Page 223 of Fury

I unlocked my door but she stood still, studying me. Were we about to enter a new world and leave the old one for the final time? She strode through the door, me behind her. The small crowd of my brothers broke, and we passed through.

“Drac, take care of shit. This might take a while.”

“You got it.” Drac tipped his head at me.

On my bike, I followed Lenore in her vintage Mustang to the Garden Center in Pine Needle. She got out of her car and stood perfectly still, her eyes on the store.

“We shopping for fruit trees or pumpkins today?” I asked.

She shot me a hard look and without a word, turned and moved toward the entrance to the nursery. A blonde lady looking to be in her early sixties and wearing a parka vest waved, greeting her. Lenore’s features instantly smoothed into an equally warm greeting. Steve wasn’t here, neither was his truck. Was that his wife?

Leaving my gloves on, I followed Lenore into the cavernous store. She didn’t look back at me. She kept moving slowly through the aisle of oversized pots, the aisle of weed killers, the aisle of fertilizer and plant food to the main greenhouse.

Loud music blared, a dance pop tune sung by some screechy young starlet who moaned in between verses. Pots of rosemary, basil, thyme, baby pine trees in small wood barrels, paver stones for patios and borders, the wheelbarrows. A short girl in glasses and a ponytail wearing a purple windbreaker danced at the end of the aisle. Her body moved and jerked off rhythm, like she was trying to keep up with it, but couldn’t and didn’t really care anyhow. She was smiling ear to ear, singing along loudly, her eyebrows wavering on her face as she moved with plenty of drama. She pivoted, swinging her arms up and around her head, as if she was copying moves she’d seen on a music video but also adding her personal twirl to it.

“Lenore!” She waved at Lenore as she did a hop and popped out a hip to the side in a big finish, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

“Hey, Zoë!” Lenore raised her hands in the air and the girl squealed and high-fived her. “Looking good, girl!”

Zoë wiped strands of her hair from her face. “Daddy’s on a delivery and Mommy’s busy up front, so I turned up the music.” She giggled, tapping on her cell phone.

“You really like that song. You were playing it the last time I came,” Lenore said.

Zoë’s full face blushed. “It’s my favorite.” Her slanted, small eyes lifted and landed on me. She seemed Asian, sort of. “Hello.” Her full smile grew wider, enlivening her face even more.

“Zoë, this is my friend Finger.”

Zoë giggled and scrunched her eyes. “That’s a funny name.” She raised a hand and waved it at me even though we were two feet apart. “Hi, Mr. Finger.”

“Finger, this is Zoë. Zoë’s parents own the nursery.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you, Zoë. I met your dad yesterday.”

“Daddy’s not here now.”

“Finger bought me your blue mugs,” said Lenore.

“You did?” Zoë giggled again.

“I brought Finger back to show him those clay tiles you made,” said Lenore. “The ones you’d showed me the last time I came. Do you remember?”

Zoë’s lips parted. “No.” She shook her head. “Oh, oh—yes, yes, I remember. You liked them even though most of them came out c-c-crooked.” She wrinkled her nose.

“That’s why I like them, because they’re made by hand. Your hands. Since Finger is so strong he’s going to help me lift them and put them in my car and get them into my house.”

“That’s good. You shouldn’t do everything all by yourself. Men help ladies. My mommy taught me that.”

Zoë studied me, transfixed on my face. She pointed at me with her index finger. “Lenore—weird m-marks on his f-face.” Her voice stuttered, the words stumbling thickly out of her mouth. She turned her head to the side dramatically.

“I know, honey,” said Lenore. “It makes Finger look different, but he’s just like you and me underneath. You know how that is.”

“Yep, I know.” Her heavily lidded eyes crinkled, her mouth pulling up into an immediate full smile, her shoulders lifting. She continued studying me with no sense of embarrassment or shyness, seemingly oblivious to a third wall of manners with strangers. “People look at me funny sometimes, but I’m used to it now.”

“They look because you’re so pretty.” Lenore’s voice had softened considerably, and I glanced at her.

“Pretty and born different,” said Zoë.

“Born special,” said Lenore, her tone breathy.

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