“Are you sure? Do you even understand how pregnant feels?” Honoree had no clue herself about how it felt, but there was something she did know. “Did you have your monthly?”
She shook her head between sniffles. “Not in two months. Since before I met you at Miss Hattie’s.”
Honoree grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Did you tell the man who got you pregnant? Is he the one who hit you? What do you want to do?”
Another rush of tears fell over Bessie’s cheeks. “I wish he were dead. I wish I never met him. I’m a dancer now. I can’t have a baby. I don’t want a baby.”
Bessie neared hysteria. Honoree could do nothing but listen.
“I didn’t do the things a smart girl does,” Bessie said. “I forgot about the vinegar and the sponge. And he—he was always in a hurry. Never gave me time to get ready.”
Honoree closed her eyes. The bad and the good again. It never seemed to fail. Only a couple of days since they had heard about the reopening of the Dreamland Cafe and just a few hours since she had met Lil—and this happens. “So the father is the same man who hit you?”
“Only bedded one man since I been in Chicago. It means he has to be the baby’s daddy, right?”
Honoree rubbed Bessie’s fingers, making little circles over her knuckles, hoping to soothe her. “Do you want to keep the baby?”
Bessie blinked up at her. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I ain’t got no money for a baby. I won’t be able to dance, and the baby’s father, he don’t want me anymore, and I don’t want him anymore, either. I told him what you said about him not hitting me. I told him my friend knows better than him about how people should be treated. He didn’t like hearing it.”
“Do you want me to ask Ezekiel for help? He is a pretty important man around town, since he runs the policy gambling wheel for Archie. He could talk to this man and make him give you some money, but you have to tell me his name.”
“That would be awfully kind of you and Ezekiel.” Bessie rested her head on Honoree’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to find out his name. I don’t want to think about him again.” The weeping returned, louder and wetter than before. “What will I do with a baby?”
“We can’t talk about it until you calm down.” Honoree rose. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.” She pulled her mother’s quilt from the cot and wrapped it around Bessie’s shoulders. “Why don’t you lie down.”
“On the cot?”
“Yes. And all alone. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
It took an hour for Bessie to doze off. Honoree sat at the kitchen table, trying to remember every moment of her meeting with Lil Hardin Armstrong. But all she could think about was the good and the bad.
Like a field of dead dandelions popping up to ruin the view, the good and the bad, the back-and-forth kept slouching her way.
CHAPTER 26
SAWYER
Saturday, June 27, 2015
This is bull. My father had met Honoree, visited her the year my mother died, and again after Azizi died—but hadn’t mentioned these visits when I told him I was in Chicago, interviewing a 110-year-old-woman for my film project. Here, he’d met her two goddamned times, a decade apart—each time when death had knocked at our family’s door—but somehow forgot to tell me?
There has to be an explanation—something that will make sense and answer the question:Why?
In my room at the hostel, I’m staring at nothing and seeing everything. I have to call him and ask him, no, demand the truth about his visits to Honoree. But I don’t want to hear his voice telling me lies. I open the app on my cell and text him.
Me: We need to talk.
Dad: What happened? Are you okay? What did you do?
Wow. Right off the freaking bat, he jumps to conclusions.
Me: No, I haven’t harmed myself, or done some other wrong thing.
Why can’t a son reach out to his father about something other than a car crash? Or to apologize—sorry, I swallowed too many pills?
Dad: What’s going on?
Me: Tell me about Honoree Dalcour and why you visited her. Two times. Once when Mom died and again after Azizi.
