Where the Crawdads Sing(80)



Once during the night, she opened her eyes and watched him sleeping on his back, forepaws stretched one way, hind paws the other. But when she awoke at dawn, he was gone. A moan struggled against the strength of her throat.

Later, Jacob stood outside her cell, holding the breakfast tray with one hand, unlocking the door with the other. “Gotcha yo’ oatmeal, Miz Clark.”

She took the tray, saying, “Jacob, the black and white cat that sleeps in the courtroom. He was here last night.”

“Oh, sorry as can be. That’s Sundee Justice. Sometimes he slips in wif me and I don’t see ’im ’cause of carryin’ the suppa trays. I end up closin’ ’im in with y’all.” Kind enough not to say locking.

“It’s fine. I liked having him here. Please, will you let him in whenever you see him after supper? Or anytime.”

He looked at her with soft eyes. “’Course I can. I’ll do that, Miz Clark; I sho’ will. Can see he’d be mighty good comp’ny.”

“Thank you, Jacob.”

That evening, Jacob returned. “Here’s yo’ food now, Miz Clark. Fried chicken, mashed taters wif gravy from the diner. Hope ya can eat sump’m tonight, now.”

Kya stood, looking around his feet. She took the tray. “Thank you, Jacob. Have you seen the cat?”

“Nome. Not a’tall. But I’ll keep an eye out.”

Kya nodded. She sat on the bed, the only place to sit, and stared at the plate. Here in jail was better food than she had seen all her life. She poked around the chicken, pushed the butter beans. Having found food, her stomach was lost.

Then, the sound of the lock turning, the heavy metal door swinging.

At the end of the hall she heard Jacob say, “Thar ya go, then, Mista Sundee Justice.”

Without breathing, Kya stared at the floor outside her cell and within a few seconds Sunday Justice stepped into view. His markings were surprisingly stark and soft at the same time. No hesitation this time, he stepped into her cell and walked up to her. She put the plate on the floor and he ate the chicken—pulled the drumstick right onto the floor—then lapped up the gravy. Skipped the butter beans. She smiled through it all, then wiped the floor clean with tissue.

He jumped on her bed, and a sweet sleep wrapped them together.



* * *



? ? ?

JACOB STOOD OUTSIDE her door the next day. “Miz Clark, ya got anotha viz’ter.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Tate again. He’s done come sev’ral times now, Miz Clark, either brings sump’m or asks to see ya. Won’t ya see him today, Miz Clark? It’s Saderdee, no court, nothin’ to do in here the livelong day.”

“All right, Jacob.”

Jacob led her to the same dingy room where she had met Tom Milton. As she stepped through the door, Tate rose from his chair and walked quickly toward her. He smiled lightly, but his eyes revealed the sadness from seeing her here.

“Kya, you look good. I’ve been so worried. Thank you for seeing me. Sit down.” They sat opposite each other while Jacob stood in the corner reading a newspaper with considerate concentration.

“Hello, Tate. Thanks for the books you brought.” She acted calm, but her heart pulled into pieces.

“What else can I do for you?”

“Maybe you could feed the gulls if you’re out my way.”

He smiled. “Yes, I’ve been feeding them. Every other day or so.” He made it sound easygoing but had driven or boated to her place every dawn and dusk to feed them.

“Thank you.”

“I was in court, Kya, sitting right behind you. You never turned around, so I didn’t know if you knew that. But I’ll be there every day.”

She looked out of the window.

“Tom Milton’s very good, Kya. Probably the best lawyer in this part of the state. He’ll get you out of here. Just hang on.”

When again she didn’t speak, he continued. “And as soon as you’re out of here, we’ll get back to exploring lagoons like in the old days.”

“Tate, please, you have to forget me.”

“I have never and will never forget you, Kya.”

“You know I’m different. I don’t fit with other people. I cannot be part of your world. Please, can’t you understand, I’m afraid to be close with anybody ever again. I can’t.”

“I don’t blame you, Kya, but . . .”

“Tate, listen to me. For years I longed to be with people. I really believed that someone would stay with me, that I would actually have friends and a family. Be part of a group. But no one stayed. Not you or one member of my family. Now I’ve finally learned how to deal with that and how to protect myself. But I can’t talk about this now. I appreciate your coming to see me in here, I do. And maybe someday we can be friends, but I can’t think about what comes next. Not in here.”

“Okay. I understand. Really, I do.”

After a short silence, he continued. “The great horns are already calling.”

She nodded, almost smiled.

“Oh, and yesterday when I was at your place, you won’t believe it, but a male Cooper’s hawk landed right on your front steps.”

Finally a smile as she thought of the Coop. One of her many private memories. “Yes, I believe it.”

Delia Owens's Books