Love Trumps Game Read Free

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    Her girlfriend had been right about being too available for her grown offspring. If Jackie had gotten her way, they both would have been cruising the high seas, sipping on apple martinis, and making goo-goo eyes at younger men. Placing her glass down, Hattie leaned to the side, attempting to look around her daughter’s shapely frame. “Whoever heard of job hunting on Saturday? Move out the way, Neema! You must think I fell off the turnip truck.”
    â€œDang, Mama.” Neema Jean sauntered over and flung herself down on the sofa. “You always do this to me.”
    â€œAnd what would that be?”
    â€œGive me a hard time,” Neema whined, then pouted like an eight-year-old. “You never do it to Myra when it comes to watching her kids. Never.”
    â€œNeema Jean, please.” Hattie sighed, feeling exhausted. She knew it was only a matter of time before Neema started her whining. Whining, plotting, begging, lying, stealing, and scheming: These were her daughter’s best qualities. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she had raised both girls in the church.
    â€œDon’t go blaming your sister because she takes care of business.” Myra was five years older, married to a doctor, and ran her own pet-grooming business. Neema was more like her father; spoiled, lazy and always looking for the easy way to get ahead. “And speaking of Myra, you need to ask her to watch the kids for you. Don’t you know how to do it? You babysit for her; she babysit for you. I’m sorry, but I’m not up to it this weekend. I need some rest.”
    â€œMama, pleeeaassse,” Neema whined, short of crying.
    â€œNeema, I already said no. Now stop harassing me.”
    Hattie wasn’t falling for it this time. No sirree. The last time Neema had claimed that she was going to look for a job on a Monday, she didn’t return for six days. Six whole days! Hattie hardly slept for worrying about the girl’s whereabouts. Not only that, but Neema Jean’s careless disregard had caused her to miss an important doctor’s appointment. Hattie would never understand how a woman could abandon her children for days at a time without so much as a phone call to check up on them. Interview, my foot.
    â€œBet you wouldn’t treat Myra like this.”
    â€œMyra got sense enough to hire a babysitter; instead of lying to me about where she’s going.” If anything, this so-called job interview was nothing more than a ploy for Neema to go lay up somewhere with Topps. Topps Jackson was nothing but trouble with legs and, in Hattie’s opinion, entirely wrong for Neema. Her daughter could have done so much better, but repeating thatwisdom to Neema had become futile. “Take ’em to their father. Let him watch ’em.”
    â€œHe can’t. He’s off on business.”
    â€œI bet he is.” The business of harassing good Christian folks. She resisted bringing up Topps’ earlier visit.
    Neema sighed. “Mama, don’t start that mess about Topps. He’s a fantastic father and you know it.”
    Hattie bit her tongue lightly. “Try asking your sister to watch the kids.”
    â€œYou know it’s over an hour drive to Myra’s house.”
    â€œAnd it’s a nice day for a long drive. Nee, stop making excuses.”
    â€œFine, Mama! I guess I can’t go to the damn interview then!” Like a spoiled child, Neema huffed and hopped up. She blew out a hard breath before stomping off in the direction of the small bathroom and then slammed the door.
    â€œWell, you wanted to be a mother, so be one,” Hattie mumbled, then shouted in the direction of the closed bathroom door. “And don’t be slamming no doors in my house or using that kind of language with me! You not that damn grown!”
    Smiling, Hattie went back to her program. Happy people with smiling faces were dancing to “Blow the Whistle” by Too