“What about accidents? The times when I don’t mean for it to come out, but it does?”
She eyes me, almost suspiciously. Like I’m lookin’ for an excuse to jube. Does she think this is fun for me?
“If you keep your feelings under control, you shouldn’t be havin’ no accidents,” she warns.
This makes no sense to me, cuz last time I checked, feelings aren’t something we can just control like a light switch. But I choose the path of least resistance.
“Sure, Mama.”
“You’re gonna have to be real aware a yourself, Evalene. You’re too old for accidents. This ain’t a blackout here and there no more. This is the real thing.”
I fight hard to not roll my eyes. “I know, Mama.”
“Oh, do you?”
I wait a few seconds, and then I slowly rise, grab my purse, and head out to work.
“Evvie,” she calls.
She is drivin’ me crazy! I turn around to face her a little too fast, and somehow, the force of my feeling shoves my mother several feet backward. She has to grab the table to keep from fallin’ over. I can’t breathe. The last person I want to hurt is my mother.
“I’m sorry, Mama. That was—”
“An accident?” she whispers.
I can feel a few tears burning in my eyes. I’m terrible with magic, and I don’t know how to get better. I dab at the corners of my eyes with a handkerchief from my purse, and I put it back in with shaking hands. Mama keeps starin’ at me, not speaking. She’s scared. So am I.
“Mama, I have to go. I’m sorry. I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” I honestly didn’t. As I grab the doorknob, she regains her voice.
“Evalene Claudette Deschamps?”
I draw in a breath. “Yes, Mama?”
“Don’t hurt nobody.”
5
Stranger
I MAKE IT TO THE Heywoods’ at just six minutes past eight. I expect Miss Ethel to get on my case about it, but she don’t even seem to notice. She barely leaves me any instructions before she flies out the door, and what Clay said last night about her returns to my mind. What does she need to do so early? Her husband’s a dentist, and far as I know, she does not have a job to go to. Maybe she’s foolin’ around.
“Evalene, I want some milk.”
“Okay. What d’ya have to say first?”
Abigail makes a face with her tongue hanging out. “Please,” she says, as though the word is choking her. I reach for her Donald Duck cup that nobody else in the house is allowed to use, and I fill it with milk. I set it in front of her, and she stares at it.
“Now what d’ya say when somebody gives you what you ask for?”
“Evalene, let’s have some ice cream,” Abigail says.
“Nope. You just had breakfast, and the ice cream’s for after your supper.”
She clenches her jaw and scrunches her eyes at me like a wildcat.
“Mommy said I could have it. She said it before you came here.”
“I don’t think so. She has never once said you could have ice cream durin’ the day, so why would she change her mind now?”
Abigail blows air out through her cheeks, like I’m the most frustrating person on the whole earth. She takes a meager sip of milk, barely a drop, and then she dumps the rest out all over the floor, smiling at me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Looks like it’s gonna be one a those days.
I wash up the breakfast dishes and keep a clear view of Abigail out in the backyard on the swing set. The neighbor girl, Patty, has come over with her naked baby dolls, and they talk their little-girl nonsense. This oughta gimme a few minutes peace until they start to fight and I have to go out and separate ’em.
With them still in my view, I reach over for the telephone and dial Anne Marie’s number.
“Hi, Miss Alice, how you doin’? It’s Evalene,” I say into the receiver. She sounds happy to hear from me and asks how my summer’s goin’ and all that. She mentions she saw me in the paper and she’s so proud. I wonder just how long my dumb thirty seconds of fame is gonna last.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I tell her. After that, she puts Anne Marie on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Anne. How are you?”
“All right.”
“Your uncle still botherin’ ya?”
“Huh? Oh that. Nah. I just been ignorin’ him.”
“Good. Good for you,” I say. I’m not exactly sure what to say next, but somethin’ told me I should check up on her today.
“Evvie? You there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, last night when we left the park, you seemed… a li’l bit down or distracted or somethin’. I sure hope we didn’t spoil Juneteenth for ya.” I glance out the window. A game of Mother May I. Patty is twirling in circles at Abigail’s behest. Naturally, Abigail is Mother.
Anne Marie takes a second. She sighs. “I’m fine, Evvie.”
“You sound kinda not fine.”
I hear what I think is a laugh, but I’m not sure.
“Anne? Are you upset? About me and Clay?”
“WHAT?”
“I mean—” Oh shit! Maybe I am way, way off base!
“Why would you say that?” she asks, her voice guarded.
I feel my pulse racing, and my hands shake. I did not expect such an intense reaction. The kitchen table starts vibrating, and the floral centerpiece on top bounces up and down.
“If I’m completely wrong, I’m sorry, and I hope you’re not mad. I just wondered if maybe… you liked him. And you never told me. I just never, ever want a guy to come between us, ya know?” It honestly never crossed my mind that she might like Clay until I noticed her lookin’ sad last night when I left the party.
The vibrating escalates. I reach for the vase, but the phone cord ain’t long enough, and I watch it tip
