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crawl back home to her parents, all the while hiding her pregnancy. Sometimes babies come with or without doctors, and when her time came, Hattie found herself outside, in the barn at the rearof her parents’ house, alone and scared, giving birth to a baby boy that she quickly left on a nest of warm hay. Terrified of her parents finding out, she had hurried to the house to clean herself up and dispose of any evidence.
    Once her parents were asleep for the night, Hattie tiptoed back down the stairs and out the back door to go check on the baby. Her son. But the child was no longer breathing. Panic filled her heart as she tried taking the infant up and gently shaking him to prompt breathing that wouldn’t start back. After hiding the stiff infant under the hay, Hattie had waited a day later to place the lifeless little body in a shoe box and dig a grave for him at the rear of the barn. She had the good sense to pile on heavy rocks to keep the dogs from digging her misfortune up.
    It was her secret. Hers and God’s. A secret that dropped so deep into her soul that it made a sound as hard as a drop hitting water for the first time. She couldn’t tell one soul about her dead son, but God hadn’t forgotten. Surely He hadn’t. That’s why God was putting so many trials in front of her. Like that hardheaded Brandon.
    â€œBrandon, I said bring yo’ behind here now! Boy, don’t make me come get you.”
    The two women watched Brandon stomp toward the house. Hattie snatched the screen back and ordered him inside. “You apologize to your aunt.”
    The boy was as stubborn as two mules on meds.
    â€œForget getting to the bottom; let’s paddle his bottom.”
    â€œMyra, no. Brandon didn’t mean what he said. He’ll apologize. Right, Brandon?”
    The twins and Raynita ran inside to watch the festivities.
    â€œHe need a whuppin’.” Raynita’s eyes lit up with the anticipation of her brother getting his behind tore up. “Mama don’t whup him enough. That’s why he be acting like he do.”
    They all waited for Brandon’s apology.
    â€œApologize, Brandon.”
    Brandon’s face was one big frown. “I ain’t saying shit!”
    Myra wailed. “Oh, hell no! I need a belt, or a switch! Somebody go get me a belt!”
    â€œI’ll get it.” Raynita sprinted to the bedroom, obviously happy to oblige.
    Hattie had to stop the girl. “Nita, no! There will be no ass beating today. Not now.”
    â€œNanny,” one of the twins squealed and giggled. “You said a bad word, too.”

SIX
    T he first time he had seen a man popped, he had recently turned ten. Topps Jackson still remembered that night as if it had happened last week. The pop had been over money, and his father, Mack Jackson, had carried out the task like he had been shooting a BB gun at empty cans; cold, easy and heartless.
    â€œPay attention, TJ,” his father’s gruff voice had demanded. “This is what you have to do when niggas stomp on your loyalty. And when niggas try to take advantage of your generosity. Are you paying attention?”
    â€œYeah, Daddy.”
    Topps’ ten-year-old legs had trembled so bad, he thought that he would collapse as he stood in the Long Beach warehouse where his father had run one of his business out of. The massive building was for automotive parts storage, but behind the scenes, it served double-duty as a lucrative marijuana and cocaine operation. The four “soldiers” who had brought the man to Mack had been sent away.
    â€œA private lesson for my son,” Mack had told them. “Take a walk.”
    â€œOne thing you have to learn about this business, TJ, you have to check behind your soldiers. No matter how much you think you can trust them, you still have to check. You see, son, greed is like a cancer that can get to anyone.”
    â€œIs he gonna scream like a bitch?” Topps