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Amara departed from Centre Street after making the dual announcement that she was dropping out of the race and resigning from her position as the assistant district attorney. Everyone had figured that was the inevitable result of the matter. To lick her wounds and pull herself together in private, Amara sought refuge at her mother’s home and saw that her childhood bed had been cleaned and prepared with fresh linens and blankets. Per Amara’s suggestion, Hallow took that room, and Amara created a makeshift bed on the living room couch, where she researched routes for what Hallow could do with her life. When the time came, they would discuss Hallow going to college—maybe SUNY or CUNY. Or she could go to vocational school. But first, Hallow wanted to get her proper GED and subsequently enroll in preparatory classes at the Manhattan Educational Opportunity Center right on 125th Street, near the Apollo Theater.
No one knew what happened to Landon. There was no trace of him anywhere. Some folks believed that they saw him roaming the streets at all hours of the night while others thought that he didn’t have a distinct enough look for anyone to be sure that it was actually him. Valerie, who had been a housewife, remained jobless out of her own stubborn belief that he would come back to her. Rumor has it that when the police evicted her, she was kicking and screaming, and her bloody nail marks are etched onto the sides of the front door. No one knew what happened to Josephine. Hallow hoped that perhaps in their wandering, Landon and Josephine had found each other somewhere where they could finally be together in peace. Amara perused through the files of property owners in Pleasantville and couldn’t find a Josephine or Landon listed either separately or together.
As for Helena and Iris, they cozied up to the bohemians of the East and West Villages, and never stayed in one place for long. They took thankless jobs and abandoned them without warning, entertained countless men and tossed them without remorse, and learned more about each other with a love that positioned the pain of the past as a stepping-stone rather than an impasse. After a few months of gallivanting and lollygagging, the duo moved to the Marigny neighborhood of New Orleans, where Iris set up another shop as a medium and Helena found a job at the National Birth Equity Collaborative to reduce maternal and infant mortality rates amongst Black women.
In the meantime, Hallow had to acclimate herself to a new home whose walls did not speak of foreboding doom and whose stairs did not invite more discord. Each time Hallow descended and ascended the floors of Denise and Laila’s home, her mind overlapped in memories until the new eclipsed the old. When someone called out her name, she didn’t feel a twinge in her body signaling that she would have to give another part of herself away. Instead, she would be invited to run errands or eat dinner with the family. Laila always sat to Hallow’s left and Amara to her right. The two women called Hallow “daughter.” They never warred for Hallow’s attention but collaborated to provide her with as much safety as she could stand at her adult age.
It was getting to be toward the end of October, and the weather was still nice enough for a light jacket. Because of this, the Danville women conspired to throw Hallow a twenty-first birthday party right at home. The planning easily went over Hallow’s head because she thought that they would all be attending an All Hallows’ Eve service at St. Philip’s and, furthermore, she hadn’t communicated any desire whatsoever to celebrate her birthday. The evening prior, as Hallow slept, Amara made a triple-layered confetti cake, and then the next morning, she took her for a manicure and pedicure and lunch while Laila and Denise baked the macaroni and cheese, cooked the greens, yams, and rice and beans, and fried the chicken wings and plantain.
By dusk, the children of the neighborhood were starting to go door to door, so by the time Amara and Hallow returned from their get-together, the food was already set up on the porch—along with candy for the trick-or-treaters—paper lanterns and streamers were hung on the trees, and music was playing. As Amara and Hallow approached the brownstone, Laila and Denise screamed, “Happy birthday!” and blew kazoos, a sight that made Hallow clutch her heart, overwhelmed from the love.
With her arm around Hallow, Amara rubbed her shoulder, pulled her close to her chest, and said, “You didn’t think we forgot, did you?”
“I don’t know,” Hallow nervously replied.
“We hope you’re hungry,” Laila said. “Now, do you want to blow out your birthday candles first, or eat first?”
Hallow looked over her shoulder at some of the passersby stopping to see what was going on and kept her head down as she spoke: “Do we have to be outside? You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“We didn’t have to, but we wanted to,” Denise said. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Hallow peeked over her shoulder again. The passersby who had stopped to watch were beginning to form a crowd, and she could feel the sweat sliding down her arms. Despite Amara being by her side, she wasn’t sure if the people were going to try to damage Denise’s home, hurt her, or both. The truth was that Harlemites wanted to get a good look at her once and for all. Hallow was the reminder that the Melancon family existed, and seeing her out in the open with her other family enthralled them.
“They won’t hurt you, Hallow. We promise,” Amara said.
Hallow nodded. “Can I blow out my birthday candles first?”
“You got it,” Denise said. She lit the candles and motioned for Hallow to sit in
