Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(74)
Something about the woman’s sympathy angered Jilo more than her insults ever could. She didn’t want this woman’s compassion. “I think perhaps you should leave.”
A yellow, snaggletoothed smile broke out on the woman’s face, and the red patches on her sallow jowls seemed to catch fire. “I’m already on my way, girlie.”
Jilo turned away, lunging toward the window she had painted over in a color similar to, but not quite the match of, her grandmother’s haint blue. She opened the window, wanting to banish the woman’s scent, then turned and followed her out of the house. Standing on the porch, she watched the woman’s back as she trod away, her steps leaving heavy impressions in the sandy soil.
When the woman was far enough away that Jilo felt sure she wouldn’t turn back, Jilo went and sat on the porch swing, giving herself the gift of listening to the silence. The quiet felt peaceful for a moment, then due to what she could only guess was her burgeoning maternal intuition, it struck her as worrisome. In an instant, all thoughts of her disgruntled visitor faded. She pushed up from the swing, feeling it slip back away from her, and pushed her way around the argumentative screen door. The house was utterly silent, which only alarmed Jilo further. Willy wasn’t prone to silence.
She almost called out, but instinct told her not to. She passed through the front room, then crept down the hallway, ears straining for the slightest sound. Perhaps both Willy and Robinson were sleeping? She slid up to the bedroom door and wrapped her hand around the doorknob, which she turned ever so carefully. The mechanism still clicked, but it was a soft, nearly unnoticeable sound. She eased the door open, relieved to see the baby sleeping on the bed, surrounded by pillows to prevent him from rolling off. She craned her head around the door, where, unaware of her presence, Willy stood before the mirror, admiring himself in the dress she’d once worn to the Kingfisher Club. The night she’d met Guy, her mind reminded her, though she was quick to alert the part of her mind that considered that an important fact to shut the hell up.
“Willy,” she said, stepping into the room. “What in the world are you getting up to in here?” she asked as if she didn’t already know the answer to her question. As if she hadn’t always known the answer.
Shock turned Willy’s face into a nearly comical mask—his eyes wide, his mouth open and working like a fish trapped on dry land. “I didn’t mean no harm. I didn’t.”
Jilo felt herself flash hot and then cold. She bit her lower lip as she considered the situation. “You get out of that dress,” she said, each word a command in itself, the path she was going to take becoming clearer as she stepped onto it. “Then you get your clothes on, and get out of this house.”
“But I got nowhere to go. My pa. He said he’d kill me if he ever laid eyes on me again.”
She hated it. She had known. She had always known. But seeing it with her own eyes had made it more real. She cast a glance at her still-drowsing son. “I’m sorry, I can’t have you around Robinson.” She started to turn away.
“I love him. I wouldn’t hurt him. I wouldn’t.”
She stopped and turned back. “I’m not saying you’d hurt him.” She felt her heart reach up into her throat. “I know you’d never hurt him. But I can’t have you around him. I can’t have him learning”—she waved her hand in wide circles in his direction—“this.”
“But I didn’t learn this. Ain’t nobody taught me.” Fat tears burst from his eyes. “If it was something I had learned, don’t you think I would’ve done all I could to unlearn it?”
Damn. Jilo wanted to turn her heart to stone as she watched Willy’s head fall forward, his body, still dressed in her old blue cocktail dress, racked with sobs. She fought her own instinct to step forward and put her arms around the sobbing boy, who had lived under her roof for months now. His words and his sincerity touched her, and besides, what exactly was she so worried about? Messed up as Willy must be, she knew he would give his life to protect her son.
Maybe if Robinson had a father, a strong, male figure around to keep him in line? Then a question rose in her mind, one she didn’t like very much. This child before her. With his big heart. When it came down to it, would she rather have Robinson grow up like him or like Guy?
No. It was impossible. She couldn’t have Robinson growing up around a boy like Willy. She couldn’t take that chance.
No, a very different part of herself spoke up: What was impossible was to send Willy away, especially since he didn’t have anywhere to go. She loved the child too much. Was she hypocrite enough to punish him for this confirmation of what she had always felt to be true?
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, wishing she believed in God, so she could ask for guidance. Instead, she asked her own troubled heart what to do, but to her disappointment, it couldn’t supply her with a definitive answer. The path that had for one moment seemed so clear grew hazy. She crossed the room to Willy and lifted his chin up. His eyes were red, and full of fear.
Why would you want this, boy? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. It seemed to Jilo there was only one thing in this world treated with less fairness and respect than a black man, and that was a black woman. “You take that dress off. Put on your own clothes.” She paused suddenly, wondering why it should matter so much anyway, but a fearful part of her own heart felt that it must. If it didn’t, why would folk make so much of a fuss over it?