Page 5 of Untethered

The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed in a way I hadn’t felt in a while. I looked toward the other side of the bed. Mama was gone. I didn’t know when she’d gotten up. I glanced over at my clock; it was five in the morning. I had to get up even though my bed was like a comfortable cocoon—a refuge from the turmoil in my life, a place where I didn’t feel the pain of loss or the fear of more bad news. But duty called, and it seemed to summon me in loud yells rather than soft whispers. Plus, I wanted to call my cousin Alicia before leaving for work.

Alicia was an early riser too. Her husband, Curtis, was a garbageman and he woke up at the crack of dawn to start his work. Alicia got up before him and made him a hot breakfast and packed his lunch. I used to tease her about spoiling him, but when she said he was all she had to spoil in their house, I stopped with the teasing. Just like me, Alicia had no children. She and Curtis had been trying since they’d married three years ago, but unfortunately, she had miscarried every single pregnancy.

I padded quietly down the hallway, stopping to peek into Mama’s room. She was asleep. I made sure, as I went to the kitchen on the other end of the house, not to be loud. I didn’t want to wake her up. I picked up the phone and dialed Alicia’s number. As usual, she picked up after the first couple of rings.

“Hey, cousin,”

she said. “What’s new with you?”

I filled her in on my brothers being missing in action. We both shed some tears. Although Alicia was closer to me than to the twins, they were like little brothers to her too. We all grew up together. Alicia and I were only a few months apart in age. For a time, family members called us the Bobbsey Twins after the characters in the books.

Once I got her caught up on everything, we both expressed excitement about seeing each other for Thanksgiving. She’d visit for the holidays, along with as many of our Mobile, Alabama, family members who could come. Half of the family would stay with Great-Aunt Hess, my grandmother’s only surviving sibling, and the other half would stay with Mama and me. Thanksgiving dinner rotated from house to house. This year it was our year to host.

“I want you to make sure you take some time to relax,”

Alicia said. “I know that group home has become your life, but you deserve happiness outside of those walls.”

I didn’t respond. Focusing on the group home kept me from being lonely. Those boys needed me, and that gave my life purpose. I’d be lying if I said my relationship with Leon was fulfilling in any way. Almost as if Alicia could read my mind, she brought up Leon.

“Listen, honey,”

she continued. “Leon is a good man. Don’t get me wrong. But he is not the man for you. I want you to have someone who curls your toes, girl. Someone who makes you feel like those women in your paperbacks.”

I touched my face as it grew hot. It seemed everybody knew about my vice of reading steamy paperbacks. It was funny. I could read all day about other women in romantic relationships, and I could even listen to Alicia talk about her love for Curtis and his love for her. Yet anytime I tried to imagine myself with a man who loved me like the men in my books loved their women or like Curtis loved Alicia, I started blushing and feeling awkward.

The only person I’d ever had a legitimate crush on was a boy I used to tutor in high school named Seth Taylor. He was a football player. The handsomest boy ever, who had no time for me. He was nice enough, but he barely glanced my way. I was good for helping his GPA but nothing more. I was a big girl with huge glasses and frumpy clothes, not much different than I was now. Definitely, I wasn’t the kind of girl who attracted boys like Seth.

As tradition would dictate, he fell in love with the cheerleader captain, Denise, and the two, as far as I knew, continued to live happily ever after. The last I’d heard they were living in Atlanta. I dated a few guys here and there over the years, but I didn’t vibe with any of them, and after a while I threw myself into my work, figuring I wasn’t the dating or marrying kind. Then Leon came along and filled the void as best he could. I’d resigned myself to the fact that he was enough for me. He was kind to me and Mama. What more could I ask for?

“I can’t wait to see you,”

I said, shifting the conversation.

Alicia laughed, but she didn’t bring up my romantic life, or lack thereof, anymore. We continued to chat, promising to talk later today. Then I went to the bathroom and took a quick shower. No soaking in the tub this morning. No Nina Simone to lull me into a sexy mood. Just the quiet. I needed to get dressed and leave for work, so I didn’t even listen to any music. I just mentally reviewed my day’s schedule.

I had to get all of the paperwork in order for the boys who’d be returning to their families for the holidays. This meant all fifteen of them, minus Chad and Pee Wee. Some of them would be returning for good, hopefully. The others would be gone for a few days. The houseparents and I always scheduled appointments for the families to come in and review the visitation and/or reintegration plan. We did a lot of counseling and planning to make sure the environment was conducive to the child successfully reuniting with his family. Some of our boys had only been away from their families for a few weeks. Others had been away for months. Rejoining the family after living in such a structured environment as the group home can be hard, and we wanted to do everything we could to ensure success.

I was thinking about these things as I walked down the hallway, but I was nearly stopped in my tracks by the delicious aromas wafting throughout the house. For a minute, I thought I was dreaming. I entered the kitchen, and Mama had a full breakfast on the table—bacon, eggs, grits, toast, and orange juice. Normally Mama slept in. I’d hear from her about midmorning, but unless it was a special occasion—Thanksgiving, Christmas, or the twins’ or my birthday—Mama never made breakfast. She’d throw down for the other meals, but for breakfast we were on our own.

“Mama? What’s all this for?”

I went over to the sink where she was washing dishes and hugged her. She was still wearing her dressing gown and robe, and her hair was in rollers, but she looked at me with loving eyes—no smile, but the love was there. It always was, even when she was scolding me about something or another.

“Thought I’d surprise you with a good hot breakfast before you headed out,”

she said. “Go sit down and eat before the food gets cold. I don’t want you being late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I wasn’t really hungry yet, but I wasn’t going to insult Mama by not eating. Anyway, the food sure was smelling good. I put some of everything on my plate and said a blessing, specifically mentioning my brothers by name. I wanted God Himself to know they had people who loved them, and we weren’t ready to surrender them to the bosom of Abraham. Mama sat down but didn’t fix herself a plate. She just looked at me.

“Do you think they’ll find the boys?”

she asked, dabbing the tears from her eyes with a napkin. I should have known that this brave face she’d put on was a ruse. “Last night I kept hearing one of the twins calling out to me in my dreams. But just one. Not the both of them, and I couldn’t tell which one of them it was saying, ‘Mama. Mama.’”

“Don’t go getting wound up, Mama.”

I set down my fork and reached for her hand. “Yesterday I called everyone I could think of who might have some answers, but I am not giving up. I’ll call them over and over until we find out something. Okay?”

Mama nodded and rose from the table. “I’m gone go lay back down. You finish your breakfast.”

I watched as she walked out of the room. What little bit of an appetite I’d been able to muster was gone. I got up and straightened the kitchen, then made my way out to my truck, all the while praying that Mama’s intuition was wrong. It wasn’t as cold today as it was yesterday, but I felt like I might never be warm again after the conversation I just had with Mama.

I hoped that maybe the war would end soon and both boys would come home, but every newspaper headline seemed to indicate the opposite. Just yesterday I’d hidden the paper from Mama, something I’d been doing on and off the last few months as things seemed to escalate over there. The headline yesterday said “Communists Shell 25th Infantry, Kill Five, Wounding 27 Soldiers.”

My brothers weren’t part of the Twenty-Fifth Infantry Division, but the panic I felt was as severe as if they were, and I knew Mama couldn’t handle any more painful news like that. I didn’t even like her watching Cronkite in the evenings anymore, but his soothing voice—even as he shared tragic news—seemed to calm her.

Mama had always been in tune with the boys in ways I didn’t understand. I was Daddy’s twin. He’d understood me in ways Mama never did. The boys were her heartbeats, and she could feel when something was going right with them or when something was going wrong. When they were seniors in high school, they’d plotted to wait until Mama and I went to bed and then sneak out and meet up with some girls. Unbeknownst to them, Mama had one of her “feelings”

and got back up. When they finally tried to sneak out, she was sitting in the living room with a belt in her lap. She had never whipped them, but the threat was always there. She said they pretended like they were sleepwalking and hurried their butts back to bed. The next day, when it was just the two of us, Mama and I laughed so hard I thought we’d lose our breath.

“They snored like they sound asleep,”

she had said, laughing and snorting, holding her arms out to mimic them playacting like they were sleepwalking.

I wiped a tear from my eye as I started up my truck. What I wouldn’t give right now to have them back home, roughhousing with each other or begging me for some spending money so they could go to the movies. My brothers were everything to me and Mama. Losing them would be unimaginable.

The ride to the group home was uneventful. It was so early, the roads were almost empty. When I exited my truck, I held my breath for a second and listened. All was quiet.

“Thank you,”

I whispered to God under my breath as I pulled my coat closer around my body.

I walked toward the door, continuing to thank God and all of the guardian angels that I wasn’t hearing any commotion this morning. When you’re in charge of a house full of rowdy boys, the best sound you will ever hear is silence.

Chad met me at the door with a huge grin on his face—a far cry from the previous day.

“Good morning, Miss Katia.”

He reached for my bags. “I’ll take your stuff.”

“Thank you.”

I handed over my bags and my coat. “What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

“Last night after you left, I played Mr. Jason in chess and I won,” he said.

“Hold up,”

Jason said, coming toward us, an equally large grin on his face. “If you’re going to tell this story, tell it true.”

“Okay, I didn’t actually beat him, but we reached a . . . a . . . What you call it, Mr. Jason?”

“A draw. It means neither one of us could beat the other. It was a tie.”

Jason wrapped his arm around Chad’s shoulders. “But I will admit, I have taught you all of my best moves. Miss Katia, when he opened with the King’s Gambit, I knew I was in trouble.”

We all laughed.

“I love the sound of this, Chad.”

I gave him a quick hug. “Anyone can play checkers, but it takes a brilliant mind to play chess. It takes an even more brilliant mind to beat Jason.”

“I didn’t beat him. This time.”

Chad grinned. “But next time? Just wait. I’m gone figure out how to beat’ em. Miss Katia, you reckon I could get some books on playing chess? Nothing new. Like a library book or something?”

Even though the public library was integrated, just like the schools were, I was still hesitant about taking my boys there. I didn’t want to risk something bad happening, and I saw how some people treated them after finding out they were residents at the group home.

One time we were at the grocery store, and though the boys never left the sight of the houseparents they were with, a store manager insisted he saw one of my boys pocket a candy bar. The accused boy emptied his pockets, proving he hadn’t stolen anything, but the experience had left a bad taste in all of our mouths. I tried to make sure the boys went to places they were welcome, like the Black barbershop or church. Integration didn’t equal fair treatment, and my boys had been hurt enough in their short lives. For now, I wasn’t willing to put them into any situations where their emotions might get the best of them.

“I’ve got a couple of books at home I can loan you, Chad,”

Jason said quickly. I smiled at him, and he nodded as if he understood my hesitation. Knowing Jason, he probably did. Out of all the assistants I’d had over the last few years—and there had been many because this was a high-stress job that most people couldn’t handle—Jason was the one I most trusted.

“I’ll run by the house and get them before I pick you boys up from school this afternoon. You hurry up and take Miss Katia’s things to her office, and then finish getting dressed so you can eat. The van will be leaving soon,”

Jason told Chad.

“Yes, sir,”

Chad said and rushed toward my office so he could deposit my things.

“Thank you, Jason.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I know we have to get used to a world where we can go wherever we like, but . . .”

“But this is still Troy, Alabama, at the end of the day,”

he said, nearly finishing my sentence. “We’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go.”

“I’m glad you get it.”

I started to walk away, but then I stopped and turned back toward him. “Jason, when you get back from your classes today, I want to talk with you about the holidays.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

he said. “Is anything wrong?”

I hated that the default for those of us in this line of work tended to be fear that the other shoe was dropping or had already dropped. I guessed, for those of us who worked with vulnerable populations, it sort of went with the territory.

“Nothing’s wrong,”

I reassured him. “I’ve been talking to the caseworkers for all of the boys, and it looks like everyone except Pee Wee and Chad have a place to go for Thanksgiving, maybe even Christmas and beyond. Obviously, Chad cannot go and spend the holidays with Lena, and Pee Wee’s grandmother has pretty much washed her hands of him. The poor woman has three teenagers of her own and at least three grandchildren living in her three-bedroom apartment. I’m going to call her this morning, but I doubt she’s going to want him to come stay for any of the holidays. Of all of her grandchildren, she bonded with him the least, I think. It’s sad. He’s such a good little boy. I want to talk to you about some options for those two so we can shut down the group home during the holiday season and employees can have a break and be with their families.”

I’d been toying with taking Pee Wee and Chad home with me for Thanksgiving. In the past, if there were only a few boys lacking stable homes to go to for the holidays, I’d sometimes give my staff the holidays off and stay at the group home with the boys, or if there was only a boy or two, I’d clear it with their caseworkers and take them home with me.

I didn’t want to be away from Mama, especially this year, so I needed to see what Jason thought about me taking the boys to my house. I still needed to get things approved by their caseworkers. I didn’t foresee having any issues with Pee Wee’s caseworker, but I was clearly not one of Mrs. Gates’s favorite people right now. If I had to stay at the group home with them, I would, but I hoped they could experience Thanksgiving at my house.

My mind briefly drifted to Chad’s words from the previous day. “I wish you were my mama,”

he’d said. I had pushed his pronouncement out of my mind, but his words had touched me. I knew the cardinal rule for running a group home: stay engaged, but stay detached. With Pee Wee and Chad, I knew I wasn’t operating from a safe distance. I cared about both of them, especially Chad, and the idea of either of them going back to their old homes scared me. Fortunately, Pee Wee’s caseworker agreed that Pee Wee wasn’t safe with his mother and the grandmother wasn’t a viable option for him right now, if ever. I prayed Mrs. Gates would figure out the same when it came to Chad.

“I’ll come by as soon as I’m done with class. I only have one today,”

Jason said. I was so deep in thought, I nearly jumped.

“Great,”

I said quickly. Too many times over the last twenty-four hours or so, I had been unfocused. I hated that feeling and I was determined to pull myself together. “I’ll see you then.”

As I approached my office, Leslie was hanging up her coat.

“Good morning, Leslie,”

I greeted her.

“Good morning, Miss Daniels,”

she said with a smile. I was happy to see she was back to her old self. I didn’t want the Chad incident to get to her. This career was easy to burn out from because there was often more bad news than good. That’s why I celebrated those young men whose pictures were on my wall. They were a constant reminder to me that our work was important and change was possible for the boys. Every night I had the houseparents ask the boys to repeat the following: I am not my circumstances. Even when it feels like all hope is lost, I am still a winner.

“Around nine or so, I need you to get Mrs. Gates on the phone,”

I said. “If she asks what it’s about, just tell her Chad. I’ll tell her the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

she said, writing down my every word. I stifled a smile. I didn’t want to be the Big Bad Wolf with my staff, but I’d rather they fear my wrath than make a mistake that could lose a boy his freedom, or worse, his life. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“I’ve got a list of things a mile long. After you call Chad’s caseworker, I need you to get Pee Wee’s grandmother on the line. After that, I’ll need you to call Pee Wee’s caseworker.”

I figured I’d tackle the most difficult calls first. “Let me go get settled, get a cup of coffee inside my belly, and then we can get down to business,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am,”

she said. “Your coffee is already percolating. I made it as soon as I walked in.”

“Thank you, Leslie. Much appreciated.”

I went into my office and eased the door shut. I headed straight for the coffeepot, poured myself a full cup, and took a sip. It tasted delicious. I saw that Chad had neatly hung up my coat and placed my briefcase on my desk. I sat down and started on the paperwork. I hadn’t been working long when someone knocked on my door.

“Come in,”

I said. Pee Wee and Chad burst into the room, their faces aglow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, young sirs? Don’t you boys have things to do? Mr. Jason will be taking you to school soon.”

“Yes, ma’am. You see, Pee Wee and me—”

“Pee Wee and I,”

I corrected, smiling because their enthusiasm was contagious.

“Yes, ma’am,”

he said hurriedly. “Pee Wee and I—”

“L-l-let me t-t-t-tell it, Ch-Ch-Chad,”

Pee Wee begged, hopping on one foot, something he did when he was excited. Some of the other boys used to tease him about it and call him Hop-along until Chad warned them to stop. Because Chad wasn’t threatening about it, I allowed him to be Pee Wee’s guardian angel. It helped the boys when they could see that others needed support, just like them.

“Okay, Pee Wee,”

Chad said with a huge sigh. “Slow down and say your words right. We ain’t got all morning.”

Pee Wee’s face fell. I could tell he was hurt by his friend’s words. “Y-y-you t-t-tell h-h-h . . .”

He hung his head.

I looked at Chad expectantly. I tried to give the boys time to do the right thing before I chimed in. I knew Chad knew better than to make Pee Wee feel less-than because he stuttered.

Chad reached out and placed his hand on Pee Wee’s shoulder. “Naw, buddy. You tell her. It was your idea. I’m sorry. I just got excited. That’s all.”

Pee Wee gazed up at Chad with the eyes of a true worshiper. Chad and I both watched as Pee Wee took a deep breath. Pee Wee saw a speech therapist at his school each week, and it was helping, but whenever he got anxious or excited, his ability to speak got worse. One thing we were all trying to do, staff and residents, was encourage Pee Wee to talk more, even when it made him uncomfortable.

“Last night, M-M-Mr. Jason told us about chess t-t-t . . .”

He looked up at Chad helplessly.

“You doing good,”

Chad said, nodding and smiling. “Just take your time. Like you said, ‘Last night, Mr. Jason told us about chess . . .’ Finish it. You got it, buddy.”

Pee Wee bit his bottom lip, but then he started talking again. “Tournaments. He said they have ch-ch-chess tournaments, b-b-but you have to have a cl-cl-club. W-w-we wondered if w-w-we could start one.”

Chad looked over at Pee Wee, as if waiting for permission to speak. Pee Wee nodded with a grin. “T-t-tell her the r-r-rest.”

So Chad shared elaborate details about starting a chess club at the group home and competing in competitions.

“Mr. Jason could coach us,”

Chad said excitedly. “It’ll be awesome.”

I smiled. That the two of them came up with such a thoughtful plan made me warm all over, in spite of the chilliness of my office. I wanted to say yes. God knows I did, but the group home wasn’t set up to support an activity like that. It would require traveling money and tournament fees, not to mention permission from the state to transport the boys to and from tournaments. And because our doors were constantly revolving with boys coming in and leaving, I didn’t see how this would work. However, I didn’t want to shut down their enthusiasm.

“Let me talk to Mr. Jason during staffing today, and we’ll take your well-thought-out proposal into consideration.”

I wasn’t sure what we would come up with, but I wanted to at least try to figure out something. It wasn’t often that the boys got passionate about a game like chess. Usually, they all wanted to play Monopoly or checkers. Somehow I just knew we could figure out something.

Chad and Pee Wee high-fived each other. “Yes, ma’am,”

they said in unison.

“Good. Now you boys hurry on so you aren’t late for school. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

they yelled and ran out of the room, chatting away about their brilliant plan.

I returned to my paperwork, a smile on my face as well. Moments like these were definitely ones to cherish. Leslie came in and we mapped out the 101 things I felt like we needed to accomplish today, knowing that we’d be doing well to finish even half of what was on my list. By the time we wrapped up, it was fifteen minutes before nine.

“Well, might as well get it over with,”

I said. “Go see if you can get Mrs. Gates on the line.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

Leslie said and left the room. A few minutes later, she buzzed. “Mrs. Gates is on the line, Miss Katia.”

“Thank you, Leslie,”

I said and waited until her phone clicked. “Good morning, Mrs. Gates.”

“Good morning, Miss Daniels,”

she said, her dry tone reverberating over the line. “Your secretary said you needed to speak to me about Chad. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it is. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about taking Chad to my home for Thanksgiving.”

I explained to her that the other boys would be leaving or spending time with family. Once I stopped talking, I held my breath. After what felt like several minutes, she spoke.

“That sounds alright with me,”

she said. “Barring a court order demanding Chad be returned to his mother between now and then, I see no reason why he can’t spend the holiday with you and your family. Perhaps it will do Chad good.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gates,”

I said. “I do appreciate you being so gracious.”

“I know you don’t think much of me and how I conduct business, but I am merely trying to follow the guidelines,”

she said stiffly. “I truly do have Chad’s best interests in mind. It would be nice if you could return my kindness with kindness of your own sometimes.”

“Thank you,”

I repeated. I wasn’t about to quibble and was okay with her getting the final word on the matter. “Take care, Mrs. Gates.”

“You too,”

she said. “Make sure you get the necessary paperwork to me this week. I would hate for Chad to miss out on this excursion due to time constraints.”

“I’ll get the paperwork to you today, Mrs. Gates. And again, thank you.”

I eased the phone back into its cradle.

My next call was to Pee Wee’s grandmother. The phone rang several times before she picked up.

“Yeah,”

she answered.

“Hello, Miss Staples. This is Katia Daniels, the executive director at the Pike County—”

“I know who you are. What you want?”

Anyone else might be offended by her abrasiveness, but I wasn’t. I knew she was overextended with all of those mouths to feed and personalities to deal with in her tiny apartment.

“Miss Staples, I’m calling you about Pee Wee. The holidays are coming up and I wondered if you might want to see him. Even if for a few hours,” I said.

“I ain’t got time, money, or energy to deal with nobody else. I told his caseworker the same thang,”

she said harshly. “Y’all need to start talking to each other so you can stop calling me. I wish the boy well, but call his mama’s people. I told Nathan to leave that trashy white gal alone, but he didn’t want to listen, so now, because of her, he doing time in prison for selling drugs and shooting that white man. In the meantime, I’m raising my three teens, two of Nathan’s other children, three grandchildren by my oldest two daughters, plus two nieces and one nephew that got dumped on me last week. Ain’t no room in the inn.”

Before I could say anything else, she hung up the phone. I couldn’t be angry with the poor woman. A three-bedroom apartment with twelve people in it was unimaginable. I didn’t bother looking up the number for Pee Wee’s white family. They had disowned their daughter as soon as they heard she was sleeping with a Black man, and when she went to jail for selling drugs and being an accomplice to a murder, they’d sent a letter to DHS saying never to contact them again about Pee Wee or their daughter. Unfortunately, Pee Wee’s story wasn’t much better than Chad’s. I understood more and more why the two of them had bonded. Pain recognized pain.

I called Pee Wee’s caseworker, and she was thrilled that I was willing to take him home for the holidays.

“Maybe it will take his mind off what he doesn’t have in his life,”

she said. “He’s such a sweet boy. I spoke to his mother last week and she said, without any prompting from me, that she would like to relinquish custody of him so he can perhaps get adopted. We reached out to his father, but we haven’t heard from him yet. I feel like we might have a shot at getting Pee Wee a family—a permanent family. He’s so lovable.”

“All of our boys are lovable,”

I snapped, then quickly caught myself. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gonzalez. I know you mean well. Your words struck a nerve. If any of the boys get adopted, Pee Wee would be top on the list because he is lovable and easy to deal with, for the most part. I just wish that all of our boys could get the love and safety they deserve too.”

I’d been in this business long enough to know the rules of how adoption often worked: the babies went first. Then the toddlers, and finally, children like Pee Wee, who were cute and cuddly. Boys like Chad were often ignored because they didn’t look the part or their history was so fraught with bad behavior that no one wanted to take a chance on them.

After I said my goodbyes to Mrs. Gonzalez, I tried to shake my current mood. I reminded myself that the good part in all of this was that I’d be able to show Chad and Pee Wee what it was like to spend the holidays with a loving family, and really, wasn’t that what it was all about?