Death of Faith – A Collected Imprints Story

Author’s Note

Blurb: 

Herb Holt reflects on his marriage, and the decision that marred his daughter’s life. 

Content Warnings:

Major character death from a stroke (heavily implied and discussed, not graphically shown), alcoholism, misogyny, homophobia, child abuse (heavily implied and discussed, not shown), religious trauma, death row (mentioned and discussed, not shown), loss of a parent + spouse, pregnancy, child endangerment (implied), depictions of mania, self harm (mentioned, not shown), toxic masculinity, threats of gun violence, depictions of psychosis, ableism

*If I missed any content warnings, please contact me at authormicahflowers@yahoo.com and I will update them as soon as possible. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

With each passing interstate sign, Herb’s migraine worsened. He hunched over in the driver’s seat, squinting at the highway as he drove. The sunglasses taking up half his face did nothing to help, only partially shielding him from the sun’s beams. 

“You would think,” he spoke to the grainy photograph sitting on his center console. “After all these damn years, I’d know not to drink ‘fore a big day.”

The night prior, he popped open a bottle of red wine that’d been sitting in his pantry for decades. Untouched since the passing of his partner, he took her upcoming birthday as a signal to finally taste it. One sip turned into a gulp turned into a chug. The evening ended with him drunk in bed, reminiscing and sobbing. 

Sobbing not only for his late wife, but for his daughter, Masika too. 

She always told him not to fret over the past, to disregard the sin that kickstarted her collapse. He would smile, promising not to stew on it. But every night, a heinous voice chanted Bible verses in his mind and he’d hear Masika crying over the phone. “Take me home. Please. Please take me home.”

He couldn’t save her from that place, and he couldn’t save her from prison, the very one he headed to this early morning. But he made the five-hour drive once a month, taking what little savings he had to pay for an overnight hotel. This time, the visit overlapped with a special occasion. 

The security guard—Rodney, a sleazebag who’d let visitors smuggle virtually anything inside—greeted him with the usual lackluster pat down and check. He paid no mind to letters Herb brought, which was surprising. I’ll consider it good luck, he thought. Usually, Rodney would at least skim the contents.

“You’re all set. Go on.” Rodney said.

Taking his usual seat in the visiting lounge, Herb observed the photo once more. Phillis—the subject of the image—lured him into the past effortlessly with her sunny eyes. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

June 1966

After long, grueling work days in a food processing facility, Herb craved reprieve in the form of beer.

He typically went to the handful of pubs near his jobsite. Hopping place-to-place, he’d observe and drink until his belly bloated. Inevitably he’d wake up home, facedown in drool, not remembering left from right, nor how he got there. This cycle repeated five days a week, any free time spent catching up on sleep.

Being a loner, Herb hardly spoke to others. Not even his coworkers, who relentlessly tried to get him to open up. He didn’t carry their performative masculine energy, subjecting him to the occasional jab or taunt. Nothing the men said would match curses spat at him during childhood, though. He brushed it all off, resigned to silence unless he needed to communicate for a task.

So when Jamison, an employee three years his junior, invited him out for drinks Friday night, he couldn’t be more skeptical. Especially since he never heard of the place Jamison spoke of—a bar called Mushy Hearts. 

“Herbert, I know you hear me.” The younger man said, holding a tub against his hip.

Herb waved him off. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You don’t wanna drink some beer?”

“…What kind of beer they got?”

“They gots sours, ciders, a buncha stuff,” seeing Herb’s expression lighten, Jamison grinned. “Whataya say?”

Normally, the idea of breaking routine terrified Herb. But he didn’t know the last time he tried something new. It couldn’t hurt. So he gave Jamison a slow nod.

“Aight, fine. We headin’ there right after work?”

“Yeah, that’s good with me.”

A hangup on the assembly line dragged the shift well into the night. Herb didn’t get into Jamison’s car until nine p.m. By then, his courage regarding broadened horizons fizzled out. His hip ached, and he longed to rest. 

“You mind taking me home?” he asked Jamison.

“Hell no I ain’t takin’ you home. You agreed to go out, so I’m stickin’ to it.”

Herb slid further down the seat with a sigh. 

Jamison parked in front of a two-story building. The lower floor seemingly belonged to a grocery store, though it bore no lettering beyond food advertisements on the windows. It looked closed, but Jamison strutted right through the entrance. Herb trailed behind, eyebrows knitting.

“Thought you said you was takin’ me to a bar. This ain’t no bar.”

“Oh, hush. It’s on the second floor,” Jamison crossed tiny aisles of food to the opposite side of the building, finding a door. “Or, that’s what my friend said.”

“So you ain’t even been here before?” Herb asked, watching him twist the knob and unveil a set of stairs. 

“Nah. Just heard about it through the grapevine.” With a cheesy bow, he gestured for Herb to ascend. “Go on now. I’ll be right behind ya.”

Herb slowly went up the stairs, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He found himself in an open floor plan, dotted with velvet furniture, tables, and a modest bar in the center. A Black androgynous person belted lyrics from the corner, accompanied by a tiny band. Herb knew swamp blues when he heard it. He smiled dreamily, paying no mind to his surroundings as usual. After a few notes, he turned to speak to Jamison.

“They got good music—” 

Scratching his head, he found nobody behind him. Oh well. I’m already here, he thought, moseying his way to the bar while keeping his eyes downcast. He plunked down in a rocky chair, scooting it up close enough to comfortably drape his lanky arms on the bar top. A pudgy, lightskinned Black woman came up, sporting a flowing red dress. She pinned him with a skeptical gaze.

“Are you lost, sir?” she said.

“What you mean?” She looked around, prompting Herb to actualize the patrons; dozens of Black women kissing, dancing, and celebrating. “Oh. This place ladies-only?”

She leaned forward. “Nah, it’s for everybody. So long you don’t start shit.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I want me some good beer and good music, is all. I’ll keep to myself.”

Satiated by his answer, the bartender relaxed. She went over the beer options, Herb settling on a sour. As she slid it to him, he closed his eyes, letting the blues creep into his blood and bones. He hummed to the beat beneath his breath, tapped his foot until the song ended. Downing the bottle in one gulp, he ordered another.

Two turned into six, his usual cap. By that point, the crowd thinned out. One couple slow-danced in front of the performers. The pair consisted of two women, both as tall and lithe as Herb, dressed in matching pantsuits. Beaming at one another, Herb couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

The bartender made a last call as the band packed up. Herb ordered a final drink, nursing it until only he remained. The bartender hustled to clean up, holding her lower back as if it ached. A figure emerged from the stairway, heels clacking as they approached her. 

“Go home, Nat,” the person said. “I’ll close up.”

The bartender—Nat—paused. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, go on now.”

“Thank you!”

Vision wavy and blurring, Herb needed a second before standing. He clutched his stomach, nauseous and not looking forward to the trek home. But damn, had the beer and music been worth it. Jamison missed out. Scooting the bottle away, he let out a contented sigh. 

The person who took over for Nat spoke, “You’re new.”

Herb shifted in his seat. “Uh…yeah. It’s my first time here.”

“How’d you hear about us? I don’t see men stickin’ around here often.” 

“I enjoy trying new places, is all.” 

“I see,” she said. “Well, I hope you come back. We got live music every night.”

“More swamp blues?”

“Swamp blues, jazz, a little soul. We got a rotatin’ list of the best newcomers from each scene.”

“Then I’ll happily return. You the owner of this place?”

“Sure am. Sank all my money into this bad boy.” 

Herb did the unspeakable and made eye contact with the stranger. His breath caught in his throat. A Black woman carried herself with a confident, cool grace, adorned in a lavender-colored button-up with gray pants. A fox’s jawbone hung from a gold chain necklace around her neck. Her dark orange hair was braided in short cornrows. Lovely brown skin a shade lighter than his, she glowed against the mood lighting. Huge eyes met him with intrigue. Her heart-shaped lips curled into a smile. 

“I’d like that.” She told him. 

His heart skipped a beat. “I’ll uh…leave you to it,” he said, standing up and waving. “It was nice chattin’.” 

“What’s your name, handsome?”

Handsome? The comment fostered confusion; Herb wasn’t handsome. I’m filth, capable of nothing but evil,  he thought. His mind drew to 1 Kings 14:9: “You have done more evil than all who lived before you.”

He answered anyway. “Herbert, Herb fa’short. Yours?”

“I’m Phillis,” she held out her hand for him to shake. “I’ll see you again soon?”

“Yes’m.” 

“Good. I’ll be waiting.” 

***

Throughout the rest of month, her words looped in Herb’s head. Yet he didn’t return to the joint. The morning after he met Phillis, Jamison told the whole damn food plant Herb went to a queer bar. At first, their coworkers questioned why Jamison knew about the place to begin with. He supplied his flimsy excuse of hearing it through the grapevine and claimed he wanted to “test” Herb.

Herb didn’t bother defending himself, ignoring the bigotry that resulted. But it silently affected him, deterred him from returning. His coworkers perpetuated the same beliefs he’d been taught at home, stifling him, making him afraid and insecure.

But as time passed, he realized how comfortable the bar made him. At most, he obsessively watched his back. Adjusted his posture, tried to look more manly when exchanging nods of acknowledgement with patrons and staff alike. It never worked. Cold eyes met him with quiet ridicule. Mushy Hearts was entirely different—everybody there seemed free of judgement. No upturned noses, no sneers, no hate. Only love.

So fuck Jamison, and damn the men who joined him on his tirade. Herb would rather spend the rest of his days in a queer bar than testosterone-fueled, shady cesspools.

Herb greatly underestimated the distance of Mushy Hearts from his job. It took him an hour and a half of limping to reach it. By the time he got to the stairs, he collapsed. He rubbed circles into his injured hip before ascending.

The crowd’s energy and chatters enlivened Herb, giving him just enough motivation to make it to the barstools. As soon as he sat, Phillis greeted him.

“Howdy, stranger. I thought you was never coming back.”

She wore the exact same outfit as before, except sporting an afro, and a deep shade of lipstick that looked astounding on her. Herb flushed.

“Work got me fucked up, sorry,” he answered.

“How so?”

“Just…givin’ me a hard time for comin’ here.” 

“Unsurprising. You work with men, don’t you?”

“Yup. Rowdy, uncouth ones.”

She stifled a giggle with her hand, grin peeking from the sides. “What’ll you be having tonight?”

“Surprise me.”

While Phillis poured red wine, she unabashedly admired Herb. Her gaze made his hairs stand on end. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, even when making other drinks. 

The feeling was mutual; as she bustled about, he espied her broad shoulders and muscular arms threatening to burst out of button up sleeves.

Devouring six glasses of wine, Herb’s buzz left him smiling big. He noticed Phillis whisper to her coworker, Nat. Nat pointed to him, and Phillis smacked her hand away with a laugh. Herb tried to ignore a twinge of hurt, worried she spoke ill of him. He didn’t expect Phillis to plop down next to him, opening a beer bottle. At first, neither spoke. Just awkwardly stumbled into each other’s gazes only to chuckle. 

But soon, in her smooth, silky voice she said, “You fascinate me.”

His stomach flipped. “…What?”

“You heard me. When men come up in here, it’s to ogle women kissing each other and leave. But you don’t look at anyone here that way. You know how rare that is?”

“I ain’t one to cast judgement or ogle,” he told her truthfully. “Queer folk just out here survivin’ like everybody else. Ain’t nothing wrong with ‘em.”

“Well said. You ain’t queer yourself?”

Herb shrugged. “I dunno. Don’t really got time to think about it. Too busy working my ass off,” He paused, looking at her. “Are you?”

“Sure am.” She tilted her head. “I play both teams.” 

“What does that mean?”

“That means I’ll kiss anyone, men and women alike. Even folks in between.”

“There are folks in between?” 

“Oh, yes,” she leaned into his ear. “How about I open your horizons, Herb?”

With her lips so close, he blushed. “And…how would you do that?”

She hopped off the barstool, holding out her hand. “Come with me and find out.”

Down the stairs she led him out to the back of the building. She got into her vehicle, gesturing for Herb to join. As he sat, his whole body coated with sweat, no idea what to expect.

“You’re shakin’,” she noted. “Do I make you that nervous?”

“Yes. I mean…look at you.” Herb said.

They stared at each other. Without thinking, he leaned towards her. She closed the distance, hungrily kissing him. The softness of her lips elicited a gasp as she cupped his jaw. He melted into the motions, only for a lightning rod of fear to rip through him. A cacophony of Bible verses paired with an unwanted erection made him pull away. He hated anytime he got one, even in private. 

“I don’t…I don’t want….I can’t sleep with you,” he stammered out, eyes downcast to her hands. “I’m sorry.”

She lifted his chin, scoffing. “You think I brought you here for sex? I just wanna kiss you till you can’t breathe; nothing more.” 

His mouth opened in shock. He’d been in a game of tug-a-war with the concept of sex his whole life. His abuser—his self-proclaimed “stepfather”—spoke shame and abstinence regarding such lewd acts. His coworkers spoke nothing except sex, reducing themselves and others to objects of pleasure. He’d been teased time and time again for not wanting anything to do with it. 

Maybe he would try sex once, but otherwise, he held no interest. He hated the idea more than he desired it, veering into repulsion. On the contrary, he craved to be swept off his feet and showered with unconditional love. In secret, he read romance serials, fantasizing a life where he’d come home to a partner. He wanted adventure and new sights with someone who loved him. 

Could Phillis be that person?

The way he fixated on her essence, everything from her energy to her appearance, pushed him to yes. “Keep going. Please.”

Phillis did just that, splaying a hand on his neck. Herb spent an eternity lost in the sensations, until she abruptly pulled away. “I gotta help close.”

“Y’all need a hand?”

“Nah. I seen you limpin’ around, don’t need you hurting more than you already do,” She paused. “How about you hang tight and I’ll take you home.”

He accepted, admitting it’d be nice to avoid a treacherous walk. As soon as she left, he took a drunk cat nap. He awoke to her asking him for directions to his place. By a miracle, his words were coherent enough to lead her to the right area. Before he got out, he blurted the first thing on his mind. “What are we?”

“How you mean?”

“Sorry, I must sound like a damn fool,” he said. “I ain’t used to…any of this stuff. You’re the first person I’ve ever kissed.”

“Well, why don’t we take things slow? Go on a few dates, spend more time together. Let fate take the reins.”

“I can jibe with that.”

She draped an arm over the back of his seat. “May I kiss you goodnight?”

Herb nodded. When her lips met his, he found Heaven. 

October 1966

Phillis decided on an old cemetery for their first date and Herb couldn’t be happier. She picked him up on a shady Wednesday afternoon, his only day off, equipped with baskets and blankets. Hopping into her car, he looked at her outfit, a baggy golden shirt with oversized green pants. Feeling underdressed, he fluffed out his modest t-shirt and cargos. 

She bounced in her seat. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

Herb nodded, and her lips grazed his face. 

On the drive there, Herb thought about how lucky he was. Phillis put her hand on his thigh, gifting security. Even though it’d be their first date, Herb’s optimism shrouded his worries—a rarity. 

She lovingly squeezed. “Here we are.” 

As soon as he actualized fancy, sprawling tombstones, he shifted nervously. “This a white folk graveyard?”

“…Maybe.” 

“Ain’t you worried about getting caught?”

“Don’t you worry. If anybody comes, I’ll pick you up all princess-like and haul ass. I’m crazy fast.”

She got out of the car and Herb followed as she marched into the field. Choosing a shady spot beneath a massive tree, she put down the baskets to set up the blanket. Herb offered to help, but she waved him off.

“You just stay there and look pretty for me,” she flirted. He was glad she couldn’t see how flushed he got from the comment. Once done, she grinned from ear-to-ear and posed. “Ta-da! All ready.” 

She helped Herb onto the ground. I’m gonna be beet red this whole damn date, he thought as she sat right beside him. She produced two immaculately cut sandwiches, handing one off. He glanced at it only for a second before chowing down. Phillis didn’t eat a bite, just watching him dreamily. In a rare occurrence, he opted to be silly. 

“You gonna eat too, or keep staring at me?” He teased.

“I can’t help it. You fine as all get-out, Herb. I’m shocked somebody ain’t married you up already.”

He beamed at her between chews. “You’re too nice.”

“No,” she side-eyed him. “I ain’t nice. I’m honest.” 

The way she ate her sandwich fascinated Herb. She peeled off the crust, devouring the center first. Then she funneled the remaining pieces into her mouth, albeit slowly. It reminded him of his own food quirks, like how he ate cereal dry with a glass of milk. She shared other traits with him as well, such as an inability to maintain eye contact. Whenever she looked at him, she’d look at his nose, or his lips. Never his eyes. Not after the first two meetings.

He didn’t mind any of this, finding comfort in her company. His stepfather Kevin seared into his brain that he was a “slow freak.” So it felt lovely sharing space with someone who shared traits and would never judge him. A breath of fresh air in a field of corpses. 

“How many bones do you think are in here?” She asked him. 

Herb hummed thoughtfully, “Probably hundreds.”

“You think if I steal a couple, I’ll end up cursed?”

“Oh, fa’sure. You sure you ain’t cursed now, considering that question?”

Phillis snorted with a laugh, “Don’t worry, my Black ass would never. And if one of them crackers was possessin’ or cursin’ me, you’d probably be dead by now.”

“Shit, you right,” Herb said. “Are you usually a jokester?”

Eyeing him over the sandwich, she flushed. “Only when I’m nervous.”

“You? Nervous?”

“I know, I know. I talk big game…but I don’t think I’ve been on a date before.” 

“Really?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had my fair share of sex. But I ain’t ever dated, and…I ain’t ever been kissed in the way you kiss me. The closest I’ve gotten was my first one.”

Herb’s heart fluttered. Conversation ceased as the two finished up eating. Afterwards, Phillis cleaned her mouth with a napkin. She then wiped the corners of his, chuckling as crumbs fell off his mustache and onto the blanket. 

Right as she put the napkin away, Herb captured her face in his hands. “I’d be happy to kiss you that way again. May I?”

The smile that spread across her lips set his heart on fire. “Please.”

This time, he led, pressing his mouth onto hers. She kissed back, grinning at his increasing intensity. He pulled her into his lap, gripping her hips, granting her more and more until he couldn’t breathe. He paused, looking up at her with reverence. She grazed a thumb across his cheek and smiled. 

“You alright?”

“Yes. More than alright,” he whispered, drawing their lips close once more. “You’re a blessing, Phillis.”

“Does that mean you wanna make things official?”

Herb nodded and she dove into his arms, squeezing him with joyful laughter.

June 1967

Herb and Phillis thrived in each other’s company. To celebrate a year together, they married in a tiny chapel. Herb borrowed a tux from a neighbor, and Phillis wore a satin emerald-colored gown. Regulars from her bar and staff showed up in support. Herb didn’t have any guests tied to him, but that didn’t matter. As he kissed his bride and the crowd erupted, he knew he found a home in her.

Throughout the entire relationship, the two rarely scuffled. In fact, Phillis was too communicative, so much so it sent Herb into spirals. He wasn’t used to talking things out—far more used to being punished in unimaginable ways. It didn’t take long for a nasty meltdown to result from a minor disagreement, leading him to finally tell her about Kevin.

When Herb turned five, he and his mother, Angelina, fled their home. He couldn’t remember the circumstances, nor where Kevin came into the picture, the details jumbling and collapsing as he aged. He only recalled the white man allowing her and Herb to stay with him. Kevin treated Angelina with utmost kindness, pampering her and convincing her he was one of the good ones. All the while, he abused Herb in every way possible. Angelina didn’t care, so long as she didn’t experience any harm herself. She even insisted Herb call him ‘dad,’ though the two couldn’t marry. Herb ran away at the age of sixteen after a beating left him with his hip injury.

Phillis sympathized with his struggles. Taken from her family at the age of fourteen, she suffered identical forms of torture at the hands of a Catholic orphanage. A Hell of neverending Bible verses and bizarre punishments. During the minor disagreement—regarding her unreadable affect—Phillis promised him she was safe to confide in. He could always speak his feelings, and it would result in conversation, never harm.

After the wedding, he told her the same thing. She came home emotional, biting back a subject she wanted to bring up. He could see it killed her to withhold by the tightening of her jaw.

“Talk to me, Phillis. You’re safe,” he reminded her.

“I want a baby.”

His eyes widened. Of all the things, he didn’t expect this. “Oh?”

“I know it’s silly…but when I sit in the front yard, I wonder what it’d be like to see a mini-us runnin’ around. Silly, silly, I know…” she teared up a bit. “I don’t know why I keep thinking about it.”

Joining her on the couch, he draped a hand over hers. “It ain’t silly. Sometimes, I think about it too,” he moved closer. “You know, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind what?”

“Trying to get you pregnant.”

She straightened. “No. Herb, I can’t put you through that—”

“Of all the people in the world,” Herb pressed their foreheads together. “I’d feel safe sleeping with you. Just once, to try. I know we can stop at any point, which helps a whole bunch.”

A soft smile danced on her lips. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” he told her, fully meaning it. 

September 1967

During the pregnancy, it became clear to Herb that Phillis didn’t know how to rest. Her bouts of high energy and sudden impulsive behaviors didn’t typically faze him. He didn’t care so long as she didn’t hurt anyone or herself. He sympathized with her irritability, her mood swings, all of it. If she veered into self-harm, he’d be there for the aftermath. She insisted he wasn’t responsible for her mental wellbeing. Fine by him, but he still wanted to comfort her.  

Now, with a child on the way, Herb got more vocal about her overdoing it. He convinced her to let Nat run Mushy Hearts for the full term. When she’d overload her plate with tasks and errands, he’d gently encourage downtime. She yelled at him a few times over it, always remorseful and depressed thereafter. Phillis told him, in those moments, she could do anything. The consequences didn’t matter, or she would deal with them later.

One afternoon, he woke up to walls reeking of fresh paint. He ran right into the living room, where Phillis stood on a ladder, ginormous brush in hand. A bucket of soft pink paint sat by her feet.

“Morning, honey!” she greeted.

“Lord, you gon’ give me a heart attack. Can you please get down?”

She scoffed, “What? You don’t like the pink?”

“It ain’t that,” he moved to the side of the ladder, gently tugging at her blouse. “I’m worried about you fallin’, and the fumes.”

“Oh, please. I can handle myself a little painting job.”

“How ‘bout this. I’ll open the windows and paint the parts that need a ladder. You can get the rest. Deal?”

Phillis rolled her eyes at him as she descended. “Alright, worry wart,” she kissed him before passing him the brush. Plunking down in a folding chair nearby, she watched him struggle to open the windows and ascend the ladder. “Did I tell you I’ve been writing down baby names?”

“Nope. But I’d love to hear ‘em.”

She grabbed a piece of paper from her desk before returning. “I got a bunch of girl names. I think I’m gonna leave it up to you if we have a boy.”

“Oh, that’s a bad idea,” Herb chuckled. “I’d wind up calling him ‘Stick’ or something terrible.”

“Stick?” She laughed. “You better not! At least give him a name that won’t get him teased.”

“I can do that. Go ahead with your list, now.”

Phillis rattled off a bunch of common names like Paula, Margaret, and Sherry with a happy tone. Herb listened attentively, successfully coating the wall with pink. “…Now that I think about it, I don’t like most of these. But you know which one I do?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“Masika. I heard it long ago, I don’t remember where. But it’s stuck with me.”

“You know what it means?”

“I think it’s something to do with rain. And you know how much I love the rain.” 

Later, she took a bath, allowing Herb to take over fully. He’d been singing to himself when knocks rang out at the front door. Herb paused painting, wiping his hands on a dirty rag before limping to the entrance. “Coming!” he shouted over the noise.  

When he answered, all limbs locked into place. He stammered at first, then tried to shut the door. A muddy, large boot thwarted his attempt, followed by a sinister laugh. 

“Now, Herbert. Is that any way to greet your old man?”

Kevin pushed Herb into the foyer as he let himself in. Herb tumbled backward, crashing into a shoe rack. How the hell did he find me? He thought. Though his heart threatened to burst from his chest, he tried to speak strongly. “You ain’t my old man, and I got nothing good to say to you—” 

“Where’s your woman?” When Herb looked shocked, Kevin obnoxiously smacked tobacco dip. “Lina’s friend said he saw you and a lady ‘bout to pop. Were you gonna tell us about her?” 

Right on cue, Phillis emerged from the bathroom, cloaked by a long robe. “What’s all the ruckus?” Her eyes locked on Kevin, bursting with disdain. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house?”

As Herb scurried to her side, Kevin feigned hospitality. “My apologies, ma’am. I’m Herbert’s father—”

Rage swirled in her eyes. “Get the fuck out. You ain’t welcome here.”

Kevin ignored her to stare at Herb. “You gonna let a woman speak for you, Herbert? I thought I raised you better than that.” 

Phillis stepped in front of her husband. The action forced Kevin to look her straight in the eye. “If you keep talkin’ down on him, I’ll kill you. I know who you are, and what you’ve done.” 

He thoroughly chewed his tobacco, grinning before responding. “Feisty, ain’t you? I don’t get the big deal. I just wanna know about my grandbaby.” 

Lightning fast, Phillis withdrew a pistol. “You ain’t ever gonna meet her if I have anything to do with it. Scram.” 

By this point, Herb curled into a ball on the floor, trembling. He wanted to get up and defend his home. But he couldn’t do more than cry at Kevin’s feet like he’d done his whole life. Phillis and Kevin exchanged words, all underwater. Herb only halfway returned to reality when Kevin slinked into the shadows, backed towards the entrance by a gun-wielding Phillis. Of course, he had to have the last word.

“Hey, Herbert?” He cast a scalding gaze, yellowed teeth exposed in a demented grin. “When something happens, and you have to come crawlin’ back to Mom and Pop, don’t blame me.”

For hours, Phillis struggled to console Herb. None of the usual ideas she had—breathing exercises, soothing music, the like—alleviated his distress. The Devil left his home, but his claws remained in Herb, unrelenting. Tearing him inside and out, leaving nothing but a husk. Instead of trying to distract, Phillis held him tight, letting him release his emotions. 

“That’s right. Let it all out. I’m right here,” she told him, moving his hand to her stomach. “It’ll be alright; your happy ending is with us.”

March 25th, 1970

The delicious, intensely sweet scent of vanilla filled Herb’s nostrils as he frosted a birthday cake. Masika sat at the dining table in her high chair, adorned in a birthday hat. Phillis stood beside her, hiding pain with a controlled, small smile. An unsteady hand patted Masika’s head. Herb noticed Phillis’ ire demeanor, but tried to focus on his task. 

He cut a tiny slice for his daughter, placing it on her tray. She tore into it, eliciting a real smile from her mother. Herb kissed Masika’s forehead. “Happy Birthday, kid!”

Phillis went next, lips grazing Masika’s cheek. “Happy birthday!” 

The family celebrated with a subsequent game of hide and seek in the front yard, followed by a hefty stew for dinner. To her parents’ surprise, Masika tuckered out fast. She passed out in her high chair, head facing the ceiling as she snored. Herb cleaned the broth and food off her face and heads before dressing her in pajamas. As he put her to bed, Phillis stood in the middle of the living room, eyes vacant.

A week prior, she closed Mushy Hearts for good. It’d been running on fumes, losing customers at rapid speed. Many regulars left the south for more promising shores, others refused to leave their houses at night out of fear.  Phillis couldn’t blame them–Shreveport police were cracking down, making it impossible to exist freely. Phillis couldn’t guarantee her patrons’ safety, no matter how much she wished she could. 

Herb did his best to support her during the shutdown. She began the week emotionally flying in the clouds, believing she could do anything she put her mind to. On Monday, she repainted the whole house while Herb and Masika went to the park. Tuesday and Wednesday she ran around town, frantically applying for jobs until her body caved to exhaustion. She came home depleted, leading to her current catatonic state. She couldn’t shower, nor brush her teeth. Expressing disgust at herself for “not being together” for Masika’s birthday, Herb encouraged her to shatter and process her emotions. 

“That bar was important to you,” he had told her. “It’s okay to grieve. I promise. Sometimes we gotta fall apart before we can keep going.”

Now, as Herb returned from laying Masika down, Phillis danced in the living room. Slow motions rippled through her limbs as she shut her eyes. Upon noticing Herb’s presence, she tossed a glance over her shoulder.

“You hear that? Someone’s playing music.” 

She snapped and clapped to a slow beat, moving her hips. A smile stretched across her lips as she turned to Herb, inviting him to join. Though he heard no music, he accepted, draping his arms over her shoulders. Her overworked, bandage ridden fingers firmly held his waist. Soft hums filled the quiet. 

“I really miss that place,” she said, swaying. “But I know it’s for the best. Nat kept talkin’ about all the damn raids happening ‘cross the country. It’s horrible.”

“It is…” he cupped her face. “You know what, though? You made history with Mushy Hearts, Phillis. Your legacy ain’t gonna be forgotten. Not among the Shreveport studs and femmes, that’s for sure.” 

A shy smile danced on her face. “You think so?”

“Yup. And don’t you worry, I’ll let our little one know all about it too.” 

The two embraced in the hallway, frozen in time until Phillis wept into his shoulder. She stepped away, sucking a sharp breath between her teeth, “Wanna drink with me?”

He hadn’t drank since before Masika was born, but he nodded. It was a special occasion, after all. The two ended up buzzed on the kitchen floor, Phillis reminiscing about the bar. Herb finally heard about its origins. The grocery store belonged to an elderly Black couple who rented out their upstairs for events. Having been a regular of the store since her teenage years, the owners grew fond of Phillis. The moment she mused aloud about opening her own bar, they leapt on the opportunity. 

Herb hooted at tales of men getting chased out, and got teary eyed when Phillis spoke about several confessions of love that occurred under the lovely burgundy lighting. His favorite story, by far, was Phillis’ first kiss.

“I was…damn. I think I was twenty-eight,” She took a sip of wine and grinned. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen comes to the bar. My bar. And listen, everyone in there is fine as shit, but this one right here? She glowed, just like you do.”

“Glow?”

She nodded, moving past the detail to continue, “I could see wings sproutin’ from her back. Just like you, she was sent from above. We flirted, held hands, and carried on. But I was too scared to ask for a kiss. It’s a miracle she ran into me a couple days later and invited me to her motel room. That’s where she kissed me. Hundreds and hundreds of times, everywhere.”

“Did you ever see her again after that?” 

Phillis shook her head. “Nah. It was the right place at the right time, I guess. But that’s okay. I still think fondly of her, and I hope she feels the same, wherever she is. And now, I have another angel. You. My divine. Y’know, I sometimes don’t think this is real. I worry I’ll wake up back at the orphanage, throat dry from screaming. That this is all some perfect dream, that my life’s been a lie since I turned thirteen. A fabrication from God to terrorize me. But then I hold our baby…and…I know none of this is an illusion. This is real. Our love is real. I love you, Herb.”

“I love you too.” 

Sliding their hands together, she tenderly kissed him. He kissed back, reading her weary expression when he pulled away. “It’s been a long day. Wanna head to bed?”

She nodded. Herb carried out the nightly ritual of tucking Phillis into bed, kissing her goodnight. He loved pampering her after the long days in any way he could. Ready to cave to sleep himself, he shut off the light and joined her. 

As soon as he relaxed, Masika wailed from her crib. Rushing over to soothe her, he picked her up and stepped out of the room. Gently rocking her in his arms, it didn’t take long for her eyes to droop. He looked at her with a smile, admiring how much she resembled Phillis. 

April 1971

“Hold on now! Wait up!”

Masika tore across the front yard, giving Herb a run for his money. Limp be damned, if Masika wanted to play, he wouldn’t deny her. Giggling, she zipped behind a tree, staying stock still. Herb pretended not to notice, using the stasis to catch this breath.

“Oh no! Where’d ya go? Are you…here?” he said, purposefully searching in the wrong direction. Slowly drawing towards the trunk, he hummed under his breath. “Or…here?!”

Masika erupted into laughter as he hoisted her up. After one twirl, he wheezed and coughed. Sitting her on his good hip, he rustled her hair.

“Okay, kid. I don’t think I can play no more,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

As he crossed the yard, Phillis’ car moseyed into the driveway. “Mommy!” Masika cheered.

Herb frowned. “Yeah…She’s home early.”

After the closing of Mushy Hearts, Phillis wound up taking on a waitress job she despised. When that wasn’t enough, she did odd jobs for neighbors. The overload took a toll on her—she suffered a stroke two weeks ago. Herb begged her to take it easy. She refused, wanting her, him, and Masika to be comfortable. 

She opened her door as Herb approached. “Hey, my loves!” Beaming as she got out, she crushed her family into a hug. Planting kisses on each forehead available, she strutted right inside, leaving Herb in the dust. He came in a moment later frowning.

“You’re home early.”

“Yeah, I just…” she scoffed, kicking off her heels and nearly toppling over in the process. “I’ve got a bit of a headache. Nothing some pain meds won’t fix.” 

The word “headache” alarmed Herb. “We need to go to the hospital.”

“No, I’m alright. Gonna make us….going to make…” She smiled—one side drooping a little. “Will be okay. I’m…gonna make lunch. Yeah. Sounds nice…”

He placed Masika in her playpen, “Phillis, sit down. Don’t do anything, okay? I’m gonna get the neighbor, have him drive us.” 

“But I’m so hungry,” she said tiredly. “Just want…a bite…”

Admonishing himself for not knowing how to drive, he gently guided her to the couch. “Hang tight, okay? Stay right here.”

Tearing through the living room, past the kitchen and out the door, he rushed down the block. He prayed that Molly, their closest neighbor, was home. Nearly eating pebbles as he crashed onto the ground, he wound up crawling up her driveway and stairs. At the front door, he rose to his feet, frantically pounding. He sobbed. 

“Dammit, is anybody there?!”

Molly’s husband answered. “Herb?”

“My wife needs help. I need someone to take us to the hospital.”

“Alright, alright, lemme grab my keys.”

Not waiting for him, Herb scurried home. Fear coursed through his veins, poisoning him. It’ll be okay. I caught it in time, we gonna go to the hospital and it’ll all be alright, he thought, picking up speed when his front door was in sight. 

Herb burst through, a frantic grin on his lips. “Alright, sweetheart, I’m back,” he grabbed the house keys off the wall before turning. “Let’s get going—”

From the archway leading to the kitchen, Herb saw a pair of feet adorned in stockings, stagnant. As he drew into the room, childish giggles and sloshing grew louder. Soon as he stepped in, he froze. Everything shattered, a wail of anguish erupting from his throat. 

May 1971

It’d been fifteen years since Herb had dinner with his parents. 

Kevin made his signature dish, grits and Spam. Growing up, Herb would pick at it, eating pigeon portions. But this time, he had to kiss ass. Had to beg for help. So he scarfed it down in an uncharacteristically cheery manner. He was grateful Masika wouldn’t see him groveling to his abuser, having left her with Nat for the evening.

Lina and Kevin also behaved differently. Usually Kevin demanded conversation, forcing Herb to talk in circles while Lina quietly observed. Tonight, Lina excitedly chatted with Herb about house renovations, Kevin taking her place as observer. The family spun around the elephant in the room—Herb’s parents knew Phillis passed away. Herb bet they could smell the desperation on him, the suffocating realization he’d been backed into a corner, that Kevin had been right. 

Herb tried his best to hold on his own. Nat had been a trooper, watching Masika part-time. But she couldn’t help 24/7, and her schedule conflicted with virtually any job Herb tried to pick up. In between learning how to drive, he starved himself to keep Masika fed and cover rent. It still wasn’t enough. At one point, he drove to an adoption center, fully intending on giving her up to the state. All he wanted was her to have a chance at a better life.

But when Masika looked at him with Phillis’ eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.

Now, he readied himself to request Lina and Kevin’s help. He had no other choice. It wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, just long enough for Herb to build a hefty savings. He heard about well-paying factories near Pike Road, Alabama, and planned to relocate there to apply. With pay like that, he’d have Masika home in no time.

“You need our help, don’t you, Herbert?” Kevin inquired in an icy tone.

Herb tearfully nodded. 

That next morning, Herb sat Masika down and explained she was going to a new place. He didn’t know how much she comprehended between his cries, but he did his best. After, he packed up all her things. As soon as he stood up with suitcase, she tackled his leg with a hug. Squeezed his calf with her tiny hands. 

Doubt wove through his thoughts. Could he really do this to her? Kevin’s kindness at the dinner didn’t fool him. He knew the man hadn’t changed a lick. Maybe he won’t hurt her, he deluded himself. Maybe I was the problem, which means she’ll be safe. Right? 

He dissociated on the drive over, through bringing Masika and her belongings inside the house. Lina cooed over the toddler, calling her cute as a button. Seeing her hold Masika like she used to hold him eased the tension, if only a little. Once everything was in Masika’s new room, he rambled about her favorite toys, preferred foods, and noises to avoid around her. 

“We’ve got it, Herbert!” Kevin snapped, cutting him off.

The mask slipping instilled Herb with terror. Even Masika jumped at the strength in Kevin’s voice. Herb looked at her. Should he grab her and run away? Let himself die taking care of her, leaving her to eat his corpse? Chest suffocatingly tight, he nodded.

“Yes. That’s…that’s right…” He rubbed his hands, glancing down at the floor. 

“Why don’t you head on home?” Kevin said, putting his hand on Herb’s back. The gesture made Herb retch. “Got a big move ahead of ya, and you’ll need all the rest you can get.” 

Nodding, Herb went to Lina. He took Masika from her, bouncing her in his arms as he brushed a coil out of her face. 

“Hey, kid. I’m heading off now,” he told her, voice laden with dread. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be seeing you real soon. I’m gonna get a nice place, just for the two of us. So hang tight for me.” 

Kissing her forehead, he put her down. At the entrance, he tugged on his coat. Masika followed him, only for Lina to take her hand.

“Papa?” Masika said to him.

Back turned, Herb’s shoulders hiccupped. He swallowed his tears and looked at her one last time.

“I love you, kid,” he said.

Masika burst into tears. She screamed for him, even after Kevin slammed the door shut. In his car, Herb yelled curses at himself, thrashing around and punching his legs. Soon, he doubled over, holding his head in his hands.  

There would be no repenting for this.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Herb snapped out of his tread down memory lane as Masika sat across from him. She slouched in the seat and shoved her hands in her pockets. He compared the aged, tired face before him with her youthful appearance as a toddler. Time was passing by so fast. Too fast. 

“Hey there, kid,” he said.

She sighed, hunching like a shrimp and dead-eyed as usual. “Hey, Pops.”

“How you been?”

“Been fine. Taking care of the girls, keeping ‘em safe. Nothing new.”

His heart wrenched in his chest. “You just like your mama, always taking care of people.”

“How old would she be today?”

“She was three years older than me, so…seventy-five.”

“Damn, you’re getting up there. But so am I. Though I ain’t got much longer.”

Normally, the thought of Masika facing death row would brew preliminary grief. Today was different—he would not cry for her. He would instead grant her the key to her salvation, ensuring her sentence wasn’t the end. Before that, a celebration was in order. 

“You ready?” he asked, placing the photo of Phillis on the table between them.

She nodded. With shaky breaths, father and daughter sang “Happy Birthday.” Like every year, it didn’t take long for both to lose composure. Herb broke down first, tears pouring as he sobbed through the lyrics. His daughter followed, her own silently falling. 

“Happy Birthday, dear Phillis. Happy Birthday to you.”

Herb placed a kiss on the image, followed by Masika. Though time ran out for the visit, he had to take a moment to collect himself. The memories of Phillis churned, mixing with ones of Masika. Namely, the day he picked her up from prison for the first time. The day he realized Kevin broke her the same way he broke him. And it was all his own damn fault.

“Dad,” dismissing the rules about touch, she grazed his hand. “Look at me.”

He did, sniffling and snotting. “I’m sorry.”

“There ain’t nothing to be done now. Regret is enough. Will tell you as many times as I need,” she said knowingly. “Forgive you, I do. None of that matters anymore.” 

Herb nodded and checked his watch—only three minutes remained. Time to get to business. “I got some mail,” he said in a low voice, trying to convey the importance in his eyes. He quickly slid the papers across to her, making sure nobody watched. 

She tilted her head, accepting it discreetly. “From you?”

He leaned forward. “From an old friend, real near and dear to ya.”

Masika’s eyes brightened as she clutched the letters. She hurriedly stuffed it into her shirt, out of sight. The visit ended shortly after. When he hugged her, it lasted for an eternity. She murmured into his ear, “Will read ‘em as soon as it’s safe.”

Planting a kiss on her cheek, the guards then led him away. As he exited the room, he took one last glance at her. For the first time in years, he saw hope in her eyes. 

Later, in his hotel room, Herb made a call on his flip phone.

“Tell your pops I delivered the letters.”