The Goddesses of Kitchen Avenue: A Novel Read online

  “Come on in the kitchen. Coffee okay?”

  “Love it.” She puts the bags down on the counter and sheds her jacket. Beneath, she’s wearing a silky T-shirt that shows off her body. When she crosses her arms, her biceps show, and her belly is as hard as a frying pan.

  “Jeez, Jade. You’re all muscle—are you working out?”

  She grins, and for the first time, I see the girl she used to be. She raises an arm and flexes. “Nice, huh?” She laughs, almost a giggle. “You would not believe how strong I am.”

  I rinse the coffeemaker and open the can of coffee, almost swooning at the smell, and I remember that I didn’t get much this morning.

  “Weights?”

  “Well, I’ve added weights, but I started with kickboxing. When Dante went to jail—” At my raised eyebrows, she adds, “Yeah, jail. Burglary.” She shakes her head. “When he went, I was just crazy, waiting for the trial, and a friend of mine took me to kickboxing. It’s a great way to get rid of your aggressions, trust me.” She jabs the air at an imaginary opponent. “Pop, pop, pop.” Even the air punches make a sweep of sound, and I think I would not like having that fist connect with my face.

  “Probably even better than saying fuck a lot.” I grin. “Maybe I should try it.”

  “That’s one of the first things I have to do, find a class in town. I’ll go crazy if I can’t work out. You should come when I find one. Check it out.”

  “Maybe.” It’s plain she needs this quiet pool of normal conversation. “I don’t know if I’m in good enough shape.”

  “Oh, it’s not like aerobics, where you have to learn a bunch of fancy footsteps. You’d be surprised.”

  “Maybe.”

  I open a bag of cookies, a Pepperidge Farm collection that are my weakness. They’re a fussy woman kind of grocery, too, but I don’t care now. It’s women who are going to be eating them. “Have some.” I settle into a chair at the table, put out napkins for us. Jade flows into the chair opposite, and there’s a relief in it.

  She picks out a Milano, examines it, takes a healthy bite. Closes her eyes for one second. “God, that’s good.” Leans earnestly toward me, her voice lowered. “What I really want to do? Get in the ring.”

  “Like real boxing?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m not quite sure what to say. Her green-gold eyes are glowing with the idea, and for that reason alone, it’s worth encouraging her. “You know Shannelle, the girl who was there with me last night?”

  “Yeah, she’s been over a couple of times today. Sweet.”

  “Her husband’s brother is a boxer. Maybe he’d know something.”

  She clutches my arm, just above the wrist. “Really?”

  “He’s pretty well known around town, kind of a local hero in boxing circles. He has to train somewhere, right?”

  Jade juts out her jaw, leans back, eats the rest of the cookie. There is a flow to her movements, an easy glide and comfort that I envy. “My mama’s going to have a heart attack, but she’s got to get over it. It’s what I need to do.”

  A face floats in front of my eyes, blond hair, brown eyes. Carolyn, the woman who has given me so much trouble, so many nightmares. The woman who has torn my life to ribbons. It isn’t her fault, exactly. I know that. A man has to participate or a woman can’t get anywhere. He’s as responsible for the destruction as she is, maybe more.

  But I have a hard time actively hating Rick and I need to hate someone. It flows up through my body in a deceptively silver flow, filling my veins with cold power, and like mercury, it breaks apart and floods my lungs and heart, my stomach. I imagine getting into a boxing ring with her, smashing her face with my big gloves, knocking her down. I stand over her, breathing hard with triumph, see Rick out of the corner of my eye looking at me with new respect and awe.

  Jade must be even angrier than I am. I pick out a raspberry tart and incline my head. “I’d love to see you fight, as long as you don’t get yourself killed. That would be kind of a waste.”

  She gives me a little smile. “I see that glint in your eye, girl. It feels good to think about it, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” I admit. “Who are you punching?”

  She looks toward the windows, a flash of pain on her face. “I don’t know. Men, maybe.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah,” she says more definitely. “Every last one of them. How ’bout you?”

  As if it holds the memories of my Great Breach, my wrist begins to ache. I shake it out, and stand up to pour our coffee. “Let’s drink this and figure out the best plan for the funeral, then I think we need to get Roberta up and moving, at least for a little while. What d’you say?”

  My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

  Why art thou so far from helping me,

  from the words of my groaning?

  O my God, I cry by day, but thou dost not answer;

  and by night, but find no rest.

  PSALMS 22:1–3

  7

  ROBERTA

  Dear Lord,

  A few prayers for the folks this morning. I’ve done lost my list, but I reckon I can remember most of them anyway. Bless Sister Pierce, Lord, give her relief from the pain of her arthritis in this cold weather. Look after my sister Harriet’s grandbaby. Keep him out of harm’s way. Bless Shannelle, who has such trouble with her teeth, poor child. Lighten Jade’s heart, Lord, and cut the ties between her and that man who has cast such a spell over her. Bless him, too, Dante Kingman. Bring him those who will show him Truth.

  Take this cup from me. I can’t stand another minute of this pain, you know I can’t. I been a devoted woman all my life, sweet Jesus, and I don’t aim to hurt myself in no way, so I’m asking, just you take me away. Let me go on to heaven with my Edgar. Just take me, Lord.

  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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  8

  JADE

  October 27, 20—

  Dear Dante,

  It’s been crazy here, getting things ready for the funeral, and I just haven’t had a minute. The house is full from morning till night, streaming with all the folks who loved my grandfather, and all those who want to take care of Roberta. There are enough casseroles in the freezer to last a year, and I’ve started taking the overflow across the street to a young family who will make good use of lasagnas and pasta salads.

  I don’t have your last letter with me, but I do remember it sounded hopeful regarding your chances for early release. It sounds like the lawyer—What was her name? Janice, maybe?—is a good advocate, and she’s right that you need to keep trying to better yourself. You’re a smart man, Dante, and have too many gifts to throw them away like this. I hope you’ve learned your lesson and can start dealing with the world as it is, rather than constantly running a game. You have a lot to offer the world. Never forget that.

  I know you like to hear what I’m doing, but there hasn’t been much since I left Oakland. Just the long, lonely drive across the country and now my grandmother and her grief and all these people. I sent an application to Social Services and to several other private facilities that deal with children and am hoping to get a job from one of them soon. There is a boarding-home facility on the south side, almost an old-fashioned orphanage, that appeals to me. I’ll get busy following up on those résumés next week sometime.

  I’m sorry, babe, to be so depressive. I know you like u
pbeat letters. I’ll do better next time. Take care of yourself, all right? Don’t get into any power struggles with anyone, and keep up with your studies and listen to the advice of your lawyer. I’ve enclosed a few things—a small care package. Hope you enjoy it.

  Love,

  Jade

  To see you naked is to comprehend the desire

  of the rain which seeks the feeble form

  or the fever of the sea when its immense face

  cannot find the light of its cheek.

  “Casida of the Reclining Woman”

  FEDERICO GARCÍA LORCA,

  Translated by W. S. MERWIN

  9

  TRUDY

  Here is one thing that is good about being forty-six: I have a granddaughter. Minna is her name. And I know this is as clichéd as everything else in my life at the moment, but she is truly the apple of my eye.

  When Joanna, my eldest son Richard’s wife, drops her by, Minna comes in wearing a fluffy pink coat trimmed with fur around the hood. “Hey, there’s my girl!” I grab her and pretend to chomp on all of her fingers. She grabs my necklace and puts the heart in my mouth, which I then spit out with a great deal of noise. It’s our standard greeting.

  “I really appreciate this, Trudy,” Joanna says, dropping the diaper bag in the chair and bending over to kiss her daughter’s rosy cheek. “They’re desperate for help on the ward tonight and my mother was not at all interested.”

  A tiny prick of jealousy touches me, even though I know it’s natural for a daughter to be closer to her mother than her mother-in-law. Jo is quite close to hers—Linda, whom I like very much. They’re very alike, mother and daughter, and I see a lot of them in Minna. They must love having three generations of girls in a row like that, and I’m determined not to be the Evil Mother-in-Law. I let Minna yank my bracelets off my wrist. “You know I adore her. Anytime.”

  When Jo has left, I take off Minna’s jacket, chattering back and forth with her. She claims my bracelets and has learned how to hold her arm, the tiny hand cocked upward to keep them on. I bought her some glittery ones of her own, and Jo told me they were a big hit.

  Minna also likes my purse, because it’s small, and she snatches it off the couch to put over her head. Fully adorned, she fixes her bright blue eyes on me and says, “Plants?” It’s really something like “Plantus,” but I know what she means.

  “Let’s do it, girl.” I hold out my hand for us to walk, but she rushes my knees instead and makes a grunting noise, so I pick her up and carry her to the greenhouse. Zorro rushes in around my ankles and Minna tucks her head around my shoulder. “Hi, kiii.” She sends him a kiss.

  We go through the plants. She can say flower and leaf and pot, a word she adores. “Pot pot pot,” she says, throwing her head back to laugh gaily. Lately, we’ve been working on actual names. Geranium is “ranium,” and begonia is “gona,” and no one believes me, but she does know the difference.

  Her favorite part is the potting area. It sits at the far end, and it’s always a little cool down there. I have my spades and little rakes hung on hooks above the table. To one side is a wooden box, lined with heavy black plastic to keep the black widows at bay, where I keep soil. I lift the lid, releasing the smell of earth and moisture, and we both inhale and say together, “Mmm.”

  The doorbell rings and Minna makes an exaggerated oooh! sound. My heart jumps without my permission, because I think it’s probably Rick and it would be very nice to see him while Minna is here. She’s hoping, too. “Popo?” she says, kicking her legs to move me toward the door.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

  It’s not Rick, but Jade. She has tear-swollen eyes and that downcast look that says it’s been a rough day. “Hi,” she says. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No. It’s great. Come in and meet my girl. This is Minna, my granddaughter. Can you say hi to Jade?”

  Not just now. She stares at Jade with the wariness of eighteen months, and looks at me with a scowl. “Popo?”

  “He’s not here, sweetie.”

  She reaches up and grabs her hair with one fist and makes a furious noise.

  “Ow,” I say, and take her hand down. “Don’t do that!”

  She also smashes her head against the ground or a wall or cabinet when she’s displeased. The sign of mightiness, I say. Jo worried a lot about it until I told her Annie used to do the same thing.

  I close the door behind Jade and gesture for her to sit. I put Minna down, rescue my bracelets from the floor, and say, “Go get your toys, sweetie.”

  “Toys,” she agrees, and heads off to the corner cabinet where I keep them.

  To Jade, I say, “Rough day?”

  She rubs her hands together, looks at the palms. “Dante called me.”

  “You don’t want to talk to him?”

  “No. And yes.”

  I think of my hope that it would be Rick at the door just now. “I know how that goes.”

  “So you miss Rick?”

  “Understatement of the century.”

  Her eyes light on my face. “What in the world happened, Trudy? I always told people that I never saw a man so in love with his wife as Rick was with you. He was almost silly about it.”

  Her words bring a picture of Rick, or rather, dozens of them, bringing me an offering. Or coming in late with one too many beers in his belly, to throw his arms around me and kiss my neck and tell me what a great wife I was, how lucky he was to find me. I straighten against the pain under my left breast. “I don’t know,” I say. “I guess he fell in love with someone else. It happens.”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Sure. All the time.”

  “And doesn’t it kill you? That’s why I left. I couldn’t stop going to see Dante in jail. We were already divorced, he’s proven he’s a shit, and I still kept hanging on. I still am, in a way.”

  I nod. Lift my shoulders. “I know. Me, too.”

  She bends her head into her hands, rubs her face hard. “I just want to go on to the next thing, whatever it is. Feel normal again.”

  “You will, Jade. It takes a while, but you’ll feel right again, I promise.”

  “Do you?”

  I lower my eyes, shake my head. “It hasn’t been that long. We were together over twenty years, and it’s only been three months since I found out about it.”

  Minna brings me a ball and a book and puts them in my hands. “Thank you.” She toddles back to the box, squats, digs busily through again. Athena, my fat, asthmatic gray tabby, flops down next to her and starts to purr. Even when Minna is a little too rough, Athena never minds.

  Jade says, “Yeah, that makes it harder. Have you seen a counselor?”

  I nod. “You?”

  “Sure. I’m a social worker, right? Mental health is my middle name.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve read every self-help book out there, too.” She starts ticking them off on her fingers. “The Secret of Letting Go, Help for Emotional Betrayal, How to Get on with Your Life—”

  I’m laughing, and bend over to open a drawer in the table next to the couch, pulling out a stack of trade-sized paperbacks. I read the titles, “The Art of Forgiveness, How Could You Do That to Me, Living the Life You Were Meant to Live.”

  Jade is starting to smile. “How to Love a Black Man.”

  “How to Have a Happy Divorce.”

  “The Lord Ain’t Done with Me Yet.”

  “The Ways Couples Grow Apart.”

  “How to solve every problem you ever had through pop psychology.”

  “How to live your life perfectly so nothing bad ever happens to you.”

  “Freakin’ bullshit, all of it,” Jade says. “Why do we read it?”

  I put the books back in the drawer, close it harder than I have to. “I kept thinking there was something I could do to fix it. If I just had a little more information, maybe it would all make sense.”

  She sags, leans back in the chair. “Yeah. I wanted to love him till he was healed, and I know th
at’s impossible. You can’t fix anybody.” She steeples her fingers. “Except yourself, I guess.”

  “And that,” I say with some feeling, “pisses me off.”

  “Me, too, girl.” She inclines her head. “You have any more of those cookies?”

  Minna stops in her tracks. “Cookie?”

  We both laugh. “Yeah, sweetie. Let’s get cookies.”

  In the kitchen, I put on a pot for tea and dig out the bag of Milanos. Also some cheese, the good kind, and Triscuits, which I love. I think about apples, but they’re still too hard for Minna to eat, and I open a can of sliced peaches instead. In her high chair, Minna starts humming as she picks apart her cookie, savoring every little bit of it like it’s heaven.

  “Mmm!” she says loudly, smelling it. She offers some to Jade, who thinks nothing of the baby slobber on it, and bends to accept the bite. “Ooooh, that’s yummy. Thank you.”

  Minna points to Jade’s cookie. “Thank you?”

  Jade holds it out and Minna takes a bite, staring in the impolite way of children. Jade says, “You probably don’t see too many folks like me, huh, girl?”

  “Berta?” she says.

  “Yeah, Roberta is my grandmama.”

  Minna kicks her feet, evidently satisfied. Points to me. “G’ma?”

  “That’s right.” I nibble her fingers.

  “I love babies,” Jade says. “One thing about Dante was that he has the most wonderful children. I’m going to really miss them.” She runs a finger playfully down Minna’s arm, and she giggles.

  “How many children does he have?” I take cups out, pull out the tray of teas, put everything on the table while the water is boiling.