Chapter 3
3
“Hey, Zannie… Marty. How are you?”
As Karen stepped out of her vehicle, she smiled at the two wide-eyed children who always greeted her when she visited the mobile home park. Her heart softened at seeing them even as she cast a critical eye toward their home.
The small, charming mobile home neighborhood was perfect for the residents. Most of the people who rented the homes were older, although the area was sprinkled with a few younger families. The homes had neat yards and flowers or shrubs lining the walkways. Unfortunately, the home the children lived in appeared run-down, giving evidence that their mother and her boyfriend didn’t care about the cleanliness of their surroundings.
She came for her weekly visit with an older man who had been released from rehab after a fall several months ago. The first time she’d visited, she’d glimpsed two faces staring at her from the trailer next door. The children had smiled through the window, but when she smiled and waved, they had ducked out of sight. The sweet, shy encounter had melted her heart instantly.
On the second visit, they had worked up the bravery to come over. Tiny footsteps pattered on the pavement as they approached her, hesitant but smiling, their shyness giving way to excitement. Their soft "hellos" had been tentative but sweet, and Karen had crouched down to their level, speaking to them with the same warmth and patience she offered her patients. Since then, her visits had become more than just her routine checkups with Roscoe Jefferson. They had become a small but significant part of these children's day, and their presence brought her a quiet kind of joy.
“Are you here for Mr. Roscoe?” the little girl asked. Her long brown hair was haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. Her light brown eyes held curiosity with a large dose of caution.
“Yes. I’m a nurse, and I check on him each week.”
“How come?” the older one asked. The boy was a carbon copy of his sister, with brown hair that needed to be combed and curiosity mixed with caution as he looked over his shoulder toward his home.
“Well, Mr. Roscoe needs me to check on him to ensure he’s okay.”
“I like Mr. Roscoe,” the little girl said. “He shares some of his treats with us.”
“He’s a nice man,” Karen agreed.
The little girl smiled shyly up at Karen. “My name is Zannie.”
“Zannie? What a pretty name.”
“It’s short for Suzanne,” the boy replied. “Mom just calls her Zannie.”
“And what’s your name?” Karen asked, smiling at the way the boy stood close to his sister as though to protect her.
“Marty. My real name is Martin, but Mom shortens it to Marty.” His thin shoulders shrugged as though his name didn’t matter.
“I’m seven years old,” Zannie said. Her gap-tooth smile beamed. “Marty is nine.”
As her gaze automatically evaluated the two in front of her, it was apparent they were small for their age, and she wondered about nutrition. “Do you live here with your mom and dad?”
“Just Mom,” Marty replied.
Zannie turned toward her brother and crinkled her nose. “And Alan!”
“He don’t count. He won’t be around long enough to count,” Marty groused.
Zannie’s chin wobbled as she looked up at Karen. “He’s mom’s boyfriend. He yells a lot ? —”
They heard a big motor and tires on gravel, and the two kids jumped. Before Karen could ask what was happening, a large black pickup truck roared to a stop in front of the mobile home, gravel kicking up underneath the oversized tires. With the driver’s door on the other side, Karen couldn’t see who alighted from the vehicle until the heavy boot steps sounded, and a man walked around the corner.
“Zannie! Marty! What the fuck are you doing?”
“We’re just talking to the pretty—” Zannie began.
“Nothing,” Marty answered. “We were just heading back inside.”
“Damn right, you are. Get in there now!”
The two kids rushed past the man Karen assumed was Alan. Not afraid, she held his gaze. When she didn’t back down, he sneered as he looked behind her at Roscoe’s trailer.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“A visitor for Mr. Jefferson,” she replied, turning quickly and reaching for Roscoe’s screen door. Seeing the older man standing just inside, his rheumy glare focused on Alan and his cell phone in his hand, made her love her patient even more. He would never have been able to protect her, but he would have called 911 if needed. As she stepped inside, she wondered how much he protected the two adorable kids next door. And what happened to make him feel that he needed to do so?
That had been almost two months ago, and Zannie and Marty now raced over each time she came to visit. She enjoyed seeing the children and admittedly kept a surreptitious eye on them by casually asking what they’d eaten recently and how school was going. Seeing the children outside playing wasn't surprising since she often visited Roscoe near the end of her workday. But one day, she had switched her visits and noticed they were at home during school hours.
When she asked if they were sick, Marty shrugged. “Nah. We didn’t get to the bus on time, and Mom said she wasn’t taking us.”
Roscoe had been readily forthcoming about what he heard and saw next door, so he was her source of ensuring the kids were cared for.
Today, she smiled widely at them, and they followed her to Roscoe’s door. Once there, she pulled out two apples, small packs of trail mix, and cheese crackers. They had admitted that they hid the snacks if there was some leftover so that Alan wouldn’t take the food. “Make sure you eat everything you can,” she said, her gaze roaming over them. Whenever she asked if they felt safe, both children always said they did. She’d never had a reason to call CPS but felt better knowing Roscoe was looking out for them.
“Come on in, Ms. Karen!” Roscoe called out.
Waving goodbye to the kids, she opened the old metal-framed screen door. Roscoe’s home was tidy inside, even if the furniture was a bit threadbare in places, and the countertops were worn from years of scrubbing. She turned to walk into Roscoe’s living room.
She found him in his recliner most days, leaning back and watching television. She was not surprised to see him devouring the news because Roscoe liked to keep up with what was going on in the world. “Is anything good happening?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Most politicians couldn’t find their way out of a paper sack if they had directions,” he grumbled. “No wonder the world is in a mess.”
She smiled and nodded. Roscoe kept up with the world and national events better than almost anyone she knew. During the weekly visits, she’d heard pieces of his life story and looked forward to learning more.
He turned the TV off as she brought a kitchen chair closer to his recliner, and he lowered his feet to lean forward. “You’ll have to tell me how the old ticker is, Ms. Karen.”
She listened to his heart and lungs, then checked his blood pressure and his legs for swelling. He was rail-thin but surprisingly strong when she checked his reflexes. “Have you been doing the exercises Patrick shows you?”
“Physical therapy isn’t my favorite, but you know I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”
“I know. You really are the best patient.” She smiled warmly. Standing, she said, “I’m going to take a look at the house if that’s okay.”
“Mi casa es tu casa.” He laughed, waving his hand toward the back of the trailer.
Another chuckle slipped out, and she shook her head. Because of his mobility issues, she always needed to ensure his living space was as safe as possible. There wasn’t anything she could do about the small size of his bathroom, but he had handrails on his toilet and a sturdy shower chair. Moving into his bedroom, she nodded with appreciation at the O-ring handrail attached to his bed. That was one of the occupational therapist’s latest recommendations, and a few men from the American Legion installed it.
As she walked back toward the front, she stopped in his kitchen, first checking the prescription bottles he kept in one of the upper cabinets. He used to keep them on the counter until Zannie and Marty started coming over.
Karen then did a spot check of his cabinets and refrigerator for food. Satisfied that he had a good supply, she returned to the living area and sat with him. Several elderly patients lived in the mobile home park, and she loved how they watched out for each other.
Mrs. Grandy, two mobile homes down, had a grandson who would come and trim the little grass around her mobile house and take care of the others on that street. The residents had offered to pay him, but the young man had waived their money and said he was earning community service hours for his senior year of high school.
Several parishioners from local churches made casseroles that they delivered weekly. Usually, the meals were easily microwavable, and having been present when Roscoe enjoyed a dinner, she could attest they were as tasty as they were easy to prepare.
“Did I ever tell you that I was in the Army?”
She settled back in her seat, glad she had built time to spend with Roscoe before needing to get home. He had many friends, but she wondered if he liked to tell his stories to someone new.
“No, you didn’t. You said you once taught at the Rosenwald School.”
He nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his recliner, and steepled his fingers together. “Graduated from seventh grade in 1948. That was as far as they’d offer us back in those days. Most went on to get jobs, but my grandmother said she wanted me to become the first in the family to get an education. For a Black boy, back then, there was no high school in this area. I went to Arlington, Virginia, to live with a friend of our pastor. They had Black high schools, and I graduated in 1953. With that education, I returned to the Eastern Shore to teach but was drafted into the Army. Sent to Korea. Wasn’t anything I expected, but I came home two years later.”
“And that’s when you started teaching?”
“They took me right away. Back then, Booker T. Washington of the Tuskegee Institute and Julius Rosenwald, philanthropist and president of Sears Roebuck, built state-of-the-art schools for Black children across the South. Their efforts were called the most important initiative to advance Black education in the early 20th century.”
He sighed, smacking his lips slightly. She reached over to pick up the glass of water he had sitting near him. Nodding his gratitude, he drank half the glass before returning it to the table, his hand only shaking slightly.
“The Rosenwald School on the other side of town served the whole area for grades first through seventh, and I got to return to where I had started my education. It was 1955, and I taught until segregation was declared illegal. Of course, then I was out of a job. No integrated school around here wanted to hire a Black teacher.”
“What did you do then?” Karen asked, hanging on every word of his story.
“Started working as a farm hand… needed to earn a living. Plus, I’d met Shirleen, and we wanted to get married. I worked farming for a while, then got a job in the chicken processing plant when they needed workers. It was up in Maryland. Funny… just over the state line, but they were hiring Blacks when Virginia wasn’t. I worked there for years until I retired, making it to a management level. But I missed teaching. It was my calling.” He sighed heavily, his bony shoulders sagging.
“And Shirleen?”
His smile returned, and he reached over to pat Karen’s hand. “Shirleen and I had fifty years together. Didn’t have any kids of our own, but many of the kids I’d taught and lived in the area always made me feel like we had a whole bunch of kids.”
“How long have you been a widower, Mr. Jefferson?”
“She died seven years ago. Miss her every day.” He turned his eyes to hers. “You talk about your children but never about your husband.”
“I’m a widow,” she admitted, hating the sad expression it put on his already beleaguered face.
“Oh, Ms. Karen, I’m so sorry.”
She offered a small smile as the familiar ache moved through her. “Thank you. I miss him, too.”
Before they could continue, laughter drifted in from the outside. She glanced toward the door and spied the two kids chasing each other in the small area between the mobile homes. Their giggles filled the air, a brief reminder of the resilience of childhood.
“They seem to be doing okay,” she commented, hoping her words were true.
“The older man who used to live there decided to move in with his son. The next thing I know, a woman and her two kids have moved in. She had a scrawny man there, too, for a couple of weeks. Then he’s gone, and this new man showed up.” He shook his head. “Woman is spacey if you ask me.”
“Spacey?” Karen had only seen the woman twice since she’d been coming to Roscoe’s. Her brief interaction with the young woman raised her concerns for the kids, considering the woman appeared possibly intoxicated or high.
“You know,” he said, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. He leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. “I knew a couple of former students who got into drugs—this woman kind of reminds me of them.”
Karen’s heart sank. Before she could ask more, the unmistakable rumble of a loud engine interrupted their conversation. The deep growl of a black pickup truck came to a stop outside. Karen instinctively stood and moved toward the screen door, peering out just in time to see the man she’d seen before—Alan—barking at the children to get inside. Zannie and Marty darted out of sight, and Karen’s stomach tightened as Alan stomped toward the trailer, his demeanor harsh and aggressive.
“Looks like Alan’s still sticking around,” she said, her voice laced with unease.
Roscoe shook his head. “I asked about that man. The kids didn’t look like they cared too much for him. I gotta say, the way he talks to them, I don’t care too much for him, either.”
She glanced at the time and looked over her shoulder. “It’s about time for me to leave. Do you want me to heat something for you before I go?”
“No, no, Miss Karen. You’ve got your own youngins to get to. I’ll be fine. I’ll microwave one of those meals. Those kids will probably pop over in a little bit, and I’ll share some with them. That man goes out at night, and they slip out and visit me some.”
Her heart squeezed at the thought of those two children finding refuge with Roscoe, and she smiled at him, appreciating his kindness. “You’re a good man, Roscoe Jefferson. I’ll see you next week unless you need me before then.”
As Karen walked back toward her car, the sound of giggles met her ears again. She turned to see Zannie and Marty peering out from the window of their mobile home, their small faces framed by the loose screen. Karen’s stomach tightened with worry. She didn’t want them to get into trouble with Alan.
She walked toward them, carefully keeping her footsteps on the gravel as quiet as possible. The window slid open, and she drew closer. “Marty, Zannie—I’m getting ready to leave. Roscoe will fix his dinner soon, but I don’t want you to get in trouble for sneaking out.”
Zannie rubbed her nose and shrugged her thin shoulders. “Alan don’t care, Miss Karen. He’s like all the other boyfriends Mama’s had. They’re only nice to us when they want something from her, and that’s usually when they first start hanging around.”
“He’s been around for a while. I don’t think he’s got his own house,” Marty said. “He’s been here longer than the others.” He looked over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “Remember when you first met him, Miss Karen?”
Considering that she had just been rehashing that memory, she nodded.
“That was a couple of months ago, and he’s been here ever since.”
“Well, I don’t think he likes me so much, so I’ll just stay out of his way,” she said with forced lightheartedness.
Zannie giggled and nodded. “Me too. I don’t think he likes us much either.”
Those words scored through her, causing her lungs to depress as the air rushed out. “Close the window, and I’ll say goodbye and leave.”
“We might as well just leave the window open since we’re gonna go see Roscoe, anyway.”
“You two shouldn’t be going out the window?—”
“Alan is asleep on the couch in the living room near the front door,” Marty said. “That’s after he takes some pills and goes to sleep real hard. But we’d rather come out the window just to be sure we don’t wake him up.”
Karen hesitated, biting her lip in indecision before pulling a business card from her pocket. She scribbled her personal number on the back and handed it to Marty through the loose screen. “Keep this hidden, okay? Use it in an emergency. Roscoe knows my number, too, so you can always go to him if you need help.”
Both children smiled at her, their resilience shining through despite their circumstances. Waving goodbye, Karen hurried to her car, her thoughts heavy as she drove away. As she made her way home, her mind drifted to her own children and how lucky she was to be able to tuck them into bed each night, safe and loved. The thought filled her with gratitude and an aching worry for Zannie and Marty.