Thing. She shifted her eyes to Jimson, then glanced down at her hands. He stood mum, good soldier that he was.
I sat for a moment, taking them both in, wondering how much they really knew about anything.
“What can I do for you today?” I said, praying this would be the last time I said those words today.
“We come about our niece, Thelma Lee. She’s disappeared, and we don’t know what’s happened to her,” said Sweet Thing. “We want you to find our niece for us. I want us all to be a family again—me, Jimson, Thelma Lee, and that baby.”
“The baby doesn’t belong to you,” I said firmly, but not without sympathy for these poor souls, as lost in yesterday’s lives as they were in its clothes. I wondered if they knew about the death of the other niece yet, the one Sweet Thing called Lily. Was it my place to tell them? Best to leave it to the cops. “It’s very important that you talk to the police about Thelma Lee’s disappearance. There have been some other…developments that you should know about as soon as possible.” The police must know Lilah’s next of kin by now, and when they asked about Thelma Lee, Lilah was bound to come up. Let the cops break the bad news. They knew how to do it better than me, and they got paid for it.
“I called them this morning when she didn’t come home last night, but they said she was a runaway before and they wouldn’t look for her. She hadn’t been gone a day, so that’s why we came to you,” said Sweet Thing.
“She’s only been gone a day?”
“She came home late on Tuesday. She was real scared like, and—”
“And what?” I asked.
Sweet Thing took a deep breath. “I think somebody tried to hurt her. She had blood on her clothes. She came in and…and dropped something off…then left real quick. Said she’d call me later, but then she didn’t come back.”
“What did she drop off?”
Sweet Thing glanced at Jimson Weed, who shrugged.
“Did you tell the cops about the blood?” I said, trying a different direction.
She nodded that she had. “Maybe you should call them again. There might be some new…information. Please. Call them again.”
“All they’ll say was she’s a runaway, and that’s all she is to them,” Sweet Thing said.
“How many times has she run away?”
“That girl ain’t no good. She don’t cause you nothing but grief, Sweet Thing. Take what she give you and enjoy it. It’s a good thing she’s gone.”
“Don’t say that, Jimson,” she said, the first time she’d raised her voice at him since I’d seen them together.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. I glanced away, embarrassed. “She ain’t interested in looking for the girl. Let’s be on our way, baby. Let’s just be on our way.”
“Okay, my sweet Jimson,” she said, her voice soft and broken.
You ever have a man love you like that?
What would that
really
feel like, I wondered.
Sweet Thing went out first, head bowed low. He opened the door, following behind her. Before he closed it, he turned around for one last look at me, then spit right in the center of my newly cleaned rug.
“For devilish ways,” he said as he slammed the door behind him.
I sat there for a moment too shocked to move. What could have made him do it? I wondered. I’d seen my grandma do it once, spit sideways at somebody, but never on somebody’s floor. It was what people did to rid themselves of evil, she said, to get it out of your mouth. What was he trying to get out of his mouth? Or was it me he was spitting at? Maybe he was just losing his mind, and I should leave it at that. I looked at that spit for a minute, nasty as it was on my office floor, not sure what to do next. Then I started to laugh.
They say tears and laughter come from about the same place, and sometimes it’s just a matter of chance what comes out first. It was laughter for me today, and I laughed until my sides ached. I laughed at that fool of a man
I sat for a moment, taking them both in, wondering how much they really knew about anything.
“What can I do for you today?” I said, praying this would be the last time I said those words today.
“We come about our niece, Thelma Lee. She’s disappeared, and we don’t know what’s happened to her,” said Sweet Thing. “We want you to find our niece for us. I want us all to be a family again—me, Jimson, Thelma Lee, and that baby.”
“The baby doesn’t belong to you,” I said firmly, but not without sympathy for these poor souls, as lost in yesterday’s lives as they were in its clothes. I wondered if they knew about the death of the other niece yet, the one Sweet Thing called Lily. Was it my place to tell them? Best to leave it to the cops. “It’s very important that you talk to the police about Thelma Lee’s disappearance. There have been some other…developments that you should know about as soon as possible.” The police must know Lilah’s next of kin by now, and when they asked about Thelma Lee, Lilah was bound to come up. Let the cops break the bad news. They knew how to do it better than me, and they got paid for it.
“I called them this morning when she didn’t come home last night, but they said she was a runaway before and they wouldn’t look for her. She hadn’t been gone a day, so that’s why we came to you,” said Sweet Thing.
“She’s only been gone a day?”
“She came home late on Tuesday. She was real scared like, and—”
“And what?” I asked.
Sweet Thing took a deep breath. “I think somebody tried to hurt her. She had blood on her clothes. She came in and…and dropped something off…then left real quick. Said she’d call me later, but then she didn’t come back.”
“What did she drop off?”
Sweet Thing glanced at Jimson Weed, who shrugged.
“Did you tell the cops about the blood?” I said, trying a different direction.
She nodded that she had. “Maybe you should call them again. There might be some new…information. Please. Call them again.”
“All they’ll say was she’s a runaway, and that’s all she is to them,” Sweet Thing said.
“How many times has she run away?”
“That girl ain’t no good. She don’t cause you nothing but grief, Sweet Thing. Take what she give you and enjoy it. It’s a good thing she’s gone.”
“Don’t say that, Jimson,” she said, the first time she’d raised her voice at him since I’d seen them together.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. I glanced away, embarrassed. “She ain’t interested in looking for the girl. Let’s be on our way, baby. Let’s just be on our way.”
“Okay, my sweet Jimson,” she said, her voice soft and broken.
You ever have a man love you like that?
What would that
really
feel like, I wondered.
Sweet Thing went out first, head bowed low. He opened the door, following behind her. Before he closed it, he turned around for one last look at me, then spit right in the center of my newly cleaned rug.
“For devilish ways,” he said as he slammed the door behind him.
I sat there for a moment too shocked to move. What could have made him do it? I wondered. I’d seen my grandma do it once, spit sideways at somebody, but never on somebody’s floor. It was what people did to rid themselves of evil, she said, to get it out of your mouth. What was he trying to get out of his mouth? Or was it me he was spitting at? Maybe he was just losing his mind, and I should leave it at that. I looked at that spit for a minute, nasty as it was on my office floor, not sure what to do next. Then I started to laugh.
They say tears and laughter come from about the same place, and sometimes it’s just a matter of chance what comes out first. It was laughter for me today, and I laughed until my sides ached. I laughed at that fool of a man
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