Dara was barely ruffled by her mother’s comments because she’d heard them so many times. She thought that after living in Atlanta for more than twelve years, her mother would get the point that she wasn’t moving back to Augusta.
“What are you up to?” Dara said.
“Waiting for your father to come back from the church. We have a family viewing hour at two o’clock and your brother’s handling the funeral for a young man that died in a car accident. Such a tragedy,” she tsked.
Some would think Dara would be used to it by now, but death—more so the grieving families—always burdened her heart.
“But enough about that,” Thelma said, probably sensing Dara’s mood. “How was your vacation?”
“Sooooo nice, Ma. Me and India had a great time. You and Dad should take a few days and go down to Destin. He’d love staying at one of the golf resorts.”
“I can barely get your father to leave Augusta,” her mother said. “I told him I’m going to start traveling without him.”
“You should,” Dara said, remembering the time she’d convinced her mother to fly to New York for a few days so they could shop and go experience The Color Purple while it was on Broadway. It was her mother’s first time in the Big Apple, and Dara could barely keep up with her.
Dara assumed her mother would tire of the constant walking and attempts to catch cabs, but she’d packed her walking shoes and gotten her full money’s worth and then some out of them.
“Maybe he’ll consider it if you tell him,” Thelma said.
“You’re his wife. You have more pull than I ever will,” Dara said.
“I think if you tell him in person, he’ll be more apt to think about it. Why don’t you come up here this weekend?”
“I can’t, Ma,” Dara said, walking back inside from the balcony. “I have outreach on Saturday.”
“Oh, Lord.” Thelma sighed. “Are you still riding that bike out to that side of town?”
“Yes, Ma,” Dara said. Yes, for the five hundred and eightieth time, she wanted to say.
“Aren’t you scared somebody’s going to try and hijack you for that thing? You know with the economy the way it is, people are acting real crazy. Crazier than they already were. Even doing stuff in the middle of the day.
“I saw on the news how these boys kicked in the door of this family’s house in broad daylight. They didn’t even care that the security cameras were around the house. I mean, they didn’t try to cover their faces or anything.”
Dara had seen the story on the news, too. But she couldn’t live her life in fear. She prayed, tried to use caution and common sense, and went about doing what she needed to do.
“I’m always safe, Ma. And the other riders make sure we keep each other covered, especially in prayer.”
“That’s the other thing I don’t like. You riding around the city with a bunch of grown men. That doesn’t look right. And as much as I taught you about etiquette and carrying yourself like a lady, and you choose to ride with your legs sprawled out over a motorcycle seat. Those things were meant for men. Not women.”
Dara chose to keep her comments to herself. She had her viewpoints, and no matter what she said it wasn’t going to make Mrs. Hunter J. Knight take off her traditional blinders.
Dara heard her brother’s voice in the background. James didn’t know he’d swooped in yet again to save her.
“Give me a minute,” her mother said to James. “‘I’m talking to your sister.”
Dara heard some more muffled words in the background, then the next voice she heard was her brother.
“What’s up, Cookie?” James bellowed into the phone. Dara pulled her ear away from the phone.
“If you call me that again, I’m hanging up the phone,” she threatened.
Dara’s father had given her that nickname when she was a toddler. He said it was because she was the sweetest girl he knew. They used to tease that Dara was her mother’s competition for her father’s affection, doing things like bringing him his house shoes when he walked in the door. Dara carried the nickname Cookie in her family until she reached her thirtieth birthday. After that, she forbade everybody but her parents from calling her that.
“What do you want me to call you?” James asked.
“By my name, big head,” Dara said.
“If my head is big, so is your mama’s,” he said.
“I know Mama didn’t hear you say that.”
“Of course not. I ran her out of here to go and make sure the limos were cleaned out.”
“Where’s my nephew and niece?” Dara asked.
“At camp until three. I had to get them out of here so they could burn up some of that energy. Especially since I found Kendrick using one of the caskets as a makeshift basketball hoop.”
“Shut up,” Dara laughed. She remembered those boring days at the funeral home. She and James had been just as inventive when their parents dragged them to work because they weren’t old enough to stay home alone. She lived for the days when her Aunt Latrice would take days off from her job so she could bring Dara and James over to spend the day with India.
“I’m serious,” James was saying. “Your niece and nephew are off the chain. And Amber? Talk about high maintenance.”
“You started spoiling her from day one so it’s most of your doing that she expects—and deserves—the best,” Dara said, taking up for her diva-fied niece. “By the way, did she get the necklace I sent her for her birthday?”
“You’re talking about that necklace that her and her mama had a falling out over this morning because she couldn’t wear it to camp? Yeah, she got it. And a spanking to match it.”
“Don’t say that. I’ll feel like it’s all my fault. She really wanted a necklace like mine with her initial on it.”
“She didn’t want that necklace as much as she wants to see you for her birthday. We’re having a party tomorrow.”
“Who has a child’s birthday party in the middle of the week? It’s not normal.”
“It is if you’ve got funerals to handle on Saturday. Plus, it’s only her best friend from school and a couple of the girls from church.”
Dara filled a glass with water and went over to soak her house plant that had sagged to the side in thirst. “Well, she won’t miss me then,” she said, moving the plant near the sunshine. “Her little buddies will be there.”
“You can convince yourself to think that if you want to, but she keeps talking about her Auntie Dara coming for her birthday.”
Dara reminded herself that she had to be more careful with her words. She’d told her five-going-on-twenty-five-yearold niece that she’d come and see her around her birthday.
“I just got back home from being away for a week. I can’t come to Augusta tomorrow. I’ve got work to do.”
“All right. I’ll tell her,” James said. “And when she falls out on the floor crying I’ll let her call you so you can explain.”
Dara knew James was exaggerating. Neither he nor her sister-in-law would let that go down in their household. True enough, Amber was high maintenance, but even that had its limits.
James knew which guilt buttons to push with Dara. As her older brother by four years, he knew all of her buttons to push. He knew how to irritate her until she’d finally give in. He knew how to anger her to the point that one time she’d thrown a drumstick at him. She missed him, but not their twenty-gallon fish tank. It hadn’t been a pretty scene when her father returned home.
Dara closed the online file she’d opened for Cassius and clicked open her personal folder. Everything she needed to do for herself and for her clients could be handled by telephone. The beauty of being an entrepreneur with a business like hers was that as long as she could pack up her laptop and make the necessary phone calls, business could basically move forward without a hitch.
Maybe India will ride with me.
“If I come tomorrow, you better not tell Mama and Daddy. Let it be a surprise.”
“Unlike you, I know how to keep secrets. Hold on a second,” James said, and seemed to cover the phone receiver with his hand.
Whatever, Dara thought. I can keep secrets better than you think.
India was still the only person who knew about the tattoo of a cross that was inked on the lower section of Dara’s shoulder blade. She’d made sure the tattoo artist positioned it where it wouldn’t be visible even if she wore a spaghetti strap tank top. Her parents were bent out of shape by her riding a motorcycle—she could only imagine the ruckus if they knew she had a tattoo. She’d never seen her father walk on water, but by the way he acted sometimes a person would think he performed the miracle on a daily basis.
“Hello,” James said, coming back to the phone.
“I’m still here,” Dara said. “But I gotta go. Remember what I said. You better not spill the beans, Big Head.”
“Cookie, if I’ve got a big head, then your mama’s got a—”
Dara hung up the phone on James before he could finish his sentence. She knew she’d pushed his buttons with that one. But he deserved it. She’d warned him not to call her Cookie again.