Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(59)

“I ain’t looking for a handout,” Benjamin said indignantly.

“And I ain’t offering one,” Sid shot back. “Only thing I offered was a job. You work and I pay you for doing the work.”

“I got no problem with that,” Benjamin said, “but I ain’t gonna move in like family and sleep in that upstairs bedroom. It just ain’t proper.”

Sidney scooted closer and plunked his elbows on the table. “Well, if that’s your only problem, we can fix that.”

Benjamin leaned forward, listening.

“We’ve got a playroom downstairs in the basement. It’s clean and dry but not fancy. I was planning to rent it out to a handyman, but I could instead rent it out to you for a dollar a day.”

“A dollar a day?” Benjamin repeated. “Ain’t that a bit high?”

“Well, I’ve got to figure in the cost of food for you and the boy,” Sid said, making it sound like a business negotiation.

“You got a stove down there?” Benjamin asked.

“No stove, but there’s heat and a bathroom.”

Benjamin rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. “No stove, huh?”

Sidney shook his head. “Nope. You and Isaac will have to eat up here with us white folks. I’ve come halfway. Now it’s up to you to come the other half.” He struggled to hold the dour look on his face and not smile.

“A dollar a day,” Benjamin repeated. “And how much you gonna be paying me?”

“I’ll pay you what I paid Paul when he started working at the store: thirty-seven dollars a week. I first take out my seven dollars for room and board, then give you thirty dollars cash at the end of the week.”

As Paul listened he held back a grin. The truth was he’d made thirty dollars a week. Sid had tacked on an extra seven dollars to pay for the rent he was charging.

Thirty dollars was considerably more than Benjamin ever made in Bakerstown and he would have been willing to sleep in the truck to make that kind of money, but there would still be the problem of Isaac. Sleeping was one thing, but what would he do with Isaac while he was working?

The whole deal looked sweet to Benjamin—with one exception.

“What kinda neighbors you got around here?” he asked apprehensively.

“Neighbors?” Sidney repeated. “What do the neighbors have to do with—”

“Are they gonna get put out ’cause you got coloreds living in your house?”

“Of course not,” Paul answered. “They’re good neighbors.”

“Any of them good neighbors got coloreds living in their house?” Benjamin asked. “Hired help, maybe?”

“Not that I know of,” Sidney said. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t—”

“If it don’t make no never-mind to you,” Benjamin said, “I’d sooner you tell folks I’m hired help instead a’ claiming we’s company.”





A short while later Benjamin got in his truck and followed Sidney to the store. Isaac remained at the house playing with Jubilee as Carmella cleared the table and began readying herself to take Paul for his X-ray.

When Sidney parked in back of the store, Benjamin pulled in alongside of the car and followed him in. Benjamin had insisted on driving “hisself,” and weary of arguing over trivial things Sidney had curtly answered, “Fine.”

For the first few hours they were like two lovers getting past a spat; they said what had to be said in as few words as possible, then moved on to the next thing. There was no chitchat or pleasantries tucked in between the tasks. Sidney handed Benjamin the broom and told him to start sweeping up. After that he cleaned the front window and loaded bags of potato chips onto a rack. It was near ten when Sid pointed to a carton and showed Benjamin the shelf where the cans were to be stacked.

“Three rows,” he said and turned back to the counter.

Benjamin pulled out the first few cans and started stacking, but when he caught sight of the picture of green beans on the label he laughed out loud.

“If that don’t beat all,” he said, “putting green beans in a can.”

“What’s wrong with green beans in a can?” Sid asked.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with it.” Benjamin chuckled. “I just ain’t never seen it before.”

“You’ve never seen green beans?”

“Sure I seen green beans, I just never seen ’em in a can. We growed ours.”

“What about in the winter?”

Benjamin stopped stacking and stood there with a can of beans in each hand. The sad memory of Delia standing at the stove passed through his mind.

“My Delia used to cook up vegetables from the garden and put them in glass jars to last through winter.” The sadness in his face was obvious, even when he turned back to stacking cans.

For a brief moment, the wall between them disappeared. It was only two men connected by a bridge of unspoken sadness and painful memories. Sidney sensed the connection, but it was gone in a flash.

Perhaps if Emma Withers hadn’t walked in at that moment he would have asked about Delia, but as it happened Emma was in a mood to talk. Once she stared telling about her niece’s wedding, Sidney knew he could do little but listen. As she rattled on, he watched Benjamin finish stacking the cans and move back to the storeroom. Several other customers followed behind Emma, and when the store was once again empty Benjamin was in the back scrubbing out the refrigerator.