by Lexie Ray
“That she did,” Marshall said, nodding and staring off into some distance that Jules couldn’t see. “She did know a lot of people.”
“What if it was something important?” Jules asked. “Are you going to call the number back?”
“I’m kind of afraid to,” Marshall admitted, setting the remote control down and folding his hands on his lap.
“We can call right now,” Jules said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “It’s not too late.”
“I don’t know,” Marshall said. “Maybe I’ve kept the cell phone for too long. Maybe it’s past time to let it go.”
“Or maybe you kept the cell phone long enough for this call,” Jules countered. “You never know, Marshall, until you figure out who called.”
“If it’s some customer of hers, I’m probably going to lose my shit,” he said, looking at her. “I don’t think I can do it, honey.”
“Give me the cell phone,” Jules said, holding her hand out. “I can do this. In fact, I want to do this. It’s only right, don’t you think?”
Jules let the obvious statement ring out unsaid. It was only right because Mama’s heart was now inside Jules, giving her the life she never would’ve had without it. It was essential that they honored Mama’s memory. If this was a loose bit left untied, Jules wanted to know about it so that they could make the proper arrangements.
Marshall took a deep breath before handing the phone to her. It was heavy for being so small, though Jules couldn’t help but suspect that her mind was making it heavier. Maybe the reality of whoever had called was just as heavy.
“The number’s in the recent calls list,” Marshall said as she scrolled through the phone. It’s the only one there’s been since—since four years ago.”
“I see it,” Jules said. It was a New York City area code—Manhattan, specifically. Who in Manhattan would be calling Mama four years after her death? It was time to find out.
Jules hit the call button and lifted the phone to her ear. Maybe it was just her imagination, but the phone still smelled of Mama’s rose perfume. The phone rang once, twice, three times before it was answered.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Jules said pleasantly. “I’m calling on behalf of Wanda Dupree. Who is this, please?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice on the other end of the line said. It was female and sounded professional, young. “I don’t know a Wanda Dupree. You must have the wrong number.”
“Your number called this number earlier today,” Jules said. “Maybe you didn’t know her as Wanda Dupree. Maybe you knew her as Mama.”
Jules could hear the woman suck in air and someone else—a man—murmur something that she couldn’t understand.
“Yes, yes. I did know her as Mama. You do have the right number.”
“May I ask your name, please?” Jules pressed.
“It’s Jasmine,” the woman said. “Jasmine King. Mama—um, Mrs. Dupree called me sometime ago. Actually, it’s been years. She called me and I wasn’t ready to talk to her. I knew her back when she—she was, um….”
“With the nightclub?” Jules asked. Marshall raised his eyebrows and scooted closer on the couch to hear the conversation. She turned the volume up on the receiver.
“Yes,” Jasmine said. “Is Mama—Mrs. Dupree—there?”
“No,” Jules said. “I’m sorry. Mama died about four years ago.”
“Oh.” The voice was very small. “Oh.”
“You’re speaking with her daughter-in-law,” Jules said, “and her son is sitting right here. Is there something that you needed from Mama? Anything we can help you with?”
“I don’t know,” Jasmine said. “I worked at the nightclub a long, long time ago. I worked for Mama. She was—I was—it was a very bad time for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jules said. Marshall wove his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand.
“When Mama called me, she said that she was trying to make amends,” Jasmine said. “But I couldn’t handle hearing her again. I should’ve been—I just couldn’t do it. I see now that I’ve waited too long. I’ll never have the chance to hear what she had to say.”
“Maybe we can help,” Jules said, “help you fill in the blanks?”
“I would like that, please. If you don’t mind. If you’re not too busy.”
“Not at all,” Jules said. “Mama began Alcoholics Anonymous while she was serving time in prison. It opened her eyes to things. I believe that she may have called you as part of the Twelve Steps. If she wronged you in some way, she was trying to make it right.”
Jasmine was silent for a while. The other end of the line was dead for so long that Jules checked the display to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped.
“What’s the point of that?” she asked finally. “Maybe I don’t understand the program. But if you truly and irreparably hurt someone, how does saying sorry years afterward help?”
“I think it helps her become more at peace with herself,” Jules said. “Everyone makes mistakes, and some mistakes are more terrible than others. Mama was living with a lifetime of mistakes, and she was trying to do right. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, it may have been more for her than you.”
“I see,” Jasmine said. “I can understand that.”
Jules winced, almost afraid to ask the next question. The heart in her chest beat fast, and she wondered if it was really hers. Maybe it was driving her to ask the question she needed to ask. Maybe it was Mama reaching out, looking for closure.
“May I ask what happened to you?”
“I was a runaway,” Jasmine said, the tone in her voice saying that she’d told this tale time and again. “Mama took me off the streets and gave me a place to live, but she also coerced me into sleeping with the customers at the nightclub. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was terribly young. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer. A death sentence is what I got from working at that nightclub, working for Mama.”
Jules fumbled for words, but she didn’t know what to say. What could a person say after a revelation like that?
“It was a death sentence, and then I received a reprieve,” Jasmine said. “Redemption, you could say. I don’t know how else to explain it. Terrible things happened to me in the nightclub—terrible things that Mama had no problem condoning. And maybe this sounds stupid, but if I could go back and change things, go back and tell her no when she offered to pick me up off the streets and give me a place to live, I don’t know if I would.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know,” Jasmine said. “Like it or not, working for Mama set off this chain of events. It shaped me into who I am today. I’m running an organization that helps women in desperate situations—situations that I’ve known intimately. I’ve found someone who loves me in spite of everything. And I don’t know whether I would’ve had any of this without the things that happened to me. Without the nightclub. Without Mama.”
“I see,” Jules said, even if she wasn’t sure she really did. This Jasmine had every right to be angry at Mama, to rage at her, even, from what it sounded like. But she wasn’t. She sounded as bewildered as Jules was.
“So I guess, if Mama were still alive, I’d tell her to be at peace with herself,” Jasmine said. “If she could find peace, to be at peace. I forgive her. I’ve moved on.”
“I think she would’ve liked to hear that,” Jules said. “Thank you.”
“How did she die?” Jasmine asked. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, don’t worry,” Jules said. “I don’t mind. Mama died four years ago as a sacrifice to save me. I was dying from arrhythmia—life-threatening heart rhythms—that wasn’t responding to therapy and treatments and she found out that she was a match with me—similar enough blood types that she could donate her heart to me. So she did.”
“But that would mean ….” Jasmine trailed off, evidently thinking about the implications of that gift. “My God.”
> “She sacrificed herself for my family,” Jules said. “Without her, it would’ve been impossible for me to have my daughter. To have a future. We know that Mama had a troubled past, that she made terrible, terrible errors of judgment. But she was fighting so hard to do the right thing once she left prison. Her calling you is evidence of that. The heart that’s beating in my chest—it’s a constant reminder of the woman she wanted to be.”
“I know more about Mama now,” Jasmine said. “I thought that she was something—was someone—who couldn’t be redeemed. I’m sorry to say it, but that’s what I thought.”
“Maybe, at one point, you would’ve been right,” Jules said. “But she redeemed herself. We didn’t ask her to do what she did for this family. In fact, her son tried to stop her. But she was an unstoppable force. Once Mama set her mind to something, she followed through to see it done. She was hunting for her redemption. She needed it.”
“Thank you for this,” Jasmine said. “I would’ve never understood. Even if I had been ready to talk to her, back then, maybe I still wouldn’t have understood. But thank you. Thank you so much for calling me back, for telling me all of this.”
“Thank you,” Jules said, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. Was it her heart doing the fluttering, or was it Mama? “Thank you for forgiving her.”
“Goodbye.”
Jules ended the call and handed the cell phone back to Marshall. He stared at the device as if it were something alive, something he’d never considered before.
“I think that was the very reason you were still paying that bill,” Jules said, her fingers still threaded through her husband’s.
“I think you’re right,” he said, looking at her. His eyes brimmed with tears. “I think you’re right.”
Jules held her husband, pressed his head against her chest and let him listen to the heart that was beating inside of her. Without Mama, none of this would be possible. Jules understood that intimately, the idea that if the woman hadn’t come into their lives, even with all the pain that she brought with her, Jules would be dead, Chloe wouldn’t exist, and Marshall wouldn’t harbor any hope for the future.
The good and bad all wrapped into one. Mama had so many sides that Jules didn’t know if they’d ever understand them all.
But one thing was for certain: Mama loved her family. Mama made this family possible.
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