Drenched in Light by Lisa Wingate Page B

sometimes, when Angelo was tiny. Mama said that after she got straight, they would get married and move off and get a real house. If I was good, maybe she’d take me.
    I used to hear them fight sometimes in the other bedroom. Granny’s old house had walls thin as paper. I’d get Angelo and wrap him in a blanket, and take him out to the woods or down by the river. We’d sit where it was quiet, me propped up against a tree, and Angelo resting on my knees. He’d kick little baby kicks, and giggle, and stare up at the sky. His eyes were clear and blue, just like a mirror of what was above. I’d ruffle his hair, and he’d smile at me, and I knew how it was to really love somebody. I thought, if Mama left again, I’d take care of Angelo and I’d never be alone.
    By the time he got big enough to walk, I was sure that was how it would be. Angelo’s daddy had quit coming around. I knew sooner or later Mama would be gone, too. Some guy with long black hair was coming by the house a lot, and they’d go off in his pickup for a few hours, or all night, and she’d come back messed up. Even when you’re only eight years old, you know what messed up looks like. Angelo knew it, too. He’d cry when Mama would hold him and stumble around. Once, she almost dropped him off the front steps, and Granny said she wasn’t to pick him up anymore. They had a big fight, and Granny said Mama needed to stay home, that it wasn’t right for Mama to dump her kids on Granny. Granny was too old to raise another baby.
    I felt like someone yanked the floor out from under me, and I was just hanging there in space. I started walking down the river and stayed gone all day until after dark, thinking I wouldn’t come back. When I did, Granny was asleep, and Mama was in the front yard talking to somebody in a car.
    The next morning, Angelo was gone. Mama said she gave him to his daddy because she was afraid, now that he was walking, he’d drown in the river.
    Granny said I wasn’t to talk about it anymore. That was that.
    I told them I could watch after Angelo and they should bring him back. But there’s no point fussing about things, because nobody hears you.
    I went down to the river and sat for a long time. Just sat right in the water, and felt it sweep around me. The light went behind clouds, sending a shadow skimming over the surface like a water strider. I closed my eyes and felt it start to rain, quiet and soft.
    I dreamed that Angelo was someplace dry, in a baby bed with little ruffles around the edges, in a big house somewhere. Angelo’s daddy would pick him up from the crib, and bounce him, and laugh with him. Maybe sometimes, they’d go out into the woods, and Angelo would remember when the two of us did that. Maybe he’d remember.
    Mostly, I thought he’d be happy, even though he was someplace else. Because he was someplace else.
    A lot of what happens to you depends on who your daddy is.
    I always wondered why my daddy didn’t want me.
    And now sometimes I think, if he knew I could play the piano like I do, would he feel any different?
    I can hear the Red Instead assembly through the wall. It’s so loud, I can even understand the words. Say no to drugs! Wear red instead. Say no to drugs! Wear red instead.
    Just say no. . . .
    If it’s that easy, I think to myself, why didn’t my mama do it?

Chapter 4

    I read the essay again before writing a hall pass so that Dell could come to my office. The third-period office aid, a chubby, baby-faced saxophone player named Barry, frowned disdainfully when I asked him to find Dell and give her the note. Apparently, even Barry was too cool for Dell Jordan.
    “Tell her not to come if she’s in the middle of something,” I instructed, and Barry blinked slowly, silently protesting, Now you want me to actually talk to her? My social standing as a chubby saxophone player will never survive this. “You know what . . .” retrieving the note, I propped it against my office door. “I’ll just