Page 71 of Dark Ugly Places

“That’s how she thinks.”

A quizzical look passes over her face, and her eyes search me. “Sounds like we need her then.”

“Wait a second. I thought you said there was no way to get even. That we should let it go …”

Emmy shields her eyes from the sun to look at me. “Well, sometimes things change, Mom.”

Overhead, two crows plunge from a tree toward a piece of trash in the corner of the yard. Their wings illuminate, feathered crests in the sun. They each emerge with something looking vaguely edible and lift off. Several streets away, the long, tuneless cry of sirens cuts through, and Emmy jolts. I stand slowly and shake the feeling back into my leg.

In the evening, Emmy and I go to the dollar store around the corner to get some food. As we enter, the scent of cheap air freshener and mildew makes my temple throb. I try to ignore the casino bing of the registers and the blinding fluorescent lights overhead, making my head ache.

Emmy perks up when we go inside, the twinge of embarrassment momentarily wearing off with the promise of food. “Mom, look, they have Eggos! Just like Nubia made.” She runs toward the frozen food section.

“That’s awesome, honey! Get a few boxes!” I call after her.

Emmy returns with a stack of boxes and dumps them into the purple shopping cart. “We really need food,” she says.

In moments, my cell phone rings. It’s Nubia. This time I answer.

“Hi!” I say and cringe. My voice sounds fake, overly cheerful.

“How you doing, mama?” There are children’s cartoons in the background and the sound of something frying in a pan.

“Oh, you know. Hanging in there!”

“That’s what I thought.” She fumbles with the phone, and there’s static. “Kelly, turn the TV down—por favor, mija! Mommy’s on the phone!” In a moment, she’s back. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Listen, I have to run. We’re at the store.”

“Okay, but hey, guess what?” Nubia doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I’m bringing you dinner.”

“Nubia, you really don’t need to do that.”

“For the week. And yes, I do.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Don’t be weird about it, okay?” she says. “I’m worried about you.”

“Thank you,” I reply and feel my shoulders relax a little. “I appreciate it, Nubia.”

I feel like I can hear a smile in her voice as she says, “Forget it. Besides, I have to feed you. Lord knows you can’t cook worth shit.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. She’s right, of course. I’m a terrible cook.

I add soap, some milk, and basic canned goods to the cart. We head to the checkout line at the back of the store and wait our turn, Emmy busy on her phone. Our total comes to less than $26. We get enough food to last a week, especially with Nubia’s dinners that I feel a bit guilty about her bringing but accept, nonetheless. Emmy and I head toward the car, the purple shopping cart’s wheels catching the pavement as we go.

When we get home, there’s a huge cardboard box on my front porch filled with containers of food and a note from Nubia that reads simply EAT! Love, Nubia.

I start heating up a plate of Nubia’s tamales for us while Emmy takes a shower and puts on her PJs. Martha is impatient, itching to come forth, scratching at my insides like a cat on a post. How much time I have is questionable. I promised Emmy we’d watch a movie together tonight, and I intend to follow through. Emmy flicks around and finds an old horror film and looks at me. “How about this? It’s almost Halloween.”

“Sure,” I tell her. “Just don’t tell me you’re getting nightmares if we watch that.”

We sit huddled together on the sofa, Scotch in his corner, the comforting plates of tamales in our hands. The film opens with a family moving to a new house in the country, and the plot comes back to me. One death after another until just the mother and daughter are left. My fork cuts to the inside of the tamale, spilling the red sauce and meat onto my plate.

Red. The color of blood. But not when it’s against asphalt. Not when there’s so much of it …

My stomach turns, and I stop eating. “Let’s watch something else.”