“Well, I’m telling you that’s what she said. By then, she was looking real suspect, ’cause ain’t no way she damn near six months and hasn’t had an ultrasound. I asked when her due date is again. Her answer was something totally different from what she said in the beginning. She was in such a rush to get me out of there, she didn’t even send any of Chastity’s asthma medicine.”

Quietly, Chaz just stared at the ceiling. With each thought he became angrier. Shaking his head, he looked at his sister. “Ria has done some crazy shit, but she not crazy. I know she not crazy enough to play with me like this,” he said, more to himself than to Shorty. Chaz retrieved his cell from his pocket and scrolled down to Ria’s name. “Nah,” Chaz said, putting the phone away. “I’m going over there.” He hopped off the stool and stormed out.

Shorty slammed the long wooden spoon down, splattering red sauce on the stainless steel stove, and chased after her brother. “Chaz, no! You don’t need to go over there and start buggin’ out.” She caught up to him and grabbed his arm just as he reached the door. “Chaz, just wait till Mom gets here in a little bit to stay with the kids, and I’ll go with you.”

Chaz looked down at Shorty’s hand on his arm then up into her eyes. His glare was so serious and cold that she slowly let her hand slide off his arm. Regretfully, she watched as Chaz left. Shorty ran to the kitchen, grabbed the cordless phone, and called her mother, Sal. “Ma, how much longer will it be before you get here?” Shorty questioned before Sal could even say hello.

“Not long. I’m still at the salon, but I’m almost done.”

“What is almost?” Shorty demanded, a few decibels below yelling.

“I’m getting combed out. Is something wrong?”

“Yes! So hurry.”

“Is it my grandbabies?”

“No, It’s Chaz.”

Sal held up her hand to signal her stylist to stop combing, “Did something happen to my son?” Sal questioned frantically. “Is he all right?”

“Chaz is fine, but I told him that stuff I heard about Ria not being pregnant. Now he’s on the way over to her house. I wanna catch up to him before he does something crazy.”

“I’m on the way, baby,” Sal snatched the styling cape from around her neck. “I gotta go,” she told her stylist, handing her a one-hundred-dollar bill. Sal dashed out of the salon, not bothering to wait for the forty dollars in change.