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"Is that so?" my mother said squirming with boredom. She nodded and smiled at someone across the room and then took another sip of her drink.

"Yes, only my Beni was murdered a few weeks ago," Mama shot back.

My mother nearly choked on her drink. She put the glass down and wiped her mouth quickly.

"Murdered?"

"Where we live, that isn't so unusual," Mama said. "Lots of times it doesn't even make the newspapers."

"I'm sorry. What a horrible thing. Was the killer caught?"

"No. He died himself from drugs, but that doesn't matter. It didn't bring Beni back. Anyway, my son Roy, he's going into the army, and Ken, the man your daddy paid, the man who's never been much of a father or a husband, lost his job again and gets drunk most of the time. I'm throwing him out."

"I see." She shifted in her seat as if she were sitting on a pea. "I'm sorry about all this, but I don't see..."

"I can't do it any more," Mama wailed. "With my husband gone, my son in the army, my youngest murdered, I can't do it any more," she concluded, raising her voice enough to make my mother look around to be sure we weren't attracting undue attention.

"Please, Mrs. Arnold. Let's keep our conversation at this table," she said.

"I don't care who hears me," Mama snapped.

"Well if you don't want any money, then what is it you want from me?" my mother asked petulantly.

"What I want?" Mama sat back. "What I want? I want you to take responsibility for your own flesh and blood. That's what I want," Mama said sharply.

For a moment my mother just stared at her. She gazed quickly at me and then back at Mama.

"Take responsibility?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"What's there to understand? She's your daughter. You're the one brought her into this world. It's time you took over."

"You expect me to take her into my home?"

"Don't you care? Look at her," Mama said nodding at me. "She's your real daughter. Doesn't blood mean anything to you people?"

My mother started to speak and then stopped as the waiter arrived with our food. She sat back and watched him serve us. Mama gazed at her food and looked up at me with a confused smile on her face.

"This sure doesn't look like any shrimp I've eaten before," she said.

"You'll find it delicious," my mother commented with a twist of her lips.

"Will there be anything else, Mrs. Randolph?" the waiter asked.

"No. Merci, Maurice," she said. She leaned forward on her elbows, glanced at me and then at Mama. "Let me understand what you're saying, Mrs. Arnold. You want to give her back to me now, after all these years?"

"She's a good girl and a beautiful girl. Anyone would want her for a daughter. She hasn't ever given me any trouble," Mama said.

"I believe that. However, this is ..." She shook her head and smiled. "This is incredible. How do I even know she's who you say she is?"

"Mama, let's go," I said. Those words stung.

"No," Mama snapped. "How do you even know?" Mama smiled coldly. "You know. Look at her. You know," Mama said firmly, nodding. "I'm not a stupid woman, Mrs. Randolph. I'm poor but I'm not stupid. There's medical ways to prove it and you know there is. If we have to do that, we will," she

threatened.

"Mama."

"Now just a minute, Mrs. Arnold..."