“Handout? HANDOUT?” Sam took a deep breath. “C’mon, Ellie . . . all we’ve got is each other at this point. We lost Vera. Let’s not lose each other.”
“I’ve told you, stop talking like that. We haven’t lost Vera. She’s still very much alive in that chair. In fact, she asked about you tonight. You might try stopping by to visit more often. Maybe when you’re not trying to ambush me for money.”
“You know something, Ellie, you’re a real piece of work. You live your life like you’re the only person that matters in it. It’s like I don’t exist to you. And you drag Vera from her house and lock her up in this place. All so you can play the big-shot lawyer. How about back when we were in Chillicothe? You weren’t such a big shot back then, were you?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’d think you would be grateful for my big-shot status. Otherwise, who would you hit up for bail money?”
Sam glared at me for a beat and then put his cap back on. My heart plummeted. I’d gone too far. But before I could say another word, he was out the door.
“Sam, wait.” Shit! I followed him, but he was already halfway down the stairs. “Sam!”
He was gone. I’d taken a cheap shot and I wanted to kick myself for it. His skill with electrical work had landed him in prison for his involvement in a burglary ring. I knew he was trying everything to avoid going back to jail.
Our relationship was always so complicated, a by-product of growing up in Chillicothe. I managed to escape. Sam didn’t. After I left, he scuttled between living at Vera’s house and living with our mother. Vera tried as best she could with him. But Sam was always conflicted between Vera’s strict rules and his desire to save Martha from her own self-destructive behavior.
And Sam was right. Vera was slowly slipping away. Each day, she slid further into the recesses of her faulty mind and erratic behavior. Her disease was lessening her independence and selling her mind short of the here and now. And no matter how many times I visited, it wouldn’t keep her here.
I returned to the room. “Vee.” I gently tapped her shoulder. “Vee, I’m going to leave now. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Vera grunted then opened her eyes. “All right, sugar. It sho’ was nice of you to stop by. You tell Reverend Sampson I said hello and I’ll be back in the choir stand next Sunday.”
“I will.” I put on my coat, then I stooped down in front of her, my face level with the old woman. I stared squarely into her eyes, hoping the close proximity might kick-start some recognition switch in Vera’s brain. Maybe, if she got a real close look, she might see me. Ellie.
Vera smiled and patted my hand. Nothing.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you, too, sugar.”
I released a deep breath and picked up a years-worn blue quilt with faded yellow daisies from the foot of the bed, unfolded it, and spread it across Vera’s lap. The same quilt Vera had wrapped me in years ago after I showed up on her doorstep. Fourteen years old, scared, desperate, and pregnant.
Chillicothe, Georgia, June 1979
Martha counted the Kotex pads in the bathroom every month. Even though she spent half the day sprawled across the sofa drunk out of her mind, or just not at home at all, somehow she was always sober enough by the fifteenth of the month to take inventory of the feminine hygiene products like a pimply-faced stock clerk in a drugstore. The first month I missed my period, I took out my daily rations and tossed them into the garbage can in the girls’ bathroom at school. But the following month, I was out of school for the summer and completely forgot. I didn’t have some grand plan for what I would do. I guess I just tried to wish it all away.
I was sitting on the bed reading a book in the small bedroom I shared with Sam at Willie Jay’s house. Sam was outside playing somewhere. It was hot inside the house, but with the roller shade pulled down, the room offered a little relief from the full brunt of the summer heat. A quiet spot where I could perch my nose inside a book and escape this house. His house.
I heard Martha’s footsteps stomping toward my room. She burst through the door. “Are you pregnant?!”
Shock raced through me. “I . . . I . . .” I suddenly realized I had forgotten to take my napkin rations from the bathroom. I didn’t know how to answer her. I was too scared.
“I asked you a question. Answer me.” Martha’s voice was brittle, like she was on the brink of tears.
Before I could utter a word, Martha leapt across the small room and slapped me so hard it made my ears ring. “Answer me, you lil’ bitch!” Then she started to cry. “Why would you do this to me?”