We stand beside each other. I can hear Kalinda breathing—taking long breaths, like she’s trying to calm herself. She almost looks as nervous as I am.
I unlatch the gate and walk down the path and knock on the door. I hear footsteps, and the door opens and there’s a screen in between me and a woman with her braided hair tied in a bun. “Yes?” she says.
“Good afternoon,” I say. “I’m looking for a Missus Doreen Murphy.”
She gives me a look. “Doreen? The only Doreen I know is a Hendricks.”
My heart hammers. It’s true—she’s here, she has to be. “Yes, that’s the same one.”
She shakes her head. “That’s my cousin. We grew up in this house together when we were children, even though we lost touch some years ago. May I ask who you are?”
Cousin—if she’s related to my mother, then this woman who I’ve never laid eyes on before is related to me too. “I—” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. How do I explain that she’s my mother, and that I’m her daughter?
“We have a gift for her, from her old friend Miss Joseph,” Kalinda says, stepping forward.
“Loretta Joseph?” The woman raises her eyebrows. “Now, that’s a woman I haven’t heard from in years. Well, you’re close enough—Doreen didn’t move far. Just walk over the hill there, you see? And to the right of the mahogany tree splitting the middle of the road is a white house standing on its own, and a garden of yellow flowers. It’s hard to miss it. You’ll see.”
We thank her and turn to leave, but not before the woman tells us to make sure we hurry. “The storm’s supposed to be here before the sun sets. Best get home as quick as you can.”
We walk up the hill, granite road turning to dust and mud and weeds, and turn down the path to the right of the mahogany tree. Standing tall before the brush is a white house with a garden of yellow flowers, and standing on the porch is a little girl. She’s small, maybe five or six years old.
“Good afternoon,” I say, and when she just looks up at me, I keep going. “My name is Caroline Murphy. I’m looking for someone. I’m looking for a Doreen Murphy. Doreen Hendricks. Do you know if she’s here?”
The girl shakes her head. I think she might be shy. This makes me feel shy too. I suddenly feel like Goliath must have felt the moment he realized he’d been beaten by David. I look behind me, and Kalinda is still standing in the yard. She nods her encouragement, so I turn back to the little girl.
“Do you know if she lives here?”
She nods. I’m about to ask her if she knows when my mother will be back, but before I can, a man comes out of a hall and walks toward us so quickly that for a moment I’m sure he’s one of the things that no one else can see. With him comes the scent of boiled plantain and lemongrass tea. I haven’t eaten anything but Vienna sausages since yesterday, so the scents make me feel a little dizzy.
“Can I help you?” the man asks. He puts his hands on the girl’s shoulders.
“Yes. I’m looking for Doreen Murphy.”
He eyes me. “You’re looking for Doreen Murphy,” he repeats slowly.
I nod, and I expect for him to say where I can find her, but he keeps looking at me. “You’re Doreen’s daughter,” he says.
I just stand there. I’m not sure what else to do or what to say. With the way he said my mom’s name, and the way the little girl just keeps looking up at me with her big eyes, I’m not sure that there’s anything to say. The man tells the girl to go set up the table, so she turns and runs, looking over her shoulder at me once before she disappears down the hall.
“Doreen wouldn’t want you here,” he says.
I feel my chest tighten. That’s a cruel thing for him to say. “I just want to see her. I just want to talk to her.”
“And say what?” he asks. He looks at me, and from the way he does, I think he might feel bad about his words. He isn’t being mean or cruel on purpose—only truthful. I can hardly blame him for telling the truth. “She told me she doesn’t want to meet with you if you ever end up coming here.”
It’s at that precise moment that a car comes up behind me and down the dirt path. The man clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t try to make me or Kalinda leave. The car door opens and slams shut, and a woman comes, holding a bag of groceries. She doesn’t notice me at first, but then she looks up and
