* * *
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.
* * *
Gran’s microwave gets hot fast and I have a chuck of roast beef in my mouth when Crystal picks up the remote and flips to Maury. A woman is on television telling some dude with gold teeth that he is her baby’s daddy. The man gets up in the woman’s face, and security has to pull them apart.
“How can you watch this?”
“Girl, I was almost on the show. I didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Mike-Mike’s father agreed to go, but then changed his mind at the last minute. Fool ain’t want to be embarrassed. Mike looks like Bootsy’s dumb ass done spit him out.”
Crystal keeps yapping, but her voice gets smaller and smaller in my head as I daydream about being in another place. About my reality not being what it is, and then I hear his name.
“Martin. You want it?”
“Want what?”
“Girl, you ain’t even listening to me. Got me carrying on and shit. Never mind then.” She folds her arms across her mountainous breasts.
I sit up, snapping to attention. “What did you say?”
“Martin is staying at the halfway house that my ex-boyfriend use to be in. He’s only going to be there another week or so. The place so overcrowded the transition ain’t long. I got the address if you want to find him.”
Damn right I want to find him and give him a piece of my mind for ruining my life, again.
“Yeah, give it to me.”
Crystal scribbles on the back of Gran’s electric bill. She finishes off her beer and then burps.
“I gotta go. My son be outta school soon. I’ll bring them around so you can see them. Mike-Mike tall as you. Eating me out of a house and home.”
I stare at the address as Crystal shuts the door softly behind her. Then she opens it back up. It’s loud as it slides across the floor.
“Oh, you gonna lend me the twenty?”
I sigh and go to my purse. I have the five one-hundred-dollar bills that Preston gave me, a ten, and a five. I can’t trust Crystal to bring back my change, so I thrust the fifteen dollars on her and tell her that’s all I have. She snatches it up quickly and shuts the front door.
Once Crystal is gone, all I can think about is confronting Martin. He’s lucky that I ain’t one of those shooting girls. But I can fight. And I will.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Halfway
I manage to sleep through the night without taking the other half of Gran’s sleeping pill. Perhaps it was the residue of marijuana in my system, but I sleep eight uninterrupted hours on the hard bed. When I wake, my breasts are engorged and I ache for the feel of Liv against my skin, for Rory’s smile, Two’s bossy laughter. And Preston’s forgiveness.
It’s my first shower in three days. Under the warm water I roll my forefinger and thumb back along the edge of my areola until the milk lets down. It spurts against the curtain in a stream. After a few minutes I am relieved, and my breasts retreat to their normal C cup size. My head pushes into the water, and it rains through my hair.
Gran’s bathroom is large for the size of her house, but I hate the dated, wall-to-wall orange carpet on the floor. My footprints stay as I pad toward my temporary bedroom. I rummage through my bag for something decent to wear. A black T-shirt dress that stops at the knee and a pair of sling-back sandals. It’s the best I’ve looked in days. I pin my wet hair into a tight bun so that I’m all eyes and face. I even smear on a little mascara, eye shadow, and blush. When I look into the mirror that’s still fastened to the inside of the closet, I smirk at how cute I am with just a little effort.
I thought you were going to pulverize him. Why do you care what you look like?
I roll my eyes and head downstairs. In the kitchen, I fix Gran two boiled eggs and percolate the coffee. I haven’t used a percolator in years, and it takes me a minute to remember where to put the grinds and water.
Gran’s weight shifts back and forth on the stairs long before she appears. When she makes it to the dining room table, I have her eggs and coffee.
“You ain’t boil the eggs too hard, did you? Still like mine—”
“Runny, I know, Gran.” I toss her my grin.
“Where you heading lookin’ so nice? Gonna see your mom at the nursing home?” She lowers herself with heaviness into the seat. “Hate to think about her up there not knowing her family from the nurses. Don’t make no sense.” She smacks her tongue. I know that she still blames herself for her son turning my mother into a vegetable.
My grin fades. “I have a few errands to run. You need me to do anything?”
Gran reaches into her bra and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Here.”
I unravel and read.
• Pay the electric bill
• Play my lottery numbers: (boxed 50) 5333, 2016, 318, 116, 625 (super boxed) 927
• Go to Sister Marie’s and pick up my twenty dollars
• Buy a four pack of Schlitz and some unsalted Planter’s peanuts
“When did you write this?”
“Last night. Supposed to be damp today and I don’t do so good in cloudy weather. Sister Marie expecting you.” She peels the first boiled egg in one long motion, and then rubs it with her fingers to make sure she didn’t leave any shell.
“Where’s the bill?”
“Hand me my purse.”
I get up and see the electric bill on the coffee table with Martin’s address scribbled on the back. I hand Gran the bill.
“Whose address is this?”
“That’s Crystal’s handwriting.”
Our eyes meet.
“Here,” she digs in her bra and out pops a little black purse. “Put fifty dollars on the bill and bring me back a receipt. The check-cashing center is on the corner of Thirty-Third and Dauphin. Right there in Strawberry Mansion. You remember how to get there?”
“Of course.”
“Ain’t been here in so long, don’t lose your way.”
She adds two more stops to the list before I leave.
“And lock your car when you get out. This ain’t those suburbs you in.”
* * *
I navigate my way to the check-cashing center and take care of Gran’s electric bill and play her numbers without a hitch. It’s Sister Marie’s house that has me driving in circles. The sun may not be out, but with the humidity, it feels like ninety degrees. Even with the AC on, my knees are sweating. Frustrated, I pull over in front of the KFC on Girard Avenue and plug her address into the GPS on my mobile phone.
It’s late afternoon when I finish Gran’s bidding. She’s upstairs into her Bible when I return.
“Are you going to church tonight?”
“Naw, I ain’t feeling so hot. Pour one of those beers over a few ice cubes and bring me a straw.”
After I fetch her beer, I freshen up, retouch my makeup, and tig
hten my hair. I’m ready for the showdown.
It’s cooler outside, but the dip in temperature does not tranquilize my mood. I take Broad Street to Vine, and then floor it on the Schuylkill Expressway. By the time I weave into and out of traffic on Market Street, I have worked myself up in a two-sided conversation, with me playing both parts. I have not been to West Philadelphia in years, and I’m baffled that a halfway house would be a few steps from the University of Pennsylvania’s campus. This section of the city has always been a mecca for students, with trendy shops and high-end apartments. It doesn’t take long to find a parking space, and I slam my car door to release the pent-up anger. The house is a stone single, with a driveway on both sides and a wide front porch. As soon as I touch the bell, a woman wearing a white blouse appears. I state my business.
“You can wait here. He’ll be right out.”
When the door closes behind her, I see a gap-toothed man in need of a haircut peering out at me. I ignore him. No time for distractions. There is a rocking chair against the front railing but I opt to stand, then pace. It feels like ten minutes have passed before I hear the door crack open again. I deliberately give him my back then turn slowly, ready to slaughter.
“There she is.” Martin’s baritone voice sings to the tune of “Miss America.” It was how he’d greet me in the alley of the church before we’d sneak away. When I turn to face him, my cheeks have betrayed me, blushing cherry.
Martin is as clean as a bill of health. I don’t know how he has managed to dress so well under his circumstances, but he looks almost like he was expecting me. Dry cleaner’s creases pressed hard into his navy slacks, white shirt fresh, crisp, opened at the chest. Hazel eyes fastened on me. Martin moves toward me like a man who is used to taking up space, and when he opens his arms, I’m against him.
I have been in his presence for only thirty seconds and already I am gooey, like a chocolate morsel abandoned to the afternoon sun.
“Young Sister.” He wraps me up like a present. I inhale to stay grounded, but the aroma of his skin sets me floating. He smells like notes of amber and oak, and it makes me heady.
Second House from the Corner Page 15