Chapter Twenty-OneCLARA’S BEACH HOUSE,
March 1929
“Oh, it’s you.” I stepped back from the door.
Earl Pearson stood there, his glossy black hair slicked back with pomade and his tiny pencil-thin moustache curving above an amused grin.
“Sorry. I didn’t let y’all know I was comin’, Daisy,” he said.
“Come here, lover man,” Clara said, giving him a big smooch.
“Hey there, pussycat. I missed you,” he said when she let him come up for air.
Unfortunately, Earl had been back in and out of her life since her surgery. Mostly out, but like a bad case of dandruff, you could never quite get rid of him for good.
Clara pulled off his jacket, then untucked his shirt and pushed him into the bedroom. I retreated out to the patio with my book as the little cottage resonated with grunts and groans.
Af
