“I bet Momma ain’t mad no more,” is all I can eventually say. But even I know that what happened to Momma and Granddaddy can’t be changed. Just like two Christmases ago, when Momma finally saved enough money to buy us the TV we’d been begging for, but then Daddy took it away. I don’t know what he did with it, but I know it was him, cause I heard Momma yelling at him bout it the next day. That was the first time I heard her use that word, fiend, but not the last. And I can’t be sure, but I think this is something like that. A girl and her daddy, and something that seems small but is too big to ever get through. It can be that way, with daddies.
Me and Granddaddy don’t say no more words. I try to think of something to count, but truth is, I just wanna leave. I think bout Granddaddy making Momma feel like he ain’t care, and it makes me feel sad more than anything else. Momma is grown-up and probably don’t care no more bout headshots or being on TV. But I can’t be sure, and the thought of Momma alone in Detroit and sad fills my head.
“Can I call Momma again?” I ask, quiet. I don’t want Granddaddy to think I’m taking sides. Especially since he ain’t been looking in my eyes this whole conversation. But I need to talk to Momma. It don’t make much sense, but for some reason, I feel like I can still fix it. I can help Momma and Granddaddy be happy again. Take pictures together and hug each other tight. I already lost my daddy; I can’t stand the thought of Momma losing hers, too.
“I promise I won’t say nothin’ bout what you told me, bout her treatment and everything.”
Granddaddy chuckles. “Treatment?” He shakes his head. “I see you more like your momma was as a girl than I realized.”
I ain’t sure what Granddaddy means, til I remember that the word treatment came from his conversation with Charlie, which I wasn’t s’posed to be listening to. Oops.
“Oh,” I start quickly, “I, umm—”
“It’s okay,” Granddaddy interrupts. “You can call her.” He says it with a sigh, like he wants to say no but can’t think of a good reason. I smile to show him I ain’t mad. Just cause I wanna talk to Momma don’t mean I can’t smile at Granddaddy. I think.
Just like last time, Granddaddy dials the numbers and I wait for Momma to answer. Granddaddy heads back to the living room, leaving me alone with Momma. This time she answers on the second ring. I speed through all the I miss yous and how you doings so I can get to the real reason for my call.
“Momma, I wanted to ask you something,” I say, after listening to Momma pretend to be watching TV at the motel. I wait for Momma to respond, but the line is silent. “You still mad at Granddaddy bout that face picture?” I try to think of the right word, cause I know that’s not right. “Headshot, I mean. You still mad at Granddaddy bout that headshot? Cause he’s really sorry and I think y’all should hug again and be happy.” I spit it all out, too fast. Momma don’t respond. “Hello? Momma?”
“I’m here,” she finally responds, but she don’t say nothin’ more.
“Did you hear what I—”
“KB, how many times I gotta tell you to stay out of grown folks’ business?” I’ve heard that line a million times, mostly from Momma, but I ain’t expect it now.
“But, Momma, it ain’t like that! Granddaddy showed me the picture on his own, he wanted me to know—”
“He wanted you to know what?” Momma cuts me off, almost yelling now. “That he ain’t want me to be happy? That when my momma died, I lost the only parent I had that loved me? That instead of protecting me, he hurt me?”
“Hurt you? Momma, what you mean? Granddaddy loves you. And they was just words. He ain’t mean it.”
“It was not just words!” Momma screams. “He—” I hear quiet sniffles coming through the phone, but no words. I ain’t ever heard Momma yell like that. I don’t know what to do, so I just hold the phone to my ear, frozen.
“I’m sorry,” Momma finally cry-whispers. “I shouldn’t have said all that to a little girl.”
I wanna tell her she’s wrong, that I love for her to tell me grown-up things. That I need to know more grown-up things so I can understand all that’s happened. But before I can, she talks again.
“Gon’ and wash up for dinner, now. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“But, Momma—” I try to stop her, but she’s already gone from the line. I hang up the receiver and stand in the kitchen awhile. I could go to Nia, but I bet she won’t want me there. I could go to Granddaddy, but I bet he’s still sad. So I stand in the kitchen. Count all the things in my head that don’t make no sense. Forty-two, then I lose count.
* * *
We wake early the next morning for church. Granddaddy plays loud music from the tiny stereo in the bathroom. Church music with booming organs and bouncy singing. I hum along to the songs I know, from when I was in the church choir in Detroit. We ain’t been to church since we moved to the motel, so I’ve forgotten most of the words. I wonder why we don’t go to church no more. Maybe cause it’s so far away now. Or maybe cause the last time we did go to church, all the women in the big hats kept asking bout Daddy, and Momma kept lying.
I go to the closet in our small bedroom, where my church dress hangs next to Nia’s. The two couldn’t be more different. My flower dress looks immature beside Nia’s ankle-length masterpiece. Her dress is rose colored, and when I sneak a feel, my fingertips melt into the cloth. I remove my dull garment from its hanger, where suddenly it hangs limp. I sigh. Time to get dressed.
But Nia ain’t gettin’ dressed yet. In fact, I don’t know where she’s at, cause she woke up early and left the room while I was still laying down, dreaming bout a firefly that learned to talk and lived in my pocket. Once I get dressed and force my hair into a fuzzy ponytail, I go to the kitchen to see if she’s there. Granddaddy is at the table drinking his coffee and reading the paper, like always. But no Nia.
“Have you seen Nia?” I ask Granddaddy. It’s the first we’ve talked since last night and I ain’t so sure he wants to talk now, cause he barely looks my way.
“No,” is his only reply, then he goes back to his paper.
I run out the front door, being careful not to let the ruffles on my dress get caught in the screen as it slams shut. I don’t see Nia on the porch. She’s not up in my tree, or out by the pond. I don’t even stop to collect all the caterpillars I pass on the way, just look and look but I can’t find Nia nowhere. I start a race against a bee back to the porch, when I hear a tiny noise that sounds like it’s coming from under the house.
“Nia?” I tiptoe toward the noise, slow. I ain’t sure if I’m gon’ find Nia or a wild animal. Either way, I worry I won’t be welcome.
“Hello?” The strange noise is louder now, like a mix between a laugh and a whimper. I stoop down low, put my head where the noise is at. I’m either bout to find my sister or get my nose bit off by a wild possum.
“What are you doing here?” Nia screams. It’s dark in the small crawl space underneath the house where she hides. I can barely see her, but she must see me cause now she’s yelling.