The Last House on the Street(34)

“Dress conservatively,” Reverend Young said. “Don’t drink and don’t date. Don’t fall in love with anybody.” His eyes grew wide with the warning. “You fall in love, you’ll be tempted to put the welfare of that person ahead of the good of the team,” he said. “Don’t go to parties, and absolutely don’t get involved with Negro boys.”

I nodded along with the other girls as he issued his warnings, knowing I had no intention of going to parties or falling in love. That was not why I was there.



* * *



When we sang our freedom songs that night, I realized that I knew every word of every song, and when we sang “We Shall Overcome,” I broke into tears, unable to sing as I clutched the hands of John on my left and a girl I didn’t know on my right. She nodded at me, gripping my hand harder. That song—all the songs really—felt so different to me now than they had earlier in the week. I felt the history behind them. The emotion. I felt full of love for everyone in that huge space.

John squeezed my hand and when I looked at him, tears running down my cheeks, he smiled at me through the words of the song. When the singing was over, he hugged me tight.

“You’re going to do fine, Ellie May,” he said.

I hoped he was right.





Chapter 15



KAYLA


2010

For the first time, I don’t think about the red-haired woman as I walk into Bader and Duke Design, but my peace of mind doesn’t last long. I Skype with a contractor, then meet with a woman who wants to add a mother-in-law suite onto her split-level. Her mother-in-law is with her and I find myself scrutinizing her to see if she might be Ann Smith out of her disguise. I feel guilty because I can barely pay attention to what the two of them are saying. Once I’m sure the woman is not Ann Smith, though, I snap out of my fog and focus on their needs one hundred percent, or at least, close to it.

After work, I stop in the Middle Eastern restaurant that I always pass on my walk to the parking garage. It has a little market attached to it, where I buy a good-sized bag of za’atar, smiling to myself at the thought of surprising Ellie with it. I might ask her about a yoga session someday soon, too. I can use a de-stressor.

I drive to Carlisle to drop off the samples for the window coverings. I’ve already faxed Amanda my selections and I have to cut her short when she tries to engage me in conversation. I’m running late.

Once in Round Hill, I pick up Rainie from her preschool. As soon as she’s in the car, she hands me a painting she made of something unrecognizable but which she tells me is two giraffes. This is good, I think. This is encouraging. Her early artwork at the school was just as unrecognizable, but when I’d ask her to tell me about what she’d drawn, her answers always upset me. A dead puppy—that was one of them. A lady with no eyes was another. Strange things that made me weep for my little girl who was having to face grown-up pain well before she should have to.

“I can’t wait to show Gramps the painting!” she says now from her car seat.

“Gramps has an appointment this afternoon,” I say, “but you’ll be able to show him tomorrow.”

“No!” she says. “I want to show him right now!”

I feel a meltdown coming on. “You know what we can do this afternoon, Rainie?” I ask, warding off the wail I know is coming.

“What?” She sounds suspicious.

“We can explore our new yard! There are some trails through the woods, and someone told me there’s a lake back there.” Of course, it was Jackson who told me about the trails and the lake, but I don’t want to bring him up when she already sounds so fragile. “Won’t that be cool?” I ask her. “Finding new things right in our own backyard?”

“Are there ducks? Can I feed them?”

“I don’t know, but we should go find out.”

I think back to the afternoon before, when I picked her up at my father’s house. She’d had a tumble off the jungle gym, a fall that had clearly terrified my father. Daddy and I had been so wrapped up in talking about that fall that I forgot to tell him about meeting my neighbor until I was ready to get in the car.

“Oh,” I said to him as I slipped behind the steering wheel, “I met the Hockley daughter yesterday.”

He looked at me blankly, as if he didn’t quite understand what I said. “Ellie?” he finally asked.

I nodded. “She seems really nice. She’s out here from California taking care of her mother and brother, who’s very ill. She teaches yoga.”

The slightest smile crossed his face. “Does she, now,” he said. It wasn’t really a question.

“I don’t think she remembers you,” I said. “She didn’t seem to recognize your name.”

He frowned at that. “Does she have some … a cognitive problem?” he asked. “Some dementia?”

I shook my head. “She didn’t seem to,” I said. “Not at all.”

“Then she remembers me,” he said, his expression oddly grim. “You can trust me on that.” He turned and started walking away. “Have a good night,” he said over his shoulder.

I didn’t shut my car door. “What do you mean, Daddy?” I called after him, but he just raised his hand as if saying goodbye or I’ll tell you later or it’s of no consequence, and I remembered that Ellie’s response to learning his name had been just as baffling.