Brice pointed to a grove of immensely tall, very slender trees. I’m not sure why they were called trumpet trees. Their leaves looked more like huge fans.We were walking along a shady track, walking very slowly actually. I know it was hot, but I have to say Beau/Brice didn’t seem that keen to reach our uncle’s sugar mill. He kept stopping to show me tropical plants along the way.I dutifully repeated their names to show I was paying attention: rose apple, soursop, guango trees. All the time I was trying to think of a way to drop Lola casually into the conversation. Asking if he’d run into any nice angels recently was obviously out. I could try asking if he had any other female cousins living nearby? The Agency had made me and Brice relations, so chances were they’d made Lola some kind of rellie too.If ONLY I’d read my friend’s bio…Or even your own, babe, my inner angel commented.I heard scuffling sounds. A little girl came stumbling down the track in her bare feet, struggling to balance a basket on her head.
