The Last House on the Street(17)

“And a few months after that,” I added, “you’ll be holding your little baby in your arms.” That seemed to give her some comfort, I thought, but she was truly a lovesick woman. As she wept, her head leaning against the car window, her eyes closed, I wondered what it would be like to be that much in love. I’d never felt that way. Lovesick.



* * *



I focused on my classes for the next couple of weeks. Pharmacology was not an easy major. So much chemistry. So much math. It gave me new admiration for my father. He was much smarter than I’d given him credit for. When the assignments got tough, I pushed myself, fighting to excel. I wanted Daddy to be proud of me. But most of all, I wanted to be proud of myself.

Two weeks before school ended, Reed and Garner drove from Round Hill to Chapel Hill to spend the weekend with Brenda and me. They booked a hotel room and when they showed up in our dorm foyer, Brenda fell into Garner’s arms and sobbed and sobbed. I realized then how she’d been holding herself together, not even sharing with me how painful the separation was for her. Garner treated her like she was a delicate flower. I felt moved by the obvious love between them.

Reed hugged me and then nodded in Brenda and Garner’s direction. “Listen,” he said. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll let them have the hotel room for the weekend. You and I can get some dinner and then you can sneak me into your dorm room.”

Guys weren’t allowed in our dorm rooms, plus he was asking to spend the night with me, something we’d never done before.

“Okay,” I said, “but … you know how I feel about—”

“I know.” He cut me off with a smile. “We’ll be good.”

“Okay,” I said again.

Brenda walked over to us. “Are you okay if Garner and I go to the—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted her. “Go have a good time with your husband.”

She smiled and I realized how long it had been since I’d seen that genuine smile on her face. I grabbed her hand. Squeezed it tight. “Honey,” I said, “we only have two more weeks of school. They’ll zip by.”

She leaned over to hug me, and then she was off with her husband.



* * *



Reed took me to the Pines for dinner. It was the most elegant restaurant in town—there was nothing to compare it to in Round Hill. He’d gotten yet another raise and wanted to celebrate. I felt proud of him and found myself looking at him differently. He was so handsome. He kept his thick, dark hair slicked back these days, which seemed to make his eyes even bluer. Those eyes were pretty dreamy, I had to admit. He wore a suit and tie tonight, his banking outfit, and he was carrying a large manila envelope with him.

“What’s in the envelope?” I asked.

“Something for you from the AME church in Turner’s Bend.” He looked curious. “Your mother asked me to bring it to you.”

“Oh!” The word fluttered out of my mouth before I could stop it. I’d given Reverend Filburn both my home and school address and I’d been watching my mailbox with mounting disappointment each day. I held my hand out across the table. “Can I have it, please?”

He handed the envelope to me with a chuckle. “You converting to the African Methodist Church?” he joked.

I smiled, shaking my head. “Do you mind if I open it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Be my guest.”

I’d told Reed nothing about my plans, not knowing if Reverend Filburn would let me take part in SCOPE or not. Now I looked across the table at him.

“I didn’t tell you about this yet because I didn’t know if it would actually happen,” I said.

“If what would actually happen?”

I opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of printed information and a typewritten letter from Reverend Filburn. I scanned it. He’d written that if I was still interested in participating with SCOPE, I should read over the attached material, fill out the necessary forms, and show up in Atlanta on June thirteenth for the weeklong orientation, after which I’d be assigned to work in an as yet unspecified county.

“Oh!” I said again, staring at his letter. “Oh, wow!”

“Are you going to tell me?” Reed nudged.

“I’m going to work this summer helping register people to vote!” I said. “There’s this program called SCOPE that’s—”

“I know what it is.” Reed frowned. “There was an article about it in the paper a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear if I’m in, and”—I held up the papers—“it looks like I am.”

“I thought it was just students from Northern schools,” he said.

“Mostly, but I went to talk to the minister who was quoted in that article and he says I can do it.” I left out all Reverend Filburn had said about the prejudice I’d face as a Southerner and how he’d thought I was going to plant a bomb in his church.

Reed had completely lost his smile. “What will you be doing, exactly?” he asked.

I looked down at the papers. “I’m not certain yet, but I think I’ll mostly be canvassing … going house to house, hopefully in Derby County, to talk to people about registering.” I could hardly sit still. I wanted to read through the material right that second.