“Ms. Dupont? Are you still there?” Mr. Proffitt asked, interrupting my warring thoughts.
I didn’t immediately respond, still a little dazed by his offer, but then gave myself a mental shake. “Yes, sorry. I’m here. It’s just…Savannah? I’d have to quit my job and find a new one. And I don’t have anyone to watch my son. I can’t afford childcare. My neighbor takes care of him now because I help her with groceries. I can’t—”
“I’m sure we can help you find something in Savannah,” he assured me. “It’s the least I could do to make up for not being more sensitive to your situation.”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “Right now, I just need to get my son home—well, ‘home’ as long as it’s mine.”
From the backseat, Henry whispered, “Mama, can we still get popsicles?”
“Yes, baby,” I told him softly. Then into the phone: “I’ll think about your offer, Mr. Proffitt. I just…I just need a day or two.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll hold the apartment for now, just in case.”
I hung up the phone before he could say anything else and turned the key again. The car chugged and coughed, then rumbled to life, taking pity on me this time.
I peered at Henry as he slept, his fever lower now that he’d had two days of antibiotics. Missing two shifts to stay home with him meant my paycheck would be a joke. But I’d had no choice. Ms. Reba next door couldn’t risk catching anything at her age.
I kissed Henry’s forehead and brushed his hair back from his face, then took a seat at the little kitchen table a few feet away. Whit Proffitt would be calling soon for my answer. Too bad I still didn’t know what I was going to tell him. There was really only one option I hadn’t already explored, and just the thought of it made me queasy as painful memories bombarded me. But I needed to be sure I’d looked into every possibility before accepting an offer from a complete stranger.
The devil you know…
I held my phone in both hands, staring at the number on the screen for several minutes, indecision making my heart pound. Finally, I exhaled hard and hit the call button.
“Screw it.”
The phone rang. Once. Twice. No answer. I wasn’t surprised—and was actually a little relieved.
I was about to hang up when a voice like sandpaper on concrete said, “Hello?”
My stomach dropped.
The last time I’d heard my mother’s voice, she’d called me a whore and told me to get the fuck out. Hearing it again cracked open an old, festering wound that I’d told myself had scarred over when I’d cut her out of my life.
I swallowed hard. “Hi, Vivian. It’s Zellie.”
A long, heavy pause. “Well, you’ve got some nerve calling after all these years.”
“You didn’t want to talk to me,” I reminded her, bristling. “You told me I was a sinner, that I was going to burn in hell. I didn’t think you’d really welcome a call.”
“And what makes you think I want to talk to you now?” A hacking cough erupted from her, choking the last word to little more than a gasp.
“You sound like shit,” I said. “Are you still smoking?”
Another grating cough that ended on a rattle. “What the hell do you care?”
I repressed a sigh. I didn’t. At least, I didn’twantto.
“I didn’t call to fight, Vivian,” I said, trying to keep a lifetime of anger and bitterness out of my voice. “I just…”
“What?” she asked, her laugh a raspy, eerie cackle. “You in trouble again? Crawling back with your tail tucked ’tween your legs, begging for help?”
I should’ve known calling was pointless. For a moment, I’d wondered if maybe Vivian Dupont had changed, if perhaps she regretted how she’d driven me away and had missed out on her grandson, if maybe she’d take us in, just until I found something else. But I should’ve known how it would go. The woman who considered herself a “good Christian” because she went to church every Sunday didn’t do kindness. Vivian Dupont only did scripture, punishment, and shame.
“I’m not begging,” I told her, no longer the little girl pleading for scraps of affection. “And I’m sure as hell not asking you for anything ever again.”
“Well, that’s a switch.” I could hear my mother flicking her Bic, lighting up another cigarette, and easily pictured her sucking in her first drag, her already sunken cheeks hollowing further, her eyes narrowed in habitual contempt.
“You know, all I ever wanted was for you to be my mother,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue. “Apparently, that was just too much to ask.”
