The reason I know that particular threat isn’t beyond her is, I’ve heard her make it.
After termination and the restraining order, no more supervised visits, so if I get to see Nancy or Sheila it has to be in public, where as long as one of them doesn’t strap a bomb to herself, there’s no keeping them away. Neither has thought of that yet. So at Hoopfest, the more games I play, the more chances I get to meet up. I hide these clandestine rendezvous from Pop Howard, because I live under threat of deportation. He’s invested in me as a jock so he shows for most of my Hoopfest games and all my high school games, but he’s got other business and stays only long enough to watch me play and tell me what I did wrong. He was, like, a third-string high school point guard on a state championship team, but when he tells it, “third-string” is conveniently missing. This might seem kind of mean, since the Howards have put up with my unpredictable behavior for eight years, but Pop is one of those guys who’s way more interested in what he looks like than who he is.
At any rate, when Nancy does show she plays “Where’s Waldo?” in the crowd until he’s gone. If you saw Nancy you’d recognize that as a difficult feat, but Pop is pretty self-absorbed, so he lays down his b-ball wisdom and splits.
By the time we work our way over to Hoopfest Central to see who we play next, my team has forgiven me our bogus loss and is ready to sweat it out back up through the losers bracket.
We could have won our second game with two players. There will be a few like that, but I have put the pressure on us to win them all. We towel off and Mariah and Hannah split in search of sno-cones while Leah meets up with her boyfriend to shoot over to one of the city pools to get in a few laps during noontime lap swim. She has the same passion for the pool that I have for the court. Tim Kim, the aforementioned boyfriend, thinks my losers bracket strategy is genius. Leah calls Tim her Korean breaststroker, which is interesting because he swims distance freestyle. Anyway, we all agree to meet fifteen minutes before our first afternoon game and I slip into Riverfront Park. If Nancy shows, she’ll come through there.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Cheryl Miller.” My sister Sheila, parent of the year. She’s with a woman I don’t know, and Sheila’s kid, Frankie, trails behind. Frankie’s five.
“Hey, Sheila. Cheryl Miller’s, like, fifty.”
“Yeah,” she says back. “I saw the end of your first game.”
“You run into Nancy anywhere?”
She holds up a fist. “See any blood on my knuckles?” That means no.
I extend my hand to Sheila’s friend. “I’m Annie. We’re sisters.”
“Yvonne.” If her grip were limper, her hand would fall off.
“Half sisters,” Sheila says.
I nod. “That’s as much sister as you get in our family.”
We exchange unpleasant pleasantries for a few minutes more before Sheila and Yvonne edge toward the street.
“Uh, what about Frankie?”
“Why don’t you keep him for a while? Yvonne and I got business.” I glance at Frankie, headed with his fists doubled toward a kid who’s gotta be three inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier, and rush to grab him; at least if I’ve got him he won’t show up on a milk carton.
“You gotta use your words,” I tell him.
“Fuck you,” he says.
“Different words.”
“I hate you.”
“Better.”
I take his hand and we head for one of maybe twenty-five sno-cone stands.
My sister is not even two years older than me, but it feels like we were born on different planets. While I get it that I can be tough and unforgiving in a lot of circumstances, she is raw and rugged and dismissive in almost all circumstances. I know enough about family to have a pretty good idea what that means for Frankie.
We win our two afternoon games easily. Nancy never shows but her friend, Walter, does. I don’t know the true nature of their relationship, but then I never do. He is way cooler than any of the others, even though he looks like he eats children. The guy is covered in reptilian tats, rides a hog, and carries a loaded pistol.
Walter says, “Something urgent came up.”
“Was it in a pill bottle?”
He pats me on the shoulder, apologizes, and disappears into the crowd. I’ve got to do something about my quick temper; he didn’t deserve that. Plus, I put a hurt on that second team all by myself, and just my luck, Momma and Pop Howard showed for it.
“You were rough on that girl,” Pop said as I pulled my towel out of my duffel. I was sweating like a soaker hose.
“She could have called foul.”
“Hard to call anything after a chop to the throat.”
“No Nancy, huh?” Momma said. She’s always suspected how I schedule my rendezvous.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smiled when I said it.
Pop pushed my shoulder. “Well, if what-you-don’t-know-what-she’s-talking-about happens again tomorrow, remember it’s Nancy you’re mad at, not the girls on the other team. You embarrassed me.”
I said it again: “She could have called foul.” How did it embarrass him? All he’s gotta say to explain me is, “She’s a foster kid; there’s something wrong with her.” I sat, stretched my legs flat in front of me, and bent forward, forcing my head to my knees.
“If that had been a good team, they’d have wiped up the pavement with you because you wanted to hurt someone more than you
