Jon-Jon handed the photo back to his mom. “Look, Dad, I’m sorry if I disappointed you again. I don’t know if Marcus is mine, but I was with Marquita.”

  Dwayne’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s this ‘disappointed me’ stuff? I love you, son, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  “I know you love me, Dad.”

  Stepping into the room, Dwayne sat on the edge of Jon-Jon’s bed. “But you think I’m disappointed that you can’t play football anymore.”

  Jon-Jon didn’t respond, but his eyes were glued to his father’s face.

  “I’m not gon’ lie. I’ve pushed you all these years because I planned for you to get drafted into the NFL, but not for my glory. I’d love you just the same if you were a dishwasher down at Red Lobster.”

  “I’m not busting no suds, Dad. That’s out.”

  Trish laughed. “Oh, we know that’s true. I couldn’t even get you to wash dishes around here.”

  “What I’m saying is,” Dwayne continued, “whatever you do is all right with me. Just do something.” He squeezed Jon-Jon’s right leg and then stood back up.

  Trish followed Dwayne out of the room. “That was nice.”

  “I’m nice,” he said, looking as if he didn’t get why she didn’t know that. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Jon-Jon be taken advantage of.”

  “Well, what do you want us to do, Dwayne? The girl showed up on our doorstep. It’s not like we put an ad in the paper looking for babies.”

  “You and Jon-Jon can keep looking at baby pictures, but I’m going online to see if I can order a home paternity test.” He started to walk away but then doubled back. “You can get mad about this if you want, Trish. But right is right and Jon-Jon ain’t paying child support for a baby that ain’t his.”

  “I’m not mad, Dwayne. That’s why I texted you when the girl showed up. And Jon-Jon already told Marquita that we wanted a DNA test.” They were talking civilly to one another so she confided in him. “I don’t want to get attached to this baby and then find out he’s not Jon-Jon’s. That would probably break my heart more than anything.”

  “So we’re agreed. If this girl don’t agree to a DNA test,” he waved his hands in the air, like wiping the slate clean, “then we don’t get involved, right?”

  She thought about the baby, saw those dark brown eyes looking up at her, looking like eyes she’d seen for twenty years.

  * * *

  The DNA test arrived two days later. Dwayne and Trish sat in the room with Jon-Jon as he called Marquita. When she answered, Dwayne said, “Put it on speaker.”

  Jon-Jon turned away from his father as he said, “Hey, Marquita, how are you doing?”

  Dwayne’s voice boomed. “Don’t play me, boy. I said put it on speaker.”

  Jon-Jon’s eyes lifted until only the white showed, but he put the phone on speaker as requested.

  “I’m looking for a job to feed our son, that’s how I’m doing.”

  Dwayne’s head swiveled in Trish’s direction. In a low voice he said, “This one is mouthy, huh?”

  “Real mouthy,” Trish agreed.

  Jon-Jon’s lips tightened as he glared at his parents. “Look, Marquita, I’m calling because my dad ordered a DNA test and we wanted to know if you would bring the baby over so we can do the test?”

  “I don’t have to lie about who my baby’s daddy is, Jon-Jon. I don’t sleep around like that and you know it,” she said, sounding more hurt than angry.

  Trish reached her hand out. “Hand me that phone.”

  Dwayne pulled her arm back down. “Let him handle his business.”

  Gripping the phone, he said, “I’m not accusing you of sleeping around, Marquita, but you showed up at my house with a baby I knew nothing about. I’m not going to ask my parents to pitch in with a baby that I don’t know for sure is mine.”

  Dwayne nodded, pumped his fist in the air, like “Yeah, that’s my boy.”

  “Well, I need a babysitter,” Marquita said.

  Jon-Jon shifted in the bed. “What?”

  “You heard me. I have an interview this afternoon, so if you want to do your little DNA test”—the lilt in her voice displayed contempt—“then Daddy needs to keep his kid for a few hours.”

  Jon-Jon looked at Trish. She looked at Dwayne. After Dwayne nodded, he told Marquita, “We’ll keep him for you, but you better not be playing games. This better be my kid.”

  She hung up on him.

  Dwayne’s eyebrow lifted. “Boy, you got your hands full with that one. You better hope that baby ain’t yours.”

  “Dwayne! Don’t say stuff like that. If Marcus is Jon-Jon’s son, then it’s all good,” Trish admonished.

  Dwayne’s head bobbed back. He pursed his lips as he harrumphed. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then, Mama’s baby, Daddy’s maybe.”

  “Just shaking my head.” Trish glared at Dwayne.

  “You know I’m right.”

  Hands on hips, eyes narrowed, Trish said, “So I guess Jon-Jon is your maybe-baby. Is that how it works?”

  Dwayne’s eyes widened as he looked at Trish like she had lost her mind. “Now you’re just trippin’. You and I are married, and Jon-Jon is mine. I know that like I know my middle name.”

  Jon-Jon laughed at that. “That’s because my name is your middle name.”

  Dwayne gave Jon-Jon some dap. “You better know it, son.”

  A few hours later Marquita knocked on the door. When Trish opened the door, her eyes darted downward to the faded and torn blue jeans and high heels Marquita wore. Was she dropping the baby off, then going back home to change? Or was she going to an interview like this?

  As Marquita stepped into the house, she cradled the baby in her arms. She followed Trish toward the back of the house, her eyes got big as she looked this way and that. “Wow, this place is on point. I didn’t look past your living room when I was here last. I love the color you painted the walls. These paintings are really nice too.”

  That made Trish smile. Years ago Trish had discovered African American artwork that displayed scenes of the ministry of Jesus. She purchased several pieces and hung them on the walls in her family room and hallway heading into the kitchen. “Thank you. I like warm colors.”

  Marquita put the baby bag down on the kitchen floor and handed Marcus to Trish. “I appreciate this. I didn’t have anyone else to watch Marcus, and I really need a job, like yesterday.”

  The girl wasn’t sounding as rude as she had on the phone with Jon-Jon, so Trish felt comfortable talking with her. “How long have you been out of work?”

  “It’s been almost two weeks.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.” Then Trish popped her finger. “But now that I think of it, you did mention that you were out of work when you came to the house the other day.”

  Marquita’s chest heaved, her eyes clouded over with sadness. “It’s been harder to find a job this time.”

  Trish caught the “this time,” and decided not to get in her business. They had bigger issues. “Jon-Jon’s father is home. He’d like to speak to you for a minute if you don’t mind.”

  Marquita glanced at the time on her cell phone, winced. “I’m running late.”

  Trish told her, “This won’t take but a minute.”

  Dwayne came into the room. “Hi, Marquita. I’m Dwayne Robinson, Jon-Jon’s dad.” He took the baby out of Trish’s arms and looked at him. Marcus cooed. Dwayne grinned. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Marquita. “You go on to your interview. We just wanted to get your permission to swab this little guy.”

  Rolling her eyes, Marquita flicked her wrist. “Whatever. I don’t even care. But while y’all swabbing my baby just make sure you also add some diapers to his baby bag because he’s almost out.” She turned her back on them and stormed out the door.

  Dwayne looked at his wife, pointed toward the door that Marquita had strutted out of. “Did that just happen?”

  Trish closed the front door. “I told you the girl don’t have home training.” Trish reached for Marcus and she took him back into her arms. “You done ticked her off, so we probably won’t see Marcus after this visit.”

  Dwayne pulled out the cotton swabs. “If this baby is Jon-Jon’s, home training or not, she won’t be able to deny us visitation.” Dwayne stared at the baby for a moment, watched him coo and make bubbles. Looking back at Trish, he said, “He is a cute little somethin’ though.”

  Chapter 14

  The nerve of Jon-Jon’s daddy, coming at her like that. Marquita fumed. He barely even introduced himself before telling her about some paternity test. Like she needed to lie on their raggedy son. Jon-Jon was the one who chased after her last summer. She had been working as a convenience store clerk at the BP gas station on the south side of Charlotte. Jon-Jon came in to pay for his gas and asked for her phone number.

  She wasn’t mad though. Those cornrows and goatee Jon-Jon sported had been hot. He took her to the movies, out to dinner, and they walked around the mall together a few weekends in a row. At eighteen, Marquita had never dated a guy who spent real money and was happy to spend time with her . . . like she mattered.

  He was home for the summer, and Marquita fell completely, totally, madly in love. When summer was coming to an end, and it was time for Jon-Jon to go back to school, she gave him what he wanted so he wouldn’t forget her. But he went back to college and forgot all about her anyway. That hurt like a kick in the head. Or better yet, a kick in the heart.

  She didn’t mean to be rude to the Robinsons either. But it bothered her that Jon-Jon didn’t believe her about the baby. Like, maybe he didn’t think their summer together was as special as she thought it was. Maybe he had been running around with other girls, so he assumed she’d done the same. Marquita used the back of her hand to dot her eyes. She wasn’t going to let Jon-Jon get to her and she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crying about the situation.

  She didn’t tell him about being pregnant because she felt some kind of way about how he forgot all about her when he went back to school. She didn’t need him pretending that he wanted to be with her just because she had his kid. But when she was eight months pregnant, she did try to call Jon-Jon. That’s when she discovered his phone was turned off.

  She pulled up to Chipotle for her first interview of the day. She then had another interview across town at a Publix grocery store. Marquita opened her purse and pulled out her MAC Love Me Lipstick and smeared the La Femme purple color on her lips.

  She entered the restaurant and asked for Joey. She wanted to get in line and order a chicken burrito with brown rice, spicy salsa, and extra cheese. But no job—no money. She sat down at the table and waited on Joey. Mexican food was her favorite. She would probably gain ten pounds if she got this job. But that didn’t bother Marquita since she was only a hundred and fifteen pounds. She just hoped the customers weren’t rude, demanding, or bougie. That got her in trouble every time.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Joey sat down. “Can I have a copy of your résumé? Then we can get started.”

  Ah man, she’d spent all that time at the job center getting her résumé together and left it at her apartment. She snapped her fingers like she had just thought of something she shoulda-woulda-coulda done. “I got one. Can I bring it back to you?”

  He hesitated, perfected his interviewer smile. “Okay, just bring it back to me when you get a chance.”

  Marquita could tell that Joey didn’t appreciate her not bringing that résumé. He was smiling at her, but he rushed the interview and didn’t even show her around the kitchen area. When she left, instead of driving straight to her next interview she drove back home to get those résumés. Wouldn’t do to show up empty handed again.

  But when she pulled up to the apartment and saw a police car and her apartment door wide open, she started hyperventilating. “No . . . no! This can’t be happening.” She banged her fist against the steering wheel and jumped out of her car.

  Her mother would scream, fight, and curse the people out as they dragged her belongings to the curbside. Marquita didn’t have the energy for all that right now. She was just so distressed, because all she ever really wanted was to not be like her mother. And here she was getting evicted.

  Her landlord had a big black garden trash bag in his hands. “What are you doing?” Marquita stepped into the room.

  “You haven’t paid your rent in three months. I had the eviction notice taped to your door, but you tore it off.”

  That’s what her mother always did. But Marquita was learning that the method of see-no-evil-speak-no-evil didn’t work when the rent was late. “Give me another month. I’m interviewing for jobs now.”

  “Can’t. I need to rent this place out.”

  “But where am I going to live?” Her mother, sister, and brother were currently living in a women’s shelter as her mother waited for them to get her another place. Marquita didn’t trust places like that. If she went there with her two-month-old son they’d probably turn her over to Child Protective Services. That was how she and her siblings found themselves being wards of the court for almost a year when she was younger.

  Her landlord wasn’t listening. He didn’t care. Nobody did. She snatched the trash bag out of his hand and started throwing her clothes and Marcus’s clothes in it. She threw the bag in her back seat. Her shoes went into the trunk of the car along with her important papers. Her résumés were included in the pile of paperwork thrown into her trunk.

  She went back into the apartment as tears streamed down her face. Her heart ached as she filled a few more bags with her stuff and then pulled the bags out to the car. By the time she was finished, everything was covered in the car except Marcus’s car seat.

  “I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff, so don’t throw it away.”

  “I’ll give you three days. If you don’t have your bed and sofa out of the apartment, I’ll put them on the sidewalk.”

  By the time she drove away from the apartment, Marquita had missed her job interview. Her hair was wild and all over the place. Eyeliner trekked down her face because she kept crying as she dragged each bag to her car. Life was just one big chunk of nothing as far as Marquita was concerned. Every time she tried to better herself, she was swatted back down.

  All she wanted to do now was see her son. Marcus made life worth living. She didn’t care what people thought about her being a single parent. She didn’t even care what Jon-Jon or his parents thought about why she didn’t call to tell him she was pregnant. They didn’t know her and she wasn’t about to let them judge her.

  As Marquita pulled onto Jon-Jon’s street, she burst into tears because she had no idea where she and her son were going to sleep tonight. “Why can’t I do anything right? What is wrong with me?” As she pulled into the Robinsons’ driveway, she stayed in her car because she wasn’t emotionally ready to talk to people who thought she was a big fat liar.

  Tears like a river streamed down Marquita’s face. She couldn’t get life right and didn’t know why. She had friends who’d kept their jobs ever since they graduated from high school a year and a half ago. In the span of a year, Marquita had been fired from five jobs.

  She tried to open her glove compartment to get some napkins to blow her nose, but her laundry basket with overflowing clothes and shoes blocked her. She took a shirt out of the basket, wiped her face, and then blew her nose.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she got out of the car and went inside. As she picked up Marcus, she held her baby close to her heart. Her eyes closed tight and a tear slid out.

  “Are you okay? Did something happen at your interview?” Trish asked.

  “I’m fine,” Marquita said through gritted teeth. She didn’t want to be in this beautiful home, looking at this family who had it all together when everything was falling apart for her. She picked up the diaper bag, noticed that it felt heavier.

  She put Moochie down, opened the diaper bag and saw a new bag of diapers and a can of powdered formula. Shock crossed her face as she turned back to Trish. “You went to the store?”

  Nodding, Trish told her, “You only had two diapers and your powdered formula was low so I sent Dwayne out to the store.”

  Her voice caught as she admitted, “I didn’t have any more.” Picking Moochie back up she rushed out the door. Marquita felt another rainstorm of tears coming on and didn’t want to stand in front of Jon-Jon’s family looking like a blubbering fool.

  She put Moochie in his car seat, pushed some of the bags over so they wouldn’t fall on him as she drove, then got in the car and drove off. The problem was, she had no idea where she was going.

  Her mother had experience with these type of things, so she drove to the women’s shelter to speak with Gloria. But as she parked her car at the facility, her hands shook from fear and she started hyperventilating again. “W-what am I going to do?”

  Moochie was sucking on his fingers. She rubbed his belly. “I’m not going to let them take you away from me.”

  Marquita’s mind traveled back to the first time she and her siblings went to a shelter with their mother. Gloria had gotten angry when the director of the women’s shelter hadn’t found them an apartment in the timeframe Gloria thought appropriate, so she busted out the windows on the director’s car.

  The police arrested Gloria, then they put her in rehab. Marquita was only twelve years old when the social worker showed up to take them to foster care.

  “Put my sister down!” Marquita yelled at the woman as Marquita grabbed Mark and put him behind her to protect him from the mean lady who was trying to separate them.

  “I’m sorry, Marquita, but your sister and brother are too young for the foster home we have for you. But we will take good care of them.”

  “No!” Marquita kicked the woman as she tried her best to pull Kee Kee out of the social worker’s arms. “I can take care of them until our mom comes back.”

  The social worker turned to the security guard, who was standing in front of the door so they couldn’t run out. “Can you help me?”