Annabelle was rubbing oysters in her hair and ears.
Lydia’s gaze was locked on her folded hands. “What’s going on?” Smitty asked, yawning. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.”
He picked up the oysters and walked over to her. “They won’t eat!”
“Really?” She craned her sunburned neck a little, then flinched slightly. “What are you feeding them?” “Oysters!” He shook the skillet in her face. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“Oh.” He stilled his hand. “Look at these.”
“Ummm.” Her eyes lit up and she reached for one. She had it in her mouth in two shakes. “Good,” she said with her mouth full.
“You’re damn right they are!”
She grabbed three more, popped them in her mouth one by one and nodded. “Mmmm. Mmmm.”
She flinched suddenly. “Ouch!” Her eyes grew really huge, and her sunburned cheek bulged with the oyster.
Hank stared at her.
The lump of oyster shifted from cheek to cheek, then she raised her hand and spit into it. “Oh, my. Will you look at that!”
He blinked once.
“A pearl!”
He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. She held up the most perfect black pearl he’d ever seen.
22
“Did you say what I think you just said?” Margaret stared openmouthed at Hank. He held Annabelle, who was squirming and screaming and kicking for all she was worth.
“She’s got the pearl up her goddamned nose.”
Margaret blinked, then opened her mouth. “How—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “Never mind.”
He stared at the baby as if she had two heads before he looked up, frowning. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”
“No, of course not. It’s perfectly normal to have a pearl stuck up your nose.”
“Shit, Smitty! I need your help here. How the hell do we get it out?” He was agitated and began to pace even faster than before.
Margaret studied the baby’s nose. There was a slight bulge high on the bridge. “Let’s press on the side of her nose and force it down.”
“I did that. That’s when she started screaming and kicking.”
“Hold her and I’ll try. But first take her over to the trunk.”
They walked across the hut and laid the baby down. “Hold her down, Hank.”
“She hates me,” he muttered.
“Mama! Mama!” Annabelle tried to get up. Her small face was red and angry. Tears poured down her cheeks. She kept trying to reach for Margaret, kicking her feet when Hank wouldn’t let her go.
Hank’s tanned skin grew pale as if someone were sticking bamboo under his fingernails.
“There, sweetie. It’s okay, Annabelle. It’s okay.” Margaret stroked her arm and leaned over her. She lifted her hand toward the baby’s nose and Annabelle screamed as if she was dying, and she twisted her head and began to bang it against the trunk.
