Chapter 7That night, dinner consisted of some of the best fried chicken Addie had ever eaten. The skin had been breaded in a flavorful crust and had the scorch marks consistent with a cast-iron skillet. The meat dripped savory juices with every bite. As a veteran of many failed attempts to fry chicken, Addie's respect for the flamboyant brunette rose a few degrees. As did the appearance of her daughter at the table. The child, who looked to be somewhat under ten, showed no fear conversing with all the adults at the table and regaled them with funny stories about the children at school.
As dessert—a meltingly tender apple crisp—arrived on the table, the girl fell silent, intent on shoveling seasoned apples and crunchy oats into her mouth. One of the men spoke up.
“So, West, you just passi
