“So why did you?” I ask, eager to deflect the conversation.
Mary Graces gazes off in thought. “Because I know how it feels to be stuck somewhere you don’t want to be,” she says. “Brandy told me you’re from Atlanta.”
I nod my head, noting her own diversion off topic. “Born and raised,” I tell her. “Lived there all my life until I got shipped off to paradise.”
“I’m guessing your dad is the one who shipped you off.”
I nod again. I sense where this is leading.
“Why?” she asks, confirming my suspicions. “What happened?”
I turn away for a moment and spark up my fresh smoke. It feels like the thousandth time someone has asked me this question. Drawing on my cigarette, I ponder my response. Up until now, I’ve given the same stripped-down version of the truth. A highlight reel of my misdeeds:
