Out of the Easy(64)

“Well, let’s see now. It’s money for the classes and money for the house you gotta live in.”

“What?”

“I was a fix short, so I passed the hat with the close group. Cornbread helped. Sweety and Sadie put in too. We know Sadie ain’t goin’ tell nobody.”

“Does Willie know?”

“No, and she don’t need to know. I made sure to stay clear of Frankie so he wouldn’t go sellin’ secrets to her. I love Willie, but she stuck on keepin’ you here in New Orleans.”

I reached for the envelope and lifted the back flap with my thumb. A wad of bills fanned open from the thick stack.

“This whole thing with your momma’s about to pop. She gone from bad to worse. Willie’s done right by keeping you out the skittle. Massachusetts is a good distance.”

I couldn’t accept the money. I looked at Cokie to tell him so. His eyes were dancing, just like they were on my birthday when he brought me the thermos and the map. He wanted this just as much, maybe more, than I did. And he believed in me. I looked at the envelope.

I screamed and ran out from behind the counter and threw my arms around him. “Thank you!” We jumped up and down together, hooting and hollering.

He spun away and started to snap his fingers, “Josie girl, you goin’ to Boston, so don’t you jive on me.”





FORTY-THREE


I hid the envelope in the floorboard and ran to Patrick’s. I couldn’t wait to tell him. We had discussed the issue of money, and he’d suggested selling some of Charlie’s things to help. Now he didn’t have to.

I knocked. There was no answer. I used my key and peeked in. “Patrick?” I said. Nothing.

“Up here,” he called.

I ran up the oak stairs, leaping them two at a time. He was in Charlie’s room, sitting on the floor against the bed. His face was puffy.

“It’s so hard,” he said. “I know I should clear all this out, but I just can’t do it.”

“It’s too soon,” I told him. “Why do you need to do it now?”

“I keep thinking the sooner I have a fresh start, the sooner I’ll feel better, but now everything I look at has a memory tied to it.”

I walked around the room, running my finger across Charlie’s dresser and past the framed photograph of Patrick’s grandmother. I picked up the heart-shaped Valentine box and hugged it to my chest. The window over the desk was open. The page fluttered in the typewriter.





BLV


“Patrick, did you see this? There’s another letter. When did he type that?”

“Yeah, I saw it. It must have been when Randolph was here. Take it if you want it. I have the manuscript.”

I pulled the paper from the typewriter and sat down next to him on the floor. “I have some news that may cheer you up.”

He perked a bit. “You got your acceptance?”

“No, but I got the money. Cokie had a huge streak throwing dice, and he gave it to me.”

“Jo, that’s great. I’m so happy for you.”

But he didn’t look happy. He looked completely miserable. Of course he did. He had just lost his father, and now I was talking about moving halfway across the country.

“I’m sad too. But don’t worry, I’ll be here to help you take care of Charlie’s things. I’ll come home on holidays, and you’ll of course visit me out there. We’ll tour Massachusetts hunting for books. It’ll be so much fun.” I put my hand on his leg. “I’m so happy with the way things have turned out with us. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind all these years.” I moved in to kiss him.

“Jo . . .” He stopped me and hung his head. His shoulders swayed. He was crying.

“What is it?” I asked.

Tears dropped from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jo. If I could, I would . . . choose you.”

The tips of my fingers went cold. Choose. Verb. To decide from a range of options. I looked at him. “There’s someone else?”

He was silent for a while, then nodded. “I feel so horrible. I’m awful.” Patrick’s crying deepened into heavy sobs. He cried so hard his entire body shook.

I sat motionless, my bruised pride battling my desire to comfort my best friend.

“I don’t know how it happened. It’s all such a mess. I’ve hurt so many people,” he sobbed. He looked at me. “James,” he whispered.

I searched his frantic eyes, and suddenly I understood.

I looked away from him. “Does James know how you feel?”

“I think so.”

My throat pulled closed, the words wrestling with the lump in my windpipe. “I met Kitty at the funeral,” I whispered. “I didn’t feel a spark between them. Maybe it’s okay.”

Patrick’s eyes met mine. “You’re not upset?”

I pulled in a breath. “I feel ridiculous that you felt like you had to pretend with me. But Kitty’s a gorgeous girl—I thought so when I met her. And she’s smart. How can I blame you for being in love with her? But you’ll have to be up front with James. Be honest. Once you do that, you’ll feel so much better.”

Patrick stared at me and then looked into his lap.