“But I don’t know if I’d really do that, Tammy. I mean, they’re her kids. Not mine.”
“But look at what she’s exposed them to, BJ. This is about what’s in their best interest. They’re innocent. Trinetta is not. I’m sorry to have to say it like that.”
“This is just a mess. I mean, you know I would love nothing better than for my daughter to get her life on the straight and narrow, Tammy, but my grandsons don’t need any more instability in their lives than they’ve already had. Do they?”
“No, they do not.”
“I’m not sure what would happen if she was just to show up. Plus, they don’t want to live with her.”
“And they shouldn’t have to.”
She gives me a big hug, pushes the screen door with her hip, and opens her umbrella. “Clementine’ll be home tomorrow. Come see her. And bring the boys. On second thought, let’s wait on that one.”
I decide to use my Sears card to buy a present for Clementine and a few more clothes for church for the boys, hoping I’m not up to my limit since I bought those computers and that air conditioner for the kitchen window.
“What you buying us in here this time, Grandma?” Ricky asks.
“Don’t be so greedy, Ricky. Money don’t grow on trees, you know. Right, Grandma?”
“No, it doesn’t, but he’s just being curious, Luther.”
“I’m always curious,” he says, and Lord knows he’s right about that.
“I have to get a baby gift for Montana and a few shirts and pants for church.”
“I don’t like church,” Ricky says.
“I don’t like Aunt Venetia’s church,” Luther says.
Even though I can understand why, I want to hear them say it, but more than anything, I don’t want them to say they don’t like church. “Why not?” I ask both of them.
“Because we the only black people in the whole church and it’s way too big and I don’t like the way those people behind the minister be singing. I mean sing. I mean, there ain’t . . . isn’t no beat and all the songs sound the same.”
Ricky just nods.
“Well, Aunt Venetia is just trying to be nice by taking you boys since I have to stay with your grandpa, but you know we already talked about why it’s important for you to attend church sometimes, didn’t we?”
“To get to know God,” Ricky says.
“And to find out how to be thankful and learn how to care about somebody besides yourself, right, Grandma?”
“That’s good enough. Don’t you boys sit with Lauren and Zachary?”
“They don’t hardly be there,” Ricky says.
“They pretend like they got . . . like they have too much homework, but I know the real deal, Grandma.”
“And what is the real deal?”
“They don’t like going to church either, ’cause they both told me. Lauren said that Aunt Venetia dragged them there every single Sunday for their whole life and now that she got us to drag, it let her and Zach off the hook. She even said thank you to me and Ricky, huh, Ricky?”
“Yep.”
“What I do like though, Grandma, is she take us to eat but she call it brunch and we get to go to a restaurant with chairs and the table have a flower on it and everything. We get to pick anything we want off the menu. The best part about going to church is when it’s over, huh, Ricky?”
“Yep.”
“Well, just make sure you thank Aunt Venetia for taking you to church and to brunch, because she doesn’t do it because she has to. She does it because she cares about you boys. Understand?”
They both nod.
I’m just grateful when my card is accepted.
The baby is cute. But it’s rare you see an ugly baby these days. I know I shouldn’t be thinking anything like this but I can’t help it. Doesn’t look to me like Montana and Trevor are going anywhere anytime soon. The whole house looks like the baby department at Target. Jackson is nice enough, putting on a pound or two, and it looks like Tammy has found another use for the money she got from selling off a few more acres: She’s paying for Jackson to go to truck-driving school. I wish Dexter could go, too, but there are a lot of jobs you can’t get if you’re a convicted felon, doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been out of prison. Dexter works long hours at the Salvation Army and I hardly ever see him. I leave a plate out for him, which is always clean and in the dish rack when I wake up. Sometimes it feels like he’s still in prison.
Arlene asked me to stop by on my way home because she made a big pot of chili and wanted me to take some home for the boys and freeze some for later. I don’t know why I opened my big mouth and told her about Trinetta. Arlene has a way of making you feel small inside. Like whatever choices you make aren’t the right ones. Like she’s so much smarter than everybody else. Like she can do a better job figuring out your life than you can. She says whatever she’s thinking and doesn’t seem to care if it hurts your feelings. It’s been this way since we were kids. And she hasn’t changed. What’s funny is when you can see what’s wrong with everybody else’s life but you can’t see what’s wrong with yours. But when you need to tell somebody what you’re going through, sometimes family is the closest to you.
“I say let her have them back. They’re her kids and regardless of if she’s fit or not, she has a right to come and get them and take them home with her, wherever home might be.”
“Did I ask you what you thought, Arlene?”
“I’m just voicing my opinion. For what it’s worth. Even when you get sick it’s always good to get a second opinion. Sometimes three.”
“How is Omar doing these days?”
She gets the weirdest look on her face, like I struck a nerve or something.
“Omar is fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Did I give you the impression that I was thinking something might not be?”
“No, but I’m just telling you.”
“Is he still losing weight?”
“Yes.”
“How much is he going to lose?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Well, tell him I said hi and he can stop by every now and then to say hi. He told me he would like to take the boys to a movie one day. So I’m hoping that invitation still stands. Would you ask him for me?”
“When I see him.”
At first I was going to confront her about what Trinetta said she told her about Lee David not being Trinetta’s daddy, and even though it’s true she didn’t have any damn right telling her. This was an accident that happened when Lee David and I were thinking about getting a divorce and then decided not to. I told Lee David after we got back together, and he said he knew Trinetta wasn’t his blood, but she was now his daughter. I knew I shouldn’t have told Arlene. She’s got a big-ass mouth, and I’m still trying to figure out what I did to her years ago that would’ve possessed her to tell Trinetta something as hurtful as this in the first place.
It can wait.
Ricky
Grandma?”
“Yes, baby.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“About what, baby?”
“I wanna be on the swim team.”
“Well, we can certainly look into that.”
“I swim fast, you know.”
“I know you do, baby. You swim like a shark.”
“You wanna know something else, Grandma?”
“I’m all ears.”
“I ain’t taking no more of these pills. And that’s my final answer.”
Dante
I been parked out in front of Trinetta’s parents’ house for going on two hours. A old lady who must be the one taking care of her daddy came to the door right after I first got here.
“Can I help you, son?”
I just shook my head.
“Who mig
ht you be looking for?”
“Mrs. Butler.”
“Well, she won’t be home for at least another hour or so. After she picks the boys up from school, they usually stop by the pool and the library. What day is it?”
“Last time I checked, it was still Tuesday, ma’am.”
“Yes, this is Tuesday’s schedule. And who might you be, son?”
“I’m Dante.”
“Are you family?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, you’re welcome to come in and sit on the sunporch, where it’s nice and cool.”
“I’m fine out here, ma’am.”
“Well, just knock if you need something.”
“I will,” I say.
I never met Trinetta’s family and this ain’t exactly the way I wanted to. I couldn’t call on the phone. That wouldn’t be right. Plus, I know they probably gon’ think I’m the one responsible for what happened. But I tried to get her to straighten up and fly right. I was the one who talked her into going to Atlanta and tried to get her into the church after I joined and found out how good it felt to be saved. But even carrying our child she couldn’t see her way on the path to Jesus and fell down into that deep hell she was living in back in L.A. When you love drugs more than you love yourself and even your unborn baby, God is about the only thing that can save you. But Trinetta hid from God. She hid from goodness. She even hid from love. I loved her ’cause I saw the goodness inside her. Something she didn’t even know was there.
When I hear somebody knocking on the window, I look out and it’s a middle-aged white woman. I’m trying to figure out what she doing in this neighborhood and what would possess her to even think about approaching me. I roll the window down.
“Hello, young man. I’m Tammy. I live in that house right across the street and since I can’t help but notice you’re sitting in a car in front of my best friend’s house with your engine running, I’m wondering if there’s something I might be able to do to help you if you’re lost?”
“I’m not lost, ma’am. I’m waiting on Mrs. Butler.”
She looks at me strange like. Like she suddenly know who I am and what I’m doing here. Then she get this look of terror on her face and cover up her mouth with both her hands and start walking backwards away from the car. “You must be that Dante.”
“That Dante?”
“I’m sorry. Where is Trinetta?”
I don’t know this woman and I don’t think it would be right for me to tell her where Trinetta is, I don’t care if she do live right across the street from her mama. So I don’t say nothing.
“Is she in California?”
I shake my head no.
“Can she talk?”
“Not to us,” I say before catching myself. And that’s when I let my head drop and it hits the steering wheel and I grab hold of it and then put the car in drive but have to slam on the brakes when I almost run into Mrs. Butler, who is coming around me and about to pull into the driveway. I see Ricky and Luther in the backseat. They wave to me in slow motion. When Mrs. Butler stops the car and gets out, she stands in the driveway with her hands on her hips, as if she waiting for me to say something, and then she lets them drop.
“Go on inside, boys,” she says, and they do exactly what she tell ’em to do.
“Where is she, Dante?”
“At the morgue.”
“Here or in Georgia?”
“Georgia.”
I look into Mrs. Butler’s eyes and she look into mine, and somehow she can see that this was not my doing. “I’m sorry,” I say, and walk over to hug her.
“I know,” she says. And hugs me back. “I know.”
Betty Jean
The boys didn’t cry until they saw me cry.
“We didn’t want our mama to die, did we, Ricky?”
Ricky shakes his head in slow motion.
“I feel very sad,” Luther says.
“I wanted her to maybe come live with us here with you, Grandma. So we could help her with the new baby.”
I want to say something, but sitting on this couch with the two of them and listening to what’s pouring out of their little hearts is breaking mine. I don’t know how I can find the words to comfort them when I’m aching all over. I regret hanging up on her. I regret not helping her try to get off drugs, no matter how many times it took. I regret abandoning her, knowing she had become a stranger to herself. I regret not telling her how much faith I still had in her. How much I still hoped for her. I thought my anger and impatience and disappointment was telling her just how much I loved her because I was watching the smart, sweet daughter I raised disappear. I regret not cheering for her more. I regret trying to be her conscience, her common sense. I regret that I didn’t have the power to save her. It is clear to me right this minute that regret is just a wasted emotion.
I look at both of my beautiful grandsons, kiss them on top of the head, then put my arms around them and hold them close. I realize I am now responsible for their future. I don’t know how you can tell how much of what you give children will determine how they turn out. But all I can do is try to give them the best of what I have to offer. I hope it’s enough.
After I tuck them in, I hear Dexter come in. I walk out to the kitchen and there he is, hunched over the counter. He has heard. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
He stands up and attempts to hug me, but for some reason I find myself backing away and pointing my finger at him. “I just want to say this. Parents are supposed to die before their children, Dexter. So I’m begging you right now, please don’t make me have to go through this again. Please.”
“I won’t, Ma. I promise you.”
Quentin couldn’t—or didn’t—make it to Trinetta’s service, claiming little Margaret was too young to travel. Why he felt the need to bring her is beyond me. Dexter brought his old—and I suppose now his new—girlfriend, Skittles (whose real name is Karen), who tried her best not to look like a stripper but came up short. She cooked something that nobody touched, not even the boys, who eat anything yellow. And to everybody’s surprise, Omar didn’t sit next to Arlene, but way in the back of the church with his cousins Lauren and Zachary. Since he’s lost all that weight, he looks just like his father. Venetia sat next to me and squeezed my hand so hard I thought the bones in all of my fingers would break. Twinkle sent flowers and left me a message saying she had been praying this wouldn’t happen to Trinetta, which is why she moved her daughters back to Memphis, where she grew up. She said she couldn’t afford a plane ticket but wanted me to know she’s finishing cosmetology training. I don’t know how Nurse Kim heard about Trinetta’s passing but she sent a very nice card. It was postmarked from Alaska.
From one week to the next, and as these weeks turn into months, I’m still having a hard time accepting that my daughter is not coming back. I’m hoping she calls and tells me this has just been a big misunderstanding. But she doesn’t call. I go to work under a cloud. I am surprised when I put a meal on the table and don’t remember cooking it. Sometimes, cars honk at me to move when the light changes. I have lost weight but would take it back if it could reverse what has happened. I wish I knew how long grief lasts, because it is so heavy on your heart and doesn’t seem to make room to let in any kind of joy. Children seem to recover much faster from loss and disappointment than adults. I wish I could steal some of that energy. I don’t want to pretend like I didn’t lose my daughter, I just want to be able to remember her and smile.
Venetia and I made up. I apologized for being insensitive at a time when she just needed someone to listen to how she was feeling, not why. Of course, Rodney is still pretending to be a bachelor and Venetia’s still pretending like he’s just on a working vacation. Whatever works for them works for me. I just want my sister to be happy, and knowing that she’s not is what makes me sad sometimes. Arlene, on the other hand, still has
the same attitude but bit her lip and broke down and told Venetia that she just didn’t like the way her husband had been taking advantage of her all these years, that she was angry for Venetia and wished Venetia would realize that adultery is a sin and go ahead and divorce Rodney’s cheating ass so she can sell that house, which she told Venetia she could get a good price for, and Arlene said she would be more than happy to find her a more contemporary condo, since Venetia was only one child away from being free now that Zach was away at college. She meant well.
When Arlene calls me and even mentions Venetia’s name, I change the subject or pretend I’m busy and ask if I can call her back. Most of the time I don’t, and I think she’s starting to take the hint. Yesterday, she just left me a message, which to my surprise had nothing to do with Venetia. “Betty Jean, I was just wondering if you’ve been down to Social Services yet and filed those papers, since you’re entitled to monthly assistance for those boys, and if you’re having a hard time over there, please don’t be too proud to say so, because I would be more than happy to give, not lend, you whatever you might need to help you get through this difficult time. Call me when it’s convenient.”
I had to replay this at least two or three times because, first of all, Arlene’s voice was pleasant, I’d even say warm, and I was thinking maybe she might be drunk or something, but by the third listen, I realized she was just being nice. I was so moved, I called and told her how much I appreciated her offer and for caring, and should things get to that point, I would certainly take her up on it.
It takes me six months to finally find the energy to come back to Social Services to ask for their help. My credit cards are up to their limit and my car, which is going on seventeen years old, is starting to need attention, and that attention also costs money. According to Dexter and Luther, I really need a new one. I am not in a position to add any more monthly payments to the ones I’m already making. I’ll worry about it when it breaks down.
Who Asked You? Page 18