I shudder. Who would ever have the nerve to spit at my mother?

“I told Constantine that girl better not show her face here again. Not to Hotstack, not to the state of Mississippi. Nor would I tolerate her keeping terms with Lulabelle, not as long as your daddy was paying Constantine’s rent on that house back there.”

“But it was Lulabelle acting that way. Not Constantine.”

“What if she stayed? I couldn’t have that girl going around Jackson, acting white when she was colored, telling everybody she got into a DAR party at Longleaf. I just thank God nobody ever found out about it. She tried to embarrass me in my own home, Eugenia. Five minutes before, she had PhoebeMiller filling out the form for her tojoin.”

“She hadn’t seen her daughter in twenty years. You can’t . . . tell a person they can’t see their child.”

But Mother is caught up in her own story.“And Constantine, she thought she could get me to change my mind.Miss Phelan, please, just let her stay at the house, she won’t come on this side again, I hadn’t seen her in so long.

“And that Lulabelle, with her hand up on her hip, saying, ‘Yeah, my daddy died and my mama was too sick to take care of me when I was a baby. She had to give me away. You can’t keep us apart.’ ”

Mother lowers her voice. She seems matter-of-fact now.“I looked at Constantine and I felt so much shame for her. To get pregnant in the first place and then to lie . . .”

I feel sick and hot. I’m ready for this to be over.

Mother narrows her eyes.“It’s time you learned, Eugenia, how things really are. You idolize Constantine too much. You always have.” She points her finger at me. “They are not like regularpeople.”

I can’t look at her. I close my eyes. “And then what happened, Mother?”

“I asked Constantine, just as plain as day, ‘Is that what you told her? Is that how you cover your mistakes?’ ”

This is the part I was hoping wasn’t true. This is what I’d hoped Aibileen had been wrong about.

“I told Lulabelle the truth. I told her, ‘Your daddy didn’tdie. He left the day after you were born. And your mama hadn’t been sick a day in her life. She gave you up because you were too high yellow. She didn’t want you.’ ”

“Why couldn’t you let her believe what Constantine told her? Constantine was so scared she wouldn’t like her, that’s why she told her those things.”

“Because Lulabelle needed to know the truth. She needed to go back to Chicago where she belonged.”

I let my head sink into my hands. There is no redeeming piece of the story. I know why Aibileen hadn’t wanted to tell me. A child should never know this about her own mother.

“I never thought Constantine would go to Illinois with her, Eugenia. Honestly, I was . . . sorry to see her go.”

“You weren’t,” I say. I think about Constantine, after living fifty years in the country, sitting in a tiny apartment in Chicago. How lonely she must’ve felt. How bad her knees must’ve felt in that cold.

“I was. And even though I told her not to write you, she probably would’ve, if there’d been more time.”

“More time?”

“Constantine died, Skeeter. I sent her a check, for her birthday. To the address I found for her daughter, but Lulabelle . . . sent it back. With a copy of the obituary.”

“Constantine . . .” I cry. I wish I’d known. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mama?”

Mother sniffs, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She quickly wipes her eyes.“Because I knew you’d blame me when it—it wasn’t my fault.”

“When did she die? How long was she living in Chicago?” I ask.

Mother pulls the basin closer, hugs it to her side.“Three weeks.”

AIBILEEN OPENS HER BACK DOOR, lets me in. Minny is sitting at the table, stirring her coffee. When she sees me, she tugs the sleeve of her dress down, but I see the edge of a white bandage on her arm. She grumbles a hello, then goes back to her cup.