“You think my daddy care that they tearing down all the projects?” I asked her without thinking. It just slipped out. I didn’t know what kind of look I had on my face, but Mama reached over and hugged me.

While I was still smashed into her chest, she said, “Baby, I bet your daddy would’ve loved to be in your life, but he’s not well.”

“Mama,” I said, and the tears just fell, “why some kids get to have their daddy and others don’t?”

Mama was crying; I could feel her shaking. When she let me go, her eyes were black, makeup smudged above and below her lashes. I reached up and wiped them for her, and she wiped my face.

“Fee, some kids don’t get parents who protect them.”

I nodded, thinking about Tonya.

“I wasn’t going to let that happen to you.” She stopped for a second, then said, “Your daddy had a drug problem.”

My mouth opened, and my eyes widened. I cried some more, because I just couldn’t understand why people like Precious and my cousin TJ had fathers who stuck around, and I got one who was a hype.

Mama pulled me into her and wrapped her arms around me. I was fortunate to have a mother who’d do anything to protect her kids.

I watched the birds fly and the boats glide around and the people walk by, and after a while, that white family got up and walked away. I told Mama that sometimes I couldn’t find Tonya. “Maybe her mother makes her stay on her floor some days.”

I shook my head. “She always says she’s not home.”

“Always? You’ve been back up there?” she said, her eyebrows high with shock.

I nodded.

“Don’t you go back to that woman’s apartment. No telling what happens in there.”

I knew deep down that I should say something about what Tonya was going through, but I couldn’t muster the strength to do it, worrying that something would happen to Rochelle, like Tonya said.