My brother flunked his SATs. The tuition for the private school he needed to get into was ten thousand dollars. My mother called me, her voice slick with a fabricated sweetness. “Honey, your brother needs this chance. We’re just… we’re at the end of our rope.” “There’s cash in the register at the supermarket where I work,” she continued, her words tumbling out in a rehearsed rush. “Tonight, after my shift, I’ll bring the money home. You just tell everyone you stole it. I’ll call the police, they’ll come get you.” “Your Uncle Joe will find out. He’ll pay the money to get you out, I know he will. The store gets its money back, you’re fine, and we’ll have the tuition for your brother. It’s a perfect plan.” I was so stunned by the sheer audacity that I couldn’t speak. I just said no. But she kept crying, telling me how hard her and my father’s lives had been, begging me to just help them this one time. I finally snapped. “Why should I? Your hard life has nothing to do with me.” “You two seem to have no trouble making babies. Maybe you should try watching more TV instead.” 1 I was a sickly child. My first few years were a revolving door of doctor’s visits. I’d be sick for two weeks, healthy for two weeks, like clockwork. My mother’s payday and my father’s payday were the starting pistols for my next illness. My Uncle Joe always joked, “She’s a lucky penny, this one. Knows just when to show up.” My parents didn’t find it so charming, especially not when my mother got pregnant again. The fine for having a second child back then was steep, money they didn’t have. Someone gave my mother a rotten piece of advice. She stuffed my few ragged clothes into a tattered backpack and left me on my Uncle Joe’s doorstep. Before she left, she knelt down, her instructions a hurried whisper. “Your uncle always said you were his lucky penny. Well, today I’m giving him that luck.” “Your Aunt Clara can’t have kids. A real hen that can’t lay. She’ll be so grateful to have you.” “Now, you be good. Your uncle, he married into that family. He doesn’t have much say, no real standing. You understand who’s in charge over there. Don’t be like you are at home, with no sense. Just keep your head down, get by. And don’t forget to come home for holidays and summer breaks. You’ll need to help me out when the baby comes.” She finished, straightened up, and ran. She ran like a demon was chasing her. The front door was closed. The porch roof was tiny, offering no shade. I sat under the blazing southern sun for four hours. By the time my aunt and uncle got home, I was barely conscious. “Joe, what in the world is that lying on our porch?” I heard a woman’s voice, laced with alarm. Then, Uncle Joe’s voice. “Looks like a little girl, Clara.” Aunt Clara sounded exasperated. “Honestly, Joe, you’ve got kids on the brain. Who would leave a child out here? She’s as thin as a dried corn stalk.” Uncle Joe didn’t argue. He really doesn’t have a say in this house, I thought hazily. I can’t cause him any more trouble. He always seemed to like me. My consciousness began to fade, the world dissolving into a low hum. 2 I woke up to the cool, smooth touch of a bamboo mat beneath me. It was the kind my parents had talked about buying for two summers but never did. A luxury. I remembered my mother’s words: “Your uncle married up. He might not have the pride, but he’s got the comfort. The gifts he brings you? Always the newest, most expensive things from town.” The low murmur of an argument drifted from the other room. It wasn’t loud, but every word was a clear, sharp jab. The subject was me. “What is wrong with your brother and his wife, Joe? They haven’t visited in years, and when they do, they can’t even look you in the eye. Now they just dump a child on our doorstep? If you let this stand, you’re a fool.” “And we both know what’s going on. I saw her at Christmas, your sister-in-law. Her belly was getting big. She tried to tell me she was just gaining weight. Their pantry is so bare you couldn’t find a single can of beans in it.” “She’s about to have that baby, I’m sure of it! And I heard the fine for a second child is thousands of dollars. They don’t want to pay it, so they just get rid of their first one? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Uncle Joe’s voice was quiet. “Clara, keep your voice down. You’ll wake her.” “I am keeping my voice down! You know I’m loud! This is me being quiet! I don’t care. First thing tomorrow morning, you are taking her back. I will not be tricked into raising someone else’s child.” A wave of sadness washed over me. I wanted to go home, but the only home I could picture was a place filled with my father’s drunken rages and my mother’s constant, bitter complaints. I snuggled into the cool bamboo mat. Just let me have this one peaceful night, I thought. Let this cool, sweet dream last until morning. 3 The first thing I tasted when I woke was peanut brittle. My eyes snapped open to see Aunt Clara watching me. I didn’t dare spit it out. As I tried to swallow the huge piece whole, she tapped my cheek. “Are you silly? It’s candy. You chew it. You choke on that, and your mother will be suing me for sure.” I tried to tell her I wouldn’t, but the candy was too big, and I just drooled a little instead. She looked slightly disgusted and stepped back, tossing a few more pieces of candy onto the bed beside me. “Eat one if you feel dizzy.” She pointed to a large, red tin on the dresser. “That’s full of them. Put a couple in your pocket before you go out.” It was a fancy brand, the kind of thing you only got for Christmas. My mother bought a tin once. I’d sneak a piece every few days until it was empty before the holiday, which earned me a good spanking. The memory of that rich, nutty sweetness was still vivid. I chewed, and just like I remembered, the flavor chased away all the bad thoughts. Later, as we were getting ready for lunch, I heard Uncle Joe say, “I’ll head over to my brother’s after we eat.” He’s taking me back. My mother had said that wasn’t my home anymore, that my brother couldn’t be born if I was there. I glanced at the candy tin. Maybe I could grab a couple of pieces before I left. But Aunt Clara was probably just being polite. No one likes a greedy kid. Sure enough, Uncle Joe said, “Lily-Anne, are you still chewing on candy? It’s lunchtime.” I thought he was about to scold me, but then he added, “Finish it up, but next time, make sure you brush your teeth right after. Cavities are no joke.” 4 I ate lunch with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I was sure I’d be too worried to eat, but the sweet and sour ribs were the best thing I’d ever tasted. I ate four pieces before I remembered my mother’s rule: “Be polite at other people’s houses and don’t eat too much.” It was too late. Aunt Clara made a “tsk” sound, and I immediately put down my chopsticks. But she was looking at my uncle. “Joe, what in God’s name do they feed this child at your brother’s house? Air?” “She’s been sick a lot, Clara. They haven’t had much money to spare.” Aunt Clara rolled her eyes. “A cold costs a few dollars. Don’t let them fool you. They just want your money. You think a child who can eat like this is unhealthy? They’ve been saving every penny for that boy they’re so desperate to have. You just wait, they’ll have a new house built within two years.” Uncle Joe glanced at me, then back at his wife. “Don’t talk like that in front of the kid, Clara. Eat up, Lily-Anne. Your aunt’s not the best cook, is she? Next time, I’ll make you my famous barbecue. You’ll forget all about these ribs.” Aunt Clara ignored him. “I’m not talking nonsense. You adults think kids are deaf and dumb, but they know exactly what’s going on. Now hurry up and finish so you can get going. And don’t you come back until you’ve sorted this mess out. I’m sick of the sight of your family name.” I, a member of that family, quickly finished my rice. Uncle Joe, another member, was even faster. He dropped his fork. “Be right back. And don’t even think about cooking dinner. You’ll just waste food.” 5 I watched Uncle Joe pedal away on his bicycle, a single thought in my head: Did he forget to take me with him? Aunt Clara tapped the table. “Those ribs weren’t too good, were they? A bit bitter.” I nodded honestly. “A little. But the meat was really good.” She pushed her chair back, her expression a mirror of my uncle’s. “You wait right here. Your uncle will be back soon. He’ll make you something better.” She started clearing the table, and I saw she was about to scrape the leftover ribs into the trash. In a flash, I scooped them all into my bowl. “I can finish them, Aunt Clara. They’re delicious.” She muttered under her breath as she washed the dishes, “How did that rotten branch of a man produce such a clever little sprout? And why does my good man get no reward for being so kind?” That afternoon, Aunt Clara and I sat on the porch, waiting. The sun wasn't as harsh as the day before, and a gentle breeze blew through. “Do you have a garden?” I asked her quietly. “I can help plant and pick vegetables.” I held up my skinny arms. “I’m stronger than I look. I’m a really good worker.” A man walked by with a basket of fresh-picked green beans. “I can shell beans, too,” I added quickly. “I’m fast, and the fuzzy stuff doesn’t make me itch.” She didn’t say anything, just kept her eyes fixed on the road. After a long time, a figure appeared in the distance. It was Uncle Joe, pedaling hard. He was holding something up in the air, shouting, “I got it done!” 6 I didn’t know what “it” was, but he looked thrilled, and even Aunt Clara broke into a wide, beautiful smile. She pulled a small, brick-red booklet from her pocket and clutched it to her chest. “Let’s have lamb hot pot for dinner. My dad got a whole lamb from the butcher in town. He said to come pick it up.” Uncle Joe smiled and ruffled my hair. “Let’s go, Lily-Anne. We’ll take you over to Grandpa’s and tell him the news.” I was still completely bewildered, standing frozen in place. Aunt Clara chimed in, “We’re not calling her Lily-Anne anymore. Awful name. It sounds like you’re saying ‘man, man, man.’ No wonder their luck’s been so bad.” Uncle Joe chuckled. “Her name’s on the certificate. We can use the one you picked out before.” He looked down at me. “How about we call you Cora? It means ‘maiden,’ like a fresh start. We’ll make a happy life together, the three of us.” Cora. It was a beautiful name. When my mother had called me Lily-Anne, I never thought anything of it. But in school, I’d learned how she slurred the syllables together, making it sound harsh and ugly. I’d tried to correct her, but she’d just wave me away. “That’s just how I talk. Don’t bother me with little things.” Aunt Clara opened the little red booklet. “Wait a minute,” she said, frowning. “Joe, didn’t we agree to only change her first name, not her last?” Uncle Joe was still smiling. “I married into your family, Clara. It’s only right our child takes your name. Besides, Sterling sounds much better than Miller. Cora Sterling. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” That evening, Aunt Clara couldn’t stop looking at Uncle Joe. Her eyes were brighter than any star in the sky. 7 Aunt Clara’s parents lived right next door. The houses were so close that if you spoke loudly, you could have a conversation from your own living room. The moment she’d mentioned lamb, a booming voice had yelled from the other side of the wall: “Don’t bother picking it up! I’ll cook it and you can all come over here to eat!” His voice was a carbon copy of Aunt Clara’s. As soon as we walked in, her father, a man with a booming voice and a kind face, looked at me. “Well now, look at this shy little thing. Not even a hello?” I quickly mumbled, “Hello, Grandpa.” He grinned and, like a magician, pulled a red envelope from his pocket. “Here you go. A little welcome gift.” I was stunned. Uncle Joe looked just as surprised. “Dad, when did you get this ready?” “With you two shouting all day, the whole neighborhood knows what’s going on. Did you bring the birth certificate? Let me see it.” Uncle Joe dashed out the door to get it, but Aunt Clara, without missing a beat, pulled the red booklet from her pocket and handed it to her father. The old man’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “It’s good. The name is good. You two finally have a child. Now you can have a real life, full of flavor.” I still didn’t fully grasp what a birth certificate meant for me. Not until Grandpa said, “From now on, you’ll live with your aunt and uncle. And one day, you’ll take care of them when they’re old. You understand?” I nodded quickly. Aunt Clara just waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. Did you keep me around just so I’d take care of you?” Grandpa huffed. “That’s different! You couldn’t have children, and you were always sickly. If I hadn’t kept you close, you would have been miserable at some in-law’s house.” “Exactly. And I’m just like you. I’m not raising a child for old-age insurance. I just love kids.” Just then, Uncle Joe ran back in, looking panicked. “Oh no, I think I lost the new certificate!” We all burst out laughing.
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