Big Easy Bonanza

back to his room.
    I’ve got to get a carpet for that fucking hallway
. She sat down and started to eat the
pain perdu
herself, but the powdered sugar stuck like sawdust in her throat.
    André came back with no pants, wearing only a forest green long-sleeved T-shirt, looking like a cherub. “You can’t have Freakies,” she said. “You’ve had them three times this week. How about some shredded wheat?”
    “I hate shredded wheat.”
    “André, won’t you just try a little bit of the
pain perdu
?”
    “No!” He took off again.
    Should she give him the Freakies? She had to admit that she would have if he hadn’t refused the damned
pain perdu
. But now she’d said no. Could she go back on her no? Wouldn’t that give him all the power?
    She went into her bedroom and picked out a deep blue sweater to go with tight, tapered black pants. It was hard to know what to wear the week your father died. All black seemed melodramatic, but she didn’t feel up to bright colors yet.
    By the time she had her makeup on, she had the answer to the breakfast question. She went to find André’s jeans. “Let’s try these, sport.” She helped him step into a pair of underpants, then the jeans. “You hungry?”
    “I want Freakies!”
    “How about an Egg McMuffin?”
    “Oh, boy! Can we really?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “And then what? Can we go to the zoo?”
    “Sweetie, I have to be somewhere this morning.”
I wish
.
    “You said we could do something fun!”
    Oh, God, she had said that. She’d completely forgotten she had other plans—it was so goddamn rare. “I know I did, sweetie. I just forgot I had to do this other thing. Tomorrow we’ll go to the zoo. I promise.”
    Without warning, the little face twisted and collapsed. He threw his arms around her legs, screaming. “You promised! You promised!”
    “André, for heaven’s sake, we’ll do it tomorrow.” She tried to pry the curled fingers away, but André held tight.
    “Mommy, you promised!”
    Fury rose up in her. Why couldn’t he let her be, today of all days? Why did he have to pick this one to be clingy? The only day in his short life that she’d actually had something to do other than screw?
    She pulled him off her, tugging hard, all the gentleness used up. She practically dragged him to the car, drove him to the nearest McDonald’s, and left him screaming while she got his Egg McMuffin. She thrust the McDonald’s bag into the hands of the day-care attendant. “When he stops crying, give him this, will you? He hasn’t had breakfast.”
    She left André with his hands outstretched, screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” as if he was panicked within an inch of his life.
    She hadn’t gone two blocks before she thought,
I wonder if they have a microwave? His breakfast’ll be cold
. Should she stop somewhere and get him a doughnut? No. She couldn’t go back there—he’d never let her get away. Why did he have to behave this way? Why? Today, of all days? It was as if he knew she was about to get a job—to do something that would take her away from him. He could be so devious sometimes. But it wouldn’t work—she was going to do what she had to anyway. He couldn’t stop her.
    The tight feeling in her throat that had been constricting a little more by the second had developed into a hard knot of pain. Suddenly she knew what was about to happen and she pulled over just in time. Sobs poured out of her—great, wracking sobs that convulsed her body.
    When she could drive again, she went home, repaired her makeup, and drove purposefully toward the Quarter, amazed at her own resolve.
    Uncle Tolliver looked haggard and rumpled, not quite his dapper self.
But none of us are ourselves this week.
She wondered if the makeup had really disguised the swelling around her eyes.
    She tried her best, widest (and today, phoniest) smile. “Hello, Uncle Tolliver.”
    “What are you doing here?” His face was gray and his shoulders slumped forward, making his chest hollow in a way Marcelle had never noticed before.
    “I—uh—gosh, you don’t seem glad to see me.”
    “I’m a little busy, that’s all.”
    Marcelle glanced quickly around, confused. There was only one other person in the shop, a man with his back to them, fingering some china. “Maybe I should come back another time.”
    “No, honey. What is it?” He looked suddenly alert. “Your mama’s all right?”
    “Fine.” She didn’t know that. She hadn’t called Bitty.
    “Does Henry need