“Yeah,” I muse, catching glimpses of a future I didn’t plan for or even know I wanted in the laughter and easy conversation flowing between four people who were just perfect strangers.
20
SELENE
It happens six more times.
Joanna missing pick up by hours and refusing to answer the phone when the girls or I call. Hours will pass in the wake of her silence, and then eventually she’ll show up without so much as an apology or an excuse, blowing her horn and rushing Isis and Imani into the car she refuses to get out of. Each time it happens, I watch Isis go from calm and relaxed to anxious and soothing, apologizing for taking too long, while Imani goes from cracking jokes to clenching her jaw to avoid saying something that might further break what her sister is trying to fix.
The first night it happened, I wanted to snatch Joanna out of her car and ask what the hell was wrong with her. Cal and Beck stopped me, and because they’ve taken it upon themselves to act as my personal security now that I have no protective detail, they’ve been there to stop me from confronting the woman over the last month and a half as well, but there’s no one on Earth who can stop me from giving her a piece of my mind tonight.
All four people in the car with me know that.
Cal is driving, his hand on my thigh in an attempt to calm the storm brewing inside of me. Beck is in the back with the girls,his long legs bumping against the console because he let them talk him into getting in the middle. He has to be uncomfortable, but he hasn’t uttered a word of complaint or attempted to shift a muscle because there’s a head of a sleeping child resting on each of his shoulders.
It’s a beautiful picture, a groundbreaking display of the trust that he, Cal and I have worked our asses off to earn from Isis and Imani, and I can’t even appreciate it because I’m too busy counting down the minutes until we arrive at Joanna’s house. I don’t know if Beck is fully appreciating it either, or if the heartwarming image has even registered on Cal’s radar, because they’re both preoccupied with monitoring my energy.
“I’m not going to say anything that doesn’t need to be said,” I whisper, not wanting to wake the girls because they’ve had a long day. We attended a code-a-thon put on by Representative Reed. He convinced his fellow Virginia reps to invite the children in their districts who were also participating in the CAC, so they could have one last hurrah before the school year begins. The day started at eight this morning and went until five this evening, so my company provided catered meals, volunteers to guide and support the students, and transportation to and from the venue for everyone who needed it.
Overall, it was a great day.
Some of our parents didn’t feel comfortable having their kids using the provided transportation and asked to pick their kids up from the office, so we brought them back to Culture Code. By seven o’clock, everyone was gone except for Isis and Imani. As usual, we brought them back up to my office, so they could have somewhere comfortable to wait for their foster mom. Tonight, the girls whooped Cal and Beck’s asses at some video game while I ordered dinner and considered the wisdom of letting them set up a gaming console in my office.
It was nice. For a minute.
And it always goes that way. The shared excitement of having a few more minutes with them. The laughter and meals and trash talking. The far too familiar feel of family that had deserted me when my son died. It’s a lovely little bubble to lose yourself in, but it only lasts for so long. Most of the time, I pop it on my own, forcing myself to call Joanna or shoot her a text just so I can tell anyone who asks that I did my due diligence, that I did everything in my power to return the girls I’ve grown to love to the person who can’t seem to bother to even care for them.
When I pop the bubble, it’s only a matter of time before everyone else comes tumbling out of the sky behind me. Cal and Beck always hit the ground first, adjusting easily because they know what it’s like to have to let go of things you really want to hold on to. Then it’s Isis, who lands on her feet but wobbles a little bit, her balance weighed down by the misplaced shame of being neglected. Imani is the last to let go. She always waits until the fall is inevitable, until the edges of our shared dream disintegrate between her fingertips, sending her plummeting to the ground where, probably for the first time in a long time, someone other than her sister is waiting to catch her.
Though, necessary, the cycle is cruel and completely unavoidable.Thatis what I’m going to say to Joanna. What I’m going to try my level best to explain in a way that won’t lead to her pulling the girls out of the coding academy, that won’t result in her taking them away from me forever because they need me, and for whatever reason, I need them as well.
“Maybe you shouldn’t say anything at all,” Cal hedges quietly. “The girls need rest, not to be caught up in an argument between you and their foster mom.”
Beck’s gaze snags on mine in the rearview mirror, and I can tell he agrees. I fold my arms, hating the fact that they’re so calm and reasonable when I feel like I could tear the roof off that lady’s house with my bare hands.
“It’s almost eleven,” I hiss, pointing at the time displayed on the screen in Cal’s dashboard. “She didn’t even bother to answer the phone this time. She hasn’t read any of Imani’s messages. Isis looked at her location, and it said she’s at home. What kind of person, what kind ofmother, sits at home twiddling her fucking thumbs while her kids are calling and texting her asking when she’s going to pick them up?”
A muscle in Cal’s jaw jumps. “I hear you, Sel. When my dad used to pull shit like this, my mom would be furious too. She’d pull me in off the porch, help me unpack my bag, fix me a snack and then leave me in the living room with cartoons playing to mask the sound of her cursing him out over the phone.”
My chest feels like it might cave in. That’s how angry I am, for Isis and Imani and now for little Cal. Nick Drake better be glad he’s dead, or else he would be on my shit list right next to Joanna.
“You deserved better than that,” I say softly, laying my hand over the one he has resting on my thigh. He flips his over, pressing his palm to mine.
“I know, and I know they deserve better too. I’m just asking you to consider if going off on Joanna is the best way to make sure they get it.”
He glances at me as he pulls in front of a red brick house with a small front porch, blue shutters and a white front door. The porch light is on, illuminating the numbers on the door that match the address listed in the girls’ file. Another bead of agitation rolls down my spine at that. My mama only ever left the porch light on when one of us was out somewhere that she wouldn’t be retrieving us from. Seeing it here, and now, makes me feel like Joanna was never planning to be a part of Isis and Imani’s journey home, and when she opens the door in a robe with her hair tied up, that theory is confirmed.
The girls are in front of me, with Cal and Beck standing at my back, and she eyes us all with narrowed eyes and a curled lip. “What have I told y’all about bringing strangers to my house?”
“Mama Jo, we—” Isis starts, but I put a hand on her shoulder to silence her.
Remembering Cal’s words, I force a calm and kindness I don’t feel into my voice when I speak. “Joanna, please don’t be angry with the girls. We insisted on bringing them home. It wasn’t our intention to invade your privacy.”
And we wouldn’t have had to if you had answered your damn phone.
Those words don’t leave my mouth, but I feel like she can see them bouncing around my head. She purses her lips and leans against the door jamb, blocking the girls from entering.
“Hmmph.”
