“Don’t be scared. I’m sorry for upsetting your momma. I promise everything is okay,” I reassured her as I looked into her big blue eyes.
“I don’t like when she cries,” Dixie told me, huffing in misery as the tears flowed. Her tiny body shook as she tried to get the words out.
“That’s very sweet. You sound like a very caring daughter. And I love your name.” I fixed her glasses for her.
“I am all the time,” she agreed.
“Momma’s okay, Dixie,” my mother said, standing in front of us now. She wiped at her eyes, cleaning herself up for Dixie. Her hair brushed against my shoulder as she kissed the top of Dixie’s head.
“Everything all right?” a man asked in the doorway. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap.
“Everything is fine. Take Dixie inside and give her some cookies please,” she told him.
He was in his forties, well-groomed, and didn’t look drunk or high. He looked like a perfectly normal man.
“I can’t believe I’m looking at you,” she told me, taking a seat next to me on the steps.
“She’s grown, huh?” Mason said with a smile. “In my opinion she’s beautiful. More so than when we were just two scrappy kids.”
Momma laughed through her tears. Nodding her head in agreement. She touched my hair, turning me to look at her.
“You really are beautiful,” she said with a sigh. “Where’s Wanda?”
I wasn’t shocked she would ask that. Wanda had run off with her kid.
I just wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Wanda’s far away from here, that’s for sure,” Mason said.
Momma looked off. It was easy to see something was bothering her.
“She would be so lucky to be so far away,” she said.
JULY 26
TH
I HAD BEEN WAITING my entire life for the moment that was now before me. She was nothing like the way Aunt Wanda had made her out to be.
Or that I remembered.
She was nice enough to let Mason and me stay at her house. My old house. She told me to get rest and we could catch up in the morning.
Well, it was now morning and I was standing in her bathroom riddled with anxiety. I had played this moment over and over in my head. The moment I got to confront her for how my life had turned out because of her one mistake.
And now it was here.
I secured my hair in a ponytail and stared at my face in the mirror. I looked acceptable for the amount of stress I’d had the past week or so.
Mason was still asleep. I expected him to sleep for quite some time after the drinking binge he’d been on.
The house was quiet except for the old grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the dining room.
Sunlight warmed the house as it poured in through the windows at the front of the house.
I looked around at the rich colors that decorated the walls and furniture. It was nice and cozy. It was a home.
“I can’t believe I’m here. Everything looks so…” I stopped talking when I laid eyes on my mother.
She was sitting at the dining room table, a big white coffee mug on one side of her. She was rifling through a box of pictures.
She furrowed her eyebrows, her expression was serious. She set pictures down in separate piles one after another, working hard at the task at hand.
“I wanted you to see these,” she said as I took a seat at the table next to her. She passed a picture to me. I stared at the ring on her finger.
“Your ring is beautiful,” I said, admiring the large diamond.
She pulled her hand back, touching the stone. Sadness rather than happiness filled her face.
“Kendall, I really want you to look at these pictures with me. This is very important,” she said, obviously not wanting to talk about anything else.
I nodded. I was a bit confused as I looked at the first picture. It was me. “What is this?”
I was sitting at a table surrounded by a dozen people I didn’t recognize, except for Mason—he was there, too.
Everyone, including me, was smiling and looked so happy. I was especially baffled at the smile on my face. I don’t remember ever smiling like that.
I watched her as she wiped at the tears silently falling from her eyes. I didn’t know what she wanted me to say.
“That was your fifth birthday. Do you remember that party?” She pointed at the picture, silently holding out hope that I’d remember the good times.
I studied the photo closely. Aunt Wanda was in the background, a scowl on her face and a cigarette between her skinny fingers. She was definitely the darkness that shadowed that party.
“I don’t remember this,” I said, returning the picture to the pile. I didn’t want to look at Aunt Wanda.
She dug through the box again, looking for a specific picture. When she found just the right one, she handed it to me.
“What about this?”
There I was again, on a rocking horse. A Christmas tree stood tall in the background. Momma sat on the floor in red flannel pajamas, her hair swept up in a loose bun. She had the biggest smile on her face as she watched me. She was happy.
I scanned the photo, identifying my uncles and, again, Aunt Wanda. She was leaning against the wall a vacant stare on her face, her arm crossed, her sights set on my mother. And, of course, her trademark cigarette.
I looked at my mom. She wiped her eyes, letting out an uneasy laugh. I could see the pain in her eyes. It hurt her to know I didn’t remember any of these things. I could tell she had held out hope that I would remember.
Her face was so young. She didn’t look worn and damaged like Wanda. If my mom was supposed to have been such a bad person, I’d think it would have shown all over her face, just like Wanda.
“I don’t remember this,” I said, handing the picture back to her.
“What do you remember when you were here with me?” she asked.
“I remember the night I left. There were sounds coming from your bedroom. I was young, but I knew it wasn’t something I needed to see.” I looked away. “And then Aunt Wanda came barreling in the door threatening to burn the house down.”
“She was always so angry with me. Sometimes I didn’t blame her. But she was always so angry,” she said, thinking back on her older sister.
I nodded in agreement. Aunt Wanda was full of anger—unspeakable rage. And I never knew why.
“Kendall, did you think she would?” Her face softened. Had this been the moment I had been waiting for?
“I was a kid. She’d put the fear of God in me and I believed her. You were always crying and I didn’t want her to hurt anyone, so I went with her.” My mind rushed back to that night so many years ago. Twelve years was a long time to be away from my mom. I didn’t even remember her and I didn’t know if my memories were my own or if they’d been made up by Aunt Wanda.
I remembered the sound of that door screeching open and Aunt Wanda’s footsteps stomping down to my mother’s bedroom. She banged on her bedroom door. She went ballistic when my mom wouldn’t come out. I didn’t blame her—I wouldn’t have either. Aunt Wanda showed up a couple times a week. How was she to know this time would be different?
Aunt Wanda was always so jealous of my mother. Her jealousy was worse when she was drunk. That night she was going to teach Joy-Ann a lesson by burning down the house. I was only seven, but I knew what could happen and people could get hurt or die. I didn’t want that to happen.
So I climbed out of my bed and tugged on Aunt Wanda’s arm. I begged her to take me with her.
After a few minutes, she backed down from her threats. She looked me over, possibly weighing her options, and the next thing I knew she was yelling at me to pack my things so we could go. So we left. My mom would be safe and I was on the road to New Mexico with Aunt Wanda.