Iron Lace Read Online Free

fetching and carryingfor some old woman who’s trying to show the world what a liberal she is. What’s he going to get from that?”
    “A story?”
    She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. Maybe that’s why he’s considering it.”
    “Or maybe he’s considering it because he’s fallen in love and he needs an excuse to stay in town awhile.”
    Music flowed through the bar from the back room, slow, smoky jazz from another decade. She recognized “It’s Too Soon to Know,” one of Jake’s favorites. She smiled. “Sometimes I think you believe all those foolish old songs I sing.”
    He dropped her hand, but only to cup her chin. “Sometimes I do.”
     
    Belinda was sitting on her side of the front porch when Phillip pulled into her driveway. Two neighborhood kids were sitting on the rail in front of her, leaning against a thick tapestry of jasmine vines that scrabbled to the roof. The older of the little girls was braiding the younger’s hair.
    “You’re never going to need kids of your own,” he said as he climbed the steps. “You’ve always got plenty of somebody else’s.”
    “Best way to do it. That way I don’t have to worry about taking care of some man, too.”
    Phillip wasn’t sentimental. What sentiment had survived his childhood had been bled out of him, one drop at a time, in places like Birmingham and Montgomery. But something, some loose wire inside him, reconnected at the sight of Belinda.
    She was wearing dark print harem pants and a fringed top that stopped short of her navel. Just weeks before, she had cut her hair nearly as short as a man’s, and the effect was stunning.She had a long, regal neck, and an oval face accented by curly-lashed almond-shaped eyes. The radically short haircut brought the whole woman into view, the beauty, the pride.
    The temper.
    “You left coffee cups all over my desk, Phillip Benedict.”
    “I plead guilty.” He leaned against the porch post. “What do you think I should do about it?”
    “I think you ought to get yourself inside and clean up, that’s what I think.”
    “You going to leave your little friends and come inside, too?”
    “Amy, you done yet?” Belinda asked.
    The oldest child, chubby-cheeked and sassy-eyed, giggled and slid down to the porch floor. “You gotta do what he say, Miss Belinda?”
    “I never do what he says. You remember that.”
    “Then you’re not going in?”
    “Just ’cause I’m getting cold. You two scoot.”
    The little girls scampered off, skipping down the walkway, then along the curb. The oldest took the youngest’s hand.
    “Isn’t it kind of late for them to be outside?” Phillip asked.
    “They stay with their aunt at night while their mama cleans office buildings down on Canal. Aunt’s got six kids of her own, and she has trouble keeping track. They’ll be okay. Amy’s an old lady at eight. But I’m going to follow behind them, just to be sure. You go on in.” She got to her feet.
    “You know every kid in the neighborhood, not just the ones that have been in your classes.”
    “Nah. But they all know me.”
    Phillip put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her before she could descend the steps. “Were you an old lady at eight?”
    “I was an old lady at three.”
    “Come on, old lady. I’ll go with you.”
    They walked hand in hand after the two little girls. New Orleans was a stoop-sitting kind of place, a place where the first puff of cool evening air was savored gratefully by the thousands of lungs that had waited patiently all day for it to arrive. Tonight, old people sat together reminiscing, and young people made their own memories, all in plain sight of their neighbors.
    There was nothing special about Belinda’s neighborhood. Some of the small houses were well cared for, with neatly trimmed lawns and fresh coats of paint. Others showed an absence of hope and energy. The worst example was a block and a half away, on a wide