Take My Hand(55)

I ask him about his family. Both of his children became lawyers, though he laughingly says they went for the money. One is in-house counsel at a tech company in Silicon Valley, and the other practices tax law in Montgomery. He asks about my medical practice, and I tell him about life as an obstetrician-gynecologist, the study I have been working on about reducing the high rate of maternal morbidity among Black women.

He nods. “But right now you’re back in Montgomery. You said over the phone you’re going to see about India.”

“Yes,” I say. “She’s sick. Have you heard anything?”

“I haven’t heard anything about that family in decades. I just got too busy, I guess.”

“Me, too.”

We both nod, two professionals who can always rely on our work as an excuse.

“I hear about the family through Alicia. She keeps up,” I say.

“Alicia?”

“She was the nurse I worked with.” He doesn’t remember her. It surprises me; but then again, it has been over forty years. “She tells me India has cancer.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible news.”

“Do you remember them, Lou? The Williams family?”

“Of course I do, Civil. I remember Senator Kennedy, his graciousness with them. I remember their grandmother’s hot-water corn bread. I remember their daddy. The hurt in that man’s eyes kept me up at night.”

I’m surprised to hear him say that, and Mace’s face rises behind my eyes. “The sisters. What do you remember about them?”

“To be honest, I regret that I did not get to know the girls better. I tried to keep a respectful distance because they were just children. I was sensitive about that. I suppose I left that part up to you.”

“I understand.”

“I remember you,” he whispers. “Your determination. Your toughness. You were nobody to mess with, even back then.”

“You thought I was tough, huh? I thought you were crazy.”

He laughs. “Back then I thought justice was a moral right.”

“And now?”

“I still believe in right and wrong or else I wouldn’t be practicing law after all these years. It’s just that now I know justice is as complicated as everything else in life.”

His eyes grow distant. I can see that his memories of that time are different than mine. “Listen, Civil. I’ve tried a lot of cases over the years. But I’ve never forgotten that one. Never. You hear me? We did something back then. It may not have all worked out the way we thought it would, but we did something. You hear me?”

My eyes sting. The grain of the table is etched with scratches. I can see the waitress approaching with our food, but I want the moment to linger a little longer before we return to our bodies and the mundane act of nourishment. Lou and I are not so dissimilar. I have done some important surgeries, saved some lives I thought were lost. He has also had ups and downs. But I could not save those girls, and that has left its indelible mark. I just wish I could pull snatches of memories like him. But I remember everything. Every single little thing.





TWENTY-NINE




Montgomery

1973


Ty, Alicia, and I were sitting in the den with all the lights on. We had picked up some food from Church’s Chicken, and the room smelled like gravy. I knew my parents wouldn’t like us eating back there, but I wanted to use Daddy’s eight-track player. I never tired of listening to Otis Redding.

“My mama told me Lou’s trying to see how many other victims there were.” Ty wiped his hands on a napkin.

“Have other patients from the Montgomery clinic come forward?” Alicia asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “Actually, I was thinking the nurses could help.”

“Help? You mean like talk to our patients? Ain’t that against the rules?”

“The rules said Mrs. Seager could sterilize those girls.”

“You don’t work there no more, Civil. And I don’t want to lose my job. I can’t just go home and live with my mama.”

“Speaking of your job, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. How did Mrs. Seager find out I’d moved the girls to the apartment? And that I’d taken them off birth control? You told her, didn’t you.”

Alicia just stared at me.

“I knew it!” I threw my box on the table. “This is all your fault!”

Alicia’s face crumpled. Ty walked over to the stereo and turned the volume down, then turned back to us and said, “Civil, that’s not fair. This ain’t nobody’s fault.”

“Why did you tell her, Alicia?”

“She asked me,” Alicia said in a weak voice, “and I couldn’t lie. She had already found out on her own about them being moved to Dixie Court—the agency sent her notice of their new address. She started asking me a bunch of questions, and I didn’t know what else to say. I swear I never thought she would do what she did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? And I haven’t even heard from you since I got fired.” I handed her a tissue, trying not to cry myself. It was a horrible situation for all of us, and I knew that.

“I’m sorry, Civil. I should have told you, but I didn’t know how.”