I built a barrier against my emotions during the drive to Disguise DeLimit, staring at the white line on the side of the road as if it were one of Magic Maynard’s hypnotic tricks meant to put me into a trance. Occasionally Detective Nichols looked at me, but I kept my forehead pressed to the passenger-side window. If I spoke, I’d lose all control.
A tidal wave of tears built up as we approached the store. Detective Nichols swung the car in an illegal U-turn and parked in front of the shop. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to thank her, when she pulled a piece of paper from her uniform pocket.
“Margo, I spoke to Don after you collapsed. Your dad’s in a hospital in Moxie. Here’s the number. Don said you can call him anytime, but he wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
I took the paper. “Thank you for the ride,” I said in a clipped voice. My bottom lip quivered and my voice cracked.
“If you need anything, you can call me. Even if you just want to talk.”
“I have to go.” I got out of the car and into the shop. After the door was locked behind me and the blind was pulled down to cover the window, I sat on the floor with my back to the door. I pulled out my phone and called Ebony.
The call went to voice mail. “My dad had another heart attack,” I said. “He’s in a hospital in Moxie.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I hung up. And then I started to cry.
*
SOMETIME after that—minutes or hours, I didn’t know which—I dragged myself upstairs to the apartment. Soot sat on the other side of the door. He followed me to my bedroom and jumped on the bed. I stripped off my sailor outfit and fell asleep in my underwear.
I slept in fits and starts and climbed out of bed at the first sign of sunlight. The clock read 5:47. A glance in the mirror confirmed that what little mascara hadn’t come off when I’d cried had been smudged in my sleep. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
After a steaming-hot shower, I called Don. “I’m sorry it’s so early,” I said.
“Margo, are you okay? The detective said she drove you home.”
“I’m fine. How is he?”
“He’s in critical condition. This is a small hospital, but they’re taking very good care of him. His blood count is low. He’s had one transfusion, but they don’t want to move him until they see some improvement.”
“I want to come see him.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive that little scooter this far,” he said.
“I won’t take the scooter. I’ll find someone who can give me a ride.”
“I’ll take you,” said a voice from the hallway.
I spun my chair around. Ebony stood in front of me. Her Afro was full, with a copper scarf tied around her forehead. The ends of the scarf hung down her back. She was dressed in a brown paisley tunic, faded bell-bottom jeans, and platform sandals. I jumped up and threw my arms around her.
“Don, Ebony’s going to bring me. Tell her what we need to know while I get ready.” I thrust the phone at her and hugged her a second time.
I dressed in a late ’60s sheath dress and pink ballerina flats. The dress, like most of the other pieces of noncostume clothing that I owned, had originally belonged to my mother. My dad didn’t talk about her much—too painful, I guessed—but he had kept her clothes in case I wanted them when I grew up. They were the only things I had to tell me about who she was. Now, with my dad’s health in jeopardy, I wore it to feel like she was with me. I dried my hair into a bouncy flip and joined Ebony in the kitchen.
“That’s one of your mom’s dresses, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I bet she looked just like you when she was your age.”
I avoided Ebony’s eyes. Her intention, I suspected, was to make me feel connected to the mother I hadn’t known, but instead it served as a reminder that my mom had never gotten to be older than the age I was.
“Listen, Margo, never fear, because Ebony’s here. Nothing bad’s gonna happen on my watch. You got that?” From the floor by Ebony’s ankles, Soot meowed. She looked at his grumpy little gray cat face and then looked at me. “You might as well pack him up too,” she said. “This here’s turning into a family affair.”
*
THE four of us, Ebony, Ivory, Soot, and I, were on the road by six thirty. Soot sat in my lap. It took ten minutes for him to stop howling. Ivory was, for now, in the backseat. The window was rolled down enough for him to peek his nose out and feel the air rushing past his face. If ever the two animals had to coexist, this was the time.
I considered asking Ebony where she’d been, why she’d left, and what her connection was with Blitz’s family, but ever since receiving the news about my dad, I felt detached from the homicide investigation. For the next two hours while we were on the road, it was just us. No murder investigation, no detectives, no hidden agendas. I didn’t want to say or do anything to upset the balance.