Page 68 of The Deadly Candies

Claudia stepped into the room, her baker’s dress still on, though it was Thursday. She’d come straight from work. “Why you in here all alone? Brother and Pa are eating. I made some red beans and rice. You hungry?”

Debbie shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “Not feelin’ too good, Mama. Thought I’d lay down for a bit. Got my period.”

Claudia’s brow furrowed, and she moved closer, her eyes scanning her daughter’s face. Debbie could feel her mother’s gaze like a spotlight, peeling back the layers of her lie. But Claudia didn’t press. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Debbie’s feet, rubbing them gently.

“You know how proud I am of you, right?” Claudia said, her voice low and steady. “Workin’ hard at your studies, holdin’ down that summer job for your books instead of asking your daddy. You’re doin’ what I couldn’t, baby. When I was your age, I already had one child and another on the way. I don’t want that for you, Debbie. This world—it’s changin’. I see it every day. This ain’t Butts, Mississippi, no more. This is Harlem. This is the future. And my baby—my baby’s gonna be somebody important.”

Debbie’s throat tightened. She blinked back tears, but they came anyway, spilling over as she leaned into her mother’s embrace. “I love you, Mama,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’re my hero. You’re important.”

Claudia chuckled softly, though her own eyes glistened. “Aww, now, stop that. You gone make me cry too.”

Debbie pulled back, her hands trembling as she cupped her mother’s face. She studied the lines around Claudia’s eyes, the way her hair was pulled back in its simple bun, no fancy curls or ribbons like the other women at church. Claudia had sacrificed everything—her youth, her dreams, her vanity—so that Debbie could have more. So that she could be more.

“I got somethin’ to tell you,” Claudia said, her smile widening. She forced Debbie to lower her hands and let her face go.

“What is it?” Debbie asked, her heart pounding.

“We’s goin’ to Mississippi this Christmas. To see Kathy. To spend time at Big Mama’s. We’re gonna make it a family trip—a real good one.”

Debbie forced a grin, though the news felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. “Okay, Mama. That sounds really nice.”

Claudia hugged her again, tighter this time, and kissed her forehead. “I’ll make you a hot water bottle before I go. You rest up now, ya hear?”

When Claudia left, Debbie sat in silence. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. She pulled the letter from under her pillow, the words she’d written to Matteo blurring as her tears fell.

Dear Matteo,

I can’t see you no more. It’s too dangerous—for you, for me, for my family. Your father… he’d never let us be. And my daddy, my uncle… they’d pay the price. I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Deb—

She signed her name, her hand shaking, and pressed a kiss to the paper. But it wasn’t just Matteo she was saying goodbye to. It was the life she’d dreamed of, the future her heart wanted for Matteo and her baby, with her.

Debbie’s hand drifted to her stomach, still flat but hiding a secret that could ruin everything. She thought of Claudia’s words—This ain’t Butts. This is the life.—and felt the weight of them like a stone in her chest.

Saturday. That’s when it would happen. Magdalia could “fix” things for girls like her. It was dangerous, maybe even deadly, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t bring a baby into this mess. She couldn’t let her mother down.

Debbie folded the letter and tucked it into her pillowcase. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The future her mother dreamed of—the one she’d worked so hard for—felt like it was slipping through her fingers. But Debbie would do whatever it took to hold on to it. Even if it meant risking everything.

21

Magdalia’s - East Harlem, 1949

The train car rattled like bones in a coffin. Debbie sat stiffly back on the wooden bench, her fingers twitching. Around her, the people of Harlem shuffled in and out. Men in porkpie hats flipping through theAmsterdam News, women balancing baskets of groceries, boys scuffing their knickerbockers on the floor. Their noise felt distant as if she were watching life through greased glass.

Out the window, fire escapes zigzagged, holding the neighborhood together. Businesses and their signs blinked by, likeLucky’s Barand theDivine Mission Church.A group of girls laughed, their voices swallowed by the screech of brakes.

96th Street.

Debbie stood too fast, her knees buckling. The address was burned in her pocket.

Magdalena knows how to fix things, Suga said. But be careful. She’s old now, and her hands aren’t steady.

The whispered conversation had happened in her school bathroom. The girls had slipped into a stall to talk. Outside of it was cigarette smoke and other girls gossiping between classes.

She uses a hook, long and thin. Or I heard she sometimes gives pennyroyal tea. Either way, you best bring cash and a strong stomach. You’ll bleed and cramp afterwards, but then things will be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.

Debbie hurried out of the train car. The platform stank of urine and pretzels. Debbie clutched her coat tighter, though it was a warm day; she chose to wear one. A sidewalk preacher bellowed about Jezebel’s sins as she passed. A group of men loitered outside a social club and turned to stare. She ducked her head, her heart hammering.

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