It was clear from the way she spoke that Ms. Ada May believed every word, and to be honest, I wasn’t so sure that she wasn’t right. My parents were pretty relaxed in the discipline department, but I never gave them a reason to behave otherwise. I found it doubtful that the men who attacked me the other night could say the same. “You might be right about that.”
“Might be? Pfft. No, honey. A good whoopin’ is exactly what deez chil’ren need.” When she was done dabbing the oil on my face and arms, she gave me a quick scan as she asked, “You got any more bruises I need to know about?”
“No, ma’am. Just a few stitches and bruised ribs.”
Ada’s expression grew angry again. “I sure hope Viper and dem boys of his take care of whoever did dis to you.”
“I’m just thankful that they’ve helped me as much as they have.” A tightness filled my chest as I told her, “If it hadn’t been for Shotgun and Doc, I might not be here at all.”
“I’m glad they takin’ good care of you.” She stood and shook her head. “Sweet girl like you needs taken care of.”
“I think they’re trying, especially Shotgun.” I thought back to those brief moments with him. “I’ve got a feeling that being nice doesn’t come easy to him.”
“I’m sure it don’t, but dat’s the way it is when you have the kind of loss he’s had.” She shook her head as she mumbled, “Umm-umm-umm. After all dat boy’s been through, it’s gotta be hard for him to let folks in. Easier to push ’em away. Might do him some good to have someone to tend to.”
She nodded to herself as she turned and went to the kitchen. When I didn’t respond, she kept on talking. “Um-hmm. He don’t even know dat part of him is still dare, but it is. I’d done seen it myself. Yes, sir. I seen how he takes after dem boys, and he takes after me too.”
I watched as she went over to the stove and put on a pot to boil. I was about to ask her what had happened to Shotgun when the door eased open and he stepped inside. Without saying a word, he walked over to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. Once he was done, he dried them off, then used the rag to wipe the sweat off his brow. He glanced over to Ada and asked, “Mind if I get a glass of water.”
“You know you don’t gotta ask.”
Like he’d done it a hundred times before, Shotgun stepped over to one of the cabinets, opened the right one and reached inside for a large glass. After he filled it with water, he leaned back against the counter and took a long drink. When he was done, he ran his hand over his mouth, wiping away the small droplets of water that were left behind, then looked over to Ada May with an expression I would’ve never expected from him. It was soft and innocent—like a child would look at their parent—and I could see the concern in his eyes as he asked, “That water heater still doing all right?”
“Shore is. Been doing great ever since you fixed it,” she replied proudly.
“Good.” Shotgun glanced around the room, making sure not to make eye contact with me, and asked, “You got anything else that needs to be done around here?”
“Well, if you got itchy fingers, you could take a look at that damn ol’ sink. It’s been giving me fits.”
Ada opened the bottom cabinets so he could see the bucket she had slipped under one of the drains. Shotgun knelt down so he could get a better look. “How long has it been like this?”
“Can’t really say.”
“You should’ve told me about this sooner.”
“Would’ve if you been 'round to tell.” There was a hint of hurt in her voice, which apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shotgun. I watched as he stood up and walked over to her, then leaned close as he said something I couldn’t hear. I have no idea what, but it brought a smile to her face. She patted him on the back as she asked, “How ’bout I make us some biscuits and gravy?”
“That would be great, just give me a minute to get the sink fixed.” Shotgun disappeared inside the open cabinets, and after clambering around for several minutes, he stood up and said, “All fixed.”
“Bless you, child.”
Just as the words left her mouth, something on the television caught my eye. When I turned to get a better look, I was surprised to see my picture plastered on the screen. I leaned closer, trying to listen as the reporter talked about the fact that I was still missing. It was hard to hear, but not nearly as hard as seeing my mother and father standing there with tears in their eyes while they pleaded for my return. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach. I wanted so desperately to reach out to my parents and let them know I was okay, but I already knew that wasn’t going to happen. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as Ada fussed. “I gotta get to cooking. Go see ’bout your friend. She looks upset.”