Tyeisha said. She jammed her
hands in the pockets of the denim coveralls she wore and headed for
the house. Lenore followed her without looking back.
Candi watched them leave before she turned to
Yarva. “You had to do that, huh?”
“What?” Yarva went back to the picnic table
and sat down again. She lit up her third cigarette.
“You know what? Damn. I thought you had more
goin’ on with you.” Candi waved a hand at her.
Yarva scowled at her. “All I did was tell the
truth. No use lettin’ ’em make plans based on stuff they can’t do.
You said the same thing a while back when all this came up in one
of our group sessions. Sherrial was talkin’ the same pie-in-the-sky
nonsense.”
“Maybe I did. Sometimes group counseling
turns into a pity party. Sherrial is just trying to help.” Candi
looked at Yarva. “You might consider saying something positive once
in a while.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Yarva tilted her head back
and exhaled a stream of blue cigarette smoke.
One of the other residents came to the back
door. “Hey, Monette. Telephone.”
Monette gathered up her catalog, notebook and
planner. “Okay, Denise.”
“She’s carryin’ around more stuff than Donald
Trump,” Yarva said, then let out a snort of derision.
“I have a few things going on. Anything else
you want to say?” Monette faced her with a hand on one hip.
“Sorry, Ms. Victor. I didn’t mean to mess
with the star of the women’s prison system,” Yarva said.
Denise twisted her mouth and frowned with
impatience. She opened the door wider. “Look, I’m missing my
favorite soap. You want me to tell ’em you gonna call ’em
back?”
“I’m coming.” Monette glanced at Yarva one
last time before she turned away. She heard Candi’s angry voice as
she climbed the stairs.
“Get off her case, Yarva. She’s been through
just as much as anybody.”
The angry slap of the screen door as Denise
let it go drowned out Yarva’s response. Monette did not bother to
look back. Denise ran back toward the living room. When Monette
passed on her way to the hall phone, Denise was sitting down.
Moments later, she heard Denise curse in frustration because a
commercial was on.
“I don’t need to know about car insurance. I
ain’t even got a car,” Denise yelled. The pretty blonde on the
television screen kept right on smiling, which made Denise call her
a dirty name.
Trudy came out of her office. She smiled at
Monette and was about to speak when Denise cursed again. She went
into the living room. “Clean up your language, Denise. And
shouldn’t you be helping in the kitchen?”
“Nope. Ain’t my turn. I wasn’t cussin’. You
know I turned over my life to the Lord,” Denise replied.
“Well, give him your mouth next Sunday when
you go to church. I know your voice when I hear it,” Trudy replied.
She walked out into the hallway again and winked at Monette. The
twinkle in her blues eyes contradicted the stern tone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Monette laughed as she picked up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Nette. How you doin’?”
The female voice startled Monette. Some time
must have passed, because the voice asked if anyone was there. “Uh,
yeah. Mama?”
“Girl, you sayin’ I sound sixty-three years
old? I’m your baby sister by ten years, remember. You done forgot
your own people.” Rita gave a rough laugh that sounded like she
could spit out gravel.
“Oh. Hey, Rita.” Monette didn’t know if she
felt disappointed or relieved that once more her mother hadn’t
reached out. “You need to quit puffing up two packs of Marlboros a
day, ’cause you sound seventy.”
“I’m glad to hear from you, too.” Rita
laughed again. “Same smart-mouth, I see. Guess they didn’t
rehabilitate that out of you.”
“So how you been?” Monette sat down, since
Rita seemed in the mood to talk on her own dime.
“Fair. Hey, somebody told me you was on TV
the other day.” Rita coughed, cleared her throat, and then
continued.
hands in the pockets of the denim coveralls she wore and headed for
the house. Lenore followed her without looking back.
Candi watched them leave before she turned to
Yarva. “You had to do that, huh?”
“What?” Yarva went back to the picnic table
and sat down again. She lit up her third cigarette.
“You know what? Damn. I thought you had more
goin’ on with you.” Candi waved a hand at her.
Yarva scowled at her. “All I did was tell the
truth. No use lettin’ ’em make plans based on stuff they can’t do.
You said the same thing a while back when all this came up in one
of our group sessions. Sherrial was talkin’ the same pie-in-the-sky
nonsense.”
“Maybe I did. Sometimes group counseling
turns into a pity party. Sherrial is just trying to help.” Candi
looked at Yarva. “You might consider saying something positive once
in a while.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Yarva tilted her head back
and exhaled a stream of blue cigarette smoke.
One of the other residents came to the back
door. “Hey, Monette. Telephone.”
Monette gathered up her catalog, notebook and
planner. “Okay, Denise.”
“She’s carryin’ around more stuff than Donald
Trump,” Yarva said, then let out a snort of derision.
“I have a few things going on. Anything else
you want to say?” Monette faced her with a hand on one hip.
“Sorry, Ms. Victor. I didn’t mean to mess
with the star of the women’s prison system,” Yarva said.
Denise twisted her mouth and frowned with
impatience. She opened the door wider. “Look, I’m missing my
favorite soap. You want me to tell ’em you gonna call ’em
back?”
“I’m coming.” Monette glanced at Yarva one
last time before she turned away. She heard Candi’s angry voice as
she climbed the stairs.
“Get off her case, Yarva. She’s been through
just as much as anybody.”
The angry slap of the screen door as Denise
let it go drowned out Yarva’s response. Monette did not bother to
look back. Denise ran back toward the living room. When Monette
passed on her way to the hall phone, Denise was sitting down.
Moments later, she heard Denise curse in frustration because a
commercial was on.
“I don’t need to know about car insurance. I
ain’t even got a car,” Denise yelled. The pretty blonde on the
television screen kept right on smiling, which made Denise call her
a dirty name.
Trudy came out of her office. She smiled at
Monette and was about to speak when Denise cursed again. She went
into the living room. “Clean up your language, Denise. And
shouldn’t you be helping in the kitchen?”
“Nope. Ain’t my turn. I wasn’t cussin’. You
know I turned over my life to the Lord,” Denise replied.
“Well, give him your mouth next Sunday when
you go to church. I know your voice when I hear it,” Trudy replied.
She walked out into the hallway again and winked at Monette. The
twinkle in her blues eyes contradicted the stern tone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Monette laughed as she picked up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Nette. How you doin’?”
The female voice startled Monette. Some time
must have passed, because the voice asked if anyone was there. “Uh,
yeah. Mama?”
“Girl, you sayin’ I sound sixty-three years
old? I’m your baby sister by ten years, remember. You done forgot
your own people.” Rita gave a rough laugh that sounded like she
could spit out gravel.
“Oh. Hey, Rita.” Monette didn’t know if she
felt disappointed or relieved that once more her mother hadn’t
reached out. “You need to quit puffing up two packs of Marlboros a
day, ’cause you sound seventy.”
“I’m glad to hear from you, too.” Rita
laughed again. “Same smart-mouth, I see. Guess they didn’t
rehabilitate that out of you.”
“So how you been?” Monette sat down, since
Rita seemed in the mood to talk on her own dime.
“Fair. Hey, somebody told me you was on TV
the other day.” Rita coughed, cleared her throat, and then
continued.
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