A Ship Made of Paper by Scott Spencer Read Free Book Online

by which they really mean sex. I guess I should be pleased. No one ever said I did anything well when it came to sex.” Kate laughs. “But now I’m getting a lot of O. J. assignments, so that’s good. Have you all been following the case?”
    No one’s taking the bait on that one. Getting this crowd to talk about O. J. would be like trying to convince them to take off their clothes right there in the restaurant. Kate feels sour and self-righteous, the way you do when you seem to be the only person willing to face something ugly.
    Iris’s eyes are locked on her meal. She seems to be hurrying to finish it before Hampton tucks into it again. Kate watches her hands as they delicately maneuver her knife and fork. She finds her cute but hardly irresistible. Lean body, broad shoulders, big behind. Kate feels sorry for black people with freckles, it’s like they’re getting the worst of both worlds.
    “You know what we should have done?” says Daniel, his voice bright silver. “Kept the kids together, with just one baby-sitter.”
    “Wasn’t I lucky to have found someone like Daniel?” Kate announces.
    “When my marriage broke up and I was left with my kid, I thought I’d a s h i p m a d e o f pa p e r
    be alone forever. But Daniel’s a better parent than I am.” She waits for Daniel to contradict her, but he doesn’t. “Well, maybe not better, but he is so good to Ruby.”
    “She’s a great kid,” Daniel says softly.
    “She is,” says Iris.
    “And she so loves Nelson,” Daniel says. His face colors, and he looks to Kate for relief. “Doesn’t she? How many times has she talked about him? Right?”
    “Kids can fall in love,” Kate says. “In fact, in childhood, we may be at our highest capacity to just go head over heels for another person. I was in love with a little boy when I was five years old. A little black boy with the perfect little black boy name: Leroy. Leroy Sinclair.” She signals the waiter for more wine. In for a penny. “His mother cleaned the little medical arts building where my father had his office. He was a real butterball, Leroy. Just as fat as a tick, but with the most charming, lazy smile, a real summer-on-the-Mississippi smile. He wore overalls and high-topped sneakers. His mother had to take him to work and apparently she fed that poor boy sweets all through the day to keep him quiet. I used to go to Daddy’s office every Saturday and Mrs. Sinclair—”
    “You called her Mrs. Sinclair?” Hampton asks.
    “Not at the time.We called her Irma. She weighed two pounds, shoes and all.”
    “Poor Leroy,” says Iris.
    “I used to read to Leroy. I was precocious. I’d bring a book every Saturday and read to him while Daddy worked in his office, two hours of paperwork, nine-thirty to eleven-forty-five, every Saturday, to the minute. I used to read Leroy these bedtime books, right there in the middle of the day, sitting on the inside staircase of this little medical arts building out on Calhoun Boulevard. And Leroy had all this candy his mother gave him, stuffed in his pockets, little red-and-white mints, but-terscotch sucking candies, all fancy wrapped . . .”
    “She probably took them from one of the houses she cleaned during the week,” Iris says.
    [ 31 ]
    “Yes, I suppose she did. Stolen sweets. What could be better?” She narrows her eyes, lets Iris draw her own damn conclusions. “I read him Goodnight, Moon, and he put his head right in my lap and closed his eyes and I patted and rocked him and he pretended to fall asleep. And when I was finished with whatever I was reading, I kissed the palm of my hand and pressed it against his cheek, over and over, hand to my lips, hand to his cheek. And I remember thinking: I love Leroy. I love Leroy Sinclair.
    And just saying those words put me into a kind of hypnotic trance.”
    The high school girl has cleared the plates away. The waiter hovers over to the side, waiting for a break in the conversation.
    “And then one day I