style="font-size:15px;"> In the three weeks he’d been here, Emmett had barely said more than hi and bye to Tass. But it didn’t matter, she had parlayed those words into reams of conversation that she played out in the privacy of her bedroom.
One afternoon, she draped her hair comb in a dingy white rag and tied a tattered black shoelace around the neck of her hairbrush. She spouted a few silly words of love and then declared, “I do!” as she brought the comb and brush together in a passionate kiss.
Hemmingway had been watching from the doorway. When she stepped into Tass’s bedroom her eyes were sparkling with amusement.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Tass offered ashamedly.
“Child, you silly enough for two people. Put that comb and brush back on my dresser.”
Tass did as she was told and then headed outdoors where Padagonia was just crossing the road to fetch her.
“Mama gave me ten cents, said we can split it,”
Padagonia announced, and the best friends set out for Bryant’s grocery store.
Outside the store, at the center of a circle of fawning girls, was Evelyn Hall. Evelyn’s mother lived in New York City and sent her crinoline skirts and patent-leather shoes which her grandparents allowed her to wear any day of the week she chose.
When Evelyn looked over and saw Padagonia and Tass approaching, she flicked her shiny Shirley Temple curls and waved.
“Hey, Padagonia! Hey, Tass!”
The circle parted and Tass and Padagonia stepped in.
“What you got?” Padagonia asked, pointing to the heavy brown paper bag Evelyn clutched in her hand.
“Gum balls, lemon drops, lollipops, Mallo Cups, and licorice.”
Padagonia and Tass exchanged glances.
“All of that?” Tass breathed in awe.
“Yeah, my mama sent me a whole dollar.”
Padagonia’s eyes popped. “A whole dollar?”
“Yep, she got a new daddy for me. A new rich daddy,” Evelyn said as she playfully twirled a greasy curl around her index finger.
As far as Tass had heard, this was the third new daddy Evelyn’s mother had acquired that year.
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” Padagonia said, and tugged her friend toward the store. “Come on, Tass.”
Evelyn held up her bag of sweets. “Y’all could have some of mine if you want.”
“Really?” Tass beamed and reached for the bag.
Padagonia slapped her hand away. “Thanks, but we have money.”
Tass glared at her. “But she offered—”
“We don’t need her charity,” Padagonia retorted between clenched teeth.
“Suit yourself then,” Evelyn said with a smirk.
The circle around Evelyn closed and the poorest of the poor greedily held out their hands for a piece of her sweet charity.
Inside the store the ceiling fans whirled noisily. Tass and Padagonia floated from one candy-filled fish bowl-shaped jar to the next.
Carolyn Bryant, the wife of the storeowner, closed the comic book she was reading and asked, “Y’all know what you want?”
“Lemon drops,” Tass piped.
“Wait a minute now,” Padagonia said as her eyes continued to skip over the jars. “I’m still deciding.”
Tass pressed her fists defiantly into her hips and pronounced, “I’m done deciding. I don’t have to wait on you. A nickel of that dime is mine.” She turned to Carolyn and said, “May I have five cent worth of lemon drops, please?”
As the woman strolled over to the jar of lemon drops and unscrewed the lid, the door opened and the August heat slipped in alongside a jagged slab of sunlight. Emmett, along with a cousin and a friend, walked in.
Tass sucked air and stepped quickly behind a broad wooden beam.
The boys acknowledged Padagonia and raised a friendly hand to Carolyn, who responded with a “Hey, boys.”
They went to the cooler and retrieved three bottles of Coca-Cola, and then each of them placed a nickel on the counter and started toward the door.
A jar of pickles caught Emmett’s eye and he doubled back to the counter to take a closer look. After a moment of close examination, he swiped his hand across his forehead and let off a long, shrill whistle. “Those are some gargantuan pickles!”
Tass had never heard the word gargantuan. Unable to contain herself, she popped out from her hiding place and asked, “What that mean?”
Emmett turned around and grinned. “That means really big.” His gaze floated back to the jar. “I believe I would like to have me one of them gargantuan pickles!”
“I ain’t never in my life heard someone whistle like that,” Carolyn snickered as she unscrewed the top from the jar and stuck her hand inside.
Emmett made a face. “Ain’t you got nothing to fish it out with?”
Carolyn kept reaching. “Nope, just my fingers.” She pinched a pickle between her thumb and forefinger. “Got it!”
Emmett rocked back on his heels and whistled again. “That sure nuff is a big sucka though!”
Carolyn giggled and nodded her head in agreement. “Where you learn to whistle like that?” she asked as she wrapped the pickle in wax paper and handed it to him.
“Back home. Chicago,” Emmett proudly replied as he reached for the pickle. “How much?”
“Two cents.”
Carolyn couldn’t help but notice the large ring on Emmett’s finger. “Is that real silver?”
Puffing his chest out like a blowfish, Emmett declared, “Yes, ma’am, it is.”
Carolyn leaned in and squinted at the letters:
May 25
1943
LT
“You LT?”
“LT stands for Louis Till. That’s my daddy.” His words carried the slightest hint of sadness. “Was my daddy. He was killed in the war.”
“Oh,” Carolyn said without offering any condolences.
When Emmett stepped
