The Twelfth Child Read Online Free Page A

child was only nine years old when her Mama ran off and left her. The woman didn’t just run off; she disappeared without a trace. Destiny was shipped off to church camp for two weeks and when she got home she found her mama’s stuff gone from the apartment. For weeks she was there, living on whatever was left in the cupboard— plain spaghetti, cereal with no milk, crackers—all the while she figured her mama was sure to come back. She’d about run out of things to eat when the landlord came looking for rent money and discovered her living by herself. A neighbor lady took her in for a few months then she was shuffled from one spot to another until she was old enough to get a job and make her own way. I knew she was a spunky little thing by the way she tackled that old house; but I sure never supposed she had all that sadness in her life. I came close to telling her about how my own papa had no use for girl babies, but I figured we’d had enough fretting about the past for one day.
    Late that night, a rainstorm came up. In the springtime we get feathery rains, rain that sounds like an angel whispering; but this was a fall storm with the wind knocking flower pots to the cement and raindrops the size of grapefruits banging against the window. The noise woke me and I opened my eyes but stayed in bed. I was thinking about what a nice visit I’d had with Destiny when I heard a noise in the bush outside my bedroom window. A few months back the house at the end of the block was burgled, so I wasn’t about to take any chances. I jumped out of bed so fast you’d think my rear end was on fire and tiptoed down the hallway into the kitchen. I knew not to turn on any lights ‘cause it would give a burglar fair warning. Once I got hold of the big butcher knife, I slipped back into the bedroom and peeked through the venetian blind slats to see what was going on. Right there, on top of the wisteria bush, was that blasted newspaper. For a half-hour I laughed about what a silly old lady I’d gotten to be—but silly old lady, or not, I still had enough bravado to handle the situation without hollering for the police.
      The following day was Monday. Mondays and Fridays are when the county aide comes to lend a hand; although in this woman’s case I’d say it was more like a finger.  She does drive me to the grocery store, which is something I truly appreciate, but other than that, she hardly budges. I generally have to fix her lunch and if she stays a bit longer, I have to feed her an afternoon snack as well. “Oh, I know you want to watch Oprah,” she’ll say then plop herself down to listen to advice from Doctor Phil. Anyway, it was Tuesday before I got around to making some cookies—chocolate chip with walnut chunks. That evening when the lights in Destiny’s window came on, I headed over to her house. She had on paint-splattered dungarees and looked like she was ready to start working. “I don’t mean to barge in,” I said, “just wanted to bring you some of my homemade cookies.”
    “Oh my, don’t they look delicious!” A real glad smile brightened Destiny’s face and she pulled the door wide open. “Come on in,” she said, “we’ll have some together.”
    She didn’t have any tea but made instant coffee and set two cups on what was supposed to be her kitchen table—it was nothing more than a square of plywood on top of some cinderblocks. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the living room or the dining room, just two tipsy-looking lamps without any shades. Destiny must have thought I was the type to frown on such a thing, because she started apologizing. 
    “I’m sorry about the way this place looks,” she said.  “I’ve been working down at the book store and it doesn’t pay much so I haven’t bought any furniture yet. But, my luck’s about to change …” She laughed and rubbed her hands together like a kid with a jolly good secret. “I got a job that’s gonna pay real money,” she said.