I let out a scream that could have shattered glass.
Nope, the mirror was still intact. Window, too.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, covering my breasts, though I was dressed.
“Nothing you wouldn’t do,” Tommie said.
“Excuse me?” I stood in the doorway, staring at her. Was she still crying? Well, I didn’t care. You don’t just barge into someone’s room. . . . Hold on. “How do you keep getting in here?”
She rolled her eyes. She was acting awful snooty, seeing she was in my house. “Through the back. You know you can jimmy the lock coming into the laundry room.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Now you do.”
We stared at each other. For a moment I didn’t know how to answer. I was too surprised for words.
“I like the color in here,” Tommie said.
“This tired color? Whatever. Thanks. I think. Considering you shouldn’t be here.”
“You have to leave,” came out of my mouth without me thinking the words, but I knew they were right once I heard them. “You can call me on my new phone, if you want. I’ll text you the number. But you can’t just show up unannounced like this.”
She was frail, I saw. Almost not there. Pretty but young looking. And looking at her face, I was certain she’d been crying. “No need to show me out,” she said, and was down the hall before I could turn. I heard the door slam behind her.
I followed.
The frilly curtains that covered the glass on the back door—a touch Momma added when we got here—trembled.
I checked the knob. It jiggled in my hand, loose. Why was I shaking?
Then I went to Momma’s note. Reread it.
How long till the movie was done? And where was JimDaddy? Usually they went together, no matter when Momma wanted to go, no matter the show. Seeing Slam Ball Heartbreak was their first date. They’ve kept up the tradition.
Now my heart was in my throat. Why weren’t they together?
I made sure the door was locked—it was—then headed to my bedroom as the front doorbell rang.