Chapter Twenty-Four

January 28, 2017—continued

Carmen sat at the kitchen counter and leafed through R’Shawna’s February issue of Southern Belle Magazine.

R’Shawna stuck one hand in a family-size bag of fried pork rinds and held Carmen’s childhood diary with the other. A can of root beer with a straw sat on the TV tray next to her.

“I made it to your first tenth-grade entry,” she said. “I been readin’ the diary since last night, an’ my heart’s been heavy ever since.” She popped a handful of pork rinds in her mouth. “There’s a famous book by Maya Angelou about a caged bird that sings. Loneliness, no sense of belongin’, cruelty ever’where she turned. Your life’s been like that. I’m sorry for you, sweetie. It doesn’t get much sadder.”

Carmen chewed on her lower lip. She remembered the first entry from tenth grade well—she’d read it three times since her English professor showed the author’s quote on the big screen. She liked the anger the diary brought out of her. It felt good—like letting out a scream she’d been holding in her whole life.

She walked toward R’Shawna and tipped her head toward the diary. “Do you mind?”

“A’course,” R’Shawna replied. “It’s yours, after all.”

Tenth Grade

October 30, 2013

Dear Monica,

It’s hard to write with my left hand; that’s why I haven’t written to you, although I’m getting better at it. Mami thinks I should wear the splint for a few more weeks. She made it from a cereal box, bandages from an old sheet and safety pins. I wear long sleeves so most people don’t notice it but if anyone asks I tell them I tripped over a suitcase at home, but yeah, you guessed it. Papa Percy hit my arm against the stair railing because I used a fancy writing pen from his desk. I guess it’s expensive but who cares? He never uses it. I would have put it back and I needed it for homework. I think it’s broken (my wrist not the pen) but Mami set it straight before she wrapped it. You remember when he broke my cheek? I never got an X-ray but it felt like something broke in there. Hit me with a candlestick and the whole right side of my face swole up. That time he got mad because he found me in Dorthea’s room smelling her old perfume that stunk nasty anyway. It’s probably from the 1800s. Hah. He locks me in that room every time he gets mad. Like I haven’t snooped out everything already. What else am I supposed to do when he locks me in there without books or food or TV or anything else to do?

Carmen put the diary down and bit her lower lip. R’Shawna motioned for her to come closer. “Come here, darlin’,” she said. “This sofa’s big enough for both our behinds.”

R’Shawna squeezed Carmen like a toothpaste tube with a smidge of paste left inside. Her body felt squishy as a marshmallow and smelled like soap and talcum powder—not like her own ninety-pound mother who smelled of cleaning solution or whatever food she had on her apron.

“I can’t believe what you been through!” R’Shawna said. “I never heard a such things. No wonder my Kelvin wants to help ya. An’ about that dead wife a his. She’s not still in that room, is she? The way you write it, I can’t quite tell. Jus’ thinkin’ about it gives me the heebie-jeebies. I wouldn’t put it past him. That Percy’s nutty as a fruitcake. But I’m not tellin’ you anythin’ ya dohn already know.”

“Dorthea’s buried in the backyard under some rose bushes.” Carmen scooted backward an inch and crisscrossed her legs atop the sofa cushion. “He made Mami help him do it.”

R’Shawna clasped her hands. “Oh, my heavens. His poor wife never had a proper burial. She gotta be walkin’ between earth an’ heaven, lookin’ for a place ta rest her troubled soul. Except for going to Hell, there ain’t no worse fate.”

“Dorthea died before I was born, but Papa Percy talks to her as if she’s sitting there hanging on to his every word.”

“Why you think he’s so mean? This Papa Percy. What happened ta make him so terrible? He was a big Hollywood movie star with all the fame an’ money a person could want. What he’s doin’ now is downright sinful.”

“Not just sinful. It’s illegal. I don’t know what’s made him so mean and crazy. But he’s gotten drunker over time and more loco en la cabeza.” She pointed at her temple and twirled her finger in little circles. “Always thinking someone’s out to get him—his old Hollywood studio, friends, fans, you name it. He’s convinced people are cheating him, trying to steal from him or get him into trouble. Sometimes I feel sorry for him, ’cause I’m not sure how much he can help it.”

“Well, he should be in trouble. I’ll pray for the man, but he dohn have the right ta treat people like dirty dogs. Aren’t you worried that he might be hurtin’ your momma this very minute?”

Carmen shook her head. “He slaps her and stuff, but there’s a screwed-up relationship there. She listens to him, and I don’t know why. She acts like he’s the hero who rescued her from the train tracks, not the man who trapped her and her daughter and beat them both.” Carmen wiped away a tear. “He’s going to pay for what he’s done, and I’m going to get Mami out of there because she doesn’t know better. Being cooped up and always afraid—it’s like she’s lost touch with reality.”

”A’course. I understand, darlin’. But don’t let spite poison your soul. Love heals better than spite ever will.”

“The Bible speaks of jealousy, revenge, and hate. They’re part of life, too.”

“Revenge may be in the Bible, but that dohn make it right. You got a heart of gold, Carmen. Don’t lose that sweetness. Do what ya gotta do an’ then let it go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Carmen licked her lips and swallowed to moisten her dry mouth. “I will do what I gotta do.”

R’Shawna wrapped both arms around Carmen, pulled her into her bosom, and hugged her tight. The apartment door opened, and Kelvin walked in with a grocery bag.

“Hello, son. I almost finished readin’ this little one’s diary, an’ I’m in shock. We’ve gotta do somethin’ to help her an’ her momma. That man’s dangerous. I only saw one a his movies a long time ago, and juss because he’s famous don’t give him the right ta do what he’s done ta this little one an’ her momma. He was a handsome devil, though—I do admit that.”

“Hang on there, Momma,” Kelvin said, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “There’s a plan to get Consuelo out of there. Carmen’s gonna tell her about it tonight.”

“And this boss a yours at the paper’s gonna write a story ’bout everything when Consuelo’s free of that monster?”

“Her friend Jerry from the newsroom’s gonna do it,” Kelvin replied, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Julia’s settin’ a trap so they can use Percy’s own words against him. She’s pushin’ the limits of the law with how she’s going about it, but I hope it works.”

R’Shawna glanced at Carmen. “You look like ya could use some ole fashioned southern cookin’. I’m gonna make ya fish—battered an’ fried ta golden perfection. An’ we’ll have squash casserole with cheese, onions an’ breadcrumbs, too. It’ll knock your socks off. You’ll need your strength for the big mission later tonight. Kelvin, you cannot let her go unaccompanied.”

“Absolutely. This time I’m gonna go with her,” Kelvin said.

“You are?” Carmen beamed.