SHE WAS GONE over an hour. So, I came looking for her. She on the corner by herself—but don’t seem like herself when I get to her. Seem like she crying. Her back stays to us, so I ain’t sure.

“Well—?” I say, holding tight to Cricket.

“He’ll pay what I owe if—”

I knew it. Way deep down inside I did. “He a snake, right?”

“Something like that. But—” She walk up to somebody she don’t know and asks for a cigarette. It’s lit when she get to us. And tears are on her cheeks. I ask what’s wrong.

She used to dance, she says. He want her to dance on the ship.

I bring up Cricket. “What you gone do with her?”

“You know I can’t take her with me.” She start walking. It’s hard to keep up, but I do.

April turn the corner. By the time she turn the next one, she done with the cigarette. It’s in the street now, still lit. The fire station is across the street when she take Cricket from me. Pushing a red button hoping to make the light change faster, she talk about the Atlantic Ocean. She even knows how deep it is.

“What if he lying to you?”

“So—he lies. Everyone lies.” She needs a place to stay, she say, and a job. He can give her both.

We cross the street in a hurry. I tell her about my new list. Cricket starts up again. “Quit it!” April lifting her high and shaking her.

“Touch her again. Hit her. Shake her and I’ll—” My fist just misses her chin.

She is tears and snot and words I can’t make out for a while. “I prayed for that job. Prayed that my aunt would take her so we could both have a good life.”

This time I tear up. “We can make it. You don’t need him.”

She walking again. “Maybe somebody nice will adopt her.”

“Let’s go back to Greyhound. We’ll think of something.”

She stops. “Like what?”

“Like … maybe … I don’t know … maybe my sister will take her.”

If JuJu didn’t want me, she says, why would she want a baby? She kisses Cricket on the forehead, her cheeks and fingers, leaving red lip gloss everywhere. “They’ll find her a good home.”

It seem like a long way to the door. “Mommy’s sorry, baby.” Her hand is on the knob, turning it, when the siren goes off. She and me both back up.

They jump on the truck, putting their hats and jackets on. More come running, yelling. It’s kismet—or whatever. There won’t be nobody in there to take the baby—April know that, I see it on her face. I turn so she don’t see my face, wet.