Take My Hand(42)

“What are you thinking, Dr. Townsend?” Ty turned around.

Daddy shook his head. He had been listening the whole time in silence. Like Ty, I was curious to hear his opinion. My insides throbbed, as if somebody had poked a fishhook into them. I eyed the wrinkled tip of the St. Jude acceptance letter sticking out of the top of my purse.

“I’m thinking,” Daddy said, “that those girls might have a lawsuit if Donna is able to confirm that their grandmama and daddy didn’t understand what they were signing. But it’ll be tough.”

They returned, and Mrs. Ralsey sat behind the desk while her husband perched on the edge. I’d always admired them, but seeing them work together was nothing short of dynamite. Both of them had been born and raised in Montgomery, had attended the same segregated high school at a time when a lot of Black teenagers in the state did not even make it to high school. Our Black professional community in Montgomery was small but mighty.

“Civil and Alicia, please don’t talk about this with anyone, not even the other nurses at the clinic. We’re going to start the work necessary to file this case in court. If you talk about it, you could hurt that process.”

“Can I go see the girls?” I asked.

“Of course you can go see them,” Daddy interrupted. “You want to make sure they don’t develop any postoperative infections. Check on their incisions. And I’m here if you need me. Whatever you need.”

Mrs. Ralsey continued, “Yes, you go on with your work as if nothing is happening. We don’t know how long it will take, so try not to think about it too much.”

“Try not to think about it? How can we work for a woman like that ever again?”

“Just tend to those girls and your other patients as best you can. They need you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alicia said.

Mr. Ralsey walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Civil, you have always been like a daughter to me. I promise you that we will do everything we can. God help me, we will make this right.”

“I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes. Alicia, can you take Civil home?” Daddy said.

“Daddy, I don’t need an escort.”

“Of course, Dr. Townsend,” she said.

When we got outside, I asked Alicia if she could drop me off at Dixie Court.

“Your daddy told me to take you home.”

“I can get another ride, you know.”

When we reached her car, she got in first and leaned over to pull up my door lock. She turned on the engine and we sat there for a moment as the car cooled off. “Are you going to work tomorrow?” she asked.

“Hell, no; and I can’t believe you’re going back there,” I said. “I can’t stand the sight of that woman’s face right now.”

“Tomorrow is payday, Civil. I got rent to pay.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“So you going to shoot up those people with that drug all because of some rent money?”

“Hey, stop acting like that.” She turned to me. “I’m trying to do right, just like you.”

“Then don’t go back there, Alicia. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Civil, I can’t live up to your high-and-mighty expectations. You ever stop to think about all the pressure you put on yourself? This ain’t your fault.”

“Are you taking me to the apartments or not?”



* * *



? ? ?

BY THE TIME Alicia dropped me off, the sun had slumped into the horizon, and the light in the entryway to the Williamses’ apartment was not working. Although some of the apartments were still under construction, more families moved in each week. A group of kids played tag near a white cat napping in the grass. Two men sat on a bench listening to a radio playing in a parked car. Life at Dixie Court had not stopped just because the girls had been violated. I wondered how quickly word traveled among these buildings and considered, with real heaviness on my heart, how folks managed the constant barrage of bad news.

I knocked on the door. I had not seen any of them since the day I’d found out about the surgery, and I knew it was presumptuous of me to stop by unannounced. Someone yelled “Come on in!” but when I entered, the living room was empty. I walked straight to the girls’ bedroom. Erica lay on the bed peeling an orange, the ripped skin scattered across a napkin.

“How you feeling?”

She nodded, and I hoped that was a “fine.”

“Y’all need anything?”

Erica handed over half her orange to her sister. India sat back on the bed, pillows propped behind her back. Both girls wore pajamas.

“They had ice cream in the hospital,” Erica said without looking up at me. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell if it was a real request for ice cream or a statement to get rid of me. I didn’t have my car with me, but there was a corner market within walking distance.

I found Mrs. Williams sitting in her chair in the living room with a crochet hook in her hand. “Y’all got any ice cream?” I asked her.

“You know, I’m surprised I remember how to do this. I haven’t picked up a hook in years.”

“Nice color.” I pointed to the ball of pink yarn unraveling on the floor around her feet.

“They give it to us over at the senior center. I picked up the yarn, made a loop, and the next thing I know, I’m making up a granny square. My mama taught me. Her name was Ella. Ella Mae. She used to make these big old blankets that we would lay across the foot of the bed. They was the most beautiful thing you ever seen, and when you slept under them they smelled like the peppermint oil she rubbed on her hands. She was talented with the needle, yes sir. Could sew anything you set your eyes on. But what she really liked was the slip of yarn between her fingers. She never said as much, but you could tell. She could do it with her eyes closed.”