“Okay.” My pulse quickened at my possible going. I could do it. Go with Aunt Linda. Just check in with Momma. You know, make sure she was okay. I could live half with Momma, half with Aunt Linda. That would work! It would!
“It’s kidnapping if I take you, she told me that,” Aunt Linda said. She was quiet. “We’ve fought about this a lot. I even went to see a lawyer. I can’t get you unless your momma is a harm to you or herself. Depression doesn’t count.”
“They said they’d be here in less than five minutes.” Momma’s voice was a scream. A neighbor’s light went on.
“So stay,” I said. Desperation clawed at me. Made it hard for me to see. “I’ll talk to the police when they get here.” I pulled at Aunt Linda’s shirt to make the car stop going, to convince her to stay with me. “I’ll hide you in my room. I got that big ol’ walk-in closet. I’ll sleep there. You can have the bed.”
Aunt Linda gave this laugh that turned into a hiccup from all the silent crying she was doing. Had done.
“I’ve done everything I can, baby Lacey.” She reached for my hand. I thought maybe she would hold on to me, but she pried my fingers away from her shirt.
I grabbed the door handle. “Don’t go.”
“You’re killing me,” she said.
“What will I do if you go?”
“I’ll make the calls again. I’ll call the state offices and tell them about your mom. I’ll try to get you. Until then, you just call me if there’s a problem, you hear? You know my cell phone number.” And she moved forward faster, even though I held on to the car. Even though I jogged next to her, ignoring Momma’s screaming. Out of the driveway. Down the street a bit.
“Let go, Lacey.”
Me running for a moment. Feet slapping at the road. Passing two houses. One with their upstairs lights on.
“Let go.”
I did.
And she left. Left me standing in the dark. The smell of car exhaust in the cold night air swirling around, drowning out the pine and water scent.
“What if I can’t call?” I was crying too, though I discovered it right that second. Crying because I had thought she loved me enough to stay. No matter what. Even with the police. No matter what a lawyer said.
Except Aunt Linda was down the road now. All the way to the STOP sign. She couldn’t have heard me. Probably couldn’t even see me anymore. But that’s when the reverse lights came on. The engine whined as she backed up.
“I’ll get an apartment,” she said, full-out weeping. “I’ll make sure it has two bedrooms. I have a friend who said I could have a job at the St. Augustine library. It’s a pay raise even. More responsibility. They’ve promised it to me. That’s only twenty minutes away by car, you know. If I can work things through, I’ll get you over to my place.”
Hoping, I said, “Really?”
She nodded.
“And maybe a place for Momma, too?” Because, even a year ago I knew I shouldn’t leave her. At that point me and Aunt Linda couldn’t leave Momma on her own. What in the world would she do all alone? If I went with Aunt Linda, I mean? What would Momma do?
Aunt Linda was quiet a moment, tears running down her face. “Lacey. Just call me if you need me. Or if your momma needs me. You promise?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“I’ll check on you. I’ll stop by and see how you are. And I swear I’ll make those phone calls again.”
And she did come by. Three times. She was met by Momma with a breath of fire and words that stung. I watched from the window each visit, peered through the curtains. Saw and heard it all. The way Momma was. Saw the way my aunt cried. And when I tried to come outside that first visit, Momma had slapped me a good one right in the face, something she had never done before.
Then there was the last time. That awful last time. When Aunt Linda pulled into the drive and a few moments later the police arrived. Right in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. The whole neighborhood, it seemed, peering at us from behind curtains—some people coming right onto their front porches to watch us.
I had run outside that day. Run straight to Aunt Linda, who stood half in her car, half out.
“What’s this?” she said.
Momma came outside, the screen door slamming behind her. “I told you, Linda,” Momma said.
I glanced at her. Did a double take. Momma was dressed in her Sunday clothes, from before, when we used to go to church. She had on high heels and carried a purse that didn’t match. She wore makeup. Her hair was brushed.
“Momma?” I said.
Momma moved to where I stood and put her arm around my shoulders. “Baby,” she said, and her voice was soft. “Baby, she’s not allowed to be here.”
Aunt Linda got out of the car. A policeman and -woman got out of their cars. Someone nearby laughed. A mockingbird cried out. The sun was so hot. So hot.
With her arm around me, Momma marched up to the police. “I own this house,” she said. “This is my girl.” Momma squeezed me close. “And my sister, she wants everything. Including this child of mine.” Momma swallowed at something. “She’s tried to take Lacey from me.”
“Momma,” I said. The air was as still as a failed promise.
Aunt Linda hurried over. “I just want to visit with my niece. I just want to come to the home where I was raised.”
“I have a restraining order,” Momma said.
“What?” I said. And Aunt Linda said, “What?” too.
“I did it myself.” Momma straightened her shoulders. “Went into the police station. Alone. Saw the judge, even.”
