Page 23 of When a Soul Cries

I simply replied, I got her, made the first illegal U-turn I could, and headed straight toward the daycare.

That was how it worked between me and Sol. She called, I came. I called, she answered. No keeping score. No throwing favors back in each other’s faces. Neither one of us had enough real family to play around with the little bit we had managed to build.

I pushed open my car door and climbed out, tugging down the cropped white tank that had ridden up underneath my breasts. My ripped, stacked jeans hugged my legs all the way to my ankles, and my long pink nails clicked against my phone as I locked the car. Gold hoops brushed the sides of my neck with every step. My hair, bone-straight and parted perfectly down the middle, fell almost to my waist.

I was little—five-foot-two on a generous day, light-skinned, and skinny everywhere except my chest. People saw the long hair, the lashes, and the body and assumed sweet.

That was their first mistake.

I was outgoing. I could walk into a room full of strangers and have everybody laughing within ten minutes. I would dance first, speak my mind first, and turn a boring trip to the gas station into a whole event.

But friendly?

Hell no.

Friendly got confused with easy to play with, and I had spent too much of my life teaching people the difference.

The second I walked through the daycare doors, cold air hit my bare stomach. A woman behind the front desk looked up from her computer.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here for Halo Monroe.”

Her eyes moved slowly from my hair to my nails, then down to the small black bag tucked beneath my arm. I caught the look and lifted one eyebrow.

“Today, preferably.”

She blinked. “And you are?”

“A’zaria Banks. Zari. I’m on her pickup list.”

“I’ll need to see your identification.”

I stared at her for half a second before reaching into my bag. “That baby been in here sick with a hundred-and-two-degree fever, y’all called her mama four times, and now we moving like the DMV?”

“It’s for the child’s safety.”

“Her safety would’ve been calling before she got to one-oh-two, but here.”

I slid my license across the counter.

The woman tightened her lips but took it. I could tell she wanted to say something. She must’ve looked into my face and decided employment was important to her.

Smart lady.

She checked the screen, then pressed a button beneath the desk. “Ms. Keisha, Halo Monroe’s authorized pickup is here.”

The irritation left me the moment I heard Halo crying somewhere beyond the locked double doors.

It wasn’t her normal cry. Halo usually cried loud and dramatic, with fat tears and plenty of breath behind it, like she wanted the whole building to understand she had been personally betrayed. This cry was weak. Tired.

My stomach dropped.

The doors opened, and one of the teachers stepped through with Halo resting against her chest. My godbaby’s little brown face was flushed, her curls were damp around the edges, and her eyes looked heavy. The sight of her knocked every smart remark right out of my mouth.

“Oh, Lo-Lo.” I held out my arms. “Come to Auntie.”

Halo lifted her head when she heard me. Her bottom lip trembled.