Page 22 of Landry

“I do,” Ava said.

“Would he like to have gumbo with us?” Landry asked.

Camille held her breath, wondering if Ava would own up to her friend being imaginary.

Her daughter shook her head. “Billy Ray is shy. He doesn’t like being around adults. But I’m sure he’d like a bowl of gumbo if I give it to him.”

“How old is your friend?” Camille asked.

“He’s ten years old,” Ava answered. “His birthday was a few days ago. I made him a card and painted a rock for him.”

“When do you see Billy Ray?” Landry asked.

“Whenever he comes to visit.” Ava kicked her feet into the air. “I hope he comes tonight. I have a lollipop for him.”

Camille frowned. If the boy was real, his parents might not know of his nightly excursions. Moving around at night, especially along the banks of the bayou, wasn’t always safe. Besides the occasional alligator, there were the occasional drug runners who passed through the area. “Where does Billy Ray live, Ava?”

“In the bayou,” Ava answered without hesitation.

“With his parents?” Camille persisted.

Ava shook her head. “Billy Ray doesn’t have parents.”

“Does he live alone in the bayou?” Landry asked.

Ava shook her head. “No. He has me. He doesn’t like talking to anyone else.”

“I’d like to meet Billy Ray,” Camille said.

Again, Ava shook her head. “I told him you were nice and would never hurt anyone, but he doesn’t like adults. Whenever one comes around, he disappears.

Which, to Camille, sounded like an imaginary friend. “I’d still like to meet him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Ava said.

By that time, they’d arrived at the cottage.

Camille unlocked the front door.

As she reached out to twist the doorknob, Landry’s hand closed over hers. “Mind if I check the interior before you go in?”

Camille’s brow dipped. Maybe it was overkill, but better safe than sorry. She stepped back and waved him toward the door. “Knock yourself out.”

He quietly slipped through the door.

Camille and Ava stood on the porch for the full minute Landry was gone.

When he returned, he pushed the door open wide. “All clear.”

As Camille had expected. She walked past him into her house. When he didn’t follow her, she glanced over her shoulder.

He tipped his chin toward his SUV. “I’ll get the groceries out of my vehicle.”

“Sounds good. You’re welcome to make yourself at home in my kitchen,” she said. “I can help chop vegetables.”

“Even onions?” he said with a wink.

She nodded. “Even onions. Though there’s not a dry eye in the house when I’m done.”

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