“Did you have any help during this period?” Anne-Marie asks.
They are back and freshly powdered after a final commercial break.
“The government helped us a bunch,” Dee Dee says. “I didn’t hardly pay a dime to any doctor or hospital.”
“What about emotional support?”
“Who was gonna look out for me?” Dee Dee asks. “Except for Gypsy, I was on my own. It’s just been me and her from the very beginning. Her daddy don’t even know her name. And to tell you the truth, I’ve just about forgot his.”
“But you were married?”
“For a heartbeat. I wasn’t seventeen yet when he got me pregnant.” She almost said knocked me up. “He thought he’d do the right thing, but the marriage didn’t last half as long as the pregnancy. Kids having kids, I guess. Not that I regret a thing. Gypsy is my world.”
“You’re lucky to have such a devoted mother,” Anne-Marie tells Gypsy.
Gypsy sits up straight, comes suddenly alive.
“I don’t hardly look on her like she’s my mom. It’s like we’re the same person. I think something and she says it. We’re two peas in a pod.”
It’s the first time she’s spoken at length, and her voice—high pitched and bursting with energy, like a young child’s—startles Anne-Marie.
“A brand-new pod, as of today,” she points out.
“We’re truly blessed,” Dee Dee says. “The people of Springfield have been so good to us. I just hope I can repay them somehow.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Anne-Marie says. “Speaking of Springfield, what brought you here? It’s a big country, and from what I understand, you don’t have any roots in Missouri.”
Dee Dee detects a hint of accusation in her tone, as though Anne-Marie’s real question is: “How exactly did you come to prey on our community?” Careful how you answer, Dee Dee tells herself.
“Katrina darn near killed us,” she starts. “It destroyed our home. Washed it off the face of the earth. Destroyed Gypsy’s medical records, too. We wound up in a shelter with no money and just enough medicine to keep Gypsy alive. It was a female doctor at the shelter who suggested a clinic in Springfield. She grew up here, I think. She’s the one put me in touch with Pastor Mike. She arranged it all. I owe her everything. Sometimes I break down thinking on just how much I owe.”
“But isn’t it natural,” Anne-Marie asks, “for people whose lives are relatively easy to want to help people whose lives are hard?”
And now the Oprah moment, Dee Dee thinks. Free counseling, if you call spilling your guts on television free.
“Well,” she says, “if things was reversed, I’d like to think I’d do the same.”
“You would, Mama,” Gypsy says, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I know you would. I know better than anyone.”
* * *
That night, neighbor after neighbor drops by. They come bearing Crock-Pots and casseroles full of piping hot food. A little later, the dessert brigade shows up with ambrosia, German layer cake, pies of every kind. Dee Dee and Gypsy live at the end of a cul-de-sac in a small neighborhood: some of these smiling, well-dressed women must have driven a long way to catch a glimpse of the new local attraction.
By eight thirty, the doorbell has quit ringing. Dee Dee sets two plates at the end of a table loaded with more food than she could eat in a month.
“Our first meal in our new home,” she says, wheeling Gypsy over.
“It all smells so good,” Gypsy says.
Dee Dee ties a bib around her daughter’s neck.
“Here’s hoping none of it is poisoned,” she says.
“Mama!” Gypsy scolds. “People are being real good to us. You know they are.”
“Only takes one,” Dee Dee says. “Might be some kind soul wants to put us out of our misery.”
She walks into the kitchen, comes back carrying a large bowl, a can of Pediasure, and a banana. She fills her bowl to the brim with lamb stew, places the can and banana in front of Gypsy.
“But Mama,” Gypsy says, “my stomach’s good tonight.”
“And we want to make sure it stays that way.”
“Just this once? If this ain’t a special occasion, then what is?”
“Let’s see you keep that down first.”
“But Mama—”
“That’s enough now.”
Dee Dee drops her hands flat on the table, gives Gypsy a look that says negotiations are done for the evening.
“Sorry, Mama,” Gypsy says. “You want me to say grace now?”
“I think God’s answered enough prayers for one day, don’t you?”
Dee Dee stabs a piece of lamb with her fork, plunges it deeper into the gravy, then pulls it out and swallows it whole. Gypsy takes a sip of her chocolate drink. It tastes like chemicals and coats the roof of her mouth with what feels like chalk. She eyes the lemon meringue pie sitting just out of reach, suppresses a little whimper.