The Last House on the Street(83)

“My brother wouldn’t—”

“Your brother wouldn’t what, Ellie?” Greg said, anger in his voice now. “Hurt a fly? Well look what he did here.” He nodded at Win. “I don’t want him calling his friends to meet him at the hospital to finish what he started. All right? Win’ll be safer here.”

I didn’t know what Greg gave Win in that drink, but whatever it was knocked him out and I was glad he was no longer in pain. I started to get to my feet, but Greg reached over, his hand on my arm to keep me seated.

“You’re going to have to leave Flint, Ellie,” he said.

“No. Please, Greg! Let me stay.”

“I might be able to find you a place in one of the other counties outside North Carolina. I know they lost a few volunteers in Virginia, so maybe—”

“No,” I said again. “Don’t make me leave.”

Greg gazed at me, his face serious. He nodded toward Win. “I know you love him,” he said. “And I know he loves you. He told me as much. But all you can bring him is trouble. He has a good head on his shoulders, but he’s human. We’re all human. We fall in love, we lose all sense of reason.”

“I’ll end it with him,” I promised, wondering if the words were a lie even as I said them.

“You’ll tell him it’s over and he’ll talk you out of it,” Greg said. “I was young once. I know how this plays out.”

I didn’t know what to say. How to fix this. How to get what I wanted without hurting anyone.

“Curry can take you back to the Charleses’ house now and then drive you home to Round Hill in the morning,” Greg said. When I didn’t respond, he added, “If you love him, Ellie, you’ll leave him.”

I felt my eyes burn. I looked down at Win again. The face I loved, bandaged and battered. Blood was seeping through the gauze taped to his chin. I knew in my heart Greg was right. How many more beatings would he have to endure to be with me?

I looked up at Greg. “I’ll go,” I said.





Chapter 39





Curry and I barely spoke on the drive from Flint to Round Hill in the morning. He suggested I ride in the back, but I refused. I smoked one of his cigarettes, exhaling with a vengeance. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so despondent. I felt as though I was losing everything that mattered. Win, yes, of course. But all my new friends, too. The power of the protests. The song circles. The people who invited me into their homes for lemonade and conversation. The children who held my hand on the dirt road as Win and I canvassed. I wasn’t just moving from one town to another. I was moving from one world to another, and I wasn’t ready to make that move. Not at all.

“Truck,” Curry said as a black pickup headed toward us.

I crouched down, thinking, This is the last time I’ll ever have to do this. Even that made me sad.

I stayed low in the seat as we drove through Round Hill. It was late Saturday morning and people were out and about downtown. It was best that Curry and I weren’t seen together.

Curry turned onto Hockley Street.

“That’s my house,” I said.

“I guessed that,” he said, “seein’ as it’s the only one.”

Both our car and Buddy’s truck were gone and I was relieved. Wherever Buddy was, I hoped he was repenting for his behavior last night. I still couldn’t believe his rage. I’d seen him angry before, yes, but brutal? Never.

I dared to give Curry a quick hug, then gathered my things out of the middle seat and headed for the house.

Inside, I breathed in the familiar scent. Our house always smelled like a mix of citrus and mildew to me. It wasn’t unpleasant at all. It was home. The house seemed so big and we were so wealthy. I hadn’t known how well we lived. How we wanted for nothing. How much of our comfort came from generations of having control over our lives? From being able to vote people who would help us into office? I dropped my things on the floor of my bedroom, flopped down on my bed, and looked up at the ceiling. I had to find a way to keep this part of me alive—the part that had been awakened to another side of America.

And then I thought of Win, waking up this morning in pain, his face swollen. How did he feel when Greg told him I was gone for good? I started to cry. I wept and wept and wept, giving myself permission to finally break down. Get it all out now, I thought. Once my family was home, I intended to be dry-eyed. I’d help out at the pharmacy. I’d help Mama with the house. I’d forgive my brother for stupidly trying to protect me when I’d needed no protection. If I had to be home, I was going to truly be home. But I’d hold on to the new part of myself, too. I would never lose the Ellie I’d become this summer.

I worried my father would make good on his threat to kick me out of the house, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. When he got home from the pharmacy late that afternoon, he wrapped me in his arms. He seemed close to tears. I’d never seen him like that. When he said “Welcome home,” his voice was husky.

My mother, though, stopped short when she walked in the kitchen and saw me there with my father, and what I saw in her face wasn’t surprise, or love, or even anger. It was disgust. “Go take a shower,” she said. “Then set the table for supper.”

“Yes, Mama.” I would do whatever she asked of me.