She shook her head.

      “I like those dancing shows,” Calla told her. “But more often I prefer reading.”

      Jazleen sipped her coffee.

      “Do you like to read?”

      The girl shrugged.

      “When I was your age, that was what I loved best.”

      Jazleen raised a brow. It wasn’t exactly an eye roll, but Calla was fairly sure it had the same meaning.

      “Do you know how to read?” Calla asked.

      “Of course I do!” Jazleen snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

      “I didn’t think that you were,” Calla said. “But a lot of very smart people don’t read, or don’t read very well.”

      “I can read fine, thank you.”

      “Okay, good.” Calla hesitated. “Nathan said you’ve dropped out of school.”

      “Maybe. I haven’t decided.”

      “What does your aunt think about it?”

      “I’d guess she’d think that it’s none of her business,” Jazleen declared. “And it’s sure none of yours.”