Have No Shame by Melissa Foster Page A

you have children, you’ll do anything to keep them safe.”

Chapter Six
    The next mornin’, I lay in bed listenin’ to Daddy make his way toward the stairs. He peeked into my room, as he always did, and on the occasion I was awake, he winked at me. Today he blew a kiss my way and headed down the creakin’ stairs. I tried to go back to sleep, but half an hour later I was still too wound up from the evenin’ before. I got up and rushed through my mornin’ routine—showered, brushed my hair and teeth, chose my outfit.
    Mama was in the kitchen when I came downstairs. “You’re up early. Are you hungry?”
    Only for more information. “No, thank you. Where’s Jake?” I asked.
    “He was headin’ into town before school. He already left.”
    I thought of the bruises on his knuckles, the way he’d followed Jimmy Lee into that fight like a puppy vyin’ for attention. The muscles in my neck pulled tight. “He’s never ‘round anymore.”
    “That’s what happens when children grow up.” Mama sounded sad. I felt bad for her, but was lost within my own emotional hayride. “Are you gonna see Jimmy Lee later, before he goes back to Mississippi?”
    “No, he’s leavin’ too early.” Guilt pushed at my heart, but I didn’t let it in. Jimmy Lee had hurt me, emotionally and physically, and he was the last person I wanted to see. After what he’d done to Albert, I wasn’t sure I could ever look at him in the same way.
    I stood and walked to the window, starin’ into the fields. The farmhands were takin’ a break, sprawled out on the grass at the edge of the field. I thought about tellin’ Mama about Jackson comin’ to work later that afternoon instead of Albert, but was afraid to reveal my secret.
    “I’m goin’ outside to wait for Daddy. He’s runnin’ me into town to pick up more of that molasses. He loved those cookies.”
    “Your father has a meetin’ at the bank this mornin’,” Mama said.
    “Yes, ma’am, I know. He said I could take the bus back home. I’m stoppin’ at the library anyway. He’ll probably beat me back home.” I kissed Mama’s cheek. “Love you,” I said, and headed for the door.
    The mornin’ air was chilly, and as I sat in the rockin’ chair, the smell of dew-soaked grass in the air, I considered the farmhands showin’ up at five in the mornin’. How cold they must have been durin’ the fall, and scorchin’ hot in the summertime. There must’ve been many times that they were too tired or sick to come to work, but out of fear of bein’ fired, they showed up anyway. I wondered what Jackson’s family was doin’ right then. Were they sittin’ around a kitchen table cryin’ in anticipation of the impendin’ funeral? Or perhaps they were reminiscin’ about the life of Mr. Bingham. I thought about Clara, hidin’ out wherever she might be, her life altered in a way she may never recover from. 
    I thought of Jackson and my stomach tightened. Could he be killed for bein’ alone with me? I wasn’t sure, though from what Jimmy Lee did to Albert—broken ribs and countless contusions—I’m sure that wasn’t so far fetched. When Jackson and I had left each other the evenin’ before, he followed the stream in the opposite direction of our property to the end of town, and I went back home the way we’d come. How hard must it be to live every moment watchin’ over your shoulder for somethin’ as natural as just bein’ alive?
    “You’re early, Pix.” My father climbed the porch steps, his stained t-shirt and overalls a wicked mess of dirt. That’s when the guilt hit me. As much as I disliked his disregard for the colored farmhands, I was still a Daddy’s girl, and I wanted nothin’ more than for him to reach out and pat my head, as he always did.
    He held his palms up.  “Been fixin’ the tractor. Think your mama will mind?” he asked.
    “I think Mama’ll tell you to hose off out back,” I laughed.
    “You’re probably right,” he said as he