When he heard the table break, Daddy Pa leapt up from behind the hibiscus bush. He ran over, heavy on his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He towered over her, smelling like vomit and grown man. Smelling like supper. His big body blocked the sun and threw a cooling shadow over Yenderil. “Get up,” he said. “And put your dress back down. Nobody want to see that.” Yenderil smoothed the dress over the wriggling lumps on her belly, covering the devil eye with the fabric. The eye shut, or she shut it her own self, like shutting her own Yenderil eyes. She wasn’t sure which, but now
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