Read Online Apple Brown Betty by Phillip Thomas Duck - Free Book Online Page B

his mother was in, and if he came back here and got revenge off that poor sucker Larry who held down this plot of land like he was Donald Trump, then Slay would be admitting something he didn’t even like to acknowledge in the solitude of his thoughts—his beautiful mother was a junkie. Slay looked around, over his shoulders. The night was still and quiet. They were alone. “Come on, Mama,” he said, placing his hands under her arms for support. “We need to get you home and cleaned up.”
    â€œWhat about my goldfishy?” Nancy asked.
    â€œHe’s gone,” Slay said. “I’ll get you another one, but you got to promise to keep him in the tank.”
    Â 
    Earlier, Cydney had a difficult time getting up for work. She’d thought a steaming-hot shower would loosen the tension in her shoulders but the water just seemed to bounce off her skin. She’d spent the night reworking the last pages of a paper for her Critical Thought class; then, unable to sleep, she combed through her dozens of movie videos searching for something to settle her down and possibly ease her into the bliss of her dreams. She picked While You Were Sleeping, ironically enough, always having loved the wonder of the romantic comedy. She wondered if she, like Sandra Bullock in the movie, would ever get her Mr. Right.
    Unfortunately, the movie made her even wider awake. She thought about her girlfriends from the old neighborhood. Chamique, Wanda and Miah. She wondered how many children they each had by now. She was glad, despite how hard it was, that she finally had the chance to pursue her college degree. She’d quickly stopped thinking of the old days. That life was firmly behind her. Her new life was college, the magazine, her new girlfriends Faith and Victoria. Changes for the better.
    She’d ended up calling Slay, catching him on his cell phone, some girl in the background talking all loud to let whoever was calling know that she had him for the night.
    â€œCyd-a-knee,” Shammond had said, slurring his words. “I was thinking about you.”
    Cydney was surprised to hear her brother sounding drunk. He despised alcohol and drugs. “Hey.”
    â€œI wanted to call you but I got tied up.” He giggled like a fool into the phone. “Wanted to let you know there’s going to be a memorial for George this weekend at the funeral home.”
    â€œChapman’s?”
    â€œCome on, Cyd-a-knee. You know ain’t nobody else to fix up niggas around here but Chapman.”
    â€œYes, I suppose.”
    â€œI’m handling all the arrangements—getting him cremated.”
    â€œCremated?”
    â€œYeah,” Shammond said. “It’ll be nice.”
    â€œWhat about his other children and his ex-wife, they in on it?”
    â€œSheeit,” Slay said, “they could care less. I did talk to his one daughter, though. She wanted to know if he had a policy or anything.”
    â€œDid he?”
    â€œGot some associates of mine looking into all that,” Slay said.
    Cydney never liked to think about that portion of Slay’s life, the portion where he had associates available to him. “Saturday?” she said.
    â€œYeah, around noon.” He giggled again.
    â€œYou been drinking, Shammond?”
    â€œLittle.”
    â€œWhy? Thought you didn’t drink.”
    â€œTaking my mind off things, is all,” he said. His mama, broken, beaten, addicted to that shit.
    â€œSaturday,” Cydney said. “Okay, I’ll be there. Bye.”
    â€œHey, yo, holeup,” he cut in. “What were you calling for?”
    â€œJust couldn’t sleep,” she told him.
    â€œAhhh, you learning to lean on me again, that’s good.”
    She smirked. Was it? “Bye.”
    â€œRight, right…and wear something nice to the memorial.”
    Â 
    Now, at the Elizabeth Arden fragrance counter for work, Cydney was fighting the ill