Page 87 of Seven Days in June

Her daughter had no response to this, apparently. Her silence was so complete, so lengthy, that for a moment, Lizette thought she’d hung up.

“You never noticed that I cut myself?” she asked hesitantly. “You must’ve known.”

“What?You were so secretive. How would I know that?”

“I know when Audre gets a papercut.”

“Well.” Lizette took a deep drag. “You need to get you a life, bé.”

“I cut myself. He didn’t do it. And I’d been taking drugs—your drugs, or getting them from your boyfriends—my whole life. I wasn’t your innocent little baby.”

“How’d you get them from my boyfriends?” Lizette’s voice went cold, sharp. She hated being reminded of her failed loves. And how hard her life had been. And that she was never able to fix what hurt her daughter. But Genevieve had always felt so unreachable. Her pain took her to a place where no one could follow.

“I’d been watching you my whole life, Mom.”

“Careful your tone.”

“I was in agony. I needed help.”

“I know you suffered, my bè. But what could I do? I prayed for you; I still pray for you. But you can’t fight a curse. Ibeentellin’ you to get some houseplants.”

The force of Genevieve’s long-suffering exhale carried across nine states.

“My girls always ask me why I got so many dead plants. I tell ’em what Mama Clo told me. Deceased plants are good luck. When a houseplant dies, it’s because it’s absorbed bad energy and juju. Bad juju meant foryou. They’re protection.” After dropping this gem, she took a deep drag off her cigarette. “Everybody’s got an affliction, Genevieve. Whether it’s mental or physical or spiritual. You just gotta remember what good you got.”

“Please don’t get philosophical, Mom. It doesn’t look good on you.”

“Everything looks good on me, except dolman sleeves,” she said testily. “Look. I don’t know what’s got you ornery or why we’re discussing ancient history. But a word of advice? Get over your childhood. I got over mine. You thinkyouhad it bad? I had to perform unspeakable acts for pageant judges just so I could win a little money to buy groceries and fake Jordache jeans from Family Dollar.”

Genevieve’s silence was deafening.

“They were called Gordache jeans,” said Lizette sadly.

“You sent Shane away.” Genevieve sounded like she was speaking more to herself than to Lizette. “He was terrified of going to prison again. I told him that I’d make sure he never went back.”

“Oh, G,” Lizette cooed. “That boy preyed on you. That’s what they all do! They want the pretty girl but then get jealous of your youth and vitality. So they lure you down the path to ruin and break you.”

“Jealous of youth? Shane and I were the same age!”

“Well, I know, but I was talking about me!” Lizette smoothed her kimono over her legs, exasperated.

After another extended silence, Genevieve finally spoke. “You were jealous.”

“I’ve never been jealous in my life! But I’ll tell you what. Mercier womenarecursed. We are. And if I can’t make a man stay, there’s no way in hell you could.” Lizette tightened the sash on her kimono. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to hate me. You get got by a cute li’l criminal, I rescue you, andI’mthe villain? How’s that work?”

“You really want me to explain this?”

“Go ’head and judge me, miss. I fear nothing but the pitiless gaze of the Almighty. You could be Mommie Dearest or Clair Huxtable—don’t matter what kind of mother you are; daughters always blame moms for every mess they make.” Lizette took one last drag and then stubbed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray. Under her breath, she said, “In fifteen years, Audre’ll give her therapist an earful.”

“You don’t understand one thing that’s happened to you, do you?” Genevieve asked wearily.

“Stop being so morose, G. We had some really fun times when you were little! Remember those adorable lovebirds?”

“They died of lead poisoning.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“They died of lead poisoning because when they chirped at night, you’d throw pencils at their cage.”

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