Page 8 of 4 Corinthians

Madea appeared in the doorway with a book in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Her dark eyes scanned us before she smiled and nodded. “Who’s all going?” she asked, then took a sip of her water.

“Just the girls,” Mercy answered with a shrug. “Krude will probably stay and watch The Lion King again, and you know Judge has a book.”

“The boys go too,” Madea replied. “From here on out, you all go, or no one goes. Never leave each other's backs.”

“Is this because Corinthians got beat up?” Mercy asked, and the confusion was evident in her voice.

The smile on Madea’s face dropped, and she narrowed her eyes. “Mercy, do you want to go to the park or not?” she asked her. “Because right now I can think of a million things you can be doing instead. Like going to the church and cleaning the pews.”

“My eyes will be locked on Corinthians,” Mercy said, stepping back.

“I thought that was what you would say,” Madea said, nodding. “Now you and Judge go on in there and get your other cousins and straighten up that backyard while I talk to Corinthians.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison and ran around back.

Once they were gone, Madea walked outside, sat on the steps, put her book and water down, then put her hands out for me to take. Once my hands were in hers, she rubbed her thumb over the top of my bandage and sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” she said softly. “But I can see the hurt in your eyes.” She looked at Psalms. “And hers too. At first, I thought I was imagining things in my old age.”

“Madea, you aren’t old,” I laughed to try to lighten the mood. We had just celebrated her fiftieth birthday a few months ago.

“These knees aren’t what they used to be,” she replied with a smile. “But this trigger finger? Baby, it’s always going to be deadly, you understand me?” She locked eyes with me, and I could see how serious she was. Most people thought that Madea was calm and sweet, and most of the time she was, but when she got mad, it was a different story. I’d seen her mad a couple of times, and each time it took Granddaddy and my uncles to pull her off the person she was after. “All you have to do is point. No words need to be spoken.” She looked over at Psalms. “You too. All you have to do is point. No words, no explanation needed. Madea will handle it from there.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made us turn around. Granddaddy parked his blue truck, shut it off, and got out. He was a tall man, big, not fat, and probably the funniest person in my life. He looked at us, then at Madea, and lifted his brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His deep voice rumbled through the air. He closed his truck door, rounded it, and came right to Madea. “Mary, what’s wrong?”

Madea looked at us, then shook her head. “Nothing, the girls and I were just talking, is all.” She stood, brushed the back of her pants, and sighed. “What are you doing here so early? When we talked, you said it would be a few hours.”

“I came home to talk and see if these kids were driving you crazy yet,” he chuckled. He put his hands out, and Psalms slowly walked towards him. When she was close enough, he picked her up, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, Psalms? Your granny said you've been quiet and didn’t eat too much.” His big hand went to her back, and I watched as her face twisted in pain. Granddaddy was too busy looking at the cars driving down the street to notice, but I knew Madea saw it. She cut her eyes to me and lifted her brow.

“I’m okay, Granddaddy,” she replied.

“Yeah, we need to talk,” Madea said, nodding. Her body was tense, and her finger tapped against her thigh. She only did that when she was mad and trying to get herself together. “The kids are going to the park.”

“Which one of my kids pissed you off?” Granddaddy chuckled, trying to lighten her mood.

“Later, Gabriel,” she said, shaking her head.

“Alright,” he nodded, then kissed the side of Psalms’ head. “You going to the park too, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” she softly answered.

Granddaddy lowered her to the ground, then fixed her shirt. “You look pretty in that. Who bought it for you?”

“Mr. Robert,” Bug answered.

“Who is Mr. Robert?”

“Daddy’s friend,” she answered, looking at me. “He bought me this shirt and Cori a stuffed dog.”

“Did he now?” Madea asked. “And what else did Mr. Robert buy you two?”

My heart slammed against my chest at the thought of what she could say. Psalms wasn’t supposed to mention Robert or anything that we did when we weren’t here. Daddy had made us promise, and Robert said that if anyone found out, they would be killed. Before she could answer, the front door opened, and all my cousins came running out. They stopped at the top of the porch, all out of breath and ready to go.

“Madea, it's all clean,” Judge said, stepping forward. “The backyard, living room, boys' and girls' rooms, and I took the trash out.” He counted off every one on his fingers to make sure he didn’t forget anything. “Can we go?”

“Go on,” Granddaddy said, shaking his head. He knew, just like everybody else, that if Judge said it was clean, then it was. He was a bigger neat freak than Madea was. No one moved, which made Granddaddy laugh. He may have been the man of the house, but nothing or no one moved unless Madea said so. He turned to Madea and tapped her on the arm. She turned her attention from us to him and lifted her brow. “They ain’t gonna move until you say so.”

“Go on,” she sighed and shook her head. “Look out for each other.”