Sisters in the Wind(56)

“Picked these for you.”

He revealed a dripping vase of orange blooms. Butterfly weed from the one garden that had to be fenced to keep the dogs out. I reached for the jelly jar, careful not to spill water the way Boyd had. Each fragrant flower resembled a campfire with a tiny center ring of fire surrounded by longer flames blazing outward.

“Had permission to pick them,” he assured me. “I swear. It’s not much, but I—”

“They’re perfect,” I said.

His modest gift was like a hundred mini fires that called to me.

I placed the simple vase on the table before rising to hug him.

“Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?” His unsteady voice rose in pitch.

“Never,” I confessed.

We were still hugging when he asked, “Can I, um, change that?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. My stomach fluttered in a way that felt exciting.

My first kiss was tender and minty. His lips felt soft. I mirrored the faint pressure and waited for what he would do next. I had read about sloppy opened mouths and invading tongues, more embarrassed than curious. Boyd kept it sweet, ending with a gentle smooch.

“That was nice,” I blurted out.

“Oh good.” His relief matched my own.



* * *



Every night, I read for a while and half listened to Tonya, who was especially chatty when tired. My roommate kept a crystal bowl filled with matchboxes on her nightstand. Each night she selected a matchbox and lit one match. She watched it burn, blowing it out at the last instant before it reached her fingertips. Then she’d start talking about her mom, who used to bring her to bars. Tonya was left in the car with a blanket until she was old enough for her mom to put makeup on her so she could go inside the bar with her. Tonya’s mom was white, and her dad was Black. She didn’t know him because her mother didn’t want to give her dad the “opportunity to disappoint her.”

I wondered how her mother could have made the decision to keep Tonya’s father away. Had it been a loving decision or a harmful one?

After Tonya talked about her childhood, she’d share her observations about our foster siblings. Emily was a frequent target.

Tonight Tonya huffed her frustration. “Everyone treats her like she’s giving birth to a royal baby. If I got knocked up, I wouldn’t be like that.”

“Okay, liar,” I said playfully while turning the page of my book.

“Bitch,” she said, a familiar retort.

“Besides,” I said, “what’s it to you if Emily’s a pregnant princess?” I thumbed my bookmark.

“Nothing, I guess.” She sulked. “Did you know she’s been in foster care for three years, but now that she’s pregnant her aunt reached out and offered her a place to stay? Where was her aunt three years ago?”

“I don’t know, Tonya. I guess we only know the parts of people’s stories that they share with us. And speaking of stories…” I made a point of shuffling pages.

“You and your books. You remind me of my friend Maia Cooper-Collarelli. She read four books at a time. For fun!” Tonya chuckled. “There was the book we read for class. The book she kept in her dad’s car. And a bedtime book.”

“That’s three,” I said.

“Oh, and her bathroom book.” She laughed again. “A dookie read.”

“She sounds smart. You sure she was your friend?” I giggled and dodged the pillow thrown at my head.

“Damn straight. Whatcha reading, anyway? The Count of Monte Carlo?” I heard the smile in her voice.

“Monte Cristo.” I went through the motions of correcting her even though she knew the title. “It’s about playing the long game to get revenge on your enemies.”

“Any smexy scrogging in it?” She asked the same question about every book.

“Not enough for you to read it,” I said.

Tonya sighed dramatically.

“Pick a better book, bitch.”



* * *



I woke up, heart racing. For a moment I thought I’d had a nightmare. Then Tonya turned the light on. She, too, had been startled awake. We stared at each other.

It was the second shriek from across the hall that put everything in motion. I tumbled out of bed. Emily’s due date was at the end of the month. I ran to the hallway, yelling for Tonya to get Missus.

Two girls stumbled from the other bedroom.

“Lexi, go get Jennifer. Joy, get Diego.” Both girls stared at me. “Now!”

Emily knelt on the floor, gripping her belly in terror.

“I can’t do this. It’s too soon.”

My hair stood on end.

“It’s okay.” My voice was calm. “Help is on the way, Emily.”

Diego’s gold crucifix dangled from her neck as she hunched over.

“Are you Catholic?” I asked.

“Diego’s teaching—” Pain took her breath.

“Okay,” I began. “Let’s pray.”

Emily nodded vigorously and reached for my hand.

“Dear God. Protect this beautiful soul and her baby. Give her strength. Be with her. In your name, we pray. Amen.”

Diego burst into the room. He rushed to Emily and knelt by her side.