I came inside, slamming the front door for good measure. I was getting good at this slamming thing. And here it was my first day perfecting the talent.
“Hey, girl,” JimDaddy said, coming in through the garage at the same moment.
He moved into the living room and grabbed up Baby Lucy, who was now on her play blanket (short nap?), kicking her feet at the chandelier. He hugged her. Pressed his face to hers. Closed his eyes then kissed her cheek.
“Dadadada,” she said. Baby Lucy pulled at JimDaddy’s mustache.
“Baby girl, baby girl,” JimDaddy said, all soft.
Baby Lucy slapped his face in a patty-cake sorta way.
“Miss me?” he asked.
Momma came in from the kitchen then and watched Baby Lucy give her daddy wet kisses. Momma, who had looked worried and stiff as beaten egg whites, seemed to melt observing the two of them. But she didn’t speak. I’m not sure JimDaddy even knew she was behind him.
“Sir,” I said, feeling awkward.
JimDaddy laughed. “Sir?” he said. He went to his recliner then, sat, and kicked off his work shoes. He settled back, his face smoothing out like worries slipped away, Baby Lucy sitting on his chest. Closed his eyes. “Since when do you call me sir?”
“Ummm,” I said. Get mad, I thought. Get mad and chew him out about Tommie. But seeing him on the chair with my sister, I couldn’t rustle up a smidgen of displeasure. I was grateful he held my sister in that loving way. Grateful we were all together. Even if he’d left his other family behind, or killed people. Well. Maybe not that.
I was a traitor.
A traitor for happiness I had helped to steal from one family—without meaning to.
His daughter.
Like Lucy.
Like me.
“Something smells good,” JimDaddy said. He seemed to have no energy. In fact, he might have gone to sleep right there.
Momma drifted to his side like a spirit. “You feeling better, Jimmy? Ready to eat?”
Better? Was he . . . panic came up in my heart area . . . was he sick?
Could he . . . ?
JimDaddy’s eyes popped open. He didn’t smile but looked at Momma like he had lost her for a moment and just discovered her whereabouts. He reached for her hand, and Momma took his. JimDaddy kissed Momma’s knuckles.
I cleared my throat and my stepfather stood, cradling Baby Lucy in one arm. The curtains shifted as the air-conditioning clicked on, like someone walked behind the sheers.
Fish was frying. Corn bread baking. I bet Momma had run down the street to Aunt Odie’s place, where she’d been experimenting with a batter “good for chicken or fish.” I mean before her newest, newest idea.
“What’s going on?” JimDaddy said. He looked too tired for words. Come to think of it, he was looking pretty worn at my birthday party and he stayed awake long past his usual bedtime. Dark circles ringed his eyes.
Momma hurried into the kitchen, gesturing small so only I would see. I gave her the stink eye. She ignored me. I followed, flapping my hands in a we have to talk way.
She hoofed it to the stove, pulled catfish from the oil to drain. Said over her shoulder, “Set the table, please?” Her words were rigid. A warning.
And why was that? I hadn’t even had a chance to do something wrong. Yet. How was getting the truth a wrong anyway?
“Momma . . .”
“We’ll talk while we eat,” Momma whispered. She peeked through the kitchen door and nodded at JimDaddy, and Baby Lucy. She looked worried. Momma, not Baby Lucy. Well, Momma should be.
“Wash up?” she asked, like this time might be different from all the other meals I had ever eaten with her.
JimDaddy was over to Momma in three strides, his tie gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He kissed her full on the mouth, Baby Lucy swinging like a bag of groceries, clutching at the sleeve of his dress shirt.
“Food’s gonna burn,” I said. But who ever hears the sane one in a family? The dog, maybe. And we don’t have a dog.
“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m trying.”
He kissed Momma again.
“I’m trying real hard.” His voice got stuck on the last word.
I had to look away.
My mother was laying lips on the man who’d left at least one child and at least one wife on the side of the road. Practically.
“You mind taking her, Evie?” JimDaddy said. “I’m gonna change my clothes.”
I kept my head down and reached for the baby as he walked from the room.
Momma smiled like that was the best kiss ever, and I thought I should run away with Baby Lucy now, taking me with her, while we had a chance, before we were kicked out of our bedrooms and left to sneak into the house the back way.
“Maybe it’s getting better,” Momma said to no one.
“Dadadadada,” Baby Lucy said. I rested my cheek on her head.
“You,” Momma said, pointing at me with a greasy spatula, “you better be nice. You don’t know this story.”
“How can I know anything?” I said. “Y’all haven’t said a word to me.”
“Just remember I can still give you a pot with five handles.”
I almost laughed. “You gonna spank me?”
“No Southern child is too old for a pop on the bottom. Especially if she isn’t respecting her elders.”
“Whatever,” I said with a sigh.
“Wawawawa,” said Baby Lucy.
Momma planted her hands on her waist, that spatula dripping oil in blotches on the dark wood floor.
When JimDaddy was back, changed into an old paint-spattered Florida Gators T-shirt, we settled around the table, Lucy perched on Momma’s lap so she could eat straight off the plate.
“Grace,” Momma said.
“Bless the Messengers and the Fletchers,” JimDaddy said. “And this food.”
Then we set to eating. Dipping fish in vinegar, slathering butter on the corn bread, and eating coleslaw that was just-the-right sweet. Momma acted like nothing had happened at all. Just said out of the side of her mouth, “Honey, we got to have a family meeting soon as we finish here.”
Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.
After two plates of food, JimDaddy leaned back in his chair. Across the room from us the refrigerator hummed, then clicked off. The room fell silent. Even Baby Lucy didn’t say a word. She looked at me and Momma and JimDaddy like she was expecting something too.
“What is it we need to chat about?” JimDaddy said.
Momma dabbed at her lips.
I saw her swallow.
A knot grew in my throat. I chewed hard. Swallowed the bite almost whole.
“She knows,” she said.
“She knows what?” JimDaddy said. There was a long stretch of silence and then, “Oh.”
JimDaddy looked at his plate.
I stared at the top of his head, where his hair was so blond and thick I wondered if I’d ever find a gray hair.
“Oh,” he said again.
“Oh,” Lucy said. Her mouth made a perfect oval, like she tasted the word.
So it was true. Something was true.
“How could you?” I asked. The words trembled from me. For a brief moment I saw Tommie, sitting on my bed, looking at me like she might cry.
“Excuse me?” JimDaddy said. The words were breathy, hollow.
“How could you leave her out there like that?”
“Leave her?” JimDaddy looked like I’d hit him a good one. His face went dark as a storm. He was furious. “Who told you that?” he asked. “Who would say such a thing?”
Your daughter, I wanted to say, but I didn’t answer. I could be angry too.
Momma reached for my arm, but I moved away.
JimDaddy straightened in his chair. Moved around like he was getting ready for a meeting with zoning officials. Not that I have ever seen him talking about breaking ground or anything. But maybe he does it this way, with a shift-shift-shifty move.
He glanced at Momma.
Baby Lucy stayed quiet. The whole house stayed quiet. The three of us stared each other around the table, like we played tag with our eyes only.
“Tell her,” Momma whispered, and her breath seemed to make the candles flicker till two went out. The third gasped and kept burning.
Fried fish swam in my stomach.
“Tell me,” I whispered, and the last candle went out.
JimDaddy grabbed at Baby Lucy, who crawled over the table from Momma and into his arms. When he spoke, he sounded ready to cry. “Now, Evie. You have to know your momma and me, we decided some things were better left unsaid.” He cleared his throat. “Until you asked about them.”
Momma nodded.
Fish tried to swim up my gullet, but I swallowed them down.
“Like you were married before?” My voice sounded hot even to my own ears. I did not look at my mother. A sound came from the back door. Like the doorknob jiggled. Did Tommie try to get inside?
“Yes, like that.”
“But,” Momma said, “there’s more to the story.”
“Much more,” JimDaddy said.
“Oh,” said Baby Lucy.
“So tell me,” I said, though I was sure I might scram as soon as the details were revealed.
JimDaddy pressed his nose into Lucy’s neck. Three tears leaked from his eye. Yes, just one eye. And three tears. Like one for each of us. He looked straight at me. “Here’s what happened, Evie.”