In the years since he’d put her out of the house, Lydia’s father had lost his severity. He left envelopes of cash on her couch, without a word. He was direct with Lydia, too, as he’d never been before her own troubles, and it occurred to her that he had no fear of judgment from her.
Two weeks before her father died, he gave her his usual lecture, which always occurred after the new year. They’d sat at the small table in her kitchen, eating out of takeout containers from his friend’s restaurant. Her father had asked her to fry him some pork chops, but she’d refused.
“Daddy, you know you’re not supposed to have pork.”
“Who’s going to know?”
“Mama will! She’ll smell that grease on you. And you’re supposed to be dropping weight. Now, you eat that baked chicken like your doctor told you.”
“If I drop this weight, you need to walk behind me and pick it right on up. You’re too skinny.”
He put one of his corn muffins in her container, and Lydia nibbled it as he gave the family news. Veronica was showing out, with her rotten, spoiled self. Uncle Lawrence was trying to get back with Aunt Diane, as usual. Malcolm was making good progress on his doctorate, up in Amherst. Her baby sister was getting high grades. And Coco was coming back to town. She had a residency.
“I know Nana must be happy,” Lydia said. “She finally got her doctor.”
“Don’t you dare be jealous,” he said. “Coco isn’t any smarter than you.”
“Yes, she is, Daddy! She tested as a genius.”
“Yeah, well, her social skills are damned awful. She and my brother are two peas in a pod. Not that I don’t love all my girls equally.”
“She’s okay with folks when she’s comfortable.” Lydia wasn’t going to tell her sister’s business, that she was charming indeed, in the presence of a pretty woman.
“I’m just saying, all you have to do is apply yourself,” he said. “Your whole life is ahead of you.”
He’d had such faith in her, that her kicking drugs was like studying for a test.
When her father died, she found out from Mr. Harris, weeks after the funeral. He swore he hadn’t known. If he had, he would have taken her to Georgia. Surely, his brother would have wanted it that way.
“Who told you, Mr. Harris?” she asked.
“Your sister,” he said.
“Ailey?” She pictured a girl, tall but with baby fat. Her wild curls going in all directions.
“No, your other sister, Coco.”
“Did she ask about me?”
He took her hand. “She did, Lydia. She’s very worried about you. She wants to get you back into treatment.”
“How’d she know?”
“Don’t be angry, darling, but your daddy told her.”
“I’m not mad, Mr. Harris. And I’m gone get myself together. I promise.”
“I believe you, darling.”
She slid her hand from his. He was a nice man; he’d never tried anything with her. There wasn’t even a funny look trained on her. He was like an uncle, like Uncle Root or Uncle Norman, and she knew he meant well, but with her father dead, sobriety occupied a distant land. It made Lydia’s legs tired, thinking of walking there.
Spring arrived. She would wait until the long light gave way to darkness, before taking the bus to places she knew she shouldn’t go. Neighborhoods that were extremely dangerous, and there were things that happened to her. Bad things, but when she was high, she reasoned, it wasn’t as if anyone cared. Perhaps she would die in one of those houses with shutters like missing eyes. Infrequently, she ate candy bars. She stayed like that for many days, ignoring Irma Bradley’s knocks. She put a note on the apartment door, that she’d suffered a loss in the family.
When the phone rang, it shocked her. Her father had paid the bill. Since he’d died, she hadn’t gone near it. She hadn’t wanted to pick up the receiver and hear silence.
“Lydia, it’s your sister, Carol Rose.” She sounded so much like their mother, it struck Lydia in the chest. The throaty alto. The catch at the bottom of a phrase. “Say something, girl. I know you’re there. I hear you breathing.”
“Hey, Coco.”
“Hey. I got your number from Mr. Harris.”
“Okay.”
“So how are you doing? How’s your health these days?”
If her sister hadn’t sounded so graceful, Lydia would have laughed. Before Dear Pearl had died, she’d hated folks asking after her well-being. She’d tell them, none of they damned business. They won’t no doctor. But the irony was, Lydia’s sister was a doctor. She had a right to ask.