“Someone who was alive,” Aunt Linda said. Her voice was so quiet I had to move forward to hear it. “You went outside—don’t you remember your garden? You haven’t been out there in years. You used to laugh.” Now Aunt Linda lifted her own finger. “You spent real time with your daughter—held her, hugged her, listened to her. You weren’t the walking dead.”
“Don’t you dare,” Momma said. “Don’t you dare bring Lacey into this.”
Why? I wondered that night. And I’ve wondered it since. Why didn’t I matter enough to be in that conversation?
The argument went on a while longer. Then the awful part. The worst part of all. Both of them screaming. Yelling. And then Momma hollering. Those terrible words. Her voice screeching.
“Linda, I want you out. I want you out of my house.”
“What?” Aunt Linda had said. She looked like Momma had slapped her a good one in the face. “You can’t make me leave my home. I was born here. I grew up here.”
“I can,” Momma said. “And I will. This is my place. Daddy left it to me. And I can choose who stays and who goes. And you”—Momma jabbed again at my aunt—“you are going. Get out.”
Those last two words were a scream. High and loud. It hurt my ears.
And before I knew it, I was hollering in the mix. Up above, looking down on them, yelling, too. Then running down to them both. That old T-shirt I slept in not even covering my underwear. I missed the bottom two stairs. Fell to my knees, skinning one so that it stung when I took a bath the next day.
“No! Don’t make her go.” Momma and my aunt looked up, surprised. I could see the tears on Aunt Linda’s face. Could feel my own. Fear was thick, scaring me. I had to do something. Save Aunt Linda, and in the process, I knew I’d be saving myself. “Momma, please don’t.”
Momma’s face went all confused, like she was trying to make decisions right at that second. You could see it all there. By the way she looked at me and then Aunt Linda. All of us crying together. Standing in the half-dark living room. The night pushing in on us.
Momma didn’t say anything more than, “You heard what I said, Linda.” Her voice was near the floor. Then she went to her room, slamming the door shut.
For a moment Aunt Linda didn’t even move. Then her shoulders slumped. Her head bowed. She went to Momma’s door and called through to her, telling Momma that she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave me. I stood there next to Aunt Linda so close I could smell her perfume. So close, her arm brushed on mine as we knocked on Momma’s door. I stood there, calling. Calling in, “Momma? Momma?”
Aunt Linda turned. She took hold of my arms in a tight grip and got right in my face. Her breath smelled like bacon. “I’ll take care of you, Lacey,” she said. “I swear it. I’ll do what I can to get you with me.”
“What?”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
I whispered, “I can’t leave Momma. You stay here.”
Aunt Linda was crying. Not making a sound but the tears ran outta her eyes and fell right off her chin. “If she’ll let me stay.” She leaned her forehead on mine. “But if she won’t, Lacey, I’ll talk to the police. And to a judge. To whomever I have to talk to. And I’ll get you with me.”
“I can’t leave Momma,” I said again. “Who will take care of her?”
Aunt Linda pulled me close. Her arms went around me so snug I had a hard time pulling in a breath.
It was too much. This was the last time I would cry. Of course, I didn’t know that then, but man did I bawl. There with my aunt, us turning together after that hug, to tap on Momma’s door. Telling her all the good things about Aunt Linda and why we should stay together. You know, like how she read to me, how she was more like my sister than Momma’s sister, how she kept good care of me.
Like that, Momma slammed the door open. It bounced on the wall and almost closed again. I stared at Momma. And it was like I was looking at her, seeing her, for the first time. She looked crazy. Wild-eyed. Hair a mess. Skin blotchy, red and white. Anger had changed her face to someone I almost didn’t recognize.
“Get in your room.” Momma’s voice was a howl. I backed away, running into the oak railing that peeked over to the parlor below.
“What?”
“Now, Angela, calm down.” Aunt Linda reached for Momma, who slapped her hands away.
“Go to bed, go to bed, go to bed!” Momma’s voice deafened me.
“Go, Lacey.” I almost couldn’t hear Aunt Linda for the ringing in my ears.
“But…”
“Hurry.” Again that almost whisper.
I moved down the hall, slow, unable to look away.
Momma took a step toward Aunt Linda. Her hands out. “It’s three-fifteen. You have two hours,” she said. “Then I’m calling the police.” Momma stepped back into her room, slamming the door shut so hard I was surprised it didn’t splinter in half.
And Aunt Linda left.
Packed her bags that night and high-tailed it outta our house. Told me in whispers she planned to stay in a hotel in Peace then pick up Mr. Dewey from the library as soon as she could. That she would call who she had to call. That she would make things right.
Just like that, she was gone.
Now my guts still tightened from the recollection. I tried to shake this heavy memory from my shoulders as I gripped the cart handle. “The only way to forget,” I said to the books, “is to get to work.”
So I started
