He snatched up the phone and dialed. Mama would love it if he called to ask her opinion about French toast, anyway. Except instead of a ring, a recorded message kicked on, informing him that the number was out of service. What? He checked his screen, but that was definitely her number.

He’d been sending half his paycheck home every two weeks. That should have been more than enough to cover the phone bill. He paced across the kitchen, wiping down already clean counters as he shot glances at his phone. With him this far away, Mama would turn off the water before she’d let the phone lapse. There had to be some kind of emergency. Something wrong with the house, or maybe her job.

He dropped the rag and dialed the restaurant where Mama worked. Hedda picked up, rattling off her standard greeting even though it wasn’t business hours yet.

“Hi, Hedda. It’s LJ.”

“LJ, baby!” she squealed. “How’s your new job? They feeding you okay up there? Can you even get grits that far north?”

“Mostly just instant,” he admitted. “Hey, is Mama around? I had a question for her.”

There was a pause, and he checked the screen to be sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Baby, you know your mama’s out on leave, don’t you?” Hedda asked slowly. “I figured you set some help up for her, because she said she didn’t need me to stop by, bring any food or anything.”

“How long?” He gripped the edge of the counter.

“A week, maybe two. Let me check the calendar.” A pan clanged, and then pages rustled. “Last Tuesday was the last time she came in. LJ, haven’t you talked to her? I can send Antoine over there before we open if you’re worried.”

“Can you? And have him call me when he gets there. She must have, uh, turned her ringer off or something.” If he told Hedda the account was turned off, she’d take money out of the register to pay it herself. The IRS had fined her nearly out of existence on that last audit, because she took money out whenever her friends needed it and usually didn’t remember to add it back in when she did her taxes. “I’m coming home. Have Antoine tell Mama I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He threw the eggs down the garbage disposal just as a knock came at his door.

Andra.

Fuck.

He shot out into the living room and wrenched the door open. She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, and his head was so messed up, he couldn’t even decipher the look on her face. She’d come after all. She wasn’t so mad that she didn’t show up.