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I was putting my cigarette out when the back door opened and Elle came in, an overstuffed tray in her hands. “Lynx! We have macaroni—”
Vice, right behind her like a damn good best friend, teased, “Mac. N. Cheese. Not macaroni and cheese.”
“Mac. And. Cheese,” she corrected.
“N!” harassed Vice. “Slang, Precious! We must up your slang skills.”
Elle, laughing freely and making my heart soar, rushed to set the tray on the bed to quickly climb in. “Mac-n-cheese.” On the ‘N’ her chin stuck out as if saying the household name was foreign, making me wonder more about who her mother was.
Childlike, she tucked her long but sensual legs under her butt and told me, “From the box! I haven’t had this since I lived with Da!”
I was no longer thinking of her sexy legs. I was trying to recover. Knowing this was what formed Elle’s happiness was truly so sad. I coughed, “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes!” She handed me a plate with a huge turkey sandwich on it.
My mouth instantly watered. “Thanks, babe.”
Grabbing a fork and digging into the bowl in her hand, she added, “I wish Mammy was still alive so she could have some.”
Cringing, Vice plopped his ass in a chair. I think his legs buckled with the knowledge his VP’s Old Lady had been such a victim. I could only imagine the things she had said to him while I slept, clueless as to how his perception would see her words for what they truly were, more details of an abused past.
Her speaking of her da made me think of Lorenzo. Mac-n-cheese dinners to yacht gourmet chefs, yet not an ounce of freedom with either man.
As soon as the creamy goodness hit Elle’s tongue, she moaned, her eyes sliding shut. Only seconds later, tears slipped down her cheeks. Mouth full, she said, “Mammy would’ve loved this.”
Vice covered his face, resting his elbows on his knees. He, too, already cared deeply for this angel, who was sometimes a child trapped in a woman’s body.
Fighting the urge to hold Elle, I looked to the door, remembering Brass’ offered wisdom.
Elle, mouth full, was already apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
She hadn’t even been allowed to cry.
I promised her, “Babe, I already told you. You tell us anything you want about Mammy, and it’s okay to cry…” but she was already mentally gone.
It gutted me as she began to sob, shoving another bite in her mouth. “Mam-my,” struggling to talk with the cheesy noodles. “Mam-my,” went another fork full.
Vice and I had lost our moms, too, but those women weren’t our only lifeline as kids. We had other people to turn to. Another family to take us in.
Elle had nothing.
Watching Elle, Vice’s eyes watered. That oversized bodyguard could block a bullet from touching her body, but he couldn’t protect her heart from breaking in front of him.
“Mam-my,” she sobbed.
Following Brass’ advice, I didn’t move when Elle set the bowl back on the tray, then crawled backward and out of the bed. Practically choking on her food, she began smacking her chest as if it hurt so bad she was clueless about how to handle the agony. “Mammy.”
I only watched as Elle then picked up that bowl of food to throw it at a wall. Screaming, the bowl shattered and splattered to the floor. “Mammy!”
The seaside door swung open, Pops and Dagger barreling in, only to stop and witness a young woman finally having her chance to mourn the most horrendous loss in her life.
Her face flushed and wet with tears, she looked at my dad and yelled, “It hurts.” Then she smacked her chest again.
Slowly, he walked toward her, nodding tenderly. “I know.”
She tried to explain, “Pain, not on my skin, but in here.” She pointed to her heart that appeared to be breaking all over again.
Slow and steady, he crossed the room. “Hurts like a motherfucker, don’t it?”
