Caul Baby by Morgan Jerkins (read any book .TXT) 📕

did he never tell her about this family while she was pregnant? But that’s what she’d wanted—for everything to be quick, secretive, and easy. But if Landon had seen Hallow after giving her to this family, then he had to have some idea where she was—maybe even a connection to these people. It would explain his not telling her their names . . . because he had some kind of conflict of interest. Landon was right: Harlem was only a train ride away, and she had to go back to investigate for herself whatever had happened to Hallow so that she could make sure that her daughter didn’t jeopardize her campaign—and to see what the hell kind of connection Landon had with Laila and the Melancons.

18

Seeing Helena and Iris together after all these years left Maman feeling less warmhearted and more sorrowful over her relationship with her other daughter, Josephine. Maman wondered if their family was indeed entering into a new season, one that she wasn’t sure she was equipped to handle. What if Iris and Helena left the home together? Iris wasn’t the most lucrative asset to the family, but she still had a bit of caul left on her. She could easily walk out like she had done with Helena as a child. And Hallow—Hallow was planning to spend a considerable amount of time outside of the brownstone too. Who’s to say that she would simply not return home one evening? Everything on the inside of the brownstone was changing, just like the landscape of the block and neighborhood altogether, and Maman despised it.

She woke up the next morning with Scuff greeting her to the right side and the photo of Alexandre—or “Alex”—standing in a square frame on the desk to her left. She moved closer to the photo until her body was at the edge of the bed and studied his emotionless face, from the evenness of his hairline to his generous lips and the sharp incline of his cheekbones, before falling down to the hooked shape of his Adam’s apple. There were many times when she could’ve hidden his photo away in some drawer, cut it up into little pieces, incinerated it, then danced around its ashes, but she couldn’t. There was too much heat still contained in that eight-by-eight-inch photograph. The promise in those dark brown eyes would make any woman willingly lose herself inside of them if given the chance. Some days she missed him and wondered about the family he’d left her for. She wondered what it was about the other woman, whose novelty furnished his soul more than the longevity of their relationship ever could. She wondered why he never fought for her or the children when she put him out. She wondered why he never came back. And it was there in her bed, between Scuff and that photograph, where Maman asked herself in her head, Was it me all along?

Maman was not one for painful emotions. She either redirected her attention to the upkeep of the home or pulled from a blunt to numb the edges of her most difficult memories. But lately in her old age, she couldn’t control her own mental faculties as much as she wanted. At least when Hallow was a child, Maman could invest all of her energy into properly grooming her. Now that Hallow was older and everyone could move and think for themselves, Maman wallowed without a particular project to occupy her time, so she folded into what she always loved: the home. There had to be a way to add beauty to the home, and gardening seemed like the safest option. She kept a notebook where she sketched a design of how her plot would look in the space surrounding the front of the brownstone and she’d monitor the amount of rainfall and sunlight Harlem would experience over the course of several weeks by the street-facing window seat. Today was the day that her bare-root roses, which had been pre-soaked and readied for planting, were set to arrive. Maman pulled out a pair of dusty overalls that she hadn’t worn in decades to wear for the occasion. The denim slid off her small frame, but it was nothing that a silk taffeta sash couldn’t fix. Then she brought out a large wide-brimmed hat and stuck a pair of gloves into the right pocket of her overalls.

When Maman grabbed her cane and stepped out of her bedroom, she saw Landon coming out from the living room. They halted when they saw each other. Maman looked toward the front-facing windows, and the sun was shining brightly. Landon was still in their home after sunrise, which was highly unusual, especially since he hadn’t informed Maman that he would be coming early to discuss business affairs. Maman leaned over his shoulder, saw Josephine beaming while she smeared her croissant with butter and jam, and walked into the dining room.

“All right. What’s going on here?”

Josephine looked up. “Oh. Morning, Maman.”

“Don’t ‘Morning, Maman’ me. I know you’re not grinnin’ like an ol’ Cheshire Cat over some breakfast.”

“Maman . . .” Landon walked into the dining room and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. We’d like to talk to you about something.”

“No, I’d rather stand, thank you.”

Landon sighed.

“Landon.” Josephine nodded and smiled.

“Very well.”

“What the hell is going on here? Your wife finally filed for divorce?” Maman asked. “That would explain why you’re still here in the morning like this. Hallow ain’t down here, and you didn’t call me, so what is the meaning of this?”

Landon strode over to the other side of the table and sat down beside Josephine. He placed his arm on the back of her chair while Josephine kept her head down, though her smile was still visible. He said, “Maman, Josephine and I are making plans to leave.”

“Leave where?” Maman asked.

“Leave here. Once this agreement with the Epelbaums goes through, we’re going to move away from here.”

“And how do you know it’ll go through?”

“It will. All Hallow has