Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(74)

“Well! Of all the ungrateful—”

Martha glanced back over her shoulder. “Go home. I’ve had enough of you for one night.” She continued up the stairs, and the cat padded along. As Darlene stormed out, Martha heard the front door slam like a hurricane had blown through.





A Sleepless Night





Few people on Bloom Street slept that night. Most went to bed at their usual time, then tossed and turned with worrisome thoughts churning through their minds. Archie Dodd slept soundly, knowing he’d been a true friend and done the right thing. Henry Jacobs suffered a severe case of angina and didn’t once close his eyes. He blamed it on Mildred’s potato leek soup and swore he’d never again touch the stuff.

“We’ve had that same soup every Wednesday for the past twenty years,” Mildred reasoned. “It never bothered you before.”

Ignoring the thought Henry climbed out of bed, went downstairs, and fixed himself a Bromo-Seltzer. When it seemed the acid indigestion had eased up a bit he returned to bed but still could not sleep. At first he fumed, remembering how Sidney had singled him out in front of everyone. It was like a big fat finger pointing to him as the culprit. He wasn’t the one who started this. He’d simply gone along with what the others wanted. Why should the burden of guilt be dropped on his shoulders?

When Henry began to run low on things to be angry about, he started remembering the pain in Sidney’s eyes. By dawn he’d come to the conclusion that it would have been better if he’d not signed Darlene’s petition. The girl had always been a troublemaker, and he was a jerk for letting himself get suckered in.

Bob Paley didn’t fare much better. After the confrontation at the Klaussner house, he came home and plopped down in the chair in front of the television. He sat there for nearly an hour before he snapped the television on, and then it was only because Barbara demanded to see the news.

At five-thirty the next morning she came downstairs and found Bob still sitting in that same chair, his eyes wide open and a test pattern buzzing across the television screen. She took one sniff and caught the stink of vomit on him.

“Haven’t you gone to bed?” she asked, but when she spotted the half-empty bottle of Irish whiskey sitting on the side table it was answer enough.

Adding a thoroughly disgusted tone to her words, Barbara said he’d better get his ass out of the chair and start getting ready for work.

“Maybe I would be getting ready for work,” he said, “if you hadn’t stuck your nose in other people’s business.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said indignantly.

Bob, mad at himself and mad at Barbara for convincing him to sign the petition, said, “You know exactly what I mean. You cost me a good friend ’cause of some colored guy I’ve never even seen!” He looked up with the meanest imaginable look tugging at his face. “I got a feeling you ain’t never seen him either, have you?”

“Well, I haven’t actually,” Barbara stammered. “But Prudence did.”

“Prudence Wentworth!” Bob screamed. “You had me go up against a friend ’cause of what some girl who don’t even live here and Prudence Wentworth said?”

“It’s not just what they said—” Barbara began to argue, but by then their words had grown so loud they could be heard two streets over.

Maybe it was because in the morning the people on Bloom Street rose and had to face themselves in the mirror, or maybe it was simply the lack of sleep, but the same argument was repeated in six different homes that morning.





Martha Pillard was the lone exception. Now that she’d sent Darlene and the twins home, she had no one to argue with. She had only herself and the memory of the voices she’d listened to last night. Before she’d come face to face with Benjamin, based on the sound of his voice she’d pictured him as a man with pale skin and light hair, perhaps graying at the temples. She’d also felt the brokenness of his soul when he spoke of his dead wife, and she knew he was someone who suffered a loss as great as hers.

She could still see Benjamin lifting the cane from the ground and passing it to her. His skin was dark as the night, but the expression on his face had been one of concern and reverence, not anger. Turning to the cat, she said, “Sissy baby, you could have been stuck in that tree for God knows how long if it wasn’t for that Negro man.”

The cat gave a long luxurious stretch then snuggled its head into the curve of her neck.

“You know, Sissy,” Martha said, “I think we might have misjudged that colored fella.”

The cat purred, which for Martha was proof enough.

~

Sidney rose early that morning. He’d planned to wait another week or two before calling Marty again, but he had to do something now or Benjamin was going to leave. He hadn’t said so, but Sidney saw it in his eyes.

Last night after going to bed he’d lain awake for endless hours, his thoughts jumping back and forth from Ezra to Benjamin. When the first rays of daylight broke through, Sidney went to the window and checked. The blue truck was still parked in the driveway. Benjamin was still there, but Sidney knew the truck would be gone tomorrow. He woke Carmella, explained what he was going to do, then said, “Go downstairs and make sure Benjamin doesn’t leave before I get there.”