I was in her arms like I had sailed over water without once having to look down. I burst out of the bathroom crying, with my arms folded and my head down in shame. I was ready for whatever Ma had to give me when I opened the door—a beat-down right in front of Rasul, an ass-whooping to beat all, a tongue-lashing using street language I thought she didn’t even know. I had nothing to say and wouldn’t have even been able to get the words out if I had. I had been found out, now it was time to take my punishment like a woman. I was carrying a baby now, a real woman, officially grown. I was hurting the person who put clothes on my back and whose food I ate every night after. I was hurting the woman who had kept a roof over my head my whole life. I was a rebellious, ungrateful, fass, disgusting, immature harlot—everything I thought she was getting ready to call me.

But Ma shocked me and pulled me into her arms as soon as she saw me standing behind Rasul. She ripped the door away from his hands as she rushed in, wearing exactly what I had thought she would be. Behind her, I saw a tall brown man with a full beard and mustache standing with his hands in the pockets of shiny black slacks. He wasn’t wearing a uniform so I assumed he was a detective. He and Rasul stood helpless at the door as Ma wept, clenching me tighter than I had ever remembered, seemingly pulling me up until I realized I was the one holding her up.

“Shivana, I thought you was dead … I thought you was dead …”

From the corner of my running eyes I met Rasul’s gaze. He looked embarrassed for his part in the ruse, a part that the stranger behind him now reminded him of with the disapproving look of one brow lodged higher than the other. Rasul just hunched up his shoulders and hung his head. Ma cried on, and we held each other. Soon, I was weeping right along with her, not caring how much she knew, only needing her to know I was sorry.

“Young man, do you realize what we been through over the past couple of days looking for this child?” the man bellowed. Rasul didn’t answer him.

We?

“You nineteen, eh?” he continued. “You a grown man. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I should make a civil arrest, right heah right now …”

I heard the heavy, clipped voice of the man who called every night for Aunt Jewel. This was Hakim.

“Having sex with this bebe and keeping her away …”

“Man, I ain’t touched this girl,” Rasul said, suddenly catching on.

“… If I was ya’ fatha I’d beat you myself. You lucky you in ya’ own home, otherwise …”

“Man, I don’t even know her!”