Leaving Atlanta Read Online Free Page B

wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t as interesting as
The Dating Game
, but it was neck and neck with
The Flintstones
, since she had seen all of the episodes already. At least the news never played a rerun. There was a black lady on Channel
     Two whom Mama liked to call by her first name and critique on her appearance like she was somebody they actually knew. “Monica
     should know better than to pull her hair off her face like that,” Mama might say, pouring melted Velveeta over broccoli.
    Tasha was going to say, “I like that top Monica Kaufman has on,” as soon as she finished chewing. But before she could swallow,
     the pictures of the children appeared on the screen. Nine photos that looked like school pictures were arranged in three rows
     like a tic-tac-toe game waiting to be played. Tasha stared hard at the TV. She had a mouth full of soft sweet fruit that she
     tried to swallow, but her throat was constricted and she coughed. Instead of patting her back, Mama said quietly, sternly,
     “Hush.”
    “Mama,” DeShaun said.
    “Hush.”
    Somebody had murdered all those kids. Two little girls, all the rest boys. What had happened? Tasha had seen a couple of people
     get murdered on TV. There was the noise of a gun and then the person lying on the floor with a big spot of ketchupy blood
     on his clothes. She wasn’t sure how the gun killed people. A bullet was involved, yes. But a bullet was a teensy thing that
     could fit on just one of your fingers.
    “All them kids are killed?” DeShaun asked. She was looking at the girl in the upper left-hand corner, who was about her same
     age. The girl was smiling with her mouth open, as if the photographer had been playing with puppets to make her laugh right
     before snapping the picture.
    “Some of them,” Tasha said, leaning forward to hear better.
    DeShaun hooked her fingers between her bottom lip and teeth. She was about to cry; Tasha noted her little sister’s fluttering
     eyelashes. She pushed the can of peaches toward her sister in an effort to hold off the gusher until the news was over because
     DeShaun didn’t cry like regular people; she wailed, and nobody would be able to hear the news over that racket. When DeShaun
     opened her mouth to let out a whopper, the phone rang, choking her sobs in mid-bawl.
    “Hello,” Mama said. “Yeah, we’re watching right now.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Of course they’re home.”
     Noisy exhale. “I haven’t had a
chance
to talk to them yet. We get the news at six o’clock, same as you.” Mama shifted the phone to her other ear and turned her
     eyes toward the ceiling. “Fine,” she said. “Here’s Tasha.”
    Daddy’s voice was deep, like a hole that went all the way to China. “Hey, baby,” he said. “You watching the news?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Listen”—his voice was serious—“I want you and DeShaun to come right home after school. Hold your sister’s hand and don’t
     talk to anybody. You hear me?”
    “Yes, sir,” Tasha said. He sounded like he was mad. That wasn’t fair. She knew he wasn’t going to talk to DeShaun like that.
     Tasha decided that she had a question for
him
. “Daddy, where are you?”
    Mama looked at her sharply across the table. She opened her mouth but then she shut it again, pressing her lips together tightly
     as a warning. Tasha knew from careful eavesdropping that Daddy was “with his woman” but wanted to know exactly where.
    “Not far,” he said gently. “Don’t you worry about that.”
    Tasha was about to press him for a little more specificity but DeShaun was trying to wrestle the receiver away.
    “Ouch!” Tasha said. “Shaun
scratched
me.”
    “Give her the phone,” Mama said.
    “But I’m not through talking to Daddy. I was fixing to ask him—”
    Mama pointed her slim index finger at Tasha and shook it wordlessly. Tasha gave the phone to DeShaun, mumbling, “It’s not
     fair.”
    DeShaun held the phone with both hands and yelled