Angela Flournoy - The Turner House

“So do you forward em?” Tina asked.

She looked up at him, her gloved hands out in front of her like a doctor pre-operation.

“Of course not! It’s probably some people tryna steal folks’ metadata, or spyware, or whatever you call it.”

Tina’s face did that thing it liked to do when she prepared to say something righteous. Her eyebrows rose, her chin dropped a bit, and her freckles seemed to multiply. Cha-Cha knew the scripture she’d reach for.

“Whoever denies me before men, him I will also deny before my father who is in heaven,” she said, with more seriousness than Cha-Cha thought necessary. He opened his mouth to say something clever—he wasn’t sure what—and perhaps a bit combative in return, but Russell came into the dining room from the den.

A career military man like his older brother Quincy but not nearly as zealous, Russell was most similar to Francey in that he’d strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. He also had a penchant for creating nicknames, including for people he’d just met. The gift of gab resided within every Turner child—fights for parental attention required it—but to Cha-Cha, Russell’s level of gregariousness seemed less a product of genetics and more the result of a dogged, often annoying resolution to remain optimistic. His brother, the fourth child, had survived Vietnam, three decades in the marines, throat cancer, and, perhaps most harrowing, the shame of his firstborn son growing up to be a pro-prison, anti-“big government,” libertarian-leaning Republican. Russell would hold court on any subject except politics. Unbeknownst to all but Cha-Cha and Viola, he contributed the most money to Viola’s care, and his mother harbored a soft spot for him because of it.

“I take it all this chicken ain’t for me, the weekend guest of honor?” Russell said.

“Not this time,” Tina said. “The women’s ministry is hosting a picnic tomorrow.”

“Mmm-mmm, now you know I love a women’s ministry!” Russell said. He rubbed his hands together.

Tina swatted her spatula in his direction from the other side of the counter.

“You’re just as bad as Cha-Cha. Y’all both need more church.”

Cha-Cha heard cars pull into his driveway and went to open the front door.

Marlene, Francey, and Netti arrived in one car, Troy in another. Cha-Cha worked his way from one sister to the next, doling out squishy hugs and airy pecks on the cheek. He clapped Troy on the back, suppressed the undying urge to give his youngest brother a nougie.

“Where’s Mama? In her room?” Marlene asked. “I wanna say hi before we get started.”

She moved toward the hallway, and Russell cleared his throat.

“She just took her pills and finally went to sleep,” Russell said. “Don’t go in there waking her up. Maybe by the time we’re done meeting.”

Marlene turned back to the living room and rolled her eyes at Russell.

“Fine, but I’m not leavin without seeing her, Russ, you’d better believe. She’s not no little baby. She can go back to sleep.”

Russell might have garnered favor with Viola through monetary contribution, but Marlene’s sense of entitlement to her mother’s attention stemmed from time spent and sheer will.

“Anyway,” Netti said. “Anyone heard from Lelah? I called her earlier, but her house phone kept ringing. I think she’s got a new prepaid cause the cell number I tried didn’t go through.”

“I tried that prepaid number, and she didn’t answer either,” Cha-Cha said. He chose a barstool over a dining chair to give his left knee some relief, as did Russell. Turner knees, the left one in particular, became untrustworthy as one aged.

“I don’t know why that girl won’t go ahead and get a regular contract,” Netti said. “She’s like one of them drug dealers on TV, doesn’t want the government to track her down.”

“You’ve gotta have good credit to get a contract, don’t you?” Troy said. “Y’all know Lelah ain’t had good credit since high school.”

“Oooh,” Marlene and Netti said in unison.

“What happened today, Officer Troy? You in a bad mood?” Netti said.

“Alright!” Francey said. “It looks like it’s just gonna be us. Three boys and three girls. That’s good enough. It’s almost like a quorum.”

“Yes indeed, Francey-pants,” Troy said. “If you wanna make it real official, you can go ahead and take the minutes.” He stepped past her to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

“I just might take minutes, thank you very much. And I’ll be sure to note your intoxication levels in the official report.”

“Never mind Officer Troy. Can we kindly get this show on the road?” Marlene asked. “I’m tryna catch a rummage sale in Windsor early in the morning, so I need my beauty rest.”

“ Roomage sale?” Russell said, imitating their mother’s pronunciation. “Thought it was called a flea market nowadays. You turning into an old lady on me, Marly Marl?”

“Mama pronounces it roomage , I’m gonna at least say rummage, out of respect. You know what I mean.”

Viola no longer had the energy for the requisite bargain hunting and haggling, but Marlene still ran the clothing booth that they had manned together at a local flea market for years. She handed half of the proceeds over to Cha-Cha to help in Viola’s care.

“Alright,” Cha-Cha said, trying to sound formal. “Let’s get to business.”

“Yes, let’s,” Marlene said.

“After being on hold for forever, I finally talked to the bank about Mama’s house. Apparently, under the advice of I don’t know who , Mama refinanced in ’94 after Daddy died. A couple years before I got in charge of her affairs.”

“That was my advice,” Netti said. “And it was good at the time. All of y’all were broke or busy feeding your kids, and those social security checks weren’t enough for Mama to survive on.” Netti, the seventh child, worked for an accounting firm. She was a lead administrator, not a CPA, but she had a general handle on money, always put more aside than most.

“Nobody’s blaming you, Netti,” Francey said. “Cha-Cha is just laying out the facts.”

“Thank you, Francey,” Cha-Cha said. “So anyway, Mama owes about forty thousand, but that house, even though it’s the nicest one on Yarrow, is only worth four thousand dollars.”

Gasps and epithets filled the dining room, even a “What in the hell? ” from Tina, the born-again non-curser, in the kitchen.

“That’s the same thing I said,” Cha-Cha said, referring to one of the curses, or maybe all of them. “But let’s not act like Yarrow ain’t been doin bad for a while now.”

“Doin bad, sure, but four thousand dollars?” Netti said, “You can’t even buy a car with that.”

“The appliances me and Richard just put in there cost almost half that amount,” Francey said.

“I know. But four thousand is just a number we’re all gonna have to accept. This meeting isn’t about that number. It’s to decide what we’re gonna do about the Yarrow Street house.”

“What do you mean, do? ” Marlene asked.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious,” Cha-Cha said. But here he paused a beat too long, which made everyone fearful of what he’d say. “We’ll have to short-sell it, unless we can come up with some other option.”

There was no uproar here, no additional curse words flung into the air. Instead all the siblings got familiar with the carpet on the dining room floor, ran through assets and expenses in their heads. Everyone knew what short-selling meant; the depressed housing market had made the term commonplace. You stopped making payments on your house, then the bank agreed to sell it for what it was currently worth. You didn’t see a penny of the sale money, but at least you didn’t owe the difference. Each sibling also took a quick assessment of the level of personal guilt in the situation. When was the last time they’d lived on Yarrow? The last time they’d visited, or added equity to the house in some way or other? There was an email sent out by Marlene, right around the time of Cha-Cha’s accident, asking who might be able to come live on Yarrow, to help Mama manage, so she wouldn’t be alone. Everyone had been too busy with mortgages, or their own grandkids, or spouses. Well, everyone except for Lonnie, who was out in California and living God knows how, but no one wanted him back on Yarrow, getting into God knows what kind of trouble with his old friends. Silently, to themselves, the six siblings in the dining room all concluded that they were culpable in some way or other, even if it was just for not having enough money saved up to hand over the $40,000 right now.