“You mean you wanna come in?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, but I was just about to walk out the door.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”

“Well, all I got is about a minute, ’cause I gotta get to Ross to pick up something I got on hold before they close, which is about fifteen minutes from now, so come on in but make it quick.”

Once inside, she motions for me to sit down on the couch, which I do. Her taste is very seventies, but it’s understandable. I see pictures of her daughters as they were growing up, all over the living room in old frames. Only one favors George. In what looks like high-school photos, it’s easy to see that they grew up to become attractive girls. I don’t know who’s who, but one is playing basketball, and looks like she’s dunking it. There’s a Polaroid of one of them holding a baby. She looks to be about eighteen. Don’t know which one it is or how long ago it was.

“How are your daughters doing?” I ask.

“They fine, why?” Like I’ve asked her about something I shouldn’t have.

“I was just curious.”

“You didn’t drive all the way out here just ’cause you curious,” she says, and reaches for and lights a cigarette from her purse. She takes a deep drag, and when she looks at me, her eyes tell me that she knows exactly why I’m here.

“How old are they now?”

“JaDonna’s twenty-six and Yolanda’s almost twenty-four. Why?”

“Do they live here in L.A., still?”

“Yeah. JaDonna stays here with me, and Yolanda’s living somewhere around here in South Central. But I ain’t seen her in going on two years.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause we don’t speak.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause we ain’t got nothing to talk about.”

“Is JaDonna here right now?”

“Yeah, she back there in the bed.”

“Is she sick?”

“I guess you could say that, but not really. She have her good days and she have her bad days.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She on medication.”

“Medication for what?”

“Depression. They say she’s manic-depressive. I don’t know. Sometime I think she just lazy, but I can’t throw her out on the street, you know. She’s been through a lot and, plus, being my firstborn and all.”

“Yes, I know.”

“How you know? You on medication, too?”

“No.”

“So, whatever it was you wanted to talk to me about, I think JaDonna can probably fill you in, ’cause she love to run her mouth and she’ll give you a earful. She know everything that’s gone on in this house, and, besides, the clock is ticking and I gotta get where I’m going.”

“Mama, who’s that out there?” a voice from down the short hallway asks.

“It’s your daddy’s fourth wife, Janelle!”

“Third,” I say.

“Fourth,” Arlene says, correcting me, and kind of chuckles. “I was second.”

I feel a hole forming in my throat. Fourth? I take tiny sips of air in order to breathe. That’s lie number one.