I make myself sit up, ’cause I realize that I ain’t the only one who losing Viola. What about the kids? Lord, how they gon’ handle this?

“Cecil?”

“I’m still here, Loretta.”

“I have something for you.”

“What you mean?”

“Viola gave me something yesterday afternoon to give to you.”

“Wait a minute. When did this happen, Loretta?”

“About two hours ago.”

Two hours ago I was rubbing Brenda’s stomach.

“She told me to give you this envelope if anything ever happened to her.”

“What?”

“I have it right here. She just asked me to tell you that she would appreciate your waiting until the first Thanksgiving after she’s gone to open it.”

“A envelope? Thanksgiving?”

“Uh-huh. Viola also hoped you would spend it with your biological children, just this once. If you can’t, then she doesn’t want you to read this until you can. Shall I hold on to it, mail it, or what?”

“I don’t know, Loretta. I can’t thank right now. Let me thank. I wonder why Viola had to write something to me. . . . Do the kids know?”

“I’m sure they do by now. I’m sure they do.”

“What about Shanice? Where she at?”

“She’s right here with me, sleeping. Janelle’s trying to get on the first flight out this morning. They’re both taking it pretty hard.”

“I know. I’ll be over there in a little while, but I gotta be still for a minute or two.”

“I understand, Cecil. I understand. Just let me know what I can do to help.”

I sit here for a long time. Until some fella turn the lights on and ask if I wouldn’t mind going into a different office to finish blowing off steam. He said women ain’t worth half the tears they generate and for me not to worry, ’cause, after his wife called him on this very same phone to tell him she was leaving, it didn’t take him no time to find a replacement.

Old Purses

I don’t even remember the plane ride. I know it took almost twenty-four hours to get home. Dingus met me at San Francisco Airport and drove me home. I remember his face when I told him. I still hear Charlotte and Lewis’s voices when I had to tell them over the telephone. And Daddy. He’s suffering from guilt when he shouldn’t be. All of this feels like it’s been a bad dream, a very bad dream, and I don’t think I truly woke up and accepted the reality until I walked in here—into Mama and Daddy’s house—and she still wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. And there was nowhere I could call to talk to her to get her to come home.

Dingus is a mess. Shanice is so broken up there doesn’t seem to be anything anybody can say to console her. Janelle even slept in Mama’s bed. I’m not that strong. I’m afraid if I smelled her sheets I’d lose it completely. I can’t afford to be out of control right now, because I’m the one who’s been asked to make the arrangements for her funeral, which is going to be in Chicago, where she was born. Where we were all born. Imagine that: a funeral. And Mama’s going to be the star attraction. Everyone’s going to come out to see her: Viola Price. I wish they didn’t have to. I wish everyone could’ve come and seen her live and in color, right here in stupid Las Vegas. I wish those paramedics had worked harder, or not tried to be such fucking heroes and gotten her to the hospital sooner. I wish Mama had called them five minutes earlier. I wish she hadn’t eaten that greasy spaghetti before she went to sleep. Wish she hadn’t inhaled paint and carpet and gas fumes all in one day.