Carter stare at his daddy's hands as he double-knot the material roun the stick an tuck in the ends, tuggin at the length-a cotton to make sure it ain't gon come off easy. His daddy's a big man, lean an large like Carter's heard tell his grandaddy was. Carter ain't never seen his grandaddy, though he heard plenty bout him from Gram. Nother woman lured his gramps away when Carter's daddy was small, an he ain't never been heard-a since. Lef that lanky largeness hind him though, bloodlined in Carter's daddy's genes an on its way to passin right on down to him. Got large, strong fingers, his daddy has. Long enough, Carter reckons, to wrap themselves roun a grown man's throat an touch tips on either side.

Carter's daddy look down at the rest-a the butchered nightgown, pick it up from the porch, tear it quickly in half. The sudden rip of it make Carter squirm, like when his teacher run her fingers down the chalkboard. The sharp sound done startle Lucy from her song.

Excerpted from Foreign Soil by Maxine Beneba Clarke. Copyright © 2017 by Maxine Beneba Clarke. Excerpted by permission of Atria Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.