The Christmas Promise(8)

Every wall was lined with shelves that held food items, pots and pans, dishware, towels, and supplies such as toilet tissue and paper towels. In the middle of the floor were racks of clothing sorted by size. I rummaged through the shelves and loaded peanut butter, crackers, soup, rice, and cereal into a box.

The electric garage door had long been blocked with shelves, so I lugged the box back into the kitchen. I slipped on my coat, the soft jean jacket one with huge patchwork pockets on the front, then pulled a yellow wool hat down over my ears. Heddy said the boots and the hat together made me look like Big Bird, but I was warm so I didn’t care.

I wanted to add milk, eggs, and bread to the box of food for Carla, so I made a stop at the local grocery. My daughter Stephanie called me while I was in the store; she usually checked in with me two to three times a week. “How’s your week?” she asked.

“Great, except Rikki Huffman is in jail for drug possession,” I said.

She sighed on the other end. “I’m sorry, Mom. You did all you could.”

I grabbed a gallon of milk off the shelf. “That’s what Heddy said.” I reached for a dozen eggs and put them in my basket.

“What are you doing today?” Stephanie asked.

“Just seeing to some things,” I said.

“Seeing Matt in every face?” she said, referring to my youngest son.

I tossed bread into my basket and headed for the checkout. “Of course not. I’m not crazy, Stephanie.” I knew my children worried about me. My remaining two sons had long kept quiet about Matthew, but Stephanie wore her heart on her sleeve.

“I know you’re not, Mom, but…” She was quiet. “It’s been years since—”

“I know,” I said, stopping her. It was a daily sorrow of which I didn’t need to be reminded. I felt my throat tighten. “Kiss the boys for me and we’ll talk soon.” I threw the phone in my purse, grabbed my sack of groceries, and left the store.





I drove to Carla’s apartment. Donovan, a five-year-old ball of fire, greeted me at the door. I pretended to fall over. “You scared me to death!” I said. He laughed, watching me clutch my heart. “Are my eyes bugged out of my head? It feels like my eyes are bugged out of my head.”

Donovan lifted my eyelids and shook his head. “Nope. They’re in your head.”

“What color are my eyes, Donovan?”

He looked at me hard. “Red!”

I bent over laughing, lifting the box of Cheerios out of the sack. Donovan tore into the top and I pushed him toward the kitchen. “Don’t eat out of the box. You’re not a bear.”

Carla pulled her straight, black hair into a ponytail and I sat down, looking at her. Donovan obviously got his curly hair from his father, whoever he was.

“Has Thomas been living here again?” I never tiptoed around what was on my mind. Some people would say I lacked tact, but after years of knowing her I had learned how to communicate with Carla.

“No, Miss Glory.”

“Because if he has been and he’s been sucking you dry for money and food and a place to live, then—”

“He doesn’t know where I live now. I promise.”

“Do you want to see him?” I asked. Carla turned her head away. She looked much older than her age, but she’d lived a lot of life in twenty-three years. “Carla, God didn’t create you for this. He didn’t create anybody for this.” She wouldn’t look at me. “That man uses you. He hurts you.” Carla wasn’t listening. She’d heard it all before from so many others.

A string of losers. That’s what Carla’s mother called her boyfriends when I talked to her on the phone. The next one worse than the last. When Carla had been pregnant with Donovan, she had hoped his father would stay, but he didn’t. No man ever stayed. Thomas had been with her longer than the others, and Carla thought they could be a family, but she was wrong.

I sighed. “Is your wrist better?”

Carla rolled her wrist to show the movement she had again. “It’s much better. I didn’t even have to take all the pain pills the doctor prescribed.”

I kept my voice low. “One day he could come in here and hurt you right in front of Dovovan. He may even hurt Donovan.”

“I’m not going to see him anymore, Miss Glory.”

“If he comes back, call the police and they’ll get rid of him,” I said.

“I can’t do that, Miss Glory,” she said, whispering.

I sat forward. “Call the police before he hurts you again.”

Tears fell down her cheeks. “If I call them they might come in and take Donavan away from me again.” I shook my head. Her voice rose louder. “DFS will find out about the police and they’ll take him.”