“What furniture?” Mama asks.

“He must be crazy!” Paris blurts out. “What about his court date?”

“His what?” Mama yells from the bedroom. “And what furniture is he talking about? I ain’t bought no new furniture!” She heads straight for the side door that leads to the carport. Shanice follows her.

“He had a court appearance he forgot about,” I yell, giving Paris a shut-your-big-mouth finger for the second time today.

“It’s always something with that boy,” Mama says. I hear her give out a big yelp and then an “Oooo” and then a “Y’all too much!” and in she comes, with a humongous grin on her face.

“Who did this?”

Paris lies, and points to me. “It was her idea.”

“Y’all too good to me, but I love it, I love it, I love it! Thank you, Janelle.”

“You’re quite welcome,” I say, and smile a thank you to Paris. She knows if I could I would.

“And I’ll be damned if I’m putting it in this lean-to. Remind me to get some tarp to cover it up. Won’t nobody suspect anybody would be stupid enough to leave a brand-new bedroom set outside.” She goes back into her bedroom. “Shanice, come unhook Granny’s brassiere before I pop. Anyway, Lord only knows how Lewis got home. By hook or by crook, I’ll betcha. Dingus, come in here and check your granny’s jewelry, would you, baby? Lewis don’t know that I put the fake stuff out just for thieves. Look in my middle dresser drawer, under my underwear, and lift the middle stack until you feel a plastic bag with a sock in it. Just tell me if it’s still there. And, Janelle, your loving husband left a message for you to call him at home.”

“Home?”

“Are you deaf?”

“Are you sure he said ‘home’?”

“Come listen for yourself. Nat King Cole also left a message. He wanna know if he can take y’all out to dinner—which is a new one on me—or if y’all wanna do some gambling while you here. He didn’t leave no number. Said he’d call back around seven, which is fifteen minutes from now.”

“Mama, aren’t you the least bit upset about Daddy being gone?”

“Do I look upset?” she says with a smile. I know this is all just part of a façade. She’s hiding her pain, just like me. I hate this. All of it. Standing here pretending, as if nothing has happened. That me and my daughter are members of a healthy, loving, tight-knit family unit. That my husband is really a good man. That I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share my life with. And what about my daddy? What made him just pack up and leave Mama after almost a half-century? Why do men always seem to do what the hell they want to do when they feel like doing it, without any regard for others, at least not us, the women who do everything for them? And what is the reward for that? Desertion? Cheating? No child support? Abuse of your child?