The Last House on the Street(69)

I looked up at the sky, remembering how my mother cried when they gave Louise the news. “Louise left us soon after,” I said. “She was destroyed. She hugged me and kissed me and thanked me for trying to save her daughter.”

My tears started again and I rubbed them away with my hands. I wished Win would say something. Touch me. Rest a hand on my shoulder. Absolve me. But he was still as stone next to me. I looked over at him, wiping my eyes with my fingers. “It wasn’t really a conscious decision,” I said, “SCOPE. I wasn’t sitting around looking for an opportunity to do something good, but when I heard about it, I … it felt like a way to…”

“Atone.” He finished my sentence for me.

“Yes, though it’s become much more than that to me,” she said. “I see the … injustice. I want to be part of fixing it.”

“Got to be hard to live with that guilt,” he said.

I nodded. I liked that he didn’t try to take that guilt away.

“You’ve never told anyone?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why’re you telling me?” he asked.

Why was I? “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just burdened you with a—”

“No. Hush.” He knocked my shoulder lightly with his. “If I can’t handle that burden then I’m not much of a man. Or a friend.”

I looked at him. He wasn’t going to touch me. He wouldn’t make that move himself. I reached over to lay my hand on his where it rested on his knee.

He lifted my hand and moved it back to my own thigh. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

“Listen, Ellie,” he said with a sigh. “I care about you. And I think … I know … you care about me. But we can’t let it be any more than that.”

“Oh, I know,” I said, locking my hands together in my lap. I felt my cheeks color and was glad the moon was no brighter than it was. “I don’t think of you as more than a friend.” Did I? Was I lying?

“I think you’re really pretty,” he said. “I think you’re beautiful, actually. You’re smart and you have a big heart. I watch you when we canvass, how you’re genuinely interested in the people and their problems. And you don’t give up on SCOPE even when you’re scared or have to sleep in a bed with a dozen little kids or your father tries to drag you away. I admire you.” He looked away as though he might have said too much. After a moment, he turned back to me. “I don’t have a problem with Black and white mixing in general, but it’s not right for me,” he said. “Not how I feel about this … path … this Black path … I have to be on right now. My people have to stick together. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Honestly, he was overwhelming me with so many words. I could barely sort one word from another. He thought I was beautiful? He admired me? I did understand, though. What he said fit who he was. I realized in that moment that I’d been hoping, deep down where I didn’t understand my own feelings, for something more from him. I should have known better.

“Yes, I understand,” I said.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. We sat facing the cornfield. The man in the moon seemed like a benevolent third person, sprinkling the tops of the cornstalks with light.

“I’m glad you told me about Mattie,” Win said finally. “Glad you felt like you could. It helps me understand that … darkness I see in you sometimes.”

“I didn’t know I had a darkness,” I said.

He smiled. “Yes, you do. It’s a mile wide and a mile long.” He got to his feet, readying to leave. “What happened with your friend Mattie might have been your first reason for joining SCOPE,” he said, “but you’ve done enough work now. You’ve repaid that debt. Now you’re staying because you’re a good person. Give yourself some credit, Ellie, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I sat on the steps, watching him walk down the road to the small, run-down cabin where I could see a kerosene lantern flickering in the window, maybe to guide him home. Then I got to my feet and tiptoed my way through the dark house to DeeDee’s bedroom, where the little girl remained in her deep, drugged, sleep.

I didn’t realize I was still wearing Win’s shirt until I began to undress for bed. It was green and short-sleeved. Soft. It smelled of soap and sweat. I decided to sleep in it. I slipped off my skirt. My loafers. I made sure the wooden dowels were in place at the windows. Then I lay down on the mattress in the closet and the evening came back to me in a rush. I’d felt such joy at the beginning of the protest. So many people showed up. So much enthusiasm. Such passion. The song circle was wonderful. When the heckling started, it had seemed so mild at first … until it wasn’t.

But what I would remember best about the night was talking to Win on the porch. Telling him everything I’d carried around with me for the past nine years.

Two hours later, I was still awake. I barely knew what I was doing when I got up. I put my skirt back on. My shoes. I left the house half in a daze. The full moon lit up the rutted road. The cornstalks on my left, the whiskery weeds on my right. I walked like I knew the path well, like I’d made this walk a dozen times before. I arrived at the little unpainted house, the old wood silver in the moonlight. I knew which window was his, but I had no intention of knocking on the glass. No intention of waking him. I lowered myself into the spiky weeds beneath his window, my back pressed against the side of the house, my arms wrapped around my shins. I leaned my head against the old wood and felt his nearness. When I shut my eyes, a sense of longing filled my chest. I let it come, let it go. This was enough, I thought. This closeness. I didn’t dare want anything more.