I saw her eyes dart around the room. Her gaze landed on the camp list sitting on top of the TV, covered in spilled ashes and beer stains. She cleared her throat and turned to Mama: “Miss Williams, where are Patricia’s things?”
“I wasn’t able to pick up none of that shit,” Mama said, staring at the ground.
“But you knew your daughter was going to camp today?”
“Yeah.”
“And you couldn’t get any things on the list?”
“Nah.”
“Not one thing?”
“Nope.”
Miss Munroe pressed her lips together so tight her mouth disappeared from her face. “Was there”—she cleared her throat—“a problem?”
“I been busy.”
Miss Munroe glared at Mama for what felt like a full minute. She looked so mad, standing there with her mouth clamped shut, I thought for sure she was gonna pick up an empty Schlitz can from off the floor and throw it at Mama’s head. But instead she straightened her back, grabbed me by my hand, and marched me out of the apartment.
She took me to Kmart herself, speed-walking through the store, snatching up T-shirts, towels, and flip-flops and pitching them into her cart. Mama won the battle over who would buy my supplies for Free Summer Camp, but Miss Munroe won the war. After Kmart she put me in her Buick and drove me there herself. When I came home two weeks later, Mama didn’t say a word.
In the living room, I stood with my back against the wall and watched Mama and Miss Munroe like I was watching a tennis match, only I was the ball. Miss Munroe tapped her clipboard. “There is also the matter of the child’s father,” she said, looking up. “Patricia tells me her boyfriend is twenty years old.”
Mama shot me a look.
“Have you met this young man?” continued Miss Munroe.
“Yeah, I met him.”
“So you’re aware of his age?”
“I don’t know nothing about that,” said Mama. “I don’t know how old that boy is. ”
“Miss Williams, as I’m sure you’re aware, it’s a crime for an adult to have sexual relations with a minor. My advice to you is to get the authorities involved. You need to file a complaint with the police.”
“The police? Oh, hell, nah! I ain’t talkin’ to them.”
“Miss Williams, the father of this baby is an adult male who has committed statutory rape.”
“Rabbit,” Mama said, turning to me, “did this boy rape you?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “He my boyfriend.”
Mama turned back to Miss Munroe: “She say he didn’t rape her.”
“But she’s a child!” said Miss Munroe, her voice rising. I’d never heard our caseworker yell before. Her anger startled me, but Mama just narrowed her eyes.
“I already told you,” she said for the very last time. “The answer is no.”
Before she left, Miss Munroe pulled me aside. She handed me a pamphlet for the Free Prenatal Clinic at Grady Hospital and a bus pass to get there. “It’s important for you to see a doctor and to make sure you and the baby are healthy,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I’m gonna be a real good mama.”
“Of course you are,” she whispered, leaning over to give me a hug. I was surprised to hear her voice catch in her throat as she told me good-bye.
Chapter 10
Wife on the Side
I couldn’t wait to tell Derrick about how I saved his ass from jail. I imagined him leaning over, putting his arm around me, and telling me I was the most ride-or-die girlfriend ever. Maybe he’d even bust out a song, like they did in the movies, singing to me the chorus of Whitney Houston’s “You Give Good Love” as a sign of his appreciation. I was so excited about him pouring his thank-yous all over me that I ran to his car the minute I saw him pull up outside Mama’s place the next morning when he came by to drive me to school.
I told him the whole story, barely pausing to catch my breath: “Miss Munroe wanted Mama to call the police. But I said you were my boyfriend. I told her it wasn’t no rape!”
When I was done, I leaned back in my seat waiting for my thank-you, but instead Derrick just sat there, rocking back and forth with his thumb in his mouth. “Oh man,” he groaned. “Oh man . . .”
“What?” I asked, wondering if maybe he didn’t understand what I just said.
“I can’t get locked up behind no shit like this, Rabbit. I can’t go to jail.”
“That’s what I just said! You not going to jail because I told Miss Munroe we go together!”
“Urgh . . .” Derrick leaned his head back and made a sound like he’d just been punched in the stomach. Then he turned to me. “Get out the car,” he said, suddenly.
“What . . . why?”
“Just go in the house,” he said staring straight ahead. “I gotta bounce.”
I was so stunned, I didn’t move.
“For real, Rabbit. Get out the car.” Derrick leaned over me to open the passenger-side door. I didn’t understand why he was being so mean. I knew he had his moods—sometimes he’d snap at me for no reason, and once he grabbed me by the top of my arm for having a smart mouth—but he’d never talked to me like this before, kicking me out of his car.
“But you coming back, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I waited for him the next day after school, but he never showed up. Not the day after, either. I called him at Fish Supreme, but he wouldn’t come to the phone. I went by his sister’s place, but she said she hadn’t seen him. I sat on Mama’s front steps watching the road for hours hoping to see his car, but he never drove by. Weeks passed and still no Derrick.
At school, I’d sit in the back of the classroom and write over and over in my exercise book, I love Derrick, I love Derrick, I love Derrick . . .
One Saturday morning almost a month after Derrick ran off, I was glued to the TV set trying to take my mind off my troubles with The Smurfs. I was interrupted by someone knocking at the front door. My heart jumped into my throat.
DERRICK!
I raced to the front of the house and flung open the door. But instead of my boyfriend, standing on Mama’s porch was a lady I’d never seen before, dressed in jeans and a lavender T-shirt stretched tight across her belly.
“Is Rabbit home?” she asked.
“I’m Rabbit.”
A look of surprise flashed across her face. “You’re Rabbit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Who the fuck are you?”
She put her hand on her chest. “I’m Evaleen,” she announced. “I’m Derrick’s wife.”
I stared at her, confused. What did she mean “wife”? Derrick didn’t have a wife.
“Me and Derrick been married more than a year,” she went on. “We live out in Decatur.”
Decatur? I thought. Derrick told me he stayed by his mama’s house, around the way.
“. . . with our baby,” Evaleen continued.
Baby? What baby?
“Our daughter’s going on seven months now.” Evaleen paused, as if to let the news sink in. “We got another one on the way.” She patted her stomach. “I’m pregnant. This one’s a boy. We’re naming him Derrick Junior, for his daddy.”
What the hell? ‘Derrick Junior’ was my idea for a baby name.
Evaleen looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something. But all I had were questions.
“How are you his wife?” I asked. “You have to be a girlfriend before you’re his wife and I’m his girlfriend.”
Evaleen sighed. “How old are you, anyway?” she asked.