“What about my drawers?” Ailey asked. “I need to buy those, don’t I?”
“Don’t make fun. And you can make your own out of T-shirt material. Or you can get fancy and buy some silk.”
“Like I’m really gone be whipping up some silk panties in my spare time.”
“You are incorrigible.” She pulled the test skirt from her sister’s lap. “And that zipper is grinning.”
“I’ll do better on my drawers.”
They laughed some more, and then Lydia pulled out The Color Purple. It was Ailey’s turn to read aloud. There was nothing that had changed about Ailey’s love, though she was no longer a girl. She still wanted to lie next to her sister on the couch, her feet resting in Lydia’s lap. She still giggled at the portion in the book where Celie and Shug became lovers.
Then it was time for Ailey to leave. Their mother would be waiting, but she held on to Lydia tightly. Don’t go away again, she begged. She stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into Lydia’s hand. Just for emergencies, and Lydia tried not to clutch the money. Mr. Harris slipped money under her door every week, but it was starting not to be enough. Long ago, she had run out of keepsakes to pawn, and there were only so many dresses she could make.
But Ailey wasn’t content with the two of them spending hours together in the tiny apartment. She wanted to bring Lydia home. She thought her strategy was subtle, but Lydia had helped to raise her. She knew every one of Ailey’s tricks, like how she wiggled when she had a secret.
“Lydia?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I was just thinking. “
Lydia shifted on the couch. In a while, her need would come down. She didn’t want to lose sight of the time.
“You know Christmas is coming up,” Ailey said. “I just don’t want you to miss it. Thanksgiving is already gone.”
“We’ll see.”
The holidays came and went, but in the New Year, Ailey didn’t surrender. She began to speak of Easter. There were three months to prepare for that season. Her sister should have some new clothes for the Resurrection. When the sun shone, but the air was still cold, Ailey drove them to Worthie’s. She had insisted on their dressing up, like when their mother had brought them there as children.
Ailey flipped through the racks. “What size do you wear?”
“A four.”
“How about this?”
“No, that’s too expensive.”
“I told you, I got it. And we’re in the sale section.” Ailey pulled out another dress. “What about this?”
Before Lydia reached out to finger the material of the dress, she wiped her hand down the seam of her suit pants. She touched the collar for the price tag.
“Unh-uh. No. This is way too much.”
There were two white ladies a few feet away, touching dresses under the watchful gaze of an anxious-to-please saleslady. She had flicked her eyes to the sisters as they entered her sales zone minutes before, and then turned her back. The security guard perched on a stool in the corner was watching.
Lydia placed her pocketbook on top of a stack of shirts. In the corner, the guard put one of his feet on the ground. She withdrew her purse from the stack, clamping it in the space in her armpit, and the guard settled himself back on his tall stool.
“Please let me buy you something,” Ailey said.
“Okay, baby sister, but I don’t like it here. Let’s go to the fabric store.”
*
As the weeks passed, Ailey kept talking about Easter.
“Mama was talking about you the other day. About how much she missed you.”
Lydia didn’t speak.
“I didn’t say I’d seen you, though. I wouldn’t do that.”
“That’s good.”
“But you know Easter is coming up,” Ailey said. “I just don’t want you to cancel, like with Christmas.”
“I didn’t cancel, baby. I never promised you I would come.”
Politely, they had talked around it, the subject of her addiction. Lydia told her she wanted to be perfect for their mother. Clear her skin up. Put on some weight, and she tried to cancel Easter, the special day that Ailey had planned for her, buying the expensive jersey from the fabric store out in the suburbs, and a Vogue pattern for the new dress.
“Ailey, I’m not well. You know that.”
“It doesn’t matter. She won’t care. Don’t cancel again. Please.”
Lydia shifted, pushing at her feet. “I gotta work on Mrs. Bradley’s dress. You know how particular she is.”