Second House from the Corner (19 page)

“Hand me that.”

I get up for the cordless receiver.

“No, don't answer it. You know I let it ring three times before I pick it up.”

On the third ring, I hand it to Gran.

“Hello.”

I walk over to the piano and let my fingers trail lightly over a few notes.

“Praise the Lord, Sister Marie. Oh, I'm 'bout fair to middlin'. You?”

I know Gran is about to start in on a good talk, so I take my beer into the living room and look around for the remote. The yellow curtains with the deep gold patterns still hang from the windows, miniature porcelain cats and horses still on the sill, lamp with the jeweled beads still on the coffee table stand, and a stack of Hallelujah records still on the shelf underneath the record player. Gran's house is frozen in a time capsule. Still the same.

I move to the sofa, and that's when I notice there is no cable box. I didn't know Gran didn't have cable downstairs. When I sit down and flip the channels the only thing on is the news.

Headlines: Gun found at Fels high school; student apprehended. Fire claimed the life of an elderly woman in South Philadelphia. Police are looking for five men in connection with a home invasion and abduction in the Juniata Park section. Eighteen-year-old girl stabbed multiple times in Logan at a house party; she's in critical condition. Five-year-old boy is missing, walked out of his mother's apartment at two
A.M
.

I turn the television back off and look out the window. Two men hurry down the street. A black-and-white stray cat rests on Shayla's bottom step, licking its paws. Her old house that I used to run in and out of all hours of the day is boarded up, as is the one next door to it. Shayla use to have the front bedroom because her mother thought the back one was bigger. When I look up at the window thinking about all the times we shared, I hope like hell she's got her eye on Brave. If Preston knew that I helped her … I turn back in my seat and fold my hands in my lap. Sickness for my real home with my real family washes over me and I use my cell to call the house. No answer. Then Preston's phone, but I get his voice mail. I gulp my Schlitz.

*   *   *

Gran played the Clark Sisters' “Is My Living in Vain?” while I cleaned the kitchen and put the food away.

“I didn't know you went to bed so late,” I say, following Gran up the creaky, narrow, wooden stairs. She moves slowly, pausing on each step like she's scanning the ocean floor for a sand dollar.

“Jesus,” she says, slapping her thigh. “Help me up the mountain, Jesus.”

“Why don't you get one of those stair lifts?”

“Cost too much. My doctor tryin' to get me a prescription for it, but even with that it's pricey.”

“I'll help with the payments.”

“I'm fine, chile. I like the exercise. 'Sides, your husband's money has to send them children to that old fancy private school they 'tend.”

I sigh and let her dig go. We walk down the squat hallway. Gran's bedroom is up front, Crystal's and my room is to the right. When I glance into the space, it appears livable.

“I'm surprised our old room isn't filled to the brim.”

“I keep it nice for you, case you ever decide to drop in.” She leans heavily on the hall railing and then takes the few steps into her bedroom. Her high-back chair has two pillows, and she lets herself down into it.

“Here, untie my shoes.”

I kneel in front of her.

“I manage just fine by myself, but since you here I'm gonna let you be my arms and legs,” she says with a wink. “'Bout time you came. Now, you goin' tell me why you here?”

I slip Gran's beige walking shoes off her swollen feet and slide them under the chest of drawers where she keeps her everyday pairs. My heart is like a weight in my chest.

“Can you give me something to help me sleep?” I avert my eyes to the worn-out carpet beneath my feet so that she can't see my fresh pain.

“There's a bottle on the dresser, should be toward the front. Called zaleplon. Just take a half if you ain't used to taking pills.”

Gran's dresser top looks like a pharmacy, among the many bottles of pills and dusty perfume vials and bottles.

“You never wear the perfume I give you. These are still in the box.”

“Well, what you tryin' say, I stink?”

“No, just trying to be thoughtful.”

“Old folks don't want perfume, gal. Next time get me something else.”

I fumble around the dresser picking up bottles and then putting them down until I find the right one. I shake a tablet into my hand, remembering the one I stole from her when I took that bus ride to Virginia. I leave the memory right where it stands, and head down the hall to the bathroom. When I lean over the sink, the recollections have followed me. I see my fifteen-year-old self in the tub filled with water when Gran walked in and discovered my big belly. Feel the sting of her belt as it lashed down on my wet skin.

*   *   *

It was just after nine o'clock when I crawl between the sheets of the old full-size bed that I used to share with Crystal before she birthed Derell and they moved around the corner. The sheets smell like Clorox and lavender. The bed is hard, nothing like the pillowtop I share with Preston at home. His name on my thoughts makes the tears swell, and I bury my face into the pillow, willing my nose not to breathe, mind not to think, heart not to ache, feelings not to spill. Soon enough the aid I swallowed takes over like magic, and I fall into the chambers of sleep.

I'm down ten hours straight. When I wake up my breasts are leaking through my nightshirt. I've missed two feedings with Liv and I'm up, into my jeans and downstairs searching for my cell phone. No missed calls. I dial home. Juju answers the telephone.

“Hi, honey. Preston's in the shower but the kids are here.”

I know it's a lie. She and I have never been chummy. She would have preferred that Preston married a doctor or a lawyer.

“Did he tell you to use the breast milk in the freezer for Liv? She's weaning off but she feeds from me twice a day.”

“Yes.” Her tone is clipped.

“You have to heat it on the stove. If you put it in the microwave you ruin the milk.”

“I'm aware, dear. Twyla is pulling the phone. Hang on.”

“Mommy.” She starts crying. “Where're you? When are you coming home?”

“Two, Two-Two, stop crying, my love.” I try to keep my voice steady. I miss her like it's been a month. “I'm in Philly right now helping Gran. I'll be home soon. How was school yesterday?”

Two is easily distracted and tells me about a game she played before handing the phone to Rory.

“Hi, Mama.”

He's the only one of my kids who calls me Mama, and it makes the dam loosen.

“How are you, son?” I breathe hard, trying to keep the tears that stream down my face from reaching his ears. We talk for a few minutes and then he asks if I want to speak to Daddy. I hear Preston in the background telling Rory to tell me he'll call me later.

“Okay, sweetie, kiss Liv for me and I'll call you later. You know my number, right?”

“Right.”

“You can call me anytime, you hear me? You don't need permission from Daddy or Juju. Just dial my number when you want me.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Even when we are not together, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

I end the call and fall against the sofa. I've never felt more hopeless in my life. I want my family back. This ain't right.

 

TWENTY-FOUR

The Wind Blows Crystals

I'm sitting on the sofa curled in a ball when the front door is strong-armed opened and in falls Crystal.

“Look what the wind done blown,” she huffs, sounding like Gran. “Whatchu doing here?” Her hands find the extra flab around her hips.

“Hi, Crys.” I stand and hug her. “What's up with the extra hair?” I flip her baby doll, fire engine–red weave with my hand.

“Girl, this is the style in Philly, you betta get with the program. Where's Mama?” She puts her brown paper bag down on the table.

“She was gone when I woke up.”

“Damn. I need to borrow twenty dollars from her so I can pay for my son's school trip.”

“Mike-Mike?”

“Yeah. They going to the Art Museum or something.”

I slump back on the sofa, shifting to get comfortable against the plastic. Crystal opens her bag, pulls out a twenty-two-ounce of Budweiser, and pops the cap.

“You look like shit, girl. What Honeybear do to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Where the kids at?”

“With him.”

She chokes on her beer and it shoots in my direction. “What the fuck you do to that man?”

I wipe my chin. “Yuck. Say it, don't spray it.”

“Ain't no man keeping the kids in a breakup unless you have messed up big time. What you do?” She is shouting, and I want to put my hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, but knowing Crystal, she'll bite me.

“Faye, you better tell me or I ain't gonna leave you alone. You cheat on him?”

I shrug my shoulders and slump farther into the seat. “He found out.”

Crystal is practically in my lap. “Found out what?” We exchange looks. The knowing quickly registers on her face. She leans in even closer, like we're in a room filled with people trying to keep this a secret.

“Martin?”

“Would you move over?” I can hardly get the sentence out of my mouth before we hear Gran's key in the door. “Don't say nothing.” I stand and walk to the kitchen.

“Hey, Mama,” Crystal sings.

“Crissy, come on and get the groceries for me. They at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Why can't Faye do it?” She shoots me a look as I walk back into the living room, wiping my hands on a towel.

“'Cause I asked
you
,” Gran replies.

Crystal stomps off down the steps, lugs the shopping cart up the stairs, and pulls it into the kitchen. Gran looks at Crystal's bottle of beer and grits her teeth.

“Ain't it a bit early for a clucker, Crissy?”

“It's the breakfast of champions.”

“Gon' put you in an early grave.”

“Faye's unpacking and putting away.” Crystal points to me and resumes her spot on the couch.

I'm happy to unpack the groceries. It gives me something mind numbing to do.

“Chrissy, go get me a Pepsi. Put it in my red cup and bring it upstairs. I'ma go catch up on my stories.”

I hear Gran's slow procession on the stairs while I put the three cans of Carnation milk in the cupboard. They must have been on sale. When I'm finished, I stand over the tiny sink and sponge up the few dishes and let them dry in the dish rack.

As soon as I hear Gran's bedroom door close, Crystal pulls a joint from her jacket pocket and waves it in the air.

“Come in the yard with me.”

“What if Gran smells it?”

“What are we? Ten? She'll be into her stories. Come on, chicken.”

I follow her.

The yard is narrow. Cinder block walls on both sides block the view from the neighbors. There is an empty plot of dirt, two empty forty-ounces, a bag of trash, and two rusty, folding chairs leaning against the wall. Crystal puts the joint between her lips and unfolds the chairs.

Flicking the flame from her lighter, she puffs until the joint catches, and I can smell the fragrance of grass burning.

“So how'd Honeybear find out?” She passes me the joint. I haven't smoked in years but I don't hesitate to take my turn. Two short tokes and I pass it back. Crystal looks surprised when I don't cough. I push out my chest, feeling cool and accepted.

One more inhale and my mouth runs, like Florence Griffith Joyner in the one-hundred-meter dash, with just as much animation, complete with long painted fingernails and outrageous running suits. I tell her everything from how Martin had started calling the house, to my Dames performance and Preston practically yanking me offstage in front of a room filled with important women.

“I haven't even dealt with the Dames yet. I can't.”

“So why did you leave?”

I turned. “He said if I didn't he was going to throw my stuff onto the street.”

“Damn, he's mad. Why he so mad, Faye? It don't seem that big of a deal. So your ex called. So what?”

I take one last puff of the joint and then drop it when it burns my fingertips. “He thought he was my first.”

Crystal falls out of her seat, jumps up, and starts running around in a circle. “Git the fuck out of here.” Her belly wiggles.

“Shhhh.” I tug her back into her seat. “I don't want Gran coming down here.”

“Mama ain't hobbling back down those stairs until dinnertime, and since you here, she might want room service.” She lights a cigarette.

“How you even get him to believe that shit?”

“I din't tell him I was a virgin; I just never told him I wasn't.”

The backyard is shaded and cool. I like the floaty feeling that's come over me, and I slide my face toward the sun.

Crystal settles back down. “Remember that time that I tried to burn your hat string to shorten it, and accidentally burnt your ponytails?”

I smile.

“Mama wore my ass out for that one.”

“Served you right. My hair was lopsided for two years.”

“God shoulda gave me some of that hair anyway. Didn't seem fair that you had so much and I had so little.” I suspect that she means more by it than just hair. She touches the scar Daddy's knife gave her.

“Well, you got plenty of it now.” I lighten the mood.

“That's right, it's mine. I bought it.”

Crystal stands and puts the chairs back against the wall.

“What Mama cook? I'm hungry as a hostage.”

“Roast beef.”

“Nice. Make me a plate,” Crystal orders.