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Chapter 1

Charlotte, North Carolina, September 1972 . . .

Ricky Lewis sprawled out on the porch swing and swatted at dozens of hungry mosquitoes hell-bent on having
him for lunch. It was unbearably hot and even the sweet tea didn't cool him off.

Half-hidden behind his dead mother's prized azalea bushes, he watched some junior high kids heading home,
laughing and tossing a football, oblivious to the stifling heat. He envied them.

The beginning of school always bummed him out a bit, but it was worse now. It didn't matter that he was a
senior or that he'd be the baseball team captain. Nothing mattered now that his dad was sick.

As hot as it was outside it was even worse inside where Nadine, his housekeeper ever since his mother died and
now his father's caretaker, had every burner on the stove fired up, cooking the weekend meals before she left
for the day. As usual, she cooked more than he and his dad could ever possibly eat but it wasn't like they didn't
try.

He let out a forceful breath and rested his head on the back of the swing to purge his mind of places in his past,
places he no longer belonged and concentrated on the haze that teemed with so many insects it seemed to
dance.

"Boo!"

"What the . . !"

Ricky jumped, jerking the glass. Tea spilled down his t-shirt.

"Doggonit Tyson, this is my favorite shirt."

Tyson, Nadine's nine-year-old son, raced around the hedge, clipping the edge with his shoulder as he passed, up
the steps and plopped down beside Ricky flashing a half-tooth grin.

"You should've seen the look on your face," he giggled. "Like you seen a ghost. Were you going to say a cuss
word?"

"No . . . I wasn't going to cuss," Ricky said. "And you didn't scare me either. You got leaves in your hair."

"Yes I did."

"Want some tea?"

Tyson took the glass, tipped it up and gulped trying to catch an ice cube in the gaps where teeth would
eventually grow.

"Are you going to leave me any?"

Tyson stopped and looked at Ricky out of the corner of his large mischievous brown eyes and smiled before
putting the glass back to his lips slurping until there was nothing left except ice cubes too big for his mouth.

"Nope," he laughed and handed Ricky the empty glass.

"That's okay, Nadie made me a whole pitcher. You want some more?"

"Yes!"

"Come on then, she's almost done in there. Got to be quiet though, dad might be sleeping. Why do you smell
like a dog?"

Tyson shrugged.

Ricky held the screen door ignoring the hoards of flies streaming inside. He'd have to hang some fly paper later
or he'd never hear the end of it. Maybe he could hang it strategically enough so Lee would get tangled in it.
Man, he hadn't done that since he was a kid and couldn't help but smile as he pictured his dad cursing with his
arms flailing tangled in the sticky yellow tape. Dead flies were glued to his hideous comb-over and his mother
was trying not to laugh as she pulled the tape from his head, taking a few strands of sacred hair with it. It was
almost worth the whipping he got once his dad broke free. Dammit! There he went with the memories again.

"I'm almost done here," Nadine hollered from the kitchen.

She pulled a steaming pan from the oven using a portion of her apron for a potholder. The room filled with the
aroma of roasted chicken as steam drifted up and disappeared.

"Mmmm . . ." Tyson cooed, but stopped mid-sentence. One look from his ma was all it took.

"Hush your mouth. This here is for Mister Lee and Ricky this weekend. We got plenty of food at home. Now just
sit quiet and wait."

Ricky leaned over and took in the delicious smell. He couldn't help it. By now, the smell had escaped down the
street and all of the neighbors were no doubt getting hungry.

"You know you and Ty are welcome to grab a bite before you go."