Free Almost Crimson by Dasha Kelly Page B

acknowledging the question marks in CeCe’s eyes. Doris folded her arms across herself and CeCe noticed she was without her signature silver chain. “Just when I was finally getting my shit together . . . ”
    CeCe couldn’t force her face to smile.
    â€œHey, I’ve known for a long time,” Doris said, stepping back into CeCe’s personal space. “Not about the cancer, but that I wanted you to have this house. Before the cancer, my plan was to give you a helluva deal on rent. Once I started thinking about getting my affairs in order and leaving legacies and all, the idea took on a life of its own. Don’t you go feeling like you got a consolation prize, girlie. You’ve been on my heart since the day I met you. If it makes you feel any better, you’re one of nearly a dozen.”
    â€œOne of a dozen . . . what?” CeCe said, stepping back to let her tears slide down her face and hope for the picture window glass to keep her standing upright.
    â€œAmazing young people I’ve met who needed a break and some luck,” Doris said. She started to count off on her fingers. “There’s you. There’s the art teacher my boys had in middle school; he wants to study art therapy. My hair stylist struggles to care for her autistic daughter; the girl at my favorite bakery wants a tea shop; a young widower at the end of the block needs a live-in nanny and housekeeper to help with his six kids.
    â€œAnd Brian,” Doris continued, thumbing toward the open door. “He used to live around the corner. He would take my boys with him to play soccer, basketball, and all. His parents were alcoholics and my boys thought he was a godsend. I’m able to repay him for that. He’s opening his own firm now.”
    CeCe threw her hands in the air, propelled by a sudden burst of anger. “Doris!” CeCe exclaimed. “You can’t just—”
    â€œZip it, honey,” Doris said, turning for the door. “This one is out of my hands. And yours. I’ve worked hard to be a gift to someone else for a change. And you’ve worked hard to deserve it. I know it’s a lot to take in, but take it in, already.”
    She turned to push open the screen door, a smile dancing on her lips. CeCe put her hands on her hips and felt the keys nip at her flesh again. CeCe looked down at the keys. When she looked up, Doris had escaped out into the early summer air.
    CeCe stared at the open door, listening to Brian’s car reverse out of the driveway. CeCe looked around at the empty walls and hallways.
    For the first time since receiving the house news, CeCe thought about her mother and swallowed.

ELEVEN
    BLUE
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    WHEN CARLA ARRIVED ON MACMURRAY'S campus in 1967, she hardly noticed its manicured greenery, its white-steepled buildings, or the two thousand pairs of feet plodding the walkways all about her. Carla only wanted to climb her feet aboard a Greyhound bus heading back for home every Friday afternoon.
    Uncle John protested after the second month, hearing her only speak of lectures, papers, and exams. Carla had nothing to offer when Uncle John asked about campus events, new friends—just her roommate, another Negro girl, from Rockford.
    â€œI think she’s planning to be a teacher,” Carla had said, peeling sweet potatoes while Uncle John leaned into their kitchen over the open half of the Dutch door.
    â€œYou gals get along?” he asked.
    â€œWe get along all right.”
    â€œSo how come you don’t know ’bout her studies?”
    â€œI don’t know a lot of things about Sandra,” Carla said, annoyance fringing the edge of her voice. “She doesn’t spend much time in the room—”
    â€œâ€”and you spendin’ too much time in it,” Uncle John said.
    Carla paused her peeling, but didn’t look up. She knew her Uncle John would be cleaning his nails with a pocketknife, his bushy eyebrows