The House of Eve (58)

“I’ll keep this brief.”

“Would you like to sit down?” Aunt Marie took our undergarments off the nearest chair and pulled it up.

Mrs. Shapiro’s hand went to her throat, but she didn’t move toward the chair. It felt like she was purposely avoiding eye contact, preferring to stare at a nail stuck in the wall above the stove. “I’m not sure if she has told you that I caught her and my son together.” She addressed the nail. “We both know that they are too young to go through with any of this. It’ll ruin their lives. With her being so smart. You are one of the We Rise scholars, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled myself up off the floor and stood next to the furnace so that I could see her better.

“Well, with the scholarship on the horizon, I don’t think you want to lose out on such a prestigious opportunity.”

“What are you suggesting, Mrs. Shapiro?” I could tell by the way Aunt Marie ran her thumb over her index finger that she was losing her patience with this white woman standing in our living space. Even if, technically, that white woman did own it. Aunt Marie paid the rent, so she called the shots.

“I want to help you make it all go away.” Mrs. Shapiro lifted her chin and forced a smile finally directed toward Aunt Marie.

“Go ’head.” Aunt Marie stared.

“Well, in the rare case that this sort of unfortunate thing happens in our community, we send the girls away.”

“We ain’t got no family down south if that’s what you thinking.”

“To a home for unwed women who have fallen into trouble.” She looked at me for the first time. “I’ve inquired discreetly, and I found a place in Washington, D.C., that specializes in this sort of thing. It’s expensive, but I am willing to take care of it.”

“You want her to go there and do what?”

Mrs. Shapiro wrung her hands in front of her. “They will take the child and place it in a loving home with wonderful parents. It’ll be the best thing for all parties.”

“Best thing for you.” Aunt Marie clucked her tongue.

“Honestly, I’m not even certain that it’s my son’s responsibility, but I’m willing to help.”

I lowered my head and swallowed the scream that was rising in my throat: Shimmy was the only boy I had ever been with.

Aunt Marie piped up. “Bullshit. If you weren’t certain your son was responsible, you wouldn’t be here.” She squashed a mosquito between her wide hands and blew it to the ground. “That boy’s nose is wide open for this gal and you know it.”

Mrs. Shapiro bristled. “Well, all I’m saying is this will free her up to get that scholarship and go off to college. Pretend like this awful thing never happened.”

“How can you be so sure?” I croaked. “I mean, about the scholarship to Cheyney?”

“I’m on the board, dear. I’ll make it so. As long as we can come to an agreement.” She nodded at me.

“We’ll talk it over.” Aunt Marie stood with both feet planted in a way that suggested that the conversation was finished.

Mrs. Shapiro dabbed at her brows with the back of her gloved hand. “There are only four spaces allotted for Negro girls in the home. As of this morning, there is only one space left. We must move quickly… before things start to flower. Please don’t take too long to decide.” She reached into her purse and then held out a pamphlet to me. On the glossy cover was a photograph of a stately brick home.

“It really is for the best, dear. Do consider your future.”

“I said we’ll think about it,” Aunt Marie asserted, and then walked toward Mrs. Shapiro until she turned into the hallway. “Good day.”

Did Shimmy know that his mother had come to me with this proposition? I hadn’t seen him since he proposed to me in the back of the candy store. He had called me on the phone a few times to check on me and to tell me that his mother had banished him to Brooklyn under the guise that his uncle needed his help, but we both knew she was keeping us apart. He had promised to get back as soon as he could and told me many times over that he wasn’t abandoning me, that we were in this together. Yet I was here dealing with this alone.

Aunt Marie went to the leaky faucet and turned on the tap, let it run and then poured herself a cup of water. Beads of sweat quickly dotted her upper lip and started gathering on her forehead. She closed her eyes and swayed through her hot flash. Sometimes when she was having one, she told me she got little peeks into the future. I hoped that was the case now.

“What should I do?”

“You grown enough to open your legs to a Jewish boy, you woman enough to make a decision.” She swallowed, and her curtness made me stiffen.

This whole situation made what Shimmy and I had shared feel vulgar and crass, instead of beautiful.

Aunt Marie dropped down and picked up her cards.

I carried the brochure back down to my pillow on the floor and opened it. The caption at the top read, “Mistakes Can Be Fixed and God Will Forgive.” My eyes scanned the pictures of smiling white girls sitting under a tree with books in their laps.

I smoothed the trifold out on the table and tried a different approach. “How do I decide what to do, Auntie?”

“You ready to be strapped down with a baby you can’t feed ’cause you ain’t earning shit cleaning up after white people, or go on to college and become a doctor?” She dished a card, then signaled that it was my turn. “Hell, choice seems easy to me. Stay poor like the rest of us, or climb, scratch and claw like hell to get out.”