Re: Ball: Clementine, Irene & Declan
Clementine, she'd never followed that rule 'bout covering every Murphy's ugliness from the rest of the world. Might be her momma's blood that did it, on account of her momma being too damn dramatic to follow anyone's script but her own. But Clementine, she reckoned those moments of truth were all Lore's doing. Her sister, she'd been sweet as southern tea, and she'd been just as honest, and sometimes Clementine thought Lore was still informing every damn thing, and all from that grave. After Lore'd died, Clementine had sworn all the good her sister brung was buried 'longside her, but having that damn baby had made her soft, and she saw the Murphys for what they were, and the whole damn lot was rotten, including herself. She'd done real bad things, and she was trying to make amends, but none of that changed that she'd do it all again to get her way. That was just the way of Murphys, and her daddy was dead on account, and she loathed thinking 'bout the day Declan finally felt like talking that over some.
She heard Irene's footfalls behind her, and then the woman's voice was there, and Clementine turned her face to see Irene talking, sounding sharp and like this world was all hers. Clementine, she reckoned all this wasn't so different from what she, herself, was accustomed to, but she was out of practice, rusty from disuse.
She caught sight of Declan in the crowd, and that woman he chose made her wonder after his wife. Clementine, her own hair naturally dark as the overly rouged woman, wondered if he liked his women darker. The Murphy men, they fluttered toward brunettes, but Clementine wasn't putting her hair back dark. Too many damn memories, and a girl long in a grave, and she watched her brother waltz a moment, before turning her attention back to Irene. "Who's interesting, honey?"