“Mm-hmm. He was something, that Rowan,” Cecily says, and the twins nod.
“Kid had muscles on his arms and legs coming out of the womb, just like this one,” Elsa May says, squishing DJ’s tiny arms between her fingers. “His father had him dancing around that yard from the start. Kid could practically do push-ups and punch before he could walk. Everyone knew he’d be just like his father.”
“Do you know about his father?” Cecily says, and I shake my head.
“Champion boxer down in the Lower End. Part of the Gutter Boxing League,” Elsa May says. “Everyone knew him here. I mean, he was something. There used to be a ring in every block of the Lower End. Not all of them are still standing, but back in the day, that was where we would go to see all the matches. People thought Rowan Senior might go to the Mainland, that folks out there might hear about him and give him a shot. But he had troubles of his own, demons he couldn’t quite punch out, if you know what I mean. Geneva and I were quite close back then.”
“How’s Rowan? He must be quite handsome,” Cecily says, handing me a glass of lemonade.
I smile politely, unsure whether to tell them that it’s been almost a year since I last saw him or heard from him, that I have no idea whether he even knows he has a son.
“Guess Miss Geneva ain’t getting out like she thought. Least not anytime soon,” Cecily says, pursing her lips while Elsa May raises her eyebrows, like she knew this day would come.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not important,” Elsa May says.
“But it is important. What did you mean by that? Why isn’t Geneva getting out like she thought?”
“She doesn’t know,” Elsa May says to the other ladies as she watches me closely. “She’s a project case. Probably has no idea what she’s done.”
There’s a collective hum of agreement as I wait for them to explain.
“Don’t worry,” Elsa May says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most folks around here don’t want to think about the project. Some have forgotten all about it. Back in the day, there were some up here who hoped to get selected. Filled out the forms and waited, thinking that we legacy families had an advantage, that they’d want to take our babies first. Well, as you know, it was quite the opposite.”
The three other women shake their heads with their lemonade glasses resting in their hands.
“My kids are off doing lord knows what. But at least they’re alive,” Cecily says.
The Harper sisters nod, chattering about how their adult children might have fared on the Mainland.
“My George would have been fine, I think,” one of them says. “But your Ebony wouldn’t have lasted a year. She would have cried her way back home.”
“That may be, Marley. But you’re wrong about George. He wouldn’t have lasted a week. Look at the way that child eats,” Marnie says, and all four women laugh.
“I don’t think any of that would have mattered,” I say, scowling down at the lemonade. “The project kids didn’t die because they were homesick or hungry.”
Elsa May and the twins shift in their seats while Cecily sucks in her cheeks.
“You’re right, Lima. It turned out to be a terrible tragedy. We should never forget that. May those souls rest in peace,” Elsa May says, raising her glass in the air.
“Elsa May, why is Geneva not getting out like she thought? Can you please tell me?”
Elsa May pauses for a moment, sitting up in her chair. “There are two types of folks in the Gutter, Lima,” she says. “There are folks who are happy here, who see this place as home, and there are folks who believe home is somewhere beyond those walls.”
I nod so she knows I understand.
“Geneva is part of that second group. She believed she could get out of here if she worked hard enough. She’s worked at the Medical Center all her life, covering all her bills on her own, paying down what she can and avoiding new debt. I’ve known all along that her plan was doomed to fail. And if we were still friends, I would have told her as much already, just like I did when we were young. You see, this house is mine, and when I’m gone, one of my kids will live here, and so on and so on. Our family debt is so big they probably don’t calculate it anymore, but that doesn’t matter much at all. Because this is home. This house and this little bit of land belongs to me and my family. Truth be told, sometimes I think my eldest boy, Frankie, is just waiting for my heart to stop,” she says. “When he and his wife come to visit, I swear I’ve seen that girl measuring for curtains and swapping my medications.”
The four women laugh even harder, and when Cecily comments on the sweetness of the lemonade, they start talking about gardens and fruits and vegetables.
“The tomatoes are just not growing as large this year,” Marnie says.
Her sister nods. “It’s the rain. There’s been almost no rain.”
“And the heat,” Cecily says, dabbing her face with a napkin, as though the very mention of heat makes her warm.
“By the way—”
“What does Geneva’s plan have to do with me and DJ?” I say, interrupting Elsa May.
All four women turn to me, mouths slightly open.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt . . . I should go,” I say, holding on to DJ with one hand and using the other to help myself stand up.
“Geneva sent Rowan away when he was seven years old because he had a gift,” Elsa May says, placing one hand on my leg so I don’t go. “She thought boxing could solve everything. Thought if she could limit her debt and he did well at fighting, they could get out once and for all. And now you’re here and that’s not going to happen.”
I sit back down as I think about my conversations with Rowan back at Livingstone Academy—about his plans to get Redemption Freedom for himself and for his mother.
“Now that Rowan’s got himself a son, he’s got to work to get DJ’s debt and your debts paid off before he can help Geneva,” Elsa May says.
I place my fingers to my forehead, trying to understand. It’s as though each word is coming in one by one—too slow to assemble and process all at once. “He’s got to help us before Geneva? Why?”
“Because they say so,” Elsa May says.
“There was a man from the Gutter some time ago—I was just a child when it happened. You remember that, Elsa May?” Cecily says, and Elsa May nods. “I remember Mommy talking and laughing about it with her friends, full of all kinds of hoots and hallelujahs.”
“Mm-hmm,” the twins say.
“The man had fifteen children with eight different women,” Cecily explains. “Took nearly twenty years, but he paid off his debt, and brought along a friend too, by forcing those kids into all kinds of work that was rather . . . unsavory, according to what folks say. And he left all of those kids and all eight mothers behind when he got his Redemption Freedom—each child more messed up than the next.”
“No one could stop him from getting out,” Elsa May says. “But Mainlanders passed a law after that saying that a man had to bring along his biological children, and their mamas, before he could redeem anyone else.”
“Men started making babies far more carefully after that,” Cecily says. “No man looking to get out and help their family wants to be tied to a Gutter woman they don’t care about. There’s enough obstacles without adding all that.”
I look down at DJ, who’s sleeping quietly in my arms. “Do you think Rowan knows . . . about us, that I’m here?” I say, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
“Oh, yes,” Cecily says. “There’s a whole department of the Mainland government that handles that. Finds them and lets their debt manager know as soon as a woman is pregnant with their child.”
“Too bad they can’t seem to find my Oscar,” Elsa May mutters.
“Or Rowan Senior,” Cecily adds.
“Is that why you and Geneva don’t talk?” I say, wondering if Geneva will be angrier than usual if she comes home and finds me with Elsa May.
“That n
o-good Rowan Senior disappeared at the same time as my Oscar,” Elsa May says. “Geneva blames me, thinks I know where they went, but I’ve told her time and time again I had nothing to do with it. Oscar worshipped Rowan Senior, thought he was the man’s personal manager—always by his side, always trying to book the next gig. I didn’t care much for Oscar, so maybe I wouldn’t have done much even if I knew something. But the fact is, I didn’t. I had no idea. That’s the truth. I was as surprised as she was when they were gone.”
“We were all surprised,” Cecily says, patting Elsa May on the leg.
“Truth is, I’m not even sorry about it. Oscar was not a nice man. And Rowan Senior was no prize either. He was supposed to be the one that boxed the family out of here. Not Junior. There was a lot of fighting about that before he left. She blames Rowan Senior for everything.”
“Well, now I guess she has me to blame,” I say, and the women all pucker their lips tight and look away.
“I will die here, Lima, and that’s just what it is,” Elsa May says. “Truth is, I’m fine with that. I mean, I’d like the Mainland government to fix the streets and get us better stores and train up some actual doctors so I don’t die before I have to. But Geneva was not prepared to die here at all. She thought she was going to get out of here someday. And now she knows that everyone was right and she was wrong. She’s got no one to blame but herself.”
I look down at DJ, thinking about what this means for the two of us, and for Violet, who arrives tomorrow. I wonder if Rowan will resent me for coming here, and if Violet will resent me if I go.
“Way Geneva figured it, Rowan would be getting her out in a few years, once he got fighting,” Elsa May says. “I suspect that if the money for fighting is what they say it is, it probably wouldn’t be more than a few years before he’d have what he needs for you two, depending on your debt. So long as he does it before DJ turns five, DJ would be able to come out too. So that’s some good news for you.”
“One big happy family,” Cecily says, and I try to smile at the thought.
I WRITE A letter to Rowan later that night when DJ is sleeping in the bed. I try not to sound desperate for his approval or his forgiveness, even though I’m in need of both.
“I’m so sorry I spoiled your plans. I’ll do whatever I can to help. Can you tell me how you are? Please let me know you’re okay.”
I tell him about his sister and his nieces, and about Cecily and Elsa May, and when I seal the letter, I take a long, deep breath to calm my hopes and fears.
In addition to Rowan’s letter, I prepare a letter for the Hill. I include a note for David and one for Josephine. “Please tell me how you are and what you’re doing.”
The last thing I think about before I go to sleep is what to do about Violet and Jewel.
33
IT RAINS THIN, SHARP DAGGERS ON THE DAY VIOLET IS released to the Gutter. The morning is hot and the sky is so gray that even though it’s nearly noon when I set out, it almost feels like it’s nighttime.
When I get close to the Base, I see Geneva standing in front of the Medical Center under an umbrella, tapping her feet. “What took you so long?” she says.
“I came as quick as I could. I’m sorry,” I say as she hands me a white apron with a red X.
“Put this on,” she says, taking DJ from his wrap and carrying him into the Medical Center while I tie the apron over my clothes.
“What’s going on? Why did you take DJ in there?” I say when she comes back empty-handed. “Geneva, you know I don’t like to leave him with strangers.”
“The nurses will watch him, and I don’t have time to explain,” she says, starting toward the Base.
“Geneva, what’s going on?” I say, running to keep up with her pace.
But Geneva doesn’t respond. She just turns into the Base as a guard steps out, raising his hand so we stop at the fence.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he says, adjusting his hat so it shields his face from the rain.
“To the gate,” she says.
She shows him her badge, and when he nods for her to go ahead, she tries to pull me along.
“Badge,” he says.
“She forgot hers at the clinic,” Geneva says.
“That’s not my problem.”
“No, but what is your problem is that you’ve got an emergency over there. You really want us running back to get a badge? You want to be the one who holds things up?”
She looks over at me, and I know right away from that rare look of concern that this has something to do with Violet.
I told Geneva about Violet early this morning—how her baby is sick, how she had been declared unfit to work by a debt manager who wasn’t kind. “She has no family. She needs help.”
I explained how I had promised to look out for her and find us a place, and how I would do that as soon as I could. Geneva just listened, straight-faced and serious, while I rambled about all of my problems, trying to forget about hers. “I was going to ask Elsa May, but—”
“Elsa May?” she said, like the very mention of her former friend offended her.
“She said she has a room but—”
“When did you talk to Elsa May?”
“Yesterday. She invited me—”
“Look, Lima, if the baby is sick and your friend is too, they’re both going to need proper help,” Geneva said as she stood up and prepared to leave for work.
“What should I do?”
“We’ll make room until you can find something proper,” she said, and if she had been open to a hug, I would have thrown my arms around her.
We move quickly toward the red gate where guards are moving about in formation, facing the bridge and standing on the wall, guns pointed at a figure in white standing on the railing with a baby strapped to her chest.
“Is that your friend?” Geneva says.
I cover my mouth and nod, but Geneva grabs my hand and pulls it back down.
“Hold yourself together,” she says as a wiry guard approaches us.
“Guards are in position, ready to move on her. But we called you, you know, protocol and all,” he says. “She’s been standing there for a while now. And it’s slippery out. I’m not sure what else we can do.”
“I assume we can retrieve her, that we have your permission to do that, officer?” Geneva says. “I think it’s best if one of us goes out there without a guard, given her state.”
“You expect me to let you go all the way out there alone? You people are cleared to help Gutter folks inside the Gutter. But that right there,” he says, pointing at the bridge, “is not inside the Gutter. It’s outside the Gutter. You do understand how inside and outside work, right?”
“Officer, we’re cleared to help any Gutter folks who require medical attention,” Geneva says, forcing a tight smile. “I would argue that that woman very much needs medical attention, and since she’s living here, or will be soon, she’s our responsibility. She’s certainly not one of you. And you know as well as I do that most times, when someone’s ready to do what she seems prepared to do, you-all are the last people they want to see.”
“Well—”
“Look, officer, our job is to make sure she gets to this side of the gate safe and healthy. I’ve got clearance, so if you need to get yours, hurry up, because we’re wasting time.”
The guard shakes his head, squeezing his holster before heading into the booth to make a call. While he talks, Geneva takes my umbrella and gives me a shove. “Move fast, hands up. You’ll be fine,” she says.
Before I have a chance to think or protest, I move quickly past the guards toward Violet, hands up, just like Geneva said.
“Stop. Wait. Shit. Son of a bitch. Hold your fire, hold your fire!” the guard from the gate shouts over the rain.
VIOLET IS STANDING on the rail with her blue bag on her shoulders and her toes curved over the ledge.
“Violet,” I say, looking up and shielding my face from the rain with both hands.
She turns and looks down at me, like she’s sad and relieved at the same time, and I try to hide my surprise. She looks worse than she did when she arrived at Miss Charlotte’s. Even though there are no bruises or cuts, her skin is pale and her bones are sticking out through her skin, like she hasn’t eaten or slept since I left.
“Violet, please. Let’s just talk about it. Just come talk to me.”
“I can’t go back,” she says.
She looks past me, toward the red gate, her hair pressed flat against her face as the rain picks up even harder. When I take a few steps closer, she yells for me to stop.
“Violet, please,” I say.
She leans down and places the statue from David on the ledge. “I wanted to make sure you got this,” she says.
“Violet—”
“Don’t come any closer,” she says.
“Okay,” I say, lifting my hands and stepping backwards, trying to figure out what Geneva would do to make this go better. “Violet, listen to me. Just come down. Please. Come down and talk to me.”
But Violet just stares at the water as Jewel starts crying, shrill and loud.
“Is that Jewel? That’s her name, right?”
“She’s so sick. No one wants her,” she says as she looks over at me again.
I can see in the tilt of her head and the frown in her eyes that she’s exhausted, and I wish Jewel would stop crying, because I can tell that the noise is too much for Violet.
“I’ve got this place, Violet—it’s a really nice spot in the Upper End. A nurse who’s really good with babies, she’s going to help us. I promise, Violet. Just come down. Please. Let me see the baby.”
“She just cries and cries like this. All the time. Because she knows what’s coming. She doesn’t want to go in there either,” she says, looking toward the gate and the guards.
I follow her gaze, watching the wiry guard inch closer with Geneva, and I feel nervous for Violet but grateful that Geneva will be able to help.
“You’re both going to have to come with me,” the guard says.
“Please. Please, just give us a minute,” I say. “Geneva, please help me.”
Gutter Child Page 24