We all gathered in Vonetta and Fern’s room as we had been doing since Pa insisted we save our money to earn our way to the concert.
“Drumroll, please,” Vonetta said.
Instead of a drumroll, Vonetta handed Fern the Jackson Five concert jar, and Fern shook it round and round so the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies made a metal whirling against the glass, softened by a few bills. We probably wouldn’t have the best seats in the Garden, since we’d have to buy our tickets late, but at least we’d be there. So what if Lucy, Frieda, and John-Isaac bought their tickets early and had seats closer to the stage? Close enough that Jackie Jackson could spin around, stop, pose, and then point dead at them and be looking in their eyes while I’d be just another girl screaming from way, way back. Way, way high. I could still say I saw the Jackson Five live, at Madison Square Garden.
Vonetta added up our deposits on her savings chart and signaled for Fern to stop shaking the jar. “According to my tally, we’ve saved a grand total of . . .”
That was Fern’s cue to give the mummy jar another drumroll.
“Ten dollars and seventy-three cents,” Vonetta said. “That means we only need—”
“One dollar—”
“No, Delphine! I got it. I got it,” Vonetta said. She closed her eyes to do the subtraction. “The zero becomes a ten . . . minus three, equals seven . . . and the other zero becomes a nine, minus seven . . . so it’s one dollar and twenty-seven cents!”
We cheered and jumped and sang “I’m Going Back to Indiana,” messing up the song lyrics to announce that we were going to New York City to see the Jackson Five at Madison Square Garden. We couldn’t make those words fit no matter how hard we tried, but that didn’t stop us from squeezing, dropping, and rhyming the words.
We danced until Big Ma told us to stop that noise-making “like a herd of stampeding hippos.” That we should use that energy for praising the Lord. And that was enough to start the other two praising Jesus for helping us to save and I fell in with them, praising and stomping. Then Big Ma said, “That’s not the meaning of ‘Jesus saves.’” But it was too late. “Jesus saves for the Jackson Five” was the only praising going on in our room. Even Big Ma had to laugh.
We had soon worn ourselves out and I heard the rumble of the Wildcat. It needed a new muffler that Pa said he didn’t have money to fix. I think Pa just liked the way the Wildcat growled and rumbled like a crouching animal about to strike. I think Pa liked his Wildcat just fine.
I looked out the window. Pa and Miss Marva Hendrix were coming up the steps. He carried a large suitcase and she carried a smaller one. Their hands were joined.
When I opened the door, they stood there smooching on the porch. I was flustered and went to close the door, but they broke apart and Pa said, “No need for that.” He was smiling and I felt stupid. “Go on to the car and grab a box from the backseat.”
I didn’t run to the car like he told me. I just stood there. Miss Marva Hendrix kissed me on the cheek, then followed Pa.
Pa called out, “Darnell! Darnell!” but Uncle D wasn’t home.
I went out to the car to get a box from the backseat. There were a few boxes on the seat, and smaller ones on the floor. Boxes marked MH BOOKS. MH RECORDS. MH SHOES. MH CUPS. I grabbed one marked MH BOOKS. She had a few of those.
Pa was still asking where Darnell was. He needed help to bring in the rest of Marva’s things, he said.
Big Ma said, “He’s out like you told him. Looking for work.” She put her hands on her hips and hooked her head toward the kitchen, their arguing place. “Now, son, we need to talk.”
But Pa held up his left hand. His left hand with a gold band around his ring finger. Miss Marva Hendrix leaned into him.
“Ma. Darling daughters,” he said. “I’d like you to welcome my wife into our house.”
I was both shocked and not surprised. Shocked because we were hearing about it just like that. Not surprised because Pa wanted to be with Miss Marva Hendrix forever.
I was all right. Sort of. But Big Ma’s hat feather could have knocked her flat on her back.
Miss Marva Hendrix was beaming, showing us her gold band.
Big Ma needed a moment. The hands that had been planted on her hips were now fanning her face.
I looked over at Vonetta and Fern. They wrapped their arms around each other. Finally Vonetta spoke. “You had the wedding, Pa?”
“Without us?”
I hadn’t seen anything more pitiful than my sisters’ ’bout-to-cry faces.
Pa couldn’t see how hurt they were. We were. He was happy to bring Miss Marva Hendrix into our house for good.
“We didn’t need a wedding,” Pa said. “We went to the courthouse.”
Miss Hendrix poked him in the ribs. It was meant to be playful, but there was too much shock and hurt and silence in the room and she wasn’t blindly happy like Pa. “You see,” she scolded him.
“You’re married?” Big Ma asked. “Without family?”
Miss Hendrix felt bad. “Mrs. Gaither,” Pa’s wife said. She had sense enough to not call Big Ma “Ma” or whatever she called her own mother. And it hit me: I knew nothing about her. Other than how she dressed, that she believed in Vonetta before I did, and that she thought women could run things.
“My lease is coming up on my apartment and—”
Big Ma put a smile over her real face and said, “Welcome to our home. Your home.” She turned to Pa and said, “Congratulations, son.”
I had never heard Big Ma’s voice sound like that. Like someone who was sick but had to pull herself up out of bed anyway.
I followed my grandmother in saying the right thing. “Congratulations, Pa.” I turned to my father’s wife. “Congratulations, Miss, Miss . . .”
“Missus,” she said, smiling, and she kissed me again.
Vonetta and Fern came outside with me to finish bringing Mrs. Marva Gaither’s things inside the house.
Mrs. Marva Gaither. It didn’t sound right.
“I told you they weren’t having a wedding,” I said.
“Shut up, Delphine,” Vonetta said.
“Yeah. Shut up.”
They were hurt and mad, but we moved quickly bringing Pa’s wife’s boxes inside. The night air was chilly.
Dear Cecile,
I thought I should tell you that Pa has married Miss Marva Hendrix. I don’t know if you care, but I thought you should know. They didn’t have a wedding and Big Ma didn’t bother to make them a fancy wedding dinner. Vonetta and Fern are getting over not being flower girls.
Pa’s wife is nice, smart, and she believes women can run for president. She’s all right. But Pa would have asked you to come back to Brooklyn if you said you loved him and us.
Your daughter,
Delphine
P.S. I am twelve.
I know how old you are. I was the first to know you were with me. In me. Growing. I counted the weeks and months as you grew. I waited for you to come. A birthday is more than cake and presents. It is the day you come into the world. The day you come into being.
I know your birth day.
I know your father is married. I know he is happy.
All you need to know is the world is big and you are in it. Study your lessons. One day you’ll see the world.
Your Mother.
P.S. Still, be eleven.