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Kerry sat down and went through all of her motherly questions with Tyrian. She asked about his schoolwork and his golf game. Listened to more stories about his new teeth and new friends. The girl in his class who was so pretty none of the other boys would speak to her. But he always did. He always sat right next to her and said something nice.
Nana Thirjane was on hand to correct each of his poorly selected words—both those with bad grammar and weak diction. Kerry smiled and listened intently, but as the judging went on, she couldn’t help but to remember when her mother would carry on like that whenever she tried to get a sentence out.
“Sounds like you have a crush,” Kerry joked with Tyrian.
“I like her,” Tyrian admitted, poking out his chest a little, “but I’m keeping my options open.”
“Options?” Kerry repeated, looking over at her mother and laughing at how adult he sounded. “Boy, what do you know about options?”
“My daddy told me it’s not enough for a woman to be beautiful. She has to be smarter than she is beautiful. And nice. Be really nice to me, always. Nice to everyone.” Tyrian looked proud to remember his father’s advice, but also sad. As could be expected, he’d taken the sudden death very hard.
Kerry reached over the table to touch Tyrian’s hand. “Your daddy gave you some good advice,” she said softly. “Very good.”
After a while, Thirjane sent Tyrian off to play with some other children who were putting a massive puzzle together on the floor in the center of the room as the adults took time to chat.
“So how are you doing?” Thirjane asked.
“How do I look like I’m doing?”
“Well, your hair is growing out. Maybe you could perm it again. It’s so nappy.” Thirjane reached over the table to finger Kerry’s gray roots. “Could definitely use some hair dye.”
“I’m in jail and you’re worried about my naps and grays?” Kerry snapped. “There’s no one in here to impress, Mama. Not your sorors or their stuffy sons.” She flicked her mother’s hand away like she was thirteen again and being forced to wear her hair up in a bun to attend one of those Jack and Jill balls she so hated.
“That has nothing to do with anything. What did you go bringing that up for?”
“Why haven’t you been here to visit me in a month?”
“I was just here three weeks ago.”
“You promised you’d bring Tyrian every week. You said you’d do it.”
“So you want me to bring my grandson to a jailhouse every week to see his mother?” Thirjane leaned toward Kerry and whispered through her coffee-stained dentures, “You know that boy is urinating in the bed almost every night? And that’s on the nights when I can actually get him to sleep without crying his eyes out about missing you and his father. How’s seeing you in jail going to help him?”
“His therapist said—” Kerry tried, but Thirjane cut her off.
“That therapist doesn’t know a thing about raising a black boy!” Thirjane said so directly Kerry knew to leave the matter alone. “Got me bringing my grandbaby to a jail to see his mama. Then when he’s sixteen and ends up here on his own, everybody’s going to wonder why. The less he’s here, the better.”
“Fine. Just once a month then, Mama. Please.” Kerry sounded like a teenager negotiating curfew.
Thirjane cut her eyes hard on Kerry. “I know. It’s only been three weeks. And have you thought about me? About me coming here? What people are saying?”
“Yes. I have. Because this is all about you. Right?” Kerry pointed out sarcastically. Every time her mother visited, it went this way—it would somehow go from being all about Tyrian to all about Thirjane; Kerry was always last. And it was interesting too, because as ashamed as Thirjane claimed she was, aside from her onetime interview on the news, she was hardly involved in Kerry’s case. She cried and promised to avenge her child when Kerry had gotten arrested, but as soon as the cameras turned on her and one detective suggested that maybe she’d had something to do with the murder too, Thirjane quickly disappeared. She wouldn’t even talk to Kerry’s lawyer. She’d hired her own and said she needed to protect herself and her “interests.”
“Don’t be flip with me, Kerry Ann. You’re not the only one suffering here. That’s all I was saying,” Thirjane said. “And what’s going on with your case, anyway? I thought that Memphis girl and that Jewish lawyer you two hired were getting you out on bail, at least until the trial starts, anyway.”
“Under the direction of District Attorney Brown, the judge agreed that due to the nature of the crime, I’m a threat to society.” Kerry waved at Tyrian, who’d held up two pieces of the puzzle he’d fit together.
“A threat? That imposter of a DA, Chuck Brown, is the real threat to this city—sleeping with any woman who’ll open her legs. And to think, he’s a Morehouse man.” Thirjane put her nose in the air after that comment.
“Well, Chuck Brown also cited your connections and my money and Jamison’s money—adding that I’m a flight risk.”
“That’s a sack of manure—pardon my choice of words. But I don’t believe that for one minute. Seems that lawyer and Val could do something about it. Listen to me, girl: that whore means to keep you in here. Meanwhile, she’s out in the world living it up like her kind never knew how. You know she moved her mama into Jamison’s house? In Cascade? Driving his cars. Using his club memberships.” Thirjane clutched her purse and whispered, “I saw her at the country club.”
Kerry looked down.
“Hmm . . . She’s living high on the hog and you’re living here.” Thirjane looked around at the prisoners and guards, the walls and discreetly placed bars.
