“Where we going?” Richard asked over and over again. I never said a word. Somehow I knew not to say anything.
“We’re going to see some people,” my mother said. We walked across town and I could see the church in the distance. My mother hoisted Richard onto her other hip and handed me the paper bag to carry the rest of the way.
“It’s too heavy,” I said, regretting the words as soon as I said them. Mom took the bag from me and lugged it on her other side. When we got to the sidewalk leading up to the front door of the church my mother set Richard down and straightened his clothes.
“We going to church, Mommy?” Richard asked. “It’s not Sunday.”
My mother opened the door and looked around.
“What you looking for, Mommy?” Richard asked.
I rolled my eyes and wished he would be quiet for once.
“You looking for the church?”
“We’re in the church,” I said, hoping to ease the pressure off my mother. A woman in a pale pink dress peeked her head around the corner.
“Hi,” she said, stepping toward us. “I thought I heard voices. Can I help you?” I looked up at my mother but she couldn’t speak. Nothing was coming out. I noticed her eyes were filling with tears and the woman in pink noticed, too. She leaned down to Richard and me. “We’ve got a plateful of peanut butter cookies back in the kitchen that I made for a luncheon today.” She leaned close and whispered. “Would you like some with a great big glass of milk?” We nodded and she took our hands. “I’m going to let your mother sit down here in the office while you two eat some cookies and play with all the toys we’ve got back there.”
Another woman behind a desk with glasses looked up and smiled at us. “Mrs. Burke,” the woman in pink said. “These children are hungry for cookies. Maybe you and Pastor Burke might like to visit with their mother.”
Mrs. Burke saw the tears in my mother’s eyes and got up from her desk. “Just take your time,” Mrs. Burke said to the woman in pink. “I’ve even got some chicken salad back there in the refrigerator if you want some of that.” The thought of eating chicken salad at ten o’clock in the morning was less than appealing to me but Richard cheered with excitement.
I’m not sure how many cookies we ate but when Mom walked into the kitchen the plate was nearly empty. “Thank you,” my mother said, looking at the woman in pink. “Thank you very much.”
We walked outside and a woman driving a station wagon was in the driveway waving at us. “I’m Geraldine Culberson,” she said, looking at my mother. “Just hop on in.” Mom ushered us inside the car and Geraldine drove us to her home. “We’ve got a bed and a couch down here,” she said, leading us into the basement. “You can put your clothes in here,” she said, resting her hand on a small chest of drawers, “and the bathroom is right at the top of the stairs.” She turned to leave. “I’ll have lunch ready in about an hour, so you just get settled in and come on up whenever you’re ready.”
My mother sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t say anything; she just pulled Richard and me close to her and cried.
We lived in Geraldine and George’s basement for six months until someone else in the church had a small apartment we could rent. Before long, church members dropped off a small black-and-white TV set, a full-size refrigerator, sofa, beds, toys, and clothes. Mom found a part-time job answering phones and doing the books for a small dress shop while Geraldine watched Richard. When I got out of school I walked to the Culbersons’ house and when Mom was finished working we all walked home to our apartment together. At night I would watch my mother go through the bills my father had left and I always saw the same look on her face. There was no way out.
My mother lost her smile after my father left. I was too young to fully realize what was wrong but knew it had to have something to do with the mess my father had left us in. Creditors were threatening her on every side but she had nothing left for them to take. She’d write a check for five or ten dollars and stick it in an envelope hoping that her attempts to pay off the debts would prove something to the creditors. For some it did but for most it didn’t. It was a few weeks before Christmas when my mother broke down at the kitchen table. She held on to several letters and wept. I ran down the street for Mrs. Culberson. She read through a letter and patted my mother’s shoulder. “Nobody’s going to take your kids away from you, Charlotte,” she said. “Don’t you worry about that!”