Take My Hand(23)

The hug is tight and I release into it, unprepared for her warmth. She pulls me by the hand into a great room with a vaulted ceiling. The furniture is covered in florals. The draperies, too. Above a fireplace filled with artificial flowers hangs a flat-screen television. A white toy poodle looks up from the couch.

“That’s Coco. She’s seventeen years old and don’t get up and come to the door much anymore.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” is all I can think to say. I start to tell her about my rescue dog but think it might sound forced, so I remain quiet. We sit next to each other on the couch, and from my end I can see into the kitchen. The counters are covered in clutter. I look back at Alicia. She’s observing me checking out her house.

“I wonder what your house looks like, too,” she says.

“A three-bedroom bungalow in midtown Memphis. It has a nice porch. A garden out back. That’s all I need for me, Anne, and Mama.”

“How’s your mama?”

“Mama doing alright. After Daddy died, I moved her to Memphis to live with me. She and Aunt Ros can visit each other more now.”

“My mama live not too far from here with that old buzzard.”

From the few checkins we’d had over the years, I know that Alicia’s mama, after a twenty-year affair, had finally divorced her daddy and married the pastor. “You still haven’t forgiven them?”

Alicia purses her lips. “I forgive but don’t forget. Daddy is much more generous than I am. He married a retired schoolteacher. They moved to Florida.”

“Good for him,” I say.

“How’s Anne?”

“Just graduated. Majored in anthropology. You know kids these days. Girl, they major in things for fun.”

She laughs, big and genuine. “I told my boys I didn’t care what they majored in as long as they came home and worked for their daddy.”

“Your boys doing alright?” I say, though I’m thinking that is terrible parenting. It brings back my own indecision about the medical field, largely brought on by Daddy’s pressuring. I try to focus. It was always easy to judge Alicia.

“They fine. My son supposed to be here in a minute. He bringing us some fried catfish from over at the restaurant his wife manages. I figured after driving you’d be hungry. You eat yet?”

“No, but fried catfish for breakfast, Alicia?”

“What’s wrong with that? Fried fish and grits for breakfast is still a good way to start the day.”

“Girl.”

“Uh-oh. Here we go. May I have your attention, please? Dr. Townsend is in the building.”

We laugh and the ice thaws. When her son drops off the food, he doesn’t come inside, and I’m grateful we are left to ourselves. I start setting the breakfast room table.

“Girl, this fish is alright,” I say, once we’re seated. It is really good.

“Told you.”

When we’re done, Alicia leans back in her chair and pats her mouth with a napkin. Her lipstick is smudged across her chin. I don’t wear makeup anymore, so I don’t have to worry about such things. The only thing I’m fastidious about these days is my diet.

“I hear India came home from the hospital yesterday,” she says, turning the conversation abruptly.

“What’s her diagnosis?”

“Cancer.”

“Cancer,” I repeat softly. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. She’s getting treatment.”

I press down the guilt. I have let too many years pass.

“I’ve been waiting to ask you, Civil: Do you think the cancer has to do with those Depo shots she got?” She speaks softly, as if it is a secret.

I shake my head. “It’s not likely just from two shots. At least, I don’t think so.”

Alicia stands and begins to put the dishes in the sink. I open the dishwasher, and she turns on the water. She rinses, and I load. After we are done, she makes a pot of coffee. We settle in her living room on the sofa with our big mugs. Hers reads I Am Black History. Mine is blank. “Why did you disappear, Civil?”

“I went to med school.” I know I sound a little defensive; it’s instinct.

“They got telephones at Meharry?”

“Come on, Alicia. You know the commitment.”

“You did the very thing you said you never was going to do.”

What is she talking about? Hold on to my sanity? Try not to mess up things worse than I already had?

“Did you ever contact that green-eyed daddy of theirs? I know you had a crush on him.”

Of course I had never contacted Mace. Surely she knows that. She just wants to torture me a little, and I deserve it. I cannot explain to her why I had to put distance between myself and Montgomery. I don’t know how to say that without sounding selfish. I’m ashamed that I walked out on our friendship, but I also know that if I had to do it all over again I would make the same decision.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do better, Alicia.”

She waves my words off. “Save the apology tour.” Then she leans forward. “Wait, is that what this is? An apology tour?”

“No, of course not.”

“Honey, you might be making this trip to get some closure, but saying I’m sorry to everybody will not give it to you.”