Dr. Mitchell said Zora didn’t want to come to dinner. She had a headache and stayed at home with the housekeeper. “I think she just said that,” he says, kissing Momma when he comes in the house. “But I didn’t argue.”

Momma’s wig is back on her head, and her eyes are clear since she put drops in ’em. “Is Zora mad at us or something?” she asks Dr. Mitchell. “The last two times you came over she wasn’t with you.”

Dr. Mitchell looks at me. “You two fighting?” “Not me,” I say, washing my hands at the kitchen sink. Momma is over by the fridge with Dr. Mitchell, handing him lettuce and cucumbers to wash. Telling me to call Zora and at least say hi. I give her this fake smile. Say I’ll do it later.

“Now,” she says, handing me the dish towel. “Dinner’s still gonna be a while.”

Dr. Mitchell wants us to straighten things out. “Your mother and I aren’t going to stop seeing each other just because you two aren’t getting along.”

I tell them that maybe Zora’s scared to come over because of what happened the last time she was here. Her dad says that ain’t it. “It’s something between you and her. I know it. But she’s not saying. You neither, I see.”

They looking at me like I’m lying. Momma hands me the phone and says, “Call her.”

I wanna tell ’em you can’t make people be friends. They gotta want to. When I dial the phone and start walking to my bedroom, my hands begin to shake.

“Talk to her out here,” Momma says.

Dr. Mitchell rips the lettuce in two and tells Momma to stop being so nosy. “Let them work it out.”

“Zora?” I say, when she picks up the phone.

“What do you want?”

I want to hang up the phone. I don’t. “Your dad said for me to call.”

“What?”

I go outside and sit on the front steps, till I see Momma by the window trying to listen in. Then I come back inside and go to my room.

“They want us to make up.”

Zora’s quiet for a while. “Who?”

She knows who I’m talking about. She’s just trying to be smart. I tell her that too. She hangs up the phone. I call her right back.

“You stole my money,” she says, not even asking who’s on the phone first.

I lie. Tell her that it wasn’t me. “Maybe you lost it or something.”

I’m waiting for her to hang up again. Or call me a liar. She asks to talk to her dad. I go to my bedroom door, look at Dr. Mitchell in front of the TV watching baseball and cutting up tomatoes.

“Why?” I ask.

“Just put him on.”

I know I should give Zora back her money. But I’m not gonna. Anyhow, she don’t need it. She got everything. Too much, really. All I got is Momma. So I lay the phone on the bed and don’t pick it up for fifteen minutes. Zora’s gone by then.

When I hang the phone up in the kitchen Momma asks how things are between me and Zora. “You two friends again?”

“Yeah,” I say, heading outside to be with Dr. Mitchell. His car alarm went off and he went to check on things.

Dr. Mitchell’s on the steps looking at Miracle and some boys sitting in front of their place. He thinks they messed with his ride and made the alarm go off. He says he don’t want no trouble outta them every time he comes to visit. “Otherwise I might have to use my bat again,” he laughs.

He just came from the barbershop, so you can smell the lotion on his head. It’s sweeter than Momma’s flowers.

Momma’s at the window. She wants us to come inside and wash up before we eat. We stay put. Dr. Mitchell’s telling me about the time he lived in the PJ’s and got chased home by some boys who wanted his new sneakers. He’s moving his arms and legs like he’s running. “I only had those sneakers eight hours before they stole ’em right off my feet.”

Momma keeps bugging us. Saying the food’s gonna get cold. Dr. Mitchell stands up to go inside, then backtracks and goes down the steps. He wipes dried mud off Momma’s new Escort. It’s got 100,000 miles on it, but it’s better than what we had.

“You coming?” he asks, walking back up the steps. I’m right behind him. Thinking he smells just like my father did after he came from the barbershop on Saturdays. I reach for his hand. He holds tight to mine, and I pretend he’s my real dad, and he ain’t never gonna leave me.

We go to the kitchen to wash our hands, all three of us. Dr. Mitchell leans over and kisses Momma right where Shiketa hit her. “You look good to me,” he says, giving her a pinch.

“Eat up,” Momma says, passing the rice. I take two big spoonsful, then hand the bowl to Dr. Mitchell, and I don’t feel bad one little bit that Zora ain’t here with us.