The Interruption of Everything (27 page)

“It was real as hell to me,” Bunny says. “This was like being on the evening news except there were no cameras.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Paulette says. “But these kids shouldn’t have had to see something like this. No child should. I have to figure this out. I need to call my husband. I need to go home.”

“Hold it, Paulette,” I say. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to be driving anywhere. Call your husband. And you need to find Mookie and tell him what position he’s put you in because he’s not handling his business.”

Bunny slides close and whispers to me: “They aren’t so homely up close.”

I look at these children sitting so close they appear to be one. If I blinked they could be Tiecey and LL. I worry about them, too. What they’ve seen. How much they already know that they don’t need. I worry about what I might have to do if Joy does go to rehab for a month or what if she ends up going to prison. What will I do with these kids for six whole months? And Lovey? She’s going to need care. I don’t care what the name of her disease is. But I can’t live in Fresno. Not for a week. Not for a month. I’m going to be a graduate student. I will have classes. Maybe I could bring them up here. But the kids will still be in school. When one of the girls starts sucking her thumb, I snap back.

“Are you girls hungry?” I ask them while Paulette makes her call.

They nod their heads yes.

I look at them in a way that seems to cause the fear on their faces to leave. They don’t know any of us but they know we’re not the enemy. They know we won’t hurt them.

“What do you like to eat?” Bunny asks, bending down to their level.

“McDonald’s,” the oldest one says.

“What do you like at McDonald’s?” Bunny asks.

“A Happy Meal,” she says.

Which is probably what we all need.

Chapter 26

T
he next morning I’m so sore I can hardly move. These braids are too damn tight. It feels like they’re pulling my brains right through my scalp. I look at the clock. It’s a little past eight. I pick up the phone to call Arthurine and Prezelle.

“Hello,” a voice that I don’t recognize says.

“I’m sorry, I think I dialed the wrong number. I’m trying to reach Arthurine or Prezelle.”

“Marilyn, this is Arthurine! Hold on a minute.” She starts coughing so hard I can hear her chest rattling. “Hold the line, I’ll be right back.” Now she’s blowing her nose and it must be Prezelle I hear coughing in the background now. “Marilyn?”

“I’m still here. You sound terrible, Arthurine.”

“I know. Me and Prezelle done caught something ferocious and we can’t hardly breathe. You didn’t catch it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t catch that,” I say. I hate to admit it, but I’m relieved to know that I can stay home. “Can I do anything for you guys? Do you need anything? I can come over.”

“No, you won’t. We don’t want you catch this. We’ll be all right. We just gon’ stay in the bed and rest. We got all kinda tea and plenty of soup to hold us. Sometimes people come to bingo when they know they sick and spread their nasty germs. It’s very inconsiderate. But anyway, you have a Happy Easter and call us later. If we don’t answer the phone, it’s ’cause we asleep.”

“Okay, but I’m sorry you guys are sick. And call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll do that. But the Lord knows what he’s doing.”

The verdict is still out on Cleopatra. Paulette tells me that she managed to get in touch with Naomi, Cleopatra’s older, saner, civilized, and more responsible sister who explained that her younger sibling has quite a few serious issues, most of them unresolved. Naomi works in the biology department at U.C. Berkeley and lives up in the Oakland Hills not too far from me. Naomi also has a husband with a job and they have a one-year-old son. Paulette says she is so unlike her sister that she was tempted to ask if they had the same parents. Naomi says she was lucky. That she somehow managed to escape the lure of the streets and the pandemonium they grew up in called home. She says her sister was not so lucky. That Cleopatra is so broken she probably can’t be fixed. Naomi comes and gets the children. Takes them home with her. She says her husband will help her take care of them. That he loves children. She begs Paulette not to press charges, but to get a restraining order instead. It will work, she tells her. They always have in the past.

I haven’t talked to Joy in days. I have this urge to call. Like I need to hear the kids’ voices. Lovey’s, too. After yesterday, I just want to know that they’re all safe.

LaTiece answers. “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Aunt Marilyn. Happy Easter, Tiecey.”

“Happy Easter to you, too.”

“Did you and LL go on an Easter egg hunt?”

“Nope.”

“Not even at school?”

“Nope.”

“Did your mother make you a nest?”

“Nope.”

“You mean the Easter bunny didn’t come?”

“Nope. It ain’t no real Easter bunny. Don’t you know that?”

“I thought there was one. I saw him last night.”

“You did? Where?”

“Dropping off jelly beans and Easter eggs at my house.”

“But you ain’t got no little kids.”

“I think he left them for you and LL.”

“Can we come over and get ’em right now?”

“Well, that might be hard to do today. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring them when I come down there this week.”

“Okay. Did he leave us a lotta eggs?”

“Yes.”

“All different colors?”

“Yes.”

“LL. Come here! Hurry up! Aunt Marilyn said the Easter Bunny is real and he left us some candy and eggs at her house and she say she bringing ’em when she come!”

I can hear him jumping up and down and howling with pure joy in the background.

“Where’s Lovey?”

“Her sleep.”

“How’s
she
doing, Tiecey?”

“
She
still be just doing the same old thing.”

“What’s that?”

“All she do is eat and sleep and watch TV.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s not there?”

“Nope.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“She didn’t tell you what time she’d be back?”

“Her just said it would be late.”

“What time did she leave?”

“Late.”

“Well, when did she leave?”

“I just told you. Late.”

“So you mean this was last night?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”

“And she hasn’t called at all?”

“Nope.”

“Did she ever get her cell phone turned back on?”

“Nope.”

“Tiecey, don’t you ever get scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“Of being there by yourself?”

“I ain’t by myself. LL here and so is Grandma Lovey.”

“Do you know what to do if there’s an emergency?”

“What emergency?”

“Like if the house caught on fire or Lovey got really sick or something happened to LL and you couldn’t help them. What would you do?”

“Call 9-1-1.”

“That’s right.”

“But what if
I
got drowned or something, who would call 9-1-1 for
me?
”

That’s a good one. I know LL doesn’t know how. And Lovey might not remember. “As soon as you felt like you might be drowning, you could tell LL to call 9-1-1 because he always listens to you, doesn’t he?”

“He would if I was to be drowning.”

“Okay. Enough about drowning. Especially since you don’t have a pool, hallelujah.”

“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” she sings it.

“Is there something there for you guys to eat?”

“We already ate. We had cereal. But LL used up all the milk.”

“What about Grandma Lovey?”

“Her had oatmeal.”

“Okay. I’m going to do this. I’m going to wait a few hours and then call back to see if your mother comes home.”

“Okay.”

“But if she gets back before I call, would you have her call me?”

“Okay.”

“Wait a minute. I changed my mind, Tiecey. You know how proud Aunt Marilyn is because you’re such a smart little girl, don’t you?”

“I do now,” she says.

“Well, this is what I need you to do. I need you to write my phone number down.”

“Just a minute,” she says, and I’m waiting for the phone to hit the floor like usual, but it doesn’t. I hear her running away and I hear her running back. “What is it?”

I give it to her and ask her to repeat it. Which she does.

“Okay, Tiecey. As soon as your mother walks in that front door I want you to take the portable phone into the bathroom—anywhere she can’t see you—and call me. Can you do that?”

“Yes. But why you don’t want her to see me call?”

“Well, I’m a little worried that your mother might not be feeling so good and I don’t want to make her feel worse.”

“You mean she on them drugs again. I ain’t stupid.”

“I’m just concerned.”

“Me, too. That’s why come me and LL don’t like her when she act crazy. We know it’s from them drugs. They told us at school what drugs do to people’s minds. I told her what they said. I showed her the piece of paper they gave us, but I don’t think she read it, ’cause she just won’t stop.”

“It’s hard for some people to stop.”

“That’s what her always be saying. But if
she
don’t like doing something
she
should not do it. Ain’t nobody making her. Just say no!”

“That’s true. But sometimes people need to get a little help and then that makes it easier for them to stop.”

“Well, help her then, Aunt Marilyn.”

“I will. So you and LL just stay right there in the house, and keep an eye out on Lovey to make sure she doesn’t do anything to hurt herself.”

“Okay. But Grandma Lovey ain’t
crazy.
She just old and can’t remember stuff. Me and LL always help her remember.”

“That’s nice,” I say. “Give her a kiss for me. And I’ll call you in a few hours. Or you’ll call me, right?”

“Right. Bye.”

After I hang up I just sit there. My heart is beating too fast. I hope Joy hasn’t gone off the road again. For some reason, it feels like a good idea to go to church, even though Easter is my least favorite Sunday to go because it’s always packed with extra sinners, and most of the women’s faces are hidden by big bright hats, their bodies adorned by just-off-the-rack spring suits. They come late, and walk down the center aisle searching for a seat as if they’re vacationing runway models. I look for something churchy in my closet that fits and a hat that barely makes it over these braids.

Allen Temple is packed not simply because it’s Easter, but because it’s Allen Temple, one of the biggest Baptist churches in California. The minister preaches from his heart. I feel his energy travel over the ocean of hats and penetrate mine. I pray for my sister. That she be allowed to discover grace and find peace without drugs. That her hair grows. That some of her pain be driven from her and given to me because I think I can handle it. I pray for her kids. That they find they have a chance to grow up knowing they were loved. That Joy learns to surrender long enough to show them. I pray for my mother. That if she can’t ever recover what she’s lost or what she’s losing, that she not feel like she’s lost. I pray that we make her feel necessary and valued as long as possible. That she comes to know comfort, even if I can’t provide it myself. I pray for my children. That they stay safe and make good decisions. That they be happy, thoughtful, and caring human beings. That they have the strength to get up if they fall down. I pray that Arthurine and Prezelle live longer than they ever expected and love each other like they’re nineteen. I pray for Leon. That he finds what he needs. And for myself, all I want is for You to understand that even though I may not appear to be listening to what You’re whispering in my ear or seeing what should be obvious, know that I am trying to find my way, even when it appears like I’m deaf and blind.

I wait until I get in the car to check my cell phone for messages. I don’t have any. I start the engine. The phone remembers the last number I called, so I press
SEND
. It rings once twice three times, and by the fourth, I’m worried. I hang up. Dial manually this time. On the first ring, Tiecey picks up. “Is she there?”

“Who?”

“Your mother, Tiecey.”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“What took you so long answering the phone?”

“I was washing Grandma Lovey’s hair in the bathroom.”

“Oh. Where’s LL?”

“Playing video games.”

“Is that
all
he ever does?”

“Yep.”

“Can he read?”

“I don’t know.”

I know this is not the time to ask these questions but I don’t know what else to ask right now. I can’t sit around the rest of the day in that big-ass house waiting by the phone. I just can’t. “I’m driving down there,” I hear myself say.

“Will you bring our Easter egg candy?”

“Yes. Now, if your mother comes home and she’s acting like she’s been doing something, don’t tell her I’m coming, okay?”

“Okay. Do you have the candy right there?”

“I certainly do.”

“Goody goody. I’ma run and tell LL right now!”

“Wait!”

But she’s already hung up.

Of course I don’t have any Easter egg anything. But before I hit the freeway I stop at home and get out of this corny dress. I put on my lavender sweats, a pair of sneakers. I stop by the drugstore and buy three big bags of shiny green nests, a few bags of jelly beans, some with little white speckled eggs full of malted candy, and two giant chocolate bunny rabbits. I run inside the nearest grocery store and there are a few cartons of dyed eggs left. I buy one with glitter and one that’s plain pastels.

It’s almost four o’clock when I get on the freeway not far from my house. The first hour is bumper-to-bumper because all the folks are heading back to L.A. When I hit the stretch of highway where I got caught in the parade, it feels like smooth sailing, until I get to the 99 and I’m right back in the holiday traffic again. I’m only about forty or fifty minutes from Fresno, but at the rate I’m going, it might take two hours. My temples are jumping. I’m trying not to be so impatient, but something in me is making it hard. I pick up the phone again. This time I hear Lovey’s voice. “Hi there, Lovey!”

“Hi there to you, too!” she says.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling just fine. And you?”

“Lovey, this is Marilyn.”

“I know who this is!”

I think I hear some kind of commotion or something going on in the background, but I can’t tell what it is. “Lovey, where’s Tiecey?”

“Oh, she’s back there crying and what have you, talking to them policemen.”

“What policemen?”

“The ones that’s in the house. The ones that came to tell us that Joy done went and got herself kilt but this time it’s for real.”

“Lovey you don’t know what you’re saying so let me speak to Tiecey or one of the police officers, right now!”

“
Kojak?
Come get this phone and tell this girl that my daughter is dead as dead can be. Wait a minute. I forgot to tell her how it happened. She was walking across the street and…wait a minute. Here, Kojak. You tell her.”

I pull the car over onto the emergency lane and put my flashers on. I’m praying that this is either a bad joke or a big fucking mistake. That Lovey is really just hallucinating because she used to love watching Telly Savalas: “That is one sexy white man,” she’d say week after week after week, each time sounding even more astonished than the last.

“Hello, ma’am. And you are?”

Hearing a strange man’s voice on the line is startling. “I’m Lovey’s daughter and Joy’s sister, Marilyn. Who are you?”

“I’m Officer Daryl Strayhorn, and I’m here with your mother and Ms. Dupree’s two children. The little girl told me you’re on your way here, driving from Oakland.”

“Wait a minute. What are you doing there? And tell me what my mother just said isn’t true. She’s got some kind of dementia so she probably got this all wrong. Now please, tell me what’s really going on.”