Margaret Sexton - A Kind of Freedom

The doorbell rang. She couldn’t imagine who it might be, possibly one of the neighbors; Terry had his own key back now. Of course, Jackie would tell whomever that it wasn’t a good time. The baby would be up in thirty minutes and she had to boil that rice. She walked toward the door, opened it without looking through the peephole, prepared to hand out some tired excuse. She would have gasped when she saw Sybil, but she wouldn’t give her sister the power of knowing she had rattled her. She couldn’t form a single word, and it was Sybil who spoke first.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?”

By habit Jackie did as she was told, though the truth was she should have made up an excuse, any excuse, as to why she couldn’t be hospitable. Terry would be home any minute.

“You want some Kool-Aid or something like that?” Jackie asked.

“I’ll take a Coke, diet if you have it,” Sybil called out, and Jackie moved to the kitchen as though she were on autopilot.

“It’s looking good in here, Jackie Marie. I expected a cyclone like the last few times. Mama said you were getting it together, but I had to see for myself.” Jackie was back now with the drink. Sybil took a sip before adding. “It’s good to see that you’re everything she said you were.”

Jackie sat opposite her sister. In a minute she would get herself together enough to ask her to leave. She would be polite about it, but assertive, and she wouldn’t let up until Sybil was out the door. Any minute now she would figure out how to do that very thing.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Sybil went on. “I have a client out here. I don’t usually make house calls of course, they come to me, but this one”—she shook her head—“I can’t trust him to lead himself to the bathroom on time, much less make it downtown to my office.”

“What’d he do?” Jackie asked to extend the time between the present and the moment she’d act.

Sybil shook her head again. “Selling. It’s a favor for one of Mama’s friends’ sons. You know I don’t represent those lowlifes anymore. But any day now, I’m going to get that contract, and all of this is going to be behind me, favor or not. See, these corporations don’t want to go to trial, they can’t risk a bad reputation, they’d rather just write a big check and forget somebody ever slipped in their bathroom, or that a whole class of kids got food poisoning from their meat. It’s easy money with them, not like this nigger mess.” She took another sip from her can, a sip so dainty Jackie couldn’t even see her swallow. “Like for instance, this man today said he was done, right, but in the few minutes I was at his house, five crackheads knocked at the door, skinny as light poles, eyes darting everywhere, no teeth. I don’t know how these people start this junk, don’t they see what it does to everybody around them?” She shook her head again. “And I damn sure don’t know how you do it, Jackie, living next door to these clowns. My client might as well be your neighbor, he’s just a few blocks away, been dealing for a full year, just got caught for the first time, and wants to tell me it’s not fair. He didn’t have a choice. He’s listing off the people who depend on him. Of course he’s got two kids. He’s barely twenty. His mama’s in a wheelchair, his daddy’s in jail, blah blah blah. I should carry a harp around in my briefcase.”

Sybil kept going, oblivious to the fact Jackie had tuned her out. Jackie heard the baby stir, and she jumped up.

“Sybil, I’ve got to take T.C. to the doctor,” she said. “That’s why I’m home today, he woke up sick, so I made an appointment”—she checked her watch—“for four thirty, so I need to get him dressed.”

“Oh, I know, Mama told me; my poor baby, let me see him,” Sybil stood with her and headed to the back of the house where he slept.

Jackie passed the window on the way to her bedroom, peered out to see if her car was pulling into the lot, but no, not yet. By the time she reached the baby, Sybil had scooped him up, was petting his back, and he’d resettled on her shoulder.

“It was good to see you but—” Jackie started.

“Let me help you get ready, Jackie,” Sybil said.

Usually when Sybil talked she carried an air of authority, and what could Jackie say to refute it, because it had been earned? But now she sounded more desperate than assertive, as though holding this child was the best thing that would happen to her all day, all week even, and she wasn’t going to push her way in, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need it.

“Okay,” Jackie said. “Okay,” she repeated.

Jackie changed the baby’s diaper, and Sybil peered over her shoulder. Jackie found with her sister watching, her hands shook; she had changed thousands of diapers in the past seven months, but she tore the tape off the first one and had to start again. In the meantime the baby peed in the air, sprinkling them both. Jackie was mortified — ordinarily, she never left his penis uncovered — but with her sister there, she’d forgotten. Sybil just laughed though, a deep guttural sound that seemed genuine.

When they were done, they walked back to the living room. Sybil held the baby while Jackie packed her diaper bag. Jackie began to relax; it seemed as if she just might have enough time to push her sister out before Terry came home. Of course there was no doctor’s appointment, but Jackie could drive in that direction then veer off to the grocery store or the park. She hitched her bag on her shoulder, reached out for the baby.

“I can carry him to the car,” Sybil said. “Give you a break.”

Jackie nodded. What was the use in fighting now? She had made it. She was a few feet from the door when she heard keys jingling in the lock, saw the knob turning. Jackie stopped where she was. She wasn’t surprised, nor angry, nor disappointed even, just resigned. She had been expecting it all along she saw now, and maybe it was ordained. Sybil turned to her but Jackie just looked straight ahead, waiting.

The door swung open and Terry started to walk in, then stopped.

They all stood in silence, even the baby, who seemed to sense the tension of the moment.

Finally, Terry walked over and hugged Sybil.

“You’re looking good, girl,” he said. “Looking real good. Jackie tells me you’re big-time now.”

Sybil nodded, speechless, but unwilling to ignore a compliment.

“I don’t know how much you know,” he went on, “but”—he walked over to Jackie and grabbed her hand—“I’ve been clean and sober for going on three months now; I’m getting myself together. It’s a process, but I’m taking it day by day.”

Moment by moment , Jackie thought to add but stayed silent. He was explaining enough for both of them, and she couldn’t help but notice that all the extra talk weakened his case. Still, she grabbed his hand.

“And then, Jackie,” he turned to her, smiling, then glanced back at Sybil, “Jackie doesn’t know this yet, but I got a job today.”

“Where?” Sybil asked. It was the first thing she’d said, and it came out cold.

“At a mail-order specialty pharmacy,” he paused, “in the Lower Ninth Ward. Not at the Walgreens or anything like that.” He looked down. “It’s going to take time to get back to that level.”

Sybil nodded, smug, seeming to smirk. She had been holding the baby but she passed him over to his father.

“Well, you have a lot of motivation in this one.” She smacked a kiss on the baby’s face, didn’t bother to wipe the lipstick lingering on his chin.

T.C. cried when his father took him, and Jackie had to console him.

“He never does that,” Jackie said to no one in particular but loud enough for her sister to hear. “He’s so crazy about his daddy, he never does that,” she repeated.