“I don’t know. But if I tell you something, I want you to keep it to yourself.”

“All right.”

“I smelled liquor on Shanice’s breath today.”

This makes me sit up. “What?”

“You heard me. I know it was beer.”

“Mama, she’s only twelve years old.”

“Wake up, Paris. Something is bothering that child. My instincts is telling me that things ain’t right in their house. I just wanna make sure you watch out for her, ’cause if Janelle’s too goddamn stupid and put that man before her own daughter—if and when the shit do hit the fan—promise me, before anybody else gets her, you’ll take care of Shanice.”

“I thought Janelle said George was gone?”

Mama just sucks on her teeth, then takes them out and sets them on the table. I think I will get her a decent set.

“How far could he go?” Mama says. “It’s his house.”

“Well, I’ll ask her about it in the morning.”

Mama grabs my arm. “I just asked you not to say nothing about Shanice and no drinking.”

“I won’t. I’ll ask her why George is gone and if she’s planning to take him back, if he comes back.”

“He’ll be back,” she says, and rolls over on her side. “I’m going to sleep now. So, if you got something else to say, you’ll be talking to yourself. Good night.”

It’s hard to get to sleep. I toss and turn and then slide off the bed, reach for my purse, and feel inside until I find my pills. I almost step on Dingus when I go out to the living room. He’s rolled up inside a few sheets and a small flannel blanket Mama must’ve taken from an airplane. Lewis is conked out on the couch. From the kitchen, I hear a glass clink against the inside of the sink. Shanice appears, in the same shorts she had on earlier and a light-pink tank top. “What are you doing up so late?” I ask. She of course is surprised to see me.

“I was thirsty. Needed some water,” she mumbles fast.

I walk over to her and she beelines it toward the room she and Janelle are sharing. “Wait a minute,” I say.

“What is it, Aunt Paris?” Her back is toward me.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“All right, then. Good night.”

“ ’Night,” she says, and dashes into the hall bathroom. I hear the faucet come on and, a few minutes later, the toilet flush. In the kitchen I see a clear blue glass lying on its side in the middle of the stainless-steel basin. I place the pill on my tongue while I pick up the glass and take a whiff. It hurts when I smell that Tropical Breeze cooler, but I swallow the pill dry and go on back to bed.

I wake up to the smell of bacon and loud rap music. Mama’s already up. I don’t feel like moving, really. There’s a tap tap tap at the door. “I’m up,” I say.