He sighed, snagging my attention and giving me much-needed relief from the sun. He leaned against the car and opened his arms. I ran into them, breathing his scent in deeply. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me, Daddy,” I whispered fiercely against his stomach.
He pushed me back. A grin broke across his handsome face. “Guess what?”
“What?” I smiled back, wiping away the tears that had trickled down my cheeks.
“You’re gonna have a little brother.” He tapped my nose. “Like you’ve been asking for every Christmas.”
“A little brother?” I clapped my hands together. I didn’t understand why Ma was so upset.
“Ma never said—”
“It’s not with your mama.” The smile dropped from his face. He shifted his weight and knocked his knuckles against the roof of the car. “I . . . I’ve got a new woman. Her name is Denise. You’ll like her. She’s a real sweet woman.”
I folded my arms again. “O-okay. Is my little brother going to live with us?”
“No, baby. But you can come visit. Real soon. We just gotta get Junior’s room together.” Daddy’s voice was weird. The same weird that made my stomach feel funny when he smelled like rubbing alcohol and yelled at Ma to give him more money. Then he’d calm down, get on his knees and beg and plead until she gave in. After that, we wouldn’t see him for a few weeks.
What about us? Ma’s voice echoed in my mind. I took a step back and shook my head. “You hurt Ma. Y-you’re leaving us.”
Daddy didn’t answer. Just walked to the driver’s side of the car. The window on the passenger’s side was rolled down. I stared at him. We stared at each other until he looked away.
The engine vrooming, his car jerked forward and then sped from the curb. I returned to the house, slumped on the floor next to Ma. She was hiccupping now, no more tears, but her lower lip trembled. Twin black mascara lines streaked her cheeks. Cedar and cinnamon and allspice filled my senses. Ma’s prized potpourri basket, something she’d made herself, was toppled on the floor.
Eyes focused on the ground, I plucked at the dark and hardened stain on the sticky, brown carpet.
The sound of my nails scrapping against the hardwood floors brought me to the present. Cinnamon and spices lingered in my memories, in the air.
Fighting for breath, I inhaled and forced myself to breathe. I’d survived Victor Williams, and I’d survive Cameron Jefferies.
Ma lived a few miles outside of Atlanta, so I’d stay with her for now. She wouldn’t mind. She hated being alone. With a plan, I continued to rock myself. Exhausted from the day, I leaned against the sofa and closed my eyes.
A creak woke me from my slumber. I took in my surroundings, grabbing the pillow on the bed.
Cam.
He must’ve carried me to our room. Wishful thoughts and wistful memories sped through my mind. I conjured up my father’s face, the last look he gave me before he sped his blue Caddy out of my life. My father’s face transformed into Cameron’s, the memory still fresh when he knelt in front of me, looked me in the eyes, and told me to leave my home. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned off my heart and gave up the ghost of our relationship.
CHAPTER 10
Lost Ones—Kara
Heavy rain crashed against the window. Streaks of lightning split like rivers, igniting the sky. I loved a good downpour with wind, thunderbolts, and dark clouds. You couldn’t ignore a storm; you either sped up to get the hell out of the way or slowed down because you couldn’t go anywhere.
When I woke up in the morning, I spotted the gray clouds rolling across the sky. I knew I had to hurry so I could get the hell out of the way. Today was a special day, an anniversary. The day Mama passed away.
Passed.
It sounds as if she passed a test or passed a car on the road. Pass sounded like a choice, but the cancer didn’t give her much of one. Cancer robbed her of her future, yanked away her energy, and took her life. Cancer was a taker.
Today, like the year before, I put flowers on her grave. When I got to the cemetery, I’d spotted Father Frank hovering over Mama’s grave. I dare say she was his favorite parishioner. Mama had always volunteered for community outreach, dragging Tracey and me, and occasionally Daddy, along.
The flat cemetery gave me nowhere to hide.
“Kara Jones.” Father Frank had a light tilt in his voice, giving away his Irish upbringing, despite his being in the States since I was a little girl. He waited patiently by the grave, knowing my destination.
“Father Frank.” I sighed heavily.
“I miss seeing you at Mass. I’ve seen Tracey fairly regularly, even your father.”
“I’ve been busy studying.” I looked him dead in the eyes, lying to his face.
Despite the outright lie, Father Frank kept up his affable expression. “Ah, the wine test. One of Jesus’s finest miracles, I say.” He smiled, stretching his ruddy cheeks.
“Yes, because in a matter of seconds, Jesus was able to pick the grapes, crush and ferment, and then allow it to age. Sounds feasible.”
He placed his hand, a hand I once found comforting, on my shoulder. “But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth.” He quoted the Bible.
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you,” I quickly fired back, shrugging away his embrace. “I asked, begged, pleaded for Mama to get well. Didn’t happen. I sought God, but couldn’t find Him. I knocked—no I banged on the door!” I yelled, breathing heavily. “No answer.”
“He did answer, Kara, but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. The cancer was aggressive. By the time Carla found out, it was too late.”
“Right. He can turn water into wine but He can’t remove the cancer from my mother?”
“Kara—”
“He can’t save my marriage! He can’t make my husband love me.” The blasphemy in my harsh words scraped against my spine, a coldness crawled over my skin. Taking a deep breath, my eyes sought Father Frank’s kind brown ones. I softened my tone but not the content. “Save the scriptures, Father Frank. I know God exists, I just don’t much care for Him. Now, can you leave me in peace to speak to my mother?”
He took a step back, disappointment etched on his face. “With your dear mother gone, and . . . and Darren, you think you’re alone, but you’re not. He will show you, if you just open up and listen.”
I blew a tired breath. “I don’t want to hear it, Father.”
“Go in peace, child. I’ll continue to pray for you.”
Or not. I took a few steps closer to my mother’s grave, then lowered myself to the ground. Before my feet were a dozen red roses on the grave. An odd choice, but Daddy was trying to be romantic. Tracey, my sister, hadn’t been by yet, but I knew she’d give Mama purple hyacinths. I lowered my white lilies in front of the headstone. If Darren were here, he’d given her sweet peas, because Mama used to call me her sweet pea. I talked to Mama and then returned home, bogged down by thoughts of her and Darren.
I couldn’t believe Darren didn’t remember Mama’s anniversary. Last year, he took off work and held me until I cried myself to sleep. No judgment, just silent strength. Later, he’d driven me to the cemetery where I whispered to the stone slab, updating my mother on the past year, or reminding her of a funny time we’d shared. After I spoke to her, Darren talked to her, too, low and serious, as if he were asking for advice. I never asked him what he said to Mama, and he never shared.