Free Crave by Laurie Jean Cannady Page A

“Who is that?” His voice cut through the wooden slab. I cleared my throat and plastered a smile across my face, in case he could see me through the peephole.
    I spoke directly into it as if it were a microphone. “I’m Laurie, Carl and Lois Carter’s daughter. Their eldest girl.” There was silence on the other side of the door. I wondered how much of me could he see through that tiny hole. The lock turned. The door squeakedopen. There stood a short man, with salt-and-pepper hair, and skin darker than Momma and all of my brothers and sister combined.
    I leaned forward, ready to apologize for having the wrong house and the wrong person for so long.
    â€œSo, you Carl’s girl,” he said.
    I fought to stand still as I stared into his yellowed eyes, swimming in cataracts. He looked nothing like the father in my mind, so much shorter, darker, and his hair held no hints of the red that streaked through my ends.
    â€œI am Carl’s,” I replied.
    â€œGirl,” he responded abruptly. “I ain’t seen your daddy.” My face burned with his gruffness. I hadn’t asked any questions and he’d already decided he had no answers. Still, I prodded. Maybe my father’s location would slip past his nonanswers.
    â€œHave you talked to him lately?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. He’s probably up to no good if he’s doing anything.” He stepped aside and waved me into the foyer with the flick of his hand.
    The house smelled like hickory-smoked sausages mixed with the scent of decaying pine. I stood in the hallway, eyeing the rabbit ears of the floor model, wrapped in balls of aluminum foil. The carpet, like the lawn, was a sea of green, the color and consistency of a dirt-covered tennis ball. The walls where white, but under the haze of the room they looked like a roaring gray sky. I could only see two chairs, a sofa, and a lone armchair sitting in the middle of the room like a person with elbows pressed into knees, waiting for something to happen.
    I had seen enough to know Uncle Benny wasn’t a man of money. In fact, I wondered if my family was better off than he was.
    â€œAre you Carl’s uncle, my Uncle Benny?” I asked.
    â€œYep, but like I said, I don’t know where your daddy is.”
    â€œMomma said you probably didn’t know where my daddy was, but that you could get me in touch with my grandma. I just want to meet her.”
    He paused, peering at me through the sides of his eyes.
    â€œHow is your momma doing?” his voice softened.
    â€œShe’s good. She told me to see you because she wanted to see my grandma, to see how she was doing.” I could tell by the way he reversed to that lone chair that he had cared about Momma. He could shut me out, but Momma was already in.
    I pried again. “Have you talked to my grandma lately?”
    â€œNah, I haven’t talked to her in a minute. She and your granddaddy up in Suffolk.” I turned my head toward the door, trying to hide my smile. I had another granddaddy. He would be a new person, a new life for me to imagine.
    â€œCan I get their number?” I asked as he leaned back in his chair.
    â€œWell, I think I have it somewhere in here.” He brought his hand up to his chin and tapped. Uncle Benny rose from the chair, like a mechanical hand was pressing him forward. I remained still, hands clasped in front of me, careful not to move as he made his way to a small dresser. He rummaged through drawers as if the number were hidden under years of mail. His hand surfaced holding a pen and piece of paper adorned in grayed wrinkles. He scribbled ten numbers, no name, no address, just numbers. With his crooked, gnarled fingers, he slid the paper toward me.
    I wanted to hug him, to tell him I’d do the right thing and he wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, but he didn’t look like he was up for