Second House from the Corner (20 page)

*   *   *

Gran's microwave gets hot fast and I have a chuck of roast beef in my mouth when Crystal picks up the remote and flips to Maury. A woman is on television telling some dude with gold teeth that he is her baby's daddy. The man gets up in the woman's face, and security has to pull them apart.

“How can you watch this?”

“Girl, I was almost on the show. I didn't tell you?”

“No.”

“Mike-Mike's father agreed to go, but then changed his mind at the last minute. Fool ain't want to be embarrassed. Mike looks like Bootsy's dumb ass done spit him out.”

Crystal keeps yapping, but her voice gets smaller and smaller in my head as I daydream about being in another place. About my reality not being what it is, and then I hear his name.

“Martin. You want it?”

“Want what?”

“Girl, you ain't even listening to me. Got me carrying on and shit. Never mind then.” She folds her arms across her mountainous breasts.

I sit up, snapping to attention. “What did you say?”

“Martin is staying at the halfway house that my ex-boyfriend use to be in. He's only going to be there another week or so. The place so overcrowded the transition ain't long. I got the address if you want to find him.”

Damn right I want to find him and give him a piece of my mind for ruining my life, again.

“Yeah, give it to me.”

Crystal scribbles on the back of Gran's electric bill. She finishes off her beer and then burps.

“I gotta go. My son be outta school soon. I'll bring them around so you can see them. Mike-Mike tall as you. Eating me out of a house and home.”

I stare at the address as Crystal shuts the door softly behind her. Then she opens it back up. It's loud as it slides across the floor.

“Oh, you gonna lend me the twenty?”

I sigh and go to my purse. I have the five one-hundred-dollar bills that Preston gave me, a ten, and a five. I can't trust Crystal to bring back my change, so I thrust the fifteen dollars on her and tell her that's all I have. She snatches it up quickly and shuts the front door.

Once Crystal is gone, all I can think about is confronting Martin. He's lucky that I ain't one of those shooting girls. But I can fight. And I will.

 

TWENTY-FIVE

The Halfway

I manage to sleep through the night without taking the other half of Gran's sleeping pill. Perhaps it was the residue of marijuana in my system, but I sleep eight uninterrupted hours on the hard bed. When I wake, my breasts are engorged and I ache for the feel of Liv against my skin, for Rory's smile, Two's bossy laughter. And Preston's forgiveness.

It's my first shower in three days. Under the warm water I roll my forefinger and thumb back along the edge of my areola until the milk lets down. It spurts against the curtain in a stream. After a few minutes I am relieved, and my breasts retreat to their normal C cup size. My head pushes into the water, and it rains through my hair.

Gran's bathroom is large for the size of her house, but I hate the dated, wall-to-wall orange carpet on the floor. My footprints stay as I pad toward my temporary bedroom. I rummage through my bag for something decent to wear. A black T-shirt dress that stops at the knee and a pair of sling-back sandals. It's the best I've looked in days. I pin my wet hair into a tight bun so that I'm all eyes and face. I even smear on a little mascara, eye shadow, and blush. When I look into the mirror that's still fastened to the inside of the closet, I smirk at how cute I am with just a little effort.

I thought you were going to pulverize him. Why do you care what you look like?

I roll my eyes and head downstairs. In the kitchen, I fix Gran two boiled eggs and percolate the coffee. I haven't used a percolator in years, and it takes me a minute to remember where to put the grinds and water.

Gran's weight shifts back and forth on the stairs long before she appears. When she makes it to the dining room table, I have her eggs and coffee.

“You ain't boil the eggs too hard, did you? Still like mine—”

“Runny, I know, Gran.” I toss her my grin.

“Where you heading lookin' so nice? Gonna see your mom at the nursing home?” She lowers herself with heaviness into the seat. “Hate to think about her up there not knowing her family from the nurses. Don't make no sense.” She smacks her tongue. I know that she still blames herself for her son turning my mother into a vegetable.

My grin fades. “I have a few errands to run. You need me to do anything?”

Gran reaches into her bra and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Here.”

I unravel and read.

• Pay the electric bill

• Play my lottery numbers: (boxed 50) 5333, 2016, 318, 116, 625 (super boxed) 927

• Go to Sister Marie's and pick up my twenty dollars

• Buy a four pack of Schlitz and some unsalted Planter's peanuts

“When did you write this?”

“Last night. Supposed to be damp today and I don't do so good in cloudy weather. Sister Marie expecting you.” She peels the first boiled egg in one long motion, and then rubs it with her fingers to make sure she didn't leave any shell.

“Where's the bill?”

“Hand me my purse.”

I get up and see the electric bill on the coffee table with Martin's address scribbled on the back. I hand Gran the bill.

“Whose address is this?”

“That's Crystal's handwriting.”

Our eyes meet.

“Here,” she digs in her bra and out pops a little black purse. “Put fifty dollars on the bill and bring me back a receipt. The check-cashing center is on the corner of Thirty-Third and Dauphin. Right there in Strawberry Mansion. You remember how to get there?”

“Of course.”

“Ain't been here in so long, don't lose your way.”

She adds two more stops to the list before I leave.

“And lock your car when you get out. This ain't those suburbs you in.”

*   *   *

I navigate my way to the check-cashing center and take care of Gran's electric bill and play her numbers without a hitch. It's Sister Marie's house that has me driving in circles. The sun may not be out, but with the humidity, it feels like ninety degrees. Even with the AC on, my knees are sweating. Frustrated, I pull over in front of the KFC on Girard Avenue and plug her address into the GPS on my mobile phone.

It's late afternoon when I finish Gran's bidding. She's upstairs into her Bible when I return.

“Are you going to church tonight?”

“Naw, I ain't feeling so hot. Pour one of those beers over a few ice cubes and bring me a straw.”

After I fetch her beer, I freshen up, retouch my makeup, and tighten my hair. I'm ready for the showdown.

It's cooler outside, but the dip in temperature does not tranquilize my mood. I take Broad Street to Vine, and then floor it on the Schuylkill Expressway. By the time I weave into and out of traffic on Market Street, I have worked myself up in a two-sided conversation, with me playing both parts. I have not been to West Philadelphia in years, and I'm baffled that a halfway house would be a few steps from the University of Pennsylvania's campus. This section of the city has always been a mecca for students, with trendy shops and high-end apartments. It doesn't take long to find a parking space, and I slam my car door to release the pent-up anger. The house is a stone single, with a driveway on both sides and a wide front porch. As soon as I touch the bell, a woman wearing a white blouse appears. I state my business.

“You can wait here. He'll be right out.”

When the door closes behind her, I see a gap-toothed man in need of a haircut peering out at me. I ignore him. No time for distractions. There is a rocking chair against the front railing but I opt to stand, then pace. It feels like ten minutes have passed before I hear the door crack open again. I deliberately give him my back then turn slowly, ready to slaughter.

“There she is.” Martin's baritone voice sings to the tune of “Miss America.” It was how he'd greet me in the alley of the church before we'd sneak away. When I turn to face him, my cheeks have betrayed me, blushing cherry.

Martin is as clean as a bill of health. I don't know how he has managed to dress so well under his circumstances, but he looks almost like he was expecting me. Dry cleaner's creases pressed hard into his navy slacks, white shirt fresh, crisp, opened at the chest. Hazel eyes fastened on me. Martin moves toward me like a man who is used to taking up space, and when he opens his arms, I'm against him.

I have been in his presence for only thirty seconds and already I am gooey, like a chocolate morsel abandoned to the afternoon sun.

“Young Sister.” He wraps me up like a present. I inhale to stay grounded, but the aroma of his skin sets me floating. He smells like notes of amber and oak, and it makes me heady.

“Look at you.” Martin releases me, his eyes taking their sweet time grazing my body. I feel naked and shy.

“Come.” He takes my hand on the front stairs, and we descend together.

Time has been good to Martin. To most men it is, but to Martin it was damn good. His hair had just enough chalk to give him distinction.

“You hungry?”

“I can eat,” I say.

“How's Indian food?”

“Lovely.”

*   *   *

Martin holds the door open for me at the New Delhi Indian Restaurant on the corner of Fortieth and Chestnut.

“This is one of the oldest Indian establishments in the city. Hope you like it.”

“Sure I will.”

He shows me to a table in the corner with a view of Chestnut Street, then moves about the buffet like a person who is familiar. I have to look at each dish before I decide on the lamb vindaloo, chana masala, and a few scoops of the palak paneer.

I'm a sucker for fried Indian cheese, and my mouth is filled when the waiter comes to take our drink order.

“The lady will have a rum and Coke.” Martin nods to me and I nod back. “I'll have the Coke.”

His eyes don't leave mine, and I know in that moment that I will need two drinks to act normal.

Normal, Felicia, normal.

“It's so good to see you, Faye.” He leans across the table and squeezes my hand. Oh. The sensation of his touch puddles in my belly, then settles in my groin. I cross my ankles. What the hell is wrong with me?

The waiter drops off my drink and I sip. Martin tells me how he got pinched.

“The last I heard, you were down south helping Daddy Gracious One start up a new congregation.”

“Yeah, I was in Savannah but things didn't go as planned. I'm heading back down there in a week to resume my work. I'm really glad that you came to see me, Faye.”

“Excuse me.”

I stand up from the table, grab another plate, and busy myself at the buffet. I'm becoming swept up in his charm, and I pinch my arm hard to remind myself why I'm here. I work to revive my anger, but when I reach the table his smile makes it disappear like dust.

“Still have the same hearty appetite. Nothing nicer than watching a woman chew.”

How does he make eating sound like a compliment? The waiter drops off a second rum and Coke and I slurp.

“Long you in Philly, Faye?”

“Why would you talk to my husband?”

“I didn't say nothing. He was the one jumping bad. But I sure can't complain about the results, 'cause you're here, Young Sister.” He reaches for my hand before I can pull away and kisses my fingertips. My hand concedes and he smiles.

“Fine, girl.”

The waiter interrupts. “Will that be all?”

I shake my head yes and he drops the check.

Martin places his napkin in his plate and stands.

“Pardon me.” He heads toward the men's room. I finish my drink. The waiter is hovering around our table, so I reach into my purse and peel a bill from the five hundreds that Preston gave me. By the time the waiter returns with my change, Martin strolls over.

“You didn't have to pay, but thanks, Faye.” His hazel eyes touch mine as he helps me from my seat.

We walk out of the restaurant onto the busy street. The sun is sinking in the sky, giving off a beautiful orange and pink hue. We round the corner, and there is a trumpet player tearing up the Rihanna song that's played every five minutes on the radio. The air is cool enough for a light sweater, but my skin is tepid. Our conversation jumps around, and before I know it, we've walked seven blocks and are standing in front of an apartment building.

“Come in a minute?” he pulls a key from his pants pocket.

“Whose place is this?”

“A friend.” He holds the door.

“I better get going. Gran will worry if I'm out of her sight for too long.”

“Just a minute.”

“No, it was nice—”

“For old times' sake. Please, Faye.”

“I guess I can come in for a minute.” My voice is soft, timid.

“Man, you really like making a brother beg.” He leads the way and I follow.

The apartment is pass-through basic and smells clean. Martin gestures toward the couch and then disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he hands me another rum and Coke and offers me a cigarette. I know what happens to me after three drinks, and I opt to focus on the cigarette. When I place it between my fingers, he leans in to light it.

I exhale my thank you. He fires up one for himself and then turns to me through the smoke. “So, Young Sister, what have you been doing with yourself?”

I had already told him the bones of it on the phone, so I add in a few years of college life in New York City for color.

“I played a few gigs in New York,” Martin ashes. “I wonder if it was around the same time.” We go back and forth but our time in New York City doesn't match.

My cell phone starts ringing. I clunk around in my bag until I find it. Home flashes on my screen. I stand.