Blacke Harbor

“Well, you’re making me hungry. Let’s stop by Penn’s and get a bowl of clam chowder. I’m sure Erik would like a last meal and from how thin you’ve gotten they apparently don’t know a thing about lobster chowder in Mississippi.”

She nodded but said nothing. A moment of quiet followed as Catherine steered the Lincoln along the narrow streets to the small downtown area of the decrepit little hamlet. Erik watched out the window as the old stone buildings rolled by. It was as if, he thought, you could hear the entire town sigh with fatigue.

“We saw the news,” Jurgis said. “You looked good. Too pale, though. You could’ve used more makeup.”

Catherine steered the car into a parking space and turned off the Lincoln’s engine. “Oh, yeah? You try wearing makeup when it’s a hundred and five degrees.” She glanced back at Erik. “Only in the South would people wear cut-off shorts to court.” She opened her door and twisted her body in the smooth buttery leather of the seat. “Besides,” she said, “those Southern women wear enough makeup for all the rest of us.”