Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(91)
For a brief and bright shining moment, she let herself be infected by his zeal. Maybe it was, after all, Savannah’s fault. It was true, before Edwin had found Guy and brought him south, Guy seemed to have been making something of himself. She imagined her small family living happily in that great northern city, far from old memories, far from Jim Crow. Then reality set back in. “It’d take money to get us set up in New York. We don’t have that kind of money, Guy.”
His eyes opened wide and he pointed toward the ceiling. “I already got that figured out; Binah’s done married herself one of the richest fellows in creation. You write your sister. You write Binah. You ask her to arrange for Edwin to make you a loan. He got me down here. He can help get me the hell back out of here.”
She shook her head. She hadn’t shared any news of Edwin with Guy. She’d figured it best not to bring up her brother-in-law. “No, he isn’t rich anymore,” she said, steeling herself to weather his disappointment. “Binah wrote me to say that his parents have cut him off. Edwin is in no position to help us.”
A small smile curved his lips, and a light ignited in his eyes. He laughed. “Good ole Edwin’s gonna learn what being a working man is like now.” It surprised her to see Guy so callous about his supposedly dear friend’s misfortune—especially since Guy himself had been counting on that fortune. Worse, it infuriated her that he would take any satisfaction in the thought of her little sister doing without. But before she could speak, he continued. “No problem, we’ll sell the house. That’ll give us something to get started with.”
Jilo pulled back. “We can’t do that, Guy.”
His face darkened. “And why the hell can’t we? A second and a half ago, you were saying you’d do ‘anything.’ ”
“Well, ’cause Nana left this place to me, Opal, Poppy, and Binah. Even if they agreed to sell it, we’d have to split it all four ways.” She wondered if they might. Based on their history of not visiting, Poppy and Opal didn’t give a damn about the place, and Binah might just be happy for the cash.
“And where the hell are they? If it weren’t for the two of us, this place would’ve been a deserted ramshackle long ago. No, this here place belongs to us. No need to share anything.”
She cast her eyes around the kitchen of the house that had been in her family now for three generations. It was true, this place belonged to her, and she belonged to this place. She realized that even if her sisters would be willing, she wasn’t. This was her home. And she knew, as badly as she wanted to believe in Guy, he’d blow through the windfall, and she and the boys might end up homeless in that great northern city. “No, Guy, that isn’t going to happen.”
Guy reached out with a wide sweep of the arm and sent his plate flying. It crashed against the wall, taking a divot of plaster out before falling and shattering on the floor. Jilo pushed back from the table, ready to flee, ready to fight, but Guy was already up and stomping down the hall. She followed him out through the living room, catching hold of the front door as he passed through it. She held up her left hand to fend off the protesting screen. “No more, Guy,” she called out after him. “No more. We can’t go on living like this. I’m not gonna go on living like this.”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn around. She waited there in the doorway and watched as he marched down the sandy drive, around the bend, and out of sight.
She turned, pushing the door closed behind her as she did.
When she looked up, her heart jumped to her throat. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed as she realized she was not alone. Another man sat in the partial shadow that fell on her nana’s old chair, her lover’s “throne.” Her pulse beat in her neck, even after she recognized the face, even after all sense of danger had passed. “Pastor Jones,” she said, relieved, confused, taking a few steps closer to the man she hadn’t seen in years. “You frightened me.” She smiled, pressing her hand over her heart. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She flushed with embarrassment, wondering just how much he had witnessed of her argument with Guy.
“I was called here,” he said, the words coming out quiet and flat. His voice sounded odd, like it was reaching to her from a great distance.
“Called?” she said, but he gave no further explanation. She took a closer look at him.
At first glance, he seemed to be in good shape. His clothes appeared clean and neatly pressed, his well-blocked hat rested on his knee. Still she could see there was something wrong with the man. Too quiet. Too still. Shell-shocked, that was the term that came to mind—his gaze was both blank and fixed at the same time, like he’d seen horrors he couldn’t look away from, even though they were no longer before him. He looked up at her through wide and haunted eyes. “They aren’t angels,” he said. “They never were.”
NINE
“They aren’t angels,” the pastor repeated himself.
Jilo crossed and knelt before him. “Are you all right? Can I get you something? Some water?” He didn’t respond. He just sat there staring straight ahead. “Does Mrs. Jones know you’re here? Does she know you’re all right?” Jilo tried to remember the boarding house’s phone number. Would it still ring? Had Mrs. Jones managed to hold on, or had she lost everything, going to drift in the wind? Jilo felt guilt flood her. She should’ve done a better job of keeping in touch.