I catch another wide-eyed look on Slim’s face when we step into the long foyer. The old hardwood floors creak beneath our feet as we pass by a row of wheelchairs, boxes of can goods, and medical supplies that Beatrice’s sister takes from the supply trucks at Graves every Tuesday morning before her shift in the cafeteria starts.
“I thought you said this wasn’t a nursing home,” Slim mutters out of the side of her mouth.
“It ain’t and if anybody from the state ever pull up over here, I’ll know it was you that snitched.”
“Okay, I’ll be a nerd, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I amnota snitch.” She sucks her teeth and I laugh.
“Look, the state ain’t all that friendly to poor black folks. They been saying if Beatrice fixes all the structural deficiencies around here, she might finally pass the building inspection and they’ll give her the license to run a personal care home.” I shrug. “So she said, ‘Fuck it.’ Niggas will be dead before they decide to stop giving her the runaround. Once all the deficiencies get fixed, she plan to clear the guys out the house and have the state come inspect it for a third time.”
“Wow. Well, whoever’s supposed to be fixing all those deficiencies should get on it,” she murmurs. “This issoillegal.”
“Damn. I’m only one man, Slim.”
“Oh! I…I didn’t know it was you. I…I mean, I guess it makes sense. You know, it’s very admirable of you to take on such a big responsibility to help out.”
“Man…whatever.”
We glance at each other and laugh together in that comfortable way I’m getting used to. I only ever laughed this much with Arnez, but it feels different with Slim.
I lead her through the entryway that separates Beatrice’s cluttered dining room from her kitchen.
Inside, Beatrice stands behind the stove with her hand on her wide hip. It’s warm and there’s a cloud of moisture sitting in the cramped space. The tangy scent from the chili bubbling on the stove lingers in the air even though it’s too warm outside for it, but Beatrice always said she had to cook stuff that spread for days because she had eight grown men to feed.
“Pup?” she calls out, bringing a wooden spoon to her lips and slurping a dollop of chili off it.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I ain’t think you was still coming by since it’s so late. I know you like to be out of here before seven on Saturdays, and I wouldn’t dare bother you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I had got caught up with something and then Wendell said you was looking for me. So I went ahead and came.”
“Yeah…” she mutters. “You good for that—always have been.”
Beatrice is four years younger than Senior, eighteen years older than me, and was the first woman I decided I wanted to fuck because she gave me the best hugs when she came by our house to talk to Senior when I was little. Nothing about her is old, though. She’s built with all the features I thought were the end all be all before I met Slim—a fat ass, tiny waist, and big titties.
“You saw my grass?” she asks.
“Yeah, B.” I smile, ignoring Slim’s side-eye. “I’ll take care of it or I’ll pay DeRay to do it.”
“‘Kay… I ain’t keeping you from nothing, am I?”
“If you was I would’ve said so.”
She turns the fire down on the stove, then twirls around.
Her pert nose crinkles when she sees Slim standing next to me. “You finally brought me some more help?”
I chuckle. “Nah, this Kenny and Faye Fairchild’s niece. She brought some dessert for the guys.”
“Oh! Well, how nice of her.” She claps her hands, walking toward us and smoothing her straight hair with the back of her hand.
She’s stiff today and dark hollow bags that didn’t exist last Saturday sit along the crevice of her eyes.
She glances at Slim’s dress, boots, and face. “Faye Fairchild, huh?”
Slim nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So you must be Sonia’s baby then.” She says it matter-of-factly, and Slim’s nostrils flare. “We were classmates—all of us—me, Faye, Sonia, Kenny, and Tony.”
