Masked Innocence

Thirty-Seven

The doorbell rang at 6:00 p.m. Martha and I were in the kitchen, window shades drawn, laughing over a story she was telling about Brad’s teenage years, when we heard the chimes. We both froze, the grape I was about to eat dropping to the floor. A look came over her face, hard and determined, and she grabbed my arm. “You wait here.”

“What?” I hissed. “Don’t answer it!”

She waved me off, grabbing a hand towel and wiping her hands on it as she walked to the door. “Who is it?” she drawled, Southern and unintimidating.

“It’s Stevie.” The voice was muffled by the heavy door, but understandable.

“Stevie? Joe’s boy Stevie?” Martha demanded, standing by the door with her hands on her hips.

Every gangster movie I had ever seen flooded through my mind, and I wished she would move away from the door before they shot through it. I tried to wave at her, but she ignored me completely, focused on the door.

“Yes. Let me in, Martha.”

She walked away, and pulled out her cell. Going through the phone, she pressed a button and waited, the phone to her ear.

“It’s me. Stevie is here. You want me to let him in?”

There was a pause, and then she spoke. “Okay.” She hung up the phone and opened the door, peering through the crack created by the safety chain. An alarm somewhere in the house started, a slow chirp, gradually increasing in speed. She seemed pleased with what she saw and she closed the door, removed the chain and then opened it again, ushering in a tall man with a muscular build, dressed in a black polo and dress pants, a large gray gun strapped to his belt. Martha shut the door behind him, relatching the chain and locking the dead bolt, and pressed a button on the alarm pad.

She turned to the stranger, smiled widely and held open her arms. “Stevie, I haven’t seen you in ages! Come here for a hug.” It was the most enthusiastic welcome I had ever seen her give, and I moved closer for a better look.

The man’s ugly face, scarred in places with a crooked nose, broke into a wry smile. He bent over, hugging the short woman tightly. I stood awkwardly behind them, waiting for an introduction. They separated, Martha holding him at arm’s length for a moment, looking him over critically. “You look thin, Stevie. We need to start having you over for supper, or at least get you a woman who’ll feed you.”

He laughed, and turned to me, extending his hand. I stepped forward, shaking it, his grip firm and strong. Safe.

“I’m Julia.”

“Stevie. I’m Brad’s cousin.”

“Here to protect us?” I asked.

Stevie glanced quickly at Martha, who hustled between us with a laugh. “Come, let’s move to the kitchen! I’ve got food in the skillet that will burn.” Stevie gestured for me to go ahead, and we walked into the kitchen, which smelled of grilled sausage and chicken. I sat at the counter, but Stevie glanced around, uneasy. “I’m going to check the house out,” he announced, and left, his hand resting on his gun.

I watched his exit, then turned to Martha, my brows raised. “What’s his story?”

“Oh, Stevie and Brad have been close as brothers ever since Brad was born. They’re only four months apart in age. Brad said he sent Stevie over to keep an eye on us, just in case someone decides to stop back by. I doubt anyone will, but it’s nice to have an extra person in the house, especially one with Stevie’s skills.”

She seemed ridiculously relaxed, given the situation. She added spices, chopped veggies and hummed under her breath. I told her my thoughts and she laughed.

“Girl, I’ve seen a lot of things working in this house, and it always ends up all right. Besides, if it’s my time to go, it’s my time. But listen, I changed the diapers on most of these boys. They ain’t gonna touch me with a ten-foot pole.” She set down the wooden spoon and turned to me. “Now, you? You I worry about. There’s nothing stopping them from blowing your pretty little brains out.”

My eyes widened, and I stared at her. “Is that your way of making me feel better?”

“Honey, it’s me being honest. I believe women need to know what they’re up against. If you want sunshine blown up your ass, you picked the wrong black woman.” She turned back to the stove and turned up the heat, adding some more oil to the hot pan.