Born at Dawn by Nigeria Lockley Page A

for her return, for a week. He even slept in the doorway of Mildred’s apartment.
    How did we wind up here? How did I wind up here? Cynthia found herself staring at a shattered version of herself in the mirror over Mildred’s bureau. Cynthia bit the right corner of her mouth. She could taste the words of encouragement she’d been fed. Today they felt like a belch. The sweetness was long gone.
    Jesus, I just don’t want to fight anymore.

Chapter 13
    The rich scent of garlic greeted Mildred as she stood outside her door. The table was set, and Cynthia was hovering over a pot of pesto sauce, licking the spoon, a change from the dark corner of the couch she’d been planted in for the past three days.
    â€œDon’t you put that spoon back in the pot,” Mildred scolded.
    Cynthia shot her mother a glance coupled with a side smile. The muscles in her face had finally given up their protest. Mildred walked into the kitchen, keys in hand, and scanned the area. Her counter was decorated with basil leaves and black pepper, and the sink was full of dishes.
    â€œWhat is all of this?” she asked.
    â€œDinner. You’ve taken care of me all week. You helped me to see this should be our last night together. We’re having broiled tilapia, linguine in pesto sauce, and French-cut string beans sautéed in a garlic almond butter sauce.”
    Relief swelled in her at the thought that Cynthia had heeded her advice and was headed back home to her family.
    â€œGirl, you don’t know anything about cooking,” she joked, leaning against her daughter’s shoulder. They both laughed. Why on earth a black woman would want to cook Italian food was beyond Mildred, but every time Cynthia got in front of stove she was transformed into a world-class chef mixed with a dash of sunshine.
    â€œGo change your clothes, Ma. The food is pretty much done. Prepare yourself for a feast.”
    Behind the closed door of her bedroom, Mildred rummaged through her purse in search of the detective’s card. She’d decided against calling him the other day since Cynthia still seemed to be in a funk. Her head seemed to be on straight now.
    â€œCome on, Ma, it’s getting cold,” Cynthia shouted from beyond the door.
    Steadying her cell phone in one hand and the card in the other, Mildred replied, “Give me a minute.” She punched in the number and was relieved when the phone was answered on the second ring. “Detective Laurel, please.”
    â€œThis is Detective Laurel.”
    â€œGood evening, Detective Laurel. This is Ms. Hathaway, Cynthia Barclay’s mother.”
    â€œGood evening, ma’am. I’m so glad you called. My partner was ready to knock on your door this evening. Is Cynthia still at your house?”
    â€œYes, but she just announced that she is ready to go. She’ll probably be gone as early as tomorrow morning.”
    â€œThank you so much for your help, Ms. Hathaway. I wish all of our missing persons cases ended like this.”
    Mildred waved her hand in the air as if the detective stood right in front of her. “No problem, Detective. I also want to thank you. Have a good night.”
    â€œThere’s just one more thing that I need from you, Ms. Hathaway.”
    â€œAnything. Do you need me to come down to the station and fill out some kind of report or something?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. Don’t worry about that. We take care of all the paperwork. Ma’am, I want you to hold onto my card. You expressed Mr. Barclay has some violent tendencies. I want you to keep my card in case he doesn’t welcome her home so easily or any problems arise between them later on. Please, please don’t hesitate to give me or my partner a call.”
    Cynthia rapped softly on the door. “Your food is getting cold.”
    â€œI’m coming. Thank you, Detective. I’ve got to go. Good night,” she replied without even acknowledging his