Nadine’s love for Jamal, however, was unreserved, so uncontrollable at times that she never made the right decisions about him. He got whatever he wanted from her. Whatever whim of his needed satisfying she gave in to. With Nadine, Jamal had no compass for right and wrong, and when Derek stepped in, he bludgeoned his way in, his meter of hatred for Angie as clearly present as his wounded passion. Between them Jamal was a temperamental bundle seeking continuous attention yet blowing up because of it. Sometimes Nadine was speechless with this love, confused at the depth of it, as deep as if Jamal were her son in flesh. In fact, this love had alienated her from her son by blood. He found her weak because of it. But she would do anything for Jamal. There had been many confrontations with Derek, some coming close to violence in defence of Jamal. She’d stolen money from Derek for Jamal, she’d hidden the fact that he had dropped out of school, she’d covered up his lying, and on the numerous occasions that Derek had put him out of the house, she had gone looking for him with Carla and brought him home.
Carla had left home at nineteen, by which time she had grown lank and long as if from too much rain and small portions of strong sunlight. When she first told Nadine and Derek her plans, they both involuntarily screamed “no” at the same time. What about college, university, how was she going to make a living? Nadine took it back, quickly saying, “If you really think so, Carla. If you’re ready.” Yes, go, Nadine thought. She had lived with this brooding, watching child for eleven years. Relief is what she felt. She would not have to answer any questions. If Carla stayed at home, she would be a child who had to be answered, but if she left home, then she was an adult with a separate life and Nadine wouldn’t have to feel any more guilt for Derek, or for the death of Angie.
So as quickly as she had said no to Carla moving out, Nadine took it back. “Yes, yes, darling. You’re big enough now. As long as you think you could manage.” She would do her best to help Carla, help her fix the place up. She would visit her. They would be different. They would be adults together, they would go to the movies together, meet on their lunch hours and have a laugh. She wouldn’t have to love her any more. Carla would find people that she could love. She had not exercised this muscle at all with them.
“I can manage. I have a job. I found a place already.” And that was that. Carla wasn’t asking them, she was saying that she was going. She was saying, if they heard her right, I’m leaving you both. Don’t need what I never got.
Nadine searched herself for some word that would ease them over into friendship. She wanted Carla to know that she was happy for her, but Carla was gone, retreating, or rather advancing into her life. Who were her friends, and how did she know the city enough to have found a place, to be ready to live on her own? What Nadine had not said had cut her off too. She would have to wait for Carla to come to her. One day she was sure it would happen. Carla would see how she had protected her and shielded her from the bad things in life. But Carla circumvented every effort she made to come by and visit her. When she baked something and said she’d come and bring it, Carla said no, not to bother, she’d pick it up from her at work, or she’d merely say, “Don’t cook me anything,” in her exasperating whisper. Nadine wasn’t the kind of demanding mother that others were. She knew where to stop and she knew why. She didn’t want anything boiling over. She didn’t want that whisper to turn into a growl.
Today Nadine dressed for work feeling an unusual absence. She would tell her that she, Carla, was not to blame for anything. She would tell her that she was too small to understand at the time, too small to be burdened. It was too late, but she wanted to tell her, she wanted it to make a difference. An urgency moved her. She would tell her the whole story. But she was going to find Derek first.
She left the house and could hear far off a train lumbering and squeaking along the tracks at Cherry Street. She looked at her watch, she should get to work. A sweet smell of fresh bread was coming from the bakery, a recorder was playing music at the school next door. She walked toward the Chester subway, feeling a sharp light on her, her head tingling as if she had inhaled water. The city around her seemed new, soft-skinned and tender.
She handled the facts of the day briskly—the white counters, the green screen of the computers, the ruby coagulates, the sharp needles, the shiny sinks. By lunchtime she had decided
