Born at Dawn by Nigeria Lockley Page B

concern. She placed the phone and the business card on top of her bureau.
    Donning a soft blue floral house dress, Mildred stood in front of the mirror and considered her daughter’s plight. Sympathy ate at her heart. She understood the difficulty of maintaining a relationship, maintaining your sanity with a man who was completely unstable, and raising children. The relationship Mildred shared with Kirk, Cynthia’s father, was beleaguered by some of the same demons that plagued Cynthia and Marvin’s: alcohol and rage tempered with unbridled lust. Last she heard Kirk had made it big in the UK. For Kirk, big was a gig that lasted more than a week and offered him a plethora of women for him to choose from.
    Praise be to God He delivered me.
    The rich aroma of Cynthia’s garlic butter sauce called her back to reality. With her eyes lifted to the ceiling, Mildred whispered, “Even to a thousand generations, please, Lord, guard the fruit of my womb,” before walking out the room.
    Mildred took her place at the table. Mildred and Cynthia sat across from each other, their eyes casting reflections of each woman’s pain.
    â€œI know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Mildred said between forkfuls of linguine. Cynthia’s gourmet meal was a sure sign all was well.
    â€œI’m not really feeling better, but after talking to you this morning I know what I have to do now,” Cynthia said firmly.
    â€œPraise the Lord!” Mildred exclaimed. “God is good, isn’t He? He can turn any gray sky blue.”
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me some more of your stories from the Blue Note or sing one of your songs from your unreleased album,” Cynthia said, chuckling.
    A guttural laugh escaped from Mildred. “You serious, girl?”
    Cynthia nodded.
    Mildred stood, using her knuckles to push off the glass dinette table, tapping her foot on the floor. “‘He don’t love me no more. He don’t love me no more, so I’m headed for the door before I don’t love me no more,’” she sang in a throaty alto unaware of her prophetic lyrics.

Chapter 14
    The ten o’clock nightly news had just begun, and Mildred was already snoring on the couch. Cynthia watched her for a moment then kissed her lightly on the forehead and placed her left arm on her chest. She pulled her pink hood over her head, creeping across the threshold of Mildred’s apartment and out the door. Tiny droplets of rain kissed her shoulders on her way to the subway.
    Cynthia jumped on the A train headed downtown to the Port Authority. Clutching her duffel bag, she gazed at an ad inviting New Yorkers on a one-day getaway and transposed herself into it. A grin surfaced as she imagined herself a head chef at a gourmet restaurant exhausted from bending over pots tasting sauces, yelling over the hustle and bustle of her busy kitchen, far from the angry shouts and stinging slaps of Marvin.
    When she reached the Port Authority she had no real destination in mind. All she wanted was to get on the first bus leaving with an available seat. The slick hair of the girl behind the counter sent the dull light bouncing off her head. The combination of her gum cracking and the clacking of her acrylic nails on her keyboard put Cynthia into a daze.
    â€œCash or credit? Mizz, you paying cash or credit?”
    Cynthia dug into her pocket and pulled out crumpled bills. She straightened them out on the countertop before handing them to the girl behind the counter. She snatched her ticket and ran through the beige and orange terminal to catch the eleven o’clock bus to Richmond, Virginia.
    There was a small line at the gate: a young girl clutching a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket, an old man and woman standing arm and arm, and a middle-aged man. None of them seemed to notice Cynthia as she eased into the line. She stood behind the lady with