On the other hand, what was it he had said about staying in the moment? No promises? What was wrong with her enjoying this reprieve no matter how long it played out?
Thinking about it that way, she relaxed into their new routine. She’d come home to elaborate dinners, crawfish étouffée, his mother’s recipe, or smothered chicken and rice. They’d watch movies, Raiders of the Lost Ark or Friday the 13th, play rummy or just marvel over their baby’s sleeping body, how his hairline was just like Terry’s, a sweet little M, or how he turned his nose up at strangers the way Jackie could sometimes. Jackie relished those moments she hadn’t even known she’d missed. It was rare to find someone who was as invested in talking about T.C. as she was. Even with her mama, she parceled her bragging out. She didn’t tell her the baby was trying to crawl already, that he had said the word Mama; she didn’t admit she wanted him to be the first black president, but with Terry, she could gush, point out that it wasn’t just Mama, T.C. was forming other words too. And they would have to childproof soon because he reached for everything in sight—did Terry see that the other day he’d grasped the remote? Not only that, but he already fit in eighteen-month-size clothes, he slept through the night, he cried only when he was hungry, and all those factors together had to say something, anything, about the prospect of them as a family.
Jackie even called her old friends again; she didn’t tell them Terry was back, but she let them catch her up on the old neighborhood, who had gotten married, lost jobs, found a hookup since. She’d hang up the phone refreshed, as if life was on her side all of a sudden, as if she had accessed the formula for riding it instead of letting it ride her. Then she’d climb into bed and rest her head on Terry’s chest, listen to his heartbeat like a second hand ticking, and in the morning he’d still be there.
One day about a month after Terry had returned, she woke up to the baby’s coughs. The doctor said she didn’t have to take him in, but he had never even had a runny nose and she decided to keep him home. She called her mama to let her know they’d be missing school, then nursed him twice as much as normal. She’d been on a cleaning streak already, but she took it to another level that morning, crawling on her hands and knees to clean the baseboards with scotch tape, pouring baking soda and vinegar into the cracks in the kitchen floors, vacuuming the carpet, changing the sheets, bleaching every surface of the house someone might think to touch. When she was done, she sat down for a breather. The baby was still sleeping. She thought about making Terry a welcome-home meal. He was out looking for work; he left every morning when she did and didn’t return until shortly before, but she knew there was only so long he could slog through this city asking for something that didn’t seem to be there without becoming discouraged. She’d caught glimpses of his frustration already. Once or twice, he came home barely talking, looking off to the side of the room instead of right at her, reminding Jackie of a man she’d seen before, weeks before a relapse. She didn’t know if his favorite meal could preempt that route, but he loved her jambalaya and she’d baked some chicken thighs that might go well with it.
The doorbell rang. She couldn’t imagine who it might be, possibly one of the neighbors; Terry had his own key back now. Of course, Jackie would tell whomever that it wasn’t a good time. The baby would be up in thirty minutes and she had to boil that rice. She walked toward the door, opened it without looking through the peephole, prepared to hand out some tired excuse. She would have gasped when she saw Sybil, but she wouldn’t give her sister the power of knowing she had rattled her. She couldn’t form a single word, and it was Sybil who spoke first.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?”
By habit Jackie did as she was told, though the truth was she should have made up an excuse, any excuse, as to why she couldn’t be hospitable. Terry would be home any minute.
“You want some Kool-Aid or something like that?” Jackie asked.
“I’ll take a Coke, diet if you have it,” Sybil called out, and Jackie moved to the kitchen as though she were on autopilot.
“It’s looking good in here, Jackie Marie. I expected a cyclone like the last few times. Mama said you were getting it together, but I had to see for myself.” Jackie was back now with the drink. Sybil took a sip before adding. “It’s good to see that you’re everything she said you were.”
Jackie sat opposite her sister. In a minute she would get herself together enough to ask her to leave. She would be polite about it, but assertive, and she wouldn’t let up until Sybil was out the door. Any minute now she would figure out how to do that very thing.
“I was just in the neighborhood,” Sybil went on. “I have a client out here. I don’t usually make house calls of course, they come to me, but this one”—she shook her head—“I can’t trust him to lead himself to the bathroom on time, much less make it downtown to my office.”
“What’d he do?” Jackie asked to extend the time between the present and the moment she’d act.
Sybil shook her head again. “Selling. It’s a favor for one of
Mama’s friends’ sons. You know I don’t represent those lowlifes anymore. But any day now, I’m going to get that contract, and all of this is going to be behind me, favor or not. See, these corporations don’t want to go to trial, they can’t risk a bad reputation, they’d rather just write a big check and forget somebody ever slipped in their bathroom, or that a whole class of kids got food poisoning from their meat. It’s easy money with them, not like this nigger mess.” She took another sip from her can, a sip so dainty Jackie couldn’t even see her swallow. “Like for instance, this man today said he was done, right, but in the few minutes I was at his house, five crackheads knocked at the door, skinny as light poles, eyes darting everywhere, no teeth. I don’t know how these people start this junk, don’t they see what it does to everybody around them?” She shook her head again. “And I damn sure don’t know how you do it, Jackie, living next door to these clowns. My client might as well be your neighbor, he’s just a few blocks away, been dealing for a full year, just got caught for the first time, and wants to tell me it’s not fair. He didn’t have a choice. He’s listing off the people who depend on him. Of course he’s got two kids. He’s barely twenty. His mama’s in a wheelchair, his daddy’s in jail, blah blah blah. I should carry a harp around in my briefcase.”
Sybil kept going, oblivious to the fact Jackie had tuned her out. Jackie heard the baby stir, and she jumped up.
“Sybil, I’ve got to take T.C. to the doctor,” she said. “That’s why I’m home today, he woke up sick, so I made an appointment”—she checked her watch—“for four thirty, so I need to get him dressed.”