Daddy turned to us, and asked, “Y’all okay?”
Bali and I both nodded.
“Where’s your mama?”
“I made her stay in the examination room.”
A smirk appeared on his lips. “You should have let her out. All that fucking smoke she have for me could have been unleashed on their asses.”
I rolled my eyes and walked away to go check on her. When I turned the corner, I almost ran into her. Ashanni was right behind her.
“Where are y’all going? Ashanni, you’re pregnant.”
“It got quiet, so we were coming to check on y’all. I don’t like this shit,” my mama said. “My nerves are on edge. I probably would have killed one of those people.”
I glanced down and noticed she had a gun. My eyebrows lifted as my daddy said, “I told them they should have let you loose.”
This nigga was talking about letting her loose like she was a caged animal. She frowned. “Keep talking. Bold ass nigga. I got a gun in my hand, and you still talking shit?”
My daddy frowned. “I got two guns. Why would I be scared of an amateur with a gun?”
“Ugh! Y’all kill that shit. You in our place of business. Daddy . . . bye.”
I gently pushed my mama back to her examination room as Ashanni chuckled at their theatrics. Normally, Mama would just roll her eyes or ignore his foolishness. It seemed she was rediscovering the part of herself that my dad had said was lying dormant.
When we got to the room, I asked, “Why are they even looking for Uncle Marcus? Have they even said?”
“They won’t say why. So since they won’t say why they need him, we pretend we don’t know who they’re talking about. They are so incompetent. They don’t even realize he’s Marcus Henderson now, not Wingate.”
“I’m so tired of all this bullshit. Is Mister Shyrón speaking to law enforcement about the situation they are putting citizens in?”
“Law enforcement is cooperating with their asses. ICE is not law enforcement, baby. They are Trump’s bullies . . . the KKK . . . the proud boys . . . fucking, red-neck, trailer trash racists with their occasional coon or wetback. I don’t typically believe in calling people those types of derogatory terms, but that’s exactly who the fuck those people are to me. They aren’t enforcing shit but hatred. I hate where this country is headed. It’s like slapping every civil rights activist in the face.”
I nodded, choosing to steer the conversation in a different direction. She was getting worked up. I could see the beads of sweat popping up on her forehead.
“Well, in the meantime, you try to be as calm as possible. Go line dancing or smoke with Uncle Jasper.”
She chuckled and grabbed a face towel from her purse, then put it to her face and pat it dry. “Hell yeah. I could use a good blunt before I have to go back and deal with your daddy. That nigga be on my last good nerve.”
I chuckled. “Well, your prescriptions have been sent to the pharmacy. You need anything else?”
“Just a hug after I cool off.”
I gave her a smirk. I was glad she said after she cooled off, because I sure in the fuck didn’t want to hug her while she was wet with sweat.
“Well, I’m done. Are you gonna stay in here to cool off? I don’t have another appointment.”
“Can I?”
“Yeah. I need to call Red, so I’ll be back to check on you.”
“Thanks, baby.”
She rested her head against the wall and pulled a fan from her purse. Although I hated my period, I wasn’t looking forward to all that shit she was going through. I stepped out of the room and closed the door, then pulled my phone from my pocket. I called Red, and my call went straight to voicemail. He hadn’t heard anything from the board, but he had still been practicing.
Mrs. Taylor had made contact yesterday by email, and she left a voicemail for the president of the board . . . or whatever they were called in the rodeo industry. Red was on edge yesterday, hoping one of them would hear from them right away. When there was radio silence, he started panicking a little bit. I spent the night with him last night, doing my best to keep him calm.
I didn’t leave a message. Instead, I called back. When it went to voicemail again, I sent him a text.Hi, baby. I was just checking on you.
