My sisters loved it. Nat and the twins oooed and ahhed appropriately. Jackie said it felt like a museum.
“I’m home,” I called to no one in particular.
There was a bedroom right off the kitchen I thought might serve some purpose once Mama got on in years. I’d decorated it with her in mind and envisioned complementing the garden-themed wallpaper and white wicker furniture with fresh-cut flowers every day. Mama would love it, and so would I. It was, after all, my duty as the oldest. Wasn’t like Mya or Jackie would ever think to do such a thing.
Of course upon seeing the room, Mama wasn’t the least bit grateful. She nodded and forced a smile after I explained its purpose, but the stench of her disapproval didn’t dare abate. She was determined to hate everything about my life.
“Mama!” Jackie’s voice bounded through the front door and down the hall. “Mama!” She wore a smile so wide I thought she might swallow me up whole. “Put that down,” she demanded, taking the dishtowel from me and tossing it to the floor.
“Girl, you lost your mind? I gotta clean the dishes with that. You wanna eat off the floor?”
“I got good news, Mama!” She took my hand, twirling under my arm and in a circle around me.
“What’s going on?”
Nat was first down the steps, soon after came Heziah and the twins. Jackie was so full of giggles by that point she could barely get it out.
“I’m gonna be a star.” She beamed.
“Oh, good Lord.”
“I am, Mama! The band gotta a gig,” she declared.
We’d spent the better part of every waking moment trying to impress on her that what she needed was a solid education. A steady stream of doors would open for her if she took her studies seriously. She said all the right things, but I think it was mostly to satisfy us.
“You need to be thinking about school.”
“I am, Mama,” she said, dismissing it at the same time. I knew my chile. She wasn’t thinking no more about college than a cat thought about cheese.
“What kinda band?” Callie wanted to know.
Didn’t matter. I mean Jackie had a real nice singing voice, she did, but she had other things going for her too. Like her brain which wasn’t gonna give out. It was gonna make her some good money, so she would never have to depend on nobody to take care of her.
Jackie let go of me and moved on to dancing with her lil’ sisters. They ain’t know enough to do more than laugh when she did, smile when she did.
Heziah wrapped one arm around me and whispered in my ear, “Let it go.” His smile said he was about ready to give up. He wasn’t gonna hold out on college, seeing how happy this band thing made her.
She was eighteen years old. Technically an adult, but she was more stubborn than grown. Wasn’t in me to just let it go.
“Oh, Mama, come on! You not gonna be happy for me?” She pretended to pout. “When I get rich and famous, you know I’m gonna buy you a big pretty house. Twice as big as this one!” She bat her eyes at me, then moved on to Heziah. “And a whole acre of land, so Daddy can plant flowers and vegetables, and y’all can sit out there in the garden drinking wine and flirting!”
Was hard not to at least smile at that.
◼︎
I wasn’t gonna be around forever, so I had to get my girls squared away. The years had been kind to ‘em in some ways, but it only took one misstep to put ‘em on the road to misfortune.
“You worry too much,” Heziah was saying as he pulled back the covers. “They are doing good. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”
I nodded, for his sake. We was never gonna think along the same paths. Heziah still thought the world was full of roses and rainbows. I knew better.
“Belinda, you gotta learn to take the good. Can’t go around expecting things to go bad.”
Nikki had married that little troll of a man. Mya was God knows where. Jackie was…well…she was working on herself, as she put it. Nat and the twins was up next, but if I ain’t get my oldest three squared away, I ain’t have the slightest bit of confidence that I could handle the next three.
“Stop worrying,” he demanded, pulling me close to his chest for a quick hug.
“It ain’t gone work.”
“What?”
“Holding me close. You ain’t gone rub off on me.” If it hadn’t happened in ten years, it wasn’t gonna happen.
“This is about Jackie ain’t it?”
“She got her heart set on this music thing.” I sighed and flung a fresh blanket over our bed, smoothed it over the mattress and tucked it tight. “Won’t listen to nobody…” Just like Nikki. Just like Mya. Damn Ricky and his stubborn genes.
“She’ll come around.”
“Oh, yeah? When? I’ll put it on my calendar.”
He laughed, taking the pillows, which were for decoration, from the head of the bed. “Soon enough. We give her some space, and she’ll make the right decision on her own. You’ll see.”
Space. I wasn’t good at space, not where my girls were concerned. Space had nearly taken them from me one too many times. Space was the reason I’d never set eyes on my only grandchild. I still felt too young to be a grandma but didn’t change the fact I was one.
“She needs time,” Heziah said.
“She done had seven years.”
“Jackie?” His forehead wrinkled with confusion, then relaxed a moment later. “Belinda—”
Heziah’s chest swelled, and he squeezed me to him until the air whistled between his lips. He couldn’t lie to me, but I wish he would’ve. Wish he could’ve stopped me from killing Ricky. I still wanted him dead, but I wish it hadn’t been me that done it. Or at least give me the words to explain. Then maybe my child wouldn’t hate me.
Mia Angel Morrow was born at Cook County Hospital after eighteen hours of sweat, blood, and tears. She came out half screaming, half laughing, with big eyes dark as coal and a head full of curly hair to match. She was mine. There was no doubt about it.
From that moment on, everything I did was about her. I didn’t trust anyone. Not daycare people, not my sisters, not my mama. Not even the old lady who volunteered at the soup kitchen. She never left my side. Maybe I wasn’t the most cheerful child to begin with, but having my own to look after made me harder. Who was going to protect her, feed her? When she had a problem, who was going to know the solution better than her mama? So, it wasn’t long before I developed a sixth sense—about people, places, even times of day. A long list of rules I lived by.
Rule number one. Guard the facts. Our first names were privileged information, and our last name was totally off limits. Folks regularly referred to us as the girl with the baby, and I was perfectly content with that. As far as government agencies were concerned, I lived at home with Mama, her new husband, and my sisters. Jackie got my mail for me. I didn’t bother with a lie or the truth when it came to other interested parties, and eventually, they stopped asking.
Rule number two. Be prepared. Count the exits and how many steps it will take to get to each one. Keep the big blade in your bag and the small one in your underwear with anything else of value.
Rule number three. When in doubt, the answer is no. You want me to hold her while you go to the bathroom? No. You want a ride somewhere? No.
No such thing as a free lunch, my daddy used to say. He was wrong a million different ways, but he got a few things right.
◼︎
“Mommy, where Dee?”
“I don’t know,” I uttered, taking her hand in mine as we hurried across the street. Mia was always asking me where the mysterious soldier boy was. She worried about him when she shoulda been worrying about putting one foot in front of the other. Holding on to her and pushing the shopping cart with everything we owned was hard enough without having to think about where soldier boy had disappeared to. “He’ll show up.”
I meant it to soothe her mind, but she immediately took to searching the crowded street for his face.
“Oww, Mommy.”
“Dee be there?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t really know one way or the other, but she’d move faster if she had something specific to move toward. Getting to the shelter before they closed the doors wasn’t enough of an incentive for her. Long as she had us, she thought sleeping on park benches and in public restrooms was an adventure.
The line at St. Ann’s Rectory stretched down the block and around the corner. Women with teenagers. A few whole families, but most folks were single. A few of them waved when they saw us coming. Mia waved back. She waved to everybody regardless of whether they were actually looking at her.
“Dee here?”
“Inside.”
She was gonna throw a fit when she found out I was lying, but by then, we’d have a roof over our heads. Easier to deal with her fits when we were stationary.
“We gonna sleep with Dee?”
Two days ago I’d woken up at four in the morning to find he had skipped out of our studio apartment with all our money. All the money I’d been saving to get us a real place and pay the back rent we owed our current landlord. It was the last straw for the man who sublet us the studio.
“Mommy.” She tugged at my hand. “Dee be there when we sleep?”
“If he’s here.”
“If?” The tears began to crowd in the corners of her eyes. “Who gonna look over us, if he not?”
My daughter may not have understood all the intricacies of living on the street, but she got the danger, and soldier boy had spoiled her—always showing up in the nick of time. When she was a baby, she couldn’t sleep if she wasn’t right with me. I couldn’t be lying in the bed next to her. She had to be right on my chest, and it had to be quiet, but eventually, even those conditions weren’t enough.
“Who watch us, Mommy?”
“I will.”
She looked doubtful.
◼︎
Mia could roar like no child I’d ever seen. She reminded me of the cartoon babies, sprouting tears from their eyes with their mouths wide open. Her pint-sized fists went to work pounding on anything within reach, even her own legs. Once she’d had enough of that, her claws came out.
“Stop scratching yourself!”
You’d think the pain would make her think twice about what she was doing but not my child. She could be bleeding and wouldn’t feel a damn thing.
“Mia. Stop.”
The cots around us began to stir. Nobody was gonna sleep ‘til she got it outta her system.
“I want Dee!”
“He ain’t here. Now lie down and go to sleep.”
“I want Dee!”
She was two seconds into her favorite chant.
“Here,” I whipped out her stuffed Elmo and thrust it into her chest for her to hug. The chant died a resistant death. “Go on, take it. He wants to sleep with you.”
“She really loves her daddy.” The old woman behind me chuckled.
Dee wasn’t her daddy, but I ain’t feel the need to correct the woman. I’d spent enough time trying to impart the distinction on Mia, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. Ramon was only a word. I imagined her daddy turning in his grave but nothing I could do about it. The soldier boy was flesh and blood. Gave her Skittles even when she was bad. Mia loved him like he was her one and only friend. She might’ve loved Ramon like that if he’d lived.
“We see Dee in the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I go to sleep now.”
“You not scared to sing in front of lots of people?”
“Nope.”
Callie shuddered at the thought. Her hands perched on top of her knees. She sat back on her heels, following my direction to tilt her head to the side.
“I would be. How many people are gonna be there?”
My littlest sister was too young to come to the club. Technically, I was too young, but the owner was willing to overlook that.
“Are you gonna wear the red dress?”
“Mmhmm.” I had a mouthful of rubber bands and was desperately trying to cajole the slippery ends of her hair into a neat cornroll. Mama had given up on braiding the twins’ hair, but that’s what they wanted. All their friends had braids.
Callie shuddered again between my knees. “Don’t wear heels. You might fall.”
The twins were growing out of their adorable phase and making their way toward beautiful. It was obvious even at seven years old. Didn’t see even the tiniest bit of Heziah in them. They seem to have sprung up, deciding for themselves what features they would have, like grapes on a vine taking in the influences of everything around them.
“I wish I could see you. You gonna be the only one singing?”
“Maybe I’ll sneak you in. Get you all dressed up. Throw some makeup on ya…”
She giggled.
“You’ll just be a shorter version of me. There. I’m done.”
She was up and at the full-length mirror on the back of my door in seconds, patting her head and admiring my work. “I look okay?”
“You look gorgeous! Now I gotta get ready. Off to bed you go. Go on.”
Mama had given me a curfew of eleven, but I wasn’t supposed to be at the club until ten. I figured she’d make an exception since I was doing something responsible like working. How else was I supposed to pay for the fancy college she wanted to send me to?
I held up the red dress by its straps and envisioned what I’d look like. It was like lipstick and fire had a baby and rolled her in glitter. Nobody was gonna ignore me, and to make sure of it, the band was wearing black.
“Knock, knock.”
“Hiya, daddy-o.”
Heziah watched as I laid the dress across my bed and went about pairing it with the right accessories. “You need a ride?”
“Nope. Kem’s gonna come get me.”
“Ahh. Right. Kem.”
Kem Delgado was our lead guitarist. He had the desperado thing going on, so most people thought he was a bad boy. Truth was Kem was a good Catholic boy, and his bad boy side ain’t hold a candle to mine.
“And…umm…” Heziah swallowed deliberately and made room for himself on my bed. “Who is he again?”
“The guitarist.”
“No, I mean to you. Who is he to you?”
“My guitarist.” I grinned. I knew what he was getting at, and he knew I knew. That’s what made it so much fun.
“You know your curfew’s—”
“Don’t you want me to make some money?”
He nodded slowly, but he clearly wasn’t convinced. “This club you’re going to…is there going to be alcohol?”
“The grocery store’s got alcohol too. You let me go there.”
“Jackie—”
“I’ll be careful. I promise. No booze. Not even a sip. Not even a drop.”
He nodded again, and his gaze drifted over to the outfit I was dying to put on. His fatherly eyes racking up another set of concerns. The neckline wasn’t subtle, but none of my necklines ever were, and it was short. Upper thigh short.
“I’m wearing really tall boots with it.”
“And a long coat, I hope.”
◼︎
Kem and I really were just bandmates. Friendly bandmates. Friendly bandmates that everyone assumed were having sex. We weren’t. Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy trying.
“Well, don’t you look very mysterious?”
A very responsible driver, Kem smirked but kept his gaze on the road in front of us.
“How do you see through all this hair?” His black curls slipped easily between my fingers as I pushed them out of his face. A second later they’d stubbornly returned to their previous positions on his chiseled cheekbones.
“How do I look? You like my dress?”
“Of course, mami.”
“It looks good on me, right?”
That garnered a turn of his head, so he could look me in the eyes. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
“No.” I put on my best pout. “Although, I wouldn’t have to fish if somebody wasn’t so stingy with ‘em.”
Kem chuckled softly and stroked his goatee. “You know you’re beautiful. You don’t need me to say it.”
I decided not to press the issue. If I had, he’d undoubtedly have played the we’re just friends card he was so fond of. In Kem’s world, friends didn’t remark on each other’s appearances, they didn’t exchange lustful glances, and they did not have sex. I wasn’t a very good friend.
Bobby Francesco, the fat little man who owned the rundown Club Francesco, met us at the door to his dirty jazz club which, to be fair, might’ve been something back in the day.
“You’re Late!” the owner screamed, blissfully ignorant of the fact the club’s best days were behind it.
“No, we’re on time. See. On time. You said ten o’clock. It’s ten o’clock.” Never mind the confusing rule that ten minutes early was actually being on time.
His club was home to as many dust mites as it had cracks in the ceiling. These cracks stopped and started and ran down the walls until they’d satisfactorily marked off their territory. The black-and-white tiles that made up the floor were once perfectly spaced, but the effort was overshadowed by the chipped corners and tiles so loose they rocked under your feet like a seesaw. And the smell—dank and musty. Most of the chairs looked like a strong wind could destroy them, and when I accidentally bumped into a table, the damn thing wobbled back and forth for a good hour. Nobody said a word, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t normal behavior in the House of Blues. Club Francesco was like its meek physically challenged younger brother.
The grumpy old goat grumbled for us to get on stage then waddled his flabby self toward the dark corridor lit by a series of amber-colored lights to spend the evening in his office, crunching numbers. There was probably a time when he was all about the music, but those days had come and gone. The old man had bills to pay. Period.
Blue Sky Page 13