“Don’t worry; I won’t be killing you this visit either,” he issued with a straight face. “Although you do deserve two bullets. We know what the first one is for. The second is for those missed buckets you’ve been in the habit of shooting.” His eyes shifted to the television.
“I trust all is well.” I tried to steer this conversation. I was uncomfortable already, but what did I expect?
Michael’s eyes returned to me. “How do you want me to answer that? Do you want honesty, or do you want generic pleasantries, son?”
That son was delivered in direct contrast to Sarah’s earlier on the phone. This one was demeaning, leveling.
I opened my mouth, not exactly ready to speak…not knowing how to respond, when Sarah entered the living room.
“Stenton,” her voice was low. “Glad you’re here. Come into the dining room. You must be hungry.” She gave her husband a warning glower.
I followed her sulkily. The delicious smell from dinner hit me when I walked through the front door, but went to a new experience the deeper I went into the house. If I had no appetite earlier, it all changed the moment I crossed over into the dining room.
She invited me to sit at the head of the table and started out of the room as she called out, “Do you eat turkey chops? I fried some up, trying to stay away from red meat for Michael’s sake. I seasoned my greens with turkey, too. Please tell me you eat kale.”
She was out of the room. I didn’t get a chance to answer. If her greens were anything like Zo’s, I’d love them. Damn. Zoey. There went my chest, tightening again. I was in her home and could suddenly smell her. I could never forget her natural scent. Shit, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to.
Within minutes, Sarah returned with a big ass plate of fried turkey chops smothered in gravy, mixed greens, mashed potatoes, and a big piece of cornbread on a saucer. She left the room again and returned with a tall glass of ice tea. I went in immediately. In no time, I found myself grunting.
“Good, huhn?” She blushed.
As I chewed I attempted, “I didn’t think anybody’s greens or gravy could top your daughter’s.”
I didn’t know if that was wise to share, but figured fuck it: it was the truth.
Sarah giggled delightfully. “Well, that is my child.” She went over to a drawer in her china cabinet and pulled out yarn and needles then sat next to me.
“She’s a really good cook,” she murmured.
She’s perfect in everything she does.
When I looked up, I saw her knitting a yellow and white blanket. I froze.
“Is that for…” I couldn’t finish it.
“Mmm-hmm.”
My eyes collapsed. I got that twisting feeling in my damn stomach again.
“Stenton, ain’t no need in crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done. I keep telling Zoey the same thing.” Sarah never looked up from her needling when she spoke.
“Does she… Has she said…” I stumbled on my words.
“She isn’t proud. She isn’t exactly happy. But she’s healthy and so is that baby. That’s all we can focus on now.” Sarah continued rolling her fingers, moving faster than my eyes could follow.
After a moment I went back to eating.
“So, how have you been? And I ain’t talking that ball game nonsense either.” She swayed her head towards the wall that separated us from the living room where Michael was.
I took a moment to consider her question. “You want the truth?”
“It always helps.” Her eyes skirted up to meet mine.
I dropped my fork and pushed my plate away. I felt high. Like fucking intoxicatingly uninhibited. The only person I could share freely with was no longer around. I’d fucked that up. But her mother, her shaper, her molder and nurturer was here and I felt like making Sarah her daughter’s proxy. Would she take to me opening up, I didn’t know. But I was so desperate, I gave it a try.
“Last January, Zoey’s phone was shut off. Do you remember?”