my eyes and wait to hear how much money she wants and for what. Does this woman really think I give a shit what happens to my shiftless, asshole big brother? I care exactly as much about his well-being as he cared about mine when we were growing up: not one good goddamn tiny little bit. And I care even less about his exes and children.
Finally giving up on any gracious forgiveness on my part, Joylene takes another deep breath. “I think we met once at Christmas a long time ago. When your brother and I were together.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer, and she actually laughs like she gets it.
“Yeah, well. I was young, and times were desperate. Regardless, we have a son together, so I stay in touch, and I’ve been involved with his other kids, because they are Wesley’s siblings and I feel like he should have a relationship with his own family.”
Wesley. I remember them now. Joylene was a short, curvy black woman who’d seemed far smarter and more responsible than Ricky or any of the other women he’d ever dated or impregnated. He complained bitterly that she was no fun after he knocked her up. Apparently she’d been quite a drunk, which explains her long-ago attraction to my brother. Once she got pregnant, she went cold turkey and turned her life around. Ricky was outraged at her sobriety. Her naming the boy Wesley was the last straw. “Fucking nerd name,” he’d grunted out right in front of the child.
“The reason I’m calling is,” Joylene ventures, “well . . . you’re an attorney.”
“I don’t practice criminal law, so whatever he’s done, I can’t help.” And I won’t help. My brother has been in and out of the court system since the age of seventeen for various felonies. Breaking and entering, grand larceny, aggravated assault. That kind of thing. He impregnates a woman during each brief furlough, like a salmon returning home to spawn.
“I wouldn’t ask for him,” Joylene says. “This is about his daughter. I really don’t care what happens to Ricky. If he violates probation again, he’ll be back in for three years and out just in time for Wesley’s graduation, and that’s all I care about. A boy needs his father.” She said that last part hard and fast, as if she’d been trying to convince her son and everyone else of that for many years.
“But this isn’t about him,” she continues. “His daughter Kayla is missing and no one gives a damn.”
“She’s missing?”
“Yes. The girl just turned sixteen and no one has heard from her in a month. The officials don’t care because everyone involved is considered trash. I don’t know who else to call. No one is doing anything. Not the police. Not her mother. Nobody.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s missing or she ran off?”
“I don’t know. She’s missing or kidnapped or dead. Anything could have happened to her, and no one even cares? How is that right? She’s Wesley’s sister! And if he disappeared, I’d want someone to look for him. If I weren’t here . . . Good Lord, I shudder to think what could happen to my son.”
“Look, Joylene, I don’t even know this girl. I’m in Minnesota. I’m not a criminal attorney or a detective, and I’m certainly not a children’s advocate. I couldn’t help if I wanted to.”
“She’s been in a little trouble,” she says, as if I haven’t spoken, “but nothing real bad. And she’s just a tiny little thing. She can’t look out for herself.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not right. Everyone has just thrown her away. I’m not a blood relation, so no one will even return my phone calls!”
“You should call an attorney in your area. Get help there.”
Joylene sighs, and I’m moving the phone away from my ear, ready to hang up, when she speaks again. “Everyone always says she’s just like you, so I hoped maybe you two had a connection or something.”
Frowning, I pause in mid-motion, the phone three inches from my ear. What does she mean, “just like” me?
I slide the phone another inch toward the receiver, but I’m a cat when it comes to curiosity, so I impulsively change my mind and put it back to my ear. “What do you mean?”
“I thought maybe you’d been involved with her when she was young.”
“No. Why do people say she’s just like me?” I’m also a cat when it comes to narcissism. Joylene hesitates, so I press harder. “She looks like me? Or she’s mouthy or