"I'm hot mama!"
"I know, Jack, I know but I can't do anything about the heat."
Jack mopped next to his mother, trying to hide under the little shade of the stall. He hated market day. His mother took too long at each stall, picking up each fruit to squeeze it gently. The way he saw it, this whole trip could be cut in half if she just chose the first fruit she touched. That's what he would do. He watched her pick up another one and he sighed.
Maybe when they get back Grandpa Hosea or Miss Tilly could take him to the lake! His dad never wanted to take him there. Uncle Arthur says it's cause he's an idiot.
"Sarsaparilla! Get your ice cold sarsaparilla here!"
Jack's ears perked up. He tugs on the skirt of his mother and points at the street vendor.
"Mama, can I get something to drink?"
Abigail looks down at him, taking in the ruddy cheeks and hair clinging to his brow. She looks towards where his finger pointed. Her mind quickly calculates the cost of the bottle and the food she was tasked with buying.
"Ok, one bottle."
Jack cheers racing over to the vendor, Abigail in tow.
The heat choked the cobbled stoned street. The shade of the buildings did little to abeit the summer sun as he lead his horse. An automobile honked its horn at him and he waved them on, flashing a rude gesture as they sped past. It was a mistake to come here. He hated St. Denis. But he had promised that he would visit Tilly and her family before they moved.
He stops under the shade of a tree, feeling the slight breeze of the river finally funnel down the cramped corridors. He takes off his hat, fingers combing through his long hair, separating the sweat matted strands.
"Sarsaparilla! Ice cold sarsaparilla!"
His hand pauses, fingers tangled in the strands as a memory pushes its way to the forefront of his mind. Of another day filled with summer heat and the skirt of his mother brushing his side. A cold bottle numbing his fingers as they passed it back and forth. His mother's smile as bright as the sun.
"One bottle, please."