My Monticello(45)

I’m going back to get my grandma’s medication, I intended to say.

I could see Georgie coming over, scrambling around the fishpond and the giant willow oaks. Even before he got his bowl, he jumped headlong into a story, his chin tipping up, his voice vibrating with excitement. He’d just seen a group of brown bears—cubs, actually. Could we believe it? A sloth of bears, he said.

Ezra stood near a table, brought out to the lawn, gnawing at a bitter stalk. He announced he’d heard a baby crying. For real, down in the fields, the night before. And he’d heard it after the Yahya family had headed up to the nursery to bed.

Ms. Edith’s teeth, the color of aged ivory, flashed briefly. Haunts, she said.

Nothing but a baby fox, Mr. Byrd said, taking a sip from his mug.

I was sitting beside Knox on those porch steps, brick edged and topped in slate. My legs so much darker than his, my feet bare and stretching toward the sprawling west lawn, my socks and sneakers flung out onto the grass. The Flores family had re-pitched their tents at the farthest end of that lawn, near the tree line. Inside, MaViolet was resting in the bedchamber; by all accounts, she’d gone quiet since that morning when she’d spoken so freely with me. Ms. Edith had told me that when she offered food, MaViolet had not taken even a bite.

Devin was eating too far across our loose circle, seated between the twins. He tipped back in the chair that held his body, his boots wedged against the overgrown grass. I noticed that Devin was looking around at everybody. He looked at Papa Yahya, who was hastening the children to stop playing around, to sit still on their blankets while they ate. He looked at Ms. Edith, who was cackling at something Mr. Byrd had just said. He scanned out past the edge of the lawn, as if to check for danger even though he was not on duty. The far tree line shone with the falling light, a million shades of greens.

It came out then, those words that had been forming all day and since the night before—maybe since the moment I stumbled up the steps of the east porch and heard MaViolet rasping: I’m going back, I said, rising to my feet.

I mean to get MaViolet’s inhalers, I said. She could hardly breathe last night—

I could tell by their expressions they knew already what had happened with MaViolet. Maybe Knox had told them, or Ms. Edith. Maybe that’s why, all day, it had felt like they were eyeing me with some mixture of pity and tenderness. As they worked at their suppers, folks began to talk about town, about what they wanted and what was safe, one voice weaving into the next.

Papa Yahya said, We need more meat for the men!

Lakshmi said, Those men were up and down that road every night, but then, suddenly, they weren’t.

Elijah said, We can’t let Naisha’s grandma die in the heat like a dog.

Ira said, They were right there, outside my own goddamn window—I kept looking, they kept coming.

Ezra said, I’m ready to go back and make somebody sorry.

Ms. Edith rinsed her bowl and waved to the children to bring their dishes over too. Around us the sky had turned deep orange with purple at its edges.

Knox stood up then, on the step just above mine. He took off his glasses, worked to clean them with the edge of his shirt, then put them back on.

I could go, he said. I could go and try to get her medication and see if town is safer. I can go tomorrow.

There was more talk about the roving men below the Floreses’ camp, and near the highway, but Knox persisted. Things were settling down, he said, or would be soon. In the meantime, he could go.

It’s a risk, both ways, Mr. Byrd said. Going and not going.

Ira worked to pick something from his teeth with his thumbnail. He wants to go—let him go!

There was water running across the road, Georgie said. Down near the cubs. Could be worse lower down—

I’ll go the day after tomorrow, then, Knox said.

I sat back down and Knox turned to touch my knee, promising, in a low voice, he could do this thing for me. Felt like he was mistaking my sullenness for worry, my small hot fury for gratitude. Or maybe it was my fault, the way I offered one wall after another, my face a stone slate. Whatever he saw in me, he addressed the group again.

I’m going, he said.

He could go, he would go. That contained livid thing flared at my center.

Carol stood abruptly from her chair beside Ira, her sterling spoon clanking against the ceramic mug that held the dregs of her soup. Silvery bangs fringed her eyes.

I could go too, Carol said.

Ira tugged on her sleeve. Don’t be ridiculous.

No, Carol said, shaking him off. You oughta listen to me.

Carol made her case, her voice skittering at first. If she and Knox were stopped, they could pretend to be mother and son, she suggested. Just look at us—anyone would want to help us. She went and stood on the other side of Knox, leaving Ira to pooh-pooh her plans from a distance. Side by side, they did look sympathetic: Carol with her sloping shoulders, and Knox, tall and bookish.

I want to do something good, Carol said.

Ira sat his empty mug on the grass next to hers.

Over rinsed dishes, and melty savored squares of chocolate, it was decided: Knox and Carol would go—both of them—because their skin would likely keep them safe. They’d leave the morning after next, at first light, since the armed men seemed to always come as the day was ending. They would go so long as the roads looked clear and the storms held off. They would take Mr. Byrd’s Lincoln Town Car, the tank topped off with some of the gas we’d discovered in the shed of lawn equipment. Knox would drive and Carol would take note of everything she could about the old neighborhood. Even Devin said it made some kind of sense. Even Ira gave in, his hands trembling around the cup of tea Ms. Edith had extended to him. He promised to take care of Carol’s precious hens until she returned. Carol was worried about predators, hawks in particular. I’ll mind those goddamn birds, Ira said, gruff voice breaking to expose a kernel of doting pride.