They and several other children sat around the Peaces’ rectangular kitchen table, anticipating the homemade ice cream and cake Emma Jean had promised. “Tell me!” Caroline murmured, tight-lipped. Eva Mae smiled devilishly and raised her head like one marching in a parade. She never intended to tell Caroline the secret. Her joy was in taunting others with it. The power and authority she felt each time she broached the subject made her giggle and understand how insecure people are. She had determined, years ago, never to tell that she and Perfect were kissing buddies, because someone might find it objectionable and bring an end to their private joy. Their intimacy always occurred in the same place—under the house, far away in the back corner. Because they had anointed the space with their sweat and innocence, it felt clean, honest, and sacred every time they entered. In school or church, Eva Mae would whisper, “See ya at home,” speaking the final word sensually, and Perfect would smile, anticipating the moment.
