I miss the last words of Papa Legba’s song. I rush to the window to see if he’s still there, but Papa Legba is gone. All that’s left is the plastic bucket.
“He’s Papa Legba,” I say. “He sits at the crossroads and he holds a cane.”
“That’s what Ma used to say when we were little. That man has been there at that corner just about all my life. But he comes and goes.”
“So why don’t you ask him for help?”
“’Cause he’s a crazy old man, that’s why. He’s not a lwa and he’s not magical. Now can you please go to sleep?”
I don’t. I stay up until the morning sun reaches me. I will set my mother free. Papa Legba, the one who stands at the center of all crossroads and in front of all doors, will make it so.
NINE
THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY, I pack a small bag for Manman—some underwear, toiletries, and her magic.
“You’re planning to leave us already?” Chantal asks as she gets dressed.
“We have to get my mother,” I say. “It’s been too long. I have to find out what’s going on. Your mother is not doing anything.”
“She is. Trust me. She didn’t go through all that trouble bringing her over here just to leave her hanging. We want Aunt Val here, too, you know.”
“How can I go to New Jersey?” I ask.
Chantal sighs. “You’d have to take the Greyhound for, like, fifteen hours. But you’re not going anywhere. And I’m not taking you to New Jersey. Ma is finding everything out. If she say to wait, then you wait. If she say to move, then you move. But I see that you’re hardheaded like your cousins.”
“And you are not?”
She turns to me and looks me straight in the eyes. “When I was sixteen, I left home and told my mother I was going to find my father’s killer. I was gone for six days.”
I don’t say anything for a long minute, waiting for her to finish the story. “Well, did you find him?”
“Yeah,” she says. “So we’re family, all right. But I’m not gonna let you do anything stupid. Okay?”
After school, Pri doesn’t leave me alone. She follows me from my last class to my locker and out the door. Maybe she thinks that I will do like Chantal and disappear for six days. I’ve been thinking about it since this morning. I can do it. I have enough money. It will only take two busses and lots of hours to pick up my mother and come back.
“Do you even know where Jersey is?” she asks, as if she’s reading my mind. “How are you gonna tell the difference between New Jersey and motherfuckin’ Wisconsin?”
“I know English, I can read, and I have money,” I say as I walk down the front steps of the school.
“Do you even know the shit that happens to dumb-ass girls like you who wanna go on road trips? They get snatched and thrown in the backs of vans and forced to turn tricks,” Pri says, huffing and puffing as she tries to keep up with me.
I stop when I reach the sidewalk. “Turn tricks? You mean prostitution? They do that to girls in Haiti, too. And it hasn’t happened to me.”
“Your voodoo is not gonna save you out here on these streets.”
“Pri,” I say, looking straight into her eyes. “No one is helping me with my mother. She’s in a prison. Prison! Her only crime was coming here to this country to make a better life for us. So I know she’s counting on me. I have to help her.”
Pri shoves her hands into her coat pockets, cocks her head back, and looks down her nose at me. “You gonna be all right, cuzz?”
I nod. “Yes, Pri.”
She inhales, pulls the hood of her coat over her head, and looks around as if searching for someone. “Look. Chant ain’t here yet and Donna left early with her man. He offered to take us home, but I wasn’t trying to get into that nigga’s car. Chill at the school for a minute, and meet me out here in, like, fifteen. And you’re not going to no damn New Jersey!”
She goes over to a group of girls standing near the school. I don’t recognize any of them and they don’t have our uniforms on. Again, I’m left out of my cousins’ circle and I know for sure that I’m not the Fourth Bee.
I return to the CVS for only a few minutes until it’s time to meet up with Pri again. I make a mental checklist of all the things I want to buy this time: more toiletries for myself, hair stuff, and maybe a magazine.
I’m in one of the wide aisles when a woman’s voice makes me jump and drop a jar of hair moisturizer on the floor.
“Hey!” she calls out. “I keep running into you.”
It’s the woman from last week with the same fuzzy hat, but this time she’s wearing a brown coat. She comes over to me and I wonder if she lives in the neighborhood.
I don’t say anything and glance at the few other people in the aisle.
“You know, I’m looking for a good high school for my niece,” the woman says. “How do you like that school?”
“It’s okay,” I say, and move on to the next row of products on the shelf.