Take My Hand(30)

The three murmured Yes, ma’ams as they shuffled out. Ty looked back at me.

Alicia stood. “Girl, I’m beat. I’m going to ride with them. I’ll catch up with you later?”

I gave her a hug, and she closed the door behind them.

“I’m a little tired, too,” Mrs. Williams said. “I’m going to go lay down. You need anything, Civil?”

“No, ma’am.”

Mace was standing in the doorway that led to the hall. He stepped aside as his mama moved past him. The sun had started to fade, and his shadow shifted on the walls.

“So is Ty your man?”

“No,” I snapped as I straightened the pillows on the sofa. The corner between the sofa and chair was empty. I pictured a console television, something way out of my budget. I tried to shake the thought. I had no way of buying this family a television—and even if I did, I had no business doing so. Furniture from the Goodwill was one thing. A TV was out of bounds.

“How was the first week on the new job?” I asked.

He sat on the couch and patted the seat beside him, but I didn’t move.

“It’s not hard, if that’s what you asking. Beats farm work. Pickles don’t stank as bad as I thought they would. Hey, I forgot to tell you I went out to St. Jude. They say that lump on my leg wasn’t nothing at all. They stuck a needle in it and now the lump gone.”

“They drained it? Sounds nasty.”

He laughed.

“You able to get to work on the bus alright?”

“I leave real early, but it ain’t no trouble long as the bus come on time. My truck ought to be up and working next week. I can finally pay the man on it.”

“That’s good, Mace. I’m happy for you.” He really was something sweet for the eyes. He had gotten himself together for the new job, and he cleaned up real good. “Well, it’s about time we go get the girls. I can pick them up and bring them back tonight,” I said. India and Erica hadn’t seen the apartment yet. Mace wanted it to be a surprise.

“I’ll ride with you.”

“You don’t have to. I’m a—”

“They my daughters.”

When we were in the car, he leaned his seat back as far as it would go and closed his eyes.

“What’s the use of you riding with me if you’re going to just sleep the whole way?”

“I can still keep you company while I sleep,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Usually when people keep the driver company, they make conversation.”

He leaned up on an elbow. “Alright, Miss Civil. What you want to talk about?”

“What you think the girls will say when they see the apartment?”

“Well, Mama ain’t stopped thanking God since she seen the place. I say, ‘Mama, what you want to eat tonight? And she say ‘I’m too full of the spirit to eat.’?”

“Well, she has reason to be. Thank goodness my mama was able to get y’all past the waitlist.”

He spoke his next words so quietly I almost didn’t hear him over the rumble of the car’s motor. “You know, we had a life before you. I appreciate all you done, but don’t come around here thinking you the Messiah. All you government folk think we ought to kiss y’all feet.”

“Now, why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Mess up a good moment.”

A truck roared by, and whatever he said in response was lost. It was fine because I didn’t feel like dealing with Mace’s moodiness. The man was so defensive. Everything I said was wrong, every compliment through a back door.

As the street noise died down, Mace picked back up. “You don’t know how hard this is,” he was saying, “accepting help for my children. I’m they daddy. I’m supposed to be the one providing for them. Before they mama passed on, I promised her that.”

His voice broke. The sun started to settle in the sky and the light in the car weakened, but I could still see him clearly. He was staring straight up at the ceiling. It was hard to imagine what it must be like for him. I was just trying to do the best I could for them. But I remembered what my mama had said about not shaming him.

When we got to the house, the girls were sitting on the porch.

“Daddy,” yelled Erica. “I put the fire out, but it’s still warm.”

“Alright.” Mace walked inside the house and I asked the girls if they had anything else they wanted to bring with them.

India picked up a doll off the ground. It was a white doll with a dirty face and knotted yarn hair. She held it to her chest and pressed her face into it.

“That yours?” I asked gently. India was eleven years old and big for her age. Her attachment to the doll startled me.

“Yeah, it’s hers,” Erica answered for her.

“Well, I think that’ll look nice in your room. You can put it on your bed.

“What about the dogs?” I asked Mace when he came out of the house.

“Them ain’t our dogs.”

“I hate them dogs,” whispered Erica as we walked to the car.

“Why?”

She pointed under her chin and lifted her face. I could make out an old scar in the waning light.

When India saw that we weren’t taking the dogs with us, she got back out of the car and walked over to one of them. She hugged it to her and pressed her face into its neck. The dog licked her cheek.