a few times but stopped when he got tired of kids snatching it off. Now, he just wore it on weekends and after school.
I spent as much time at Rhoda’s house as I could even though Mr. Boatwright tried to sabotage that.
“Brother Boatwright feels that you spendin’ too much time at that Rhoda’s house. Wearin’ all that makeup, she just beggin’ to get herself raped,” Muh’Dear told me in the kitchen one Sunday night after church.
Scary Mary was sitting at the kitchen table with us decked out in a pair of gold-nylon stretch pants with stirrups and a black turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had put on about fifty pounds over the years and had no business squeezing into a pair of stretch pants. She was kicked-back, with a can of beer in her hand and her bare feet on the table. She winked at me and surprised me when she came to my defense.
She made a sweeping gesture with her hand in Muh’Dear’s direction. “Oh, Gussie Mae, lighten up. Rhoda’s a little angel. When one of my girls up and got herself killed walkin’ out in front of that bus, Rhoda helped her daddy dress the body. As dainty as that pretty little girl is, she stood there and manicured Sandra’s nails and gave her a egg facial. Now, who would have thought to give a dead woman one more facial?” Scary Mary said firmly. She put her feet on the floor, finished her beer, and let out a great sigh. “I wouldn’t have.”
“That was nice of Rhoda,” Muh’Dear admitted. She was darning a pair of Mr. Boatwright’s socks. Her can of beer sat in front of her next to her sewing-paraphernalia basket.
“Me, I wish I was as lucky with my girl as you is with yours. Your girl, she is near perfect. No matter how old Mott get, she goin’ to have a baby’s brain just like her daddy, my seventh husband. She’ll have to be looked after like a baby ’til the day she die. I got a itchin’ to take in a foster daughter, and I want her to be just like Annette.”
“You’re adopting a daughter?” I gasped. I had removed the long drab black shift I had worn to church and had slid into the bright yellow housecoat Judge Lawson had given to me.
“Not adopt, foster. Sometime in the distant future after I get off probation. The girl can keep a eye on Mott and keep my house clean,” Scary Mary announced with a quick nod. She paused long enough to finish her beer. “I ain’t got time to do that kind of stuff. I’m a busy woman.”
“What about all those nasty men?” I asked with my eyes stretched as wide as I could stretch them. With her background and her record, I could not imagine anybody giving Scary Mary a foster child.
“What nasty men?”
“Uh…the ones that come to your house all the time.” I glanced at Muh’Dear, and she was giving me a mean look. “Um…never mind.”
“Like I said, I want my foster daughter to be just like Annette,” Scary Mary insisted. She snatched another beer out of a bag on the table in front of her.
I smiled broadly. Despite what Mr. Boatwright told me Scary Mary had said about me being funny, she was OK in my book.
“Muh’Dear said I could be like you one day,” I replied. I smiled and tried to look composed, but my whole body was nervous with energy.
Scary Mary held up her hand, and a sad look appeared on her face.
“When they give me my foster girl I’m goin’ to raise her up to to be better than the mess I turned myself into,” she said, her voice cracking.
I just smiled at her again, grateful that she thought I was important enough to speak up for.
“Rhoda’s a nice girl, too,” I added. I had not brought Rhoda to meet my mother and Mr. Boatwright yet because I was too embarrassed. Compared to our house, hers was Camelot. I was also ashamed of Mr. Boatwright. Since Muh’Dear’s work schedule kept her so busy, she was never available to attend any of my school events, like PTA meetings and Parent/Teacher meetings. Once when I asked if she could take a day off and come meet some of my teachers, she sent Mr. Boatwright in her place and the kids talked and laughed about him for days. I never mentioned any school functions again.
Muh’Dear, Scary