lower than the going rate, but which was nonetheless determined by the Nine-Dollar Potato. Lloyd, in no shape to run his farm, acquiesced to Unger’s demands.
Not a bad deal, as it turned out. Because by the following fall, when potato prices plummeted to $4.00 a bag, Lloyd made more money on the lease than he would have had he planted the land. Carl Unger, on the other hand, went bankrupt. He was forced to go to work for Lloyd, and the following years were bad ones for Cassie. She and I were best friends, and I ran away without telling her, and she must have felt like I’d fallen right off the edge of the earth. Then my daddy went and ruined her daddy, so in some way my family was to blame for all the lickings she received since that night in the snow. I figured she might have some mixed feelings about me coming home. I know I did.
reunion
After all these years. Cass couldn’t get the phrase out of her head. She stood by the window in the arrivals lounge with her forehead pressed to the glass. The reflection of the red and green Christmas lights that decorated the lounge appeared to be floating against the dark tarmac outside. It was cold, and snow conditions east of the Cascades had delayed the plane. She had driven up from Liberty Falls just after one o’clock, and now it was late afternoon, and the prairie wind was whipping the snow around the tarmac, just mocking the plows.
She went back to the bar to have a cigarette. Not that she was supposed to be smoking. After the operation she’d more or less quit—she didn’t smoke at home at all anymore, didn’t even keep cigarettes around—but when she’d gotten in the car that morning, she knew she would smoke again for old times’ sake, and as soon as she’d passed the Liberty Falls town-limits sign, she pulled into a 7-Eleven and bought a pack of Old Gold Filters. Will would kill her if he found out, but the thought of seeing Yummy made her crave it again. She smoked with the car window open. Her fingers were like ice on the wheel. If Will asked, she could blame the smell on Yummy.
She ordered another coffee, bypassed the sugar, and dumped in two packets of Nutrasweet. She was trying to be healthy, after all these years.
At four she phoned Will on the cell phone.
At five she had a hot dog and a Coors and another cigarette.
Finally, just after six, she heard the announcement for the Seattle flight. A small crowd had gathered by the gate. They were the same bored people she’d seen waiting all day, but now, one by one, their faces lit up as a long-awaited loved one emerged from the plane. Cassie’s face felt frozen. Not eager. Not lit. She wondered if Yummy would recognize her. She was certain she would have no trouble recognizing Yummy Fuller.
And she didn’t. Yummy hadn’t changed at all. No. She had changed. She was taller, and older, of course. Her skin had relaxed about the eyes and cheeks, but her face was burnished by the sun. The people around her—dull, soft-bodied, and white—seemed to squint when they caught sight of her, she was just that bright. She wore cropped pants and a long, loose coat made out of linen, outrageously tropical among the massing Polyfill parkas that eddied around her like lumpy clouds. She scanned the faces, and when her eyes came to rest on Cass, she frowned and cocked her head, combing the jet-black hair away from her forehead with her fingers.
“Cass?” she mouthed. “Is that you?”
Cass managed a nod, and she watched Yummy part the crowd with the ease of Moses. Then, before she knew it, they were standing face-to-face, and Cass found herself stepping back, the way you sometimes do when you walk out into a strong wind.
“Wow,” Yummy said. “Cassie Unger.”
“Hi,” Cass said. Then she added, “It’s Quinn now.”
Yummy didn’t seem to hear. “You grew.”
“Yes. I guess. So did you.”
“You’re almost as tall as me.”
“Not really.” Cass tried not to slouch. “You’re still taller.”
“You’ve lost your baby fat.” Yummy grinned and stepped back to appraise her. “Skinny, even.”
Cass crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Hey, no,” Yummy said. “You look great. Just surprised me. Like a different person.”
“Yes,” Cass said. “I am.”
“Hmmm . . .” Yummy said, drawing out the sound, as though unclear as to whether she agreed. “I guess we have changed, after all these years.”
“Yes,” Cass said. “After all these years.”
Three children moved in a loose orbit around Yummy, like insects looking for a place to land. They were obviously attached to her, but they did not look much related.
“Are those your kids?” Cass asked.
“All three of ’em. Feels like a lot more. Do you have any?”
Cass shook her head.
“Well, you can have some of mine.” She gestured impatiently to a skinny Asian boy with a baby on his hip, who ambled over, pushing an empty stroller. Yummy took the baby and gave the boy a shove toward Cass. “This is Phoenix. Phoenix, this is Cassie Unger. Sorry, Quinn. She lives next door to your kupuna.”
It was a week before Christmas, and the boy was wearing a T-shirt and baggy shorts that came down to his knees, and his legs stuck out underneath like thin brown sticks. Scuffy sneakers. No socks. His bushy black hair stood up in bristles. Cass held out her hand to shake, but he drew his away and made a fist, leaving the thumb and pinkie standing. This he waggled at her.
“Howzit,” he said. “You can call me Nix.”
“He’s fourteen,” Yummy explained, setting the squirming baby down on his bottom, on the floor. “He’s in the process of rejecting everything his mother ever gave him. Including his name.”
“Oh, Yummy, that’s such crap,” Phoenix said.
“See what I mean?” Yummy smiled. She lowered her voice and spoke in a stage whisper. “Phoenix, remember what I told you. This is Idaho. Call me Mommy, and stop swearing or the townsfolk will lynch you.” Phoenix rolled his eyes while Yummy grabbed another child, a fair-haired girl with sea blue eyes. “This one’s Ocean. She’s six and a half.”
“Ocean has a nickname, too,” Phoenix offered.
“Shuddup!” yelled Ocean.
“It’s Puddle,” Phoenix said with an evil smile.
“It is NOT!”
“And this is Poo,” Phoenix offered smoothly, ducking Ocean’s fist and capturing the escaping baby by the back of his suspenders. “He’s not doing the walking thing yet.” The baby sat on the floor and looked up at Cass, flapping his arms a little. His skin was the color of milk chocolate. Curls sprung from his head, each a soft and perfect vortex.
“What’s his real name?” Cass asked.
“Just Poo. Mommy was striking out with the names, so she kind of just gave up.” He picked the baby up and offered him to Cass. “Here. Wanna hold him?”
Cass took the baby in her arms. He was heavy and warm.
“That’s not true, Phoenix,” Yummy said. She turned to Cass. “His name is Barnabas, but he has to grow into it. For now Poo suits him just fine.”
“Hello, Poo,” Cass said. His eyes were liquid black. He gurgled and patted her cheek.
They collected their suitcases, and Cass waited while they opened them and dug out warm clothes; then she led them out to the parking lot. She felt like a ringmaster at a carnival parade. Their bags filled the back of the Suburban.
“It’s