We weren’t allowed to give out our telephone number when we were kids. Mama was paranoid certain neighbors on our street might get it.
These were the neighbors whose children we were no longer allowed to play with. These were the neighbors whose houses we weren’t even supposed to walk past. These, were also the neighbors who were testifying against her at the divorce trial.
People did that during divorces back then. They chose sides and showed up in court.
It was a Friday night. Mama was curled up on one end of the orange sofa grading papers. The television was on in the corner, the volume turned down to a hum. I was at the other end of the sofa reading The Secret at Shadow Ranch. I remember, because it was the only Nancy Drew book I never finished. After that night, I couldn’t bring myself to pick it back up.
It was Daddy’s weekend with us. He was driving over from Texas to get us in the morning. We were going to spend two days with him at a hotel in New Orleans, swimming, wrestling and living a less complicated life. I was fizzy with excitement.
I had spoken to him the night before. Daddy called us on Thursday nights from wherever he was; Chicago, Dallas, Mexico City. Always between 6 and 7…
