The Last House on the Street(85)

“Do you love him?”

I hesitated a moment too long.

“There’s my answer,” he said, getting to his feet. When he looked down at me, his cheeks were blotched with red. “I still love you, Ellie. You know we had something good. We had the real thing for four years. The real thing isn’t always sunshine and roses and it’s not always … exciting or thrilling, but it’s solid. That’s the kind of thing that lasts. That’s what we had, you and me.”

I looked up at the blue sky, trying to pick apart my emotions. “I know,” I admitted. “I know it was good…” I almost called him “honey,” the way I used to. “But I don’t know how I feel anymore,” I said, looking squarely at him. He was as familiar to me as my family. “The one thing I know is that I can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“You’re damn straight about that,” he said.

Three women walked past us and into the pharmacy, the bell on the pharmacy door jingling. “I’d better get back,” I said. “I’m trying to keep on Daddy’s good side.”

In spite of his anger, he held out his hand to help me to my feet, his touch a strange mixture of familiar and foreign.

“Thank you,” I said. Looking past him, I saw his distinctive white and blue Ford truck parked at the curb. How many hours had I spent in that truck? Now the sight of a truck driven by a white man made me run in the other direction. “How’s Mildred doing?” I asked, nodding toward the truck.

He looked confused for a moment by my out-of-context question, then glanced at the Ford. His beloved Mildred. “She spent a lot of time in Buddy’s shop this month,” he said. “Showing her age. Right now, left side of her rear bumper’s dented. I need to take her in again. Don’t even know how it happened.”

“I learned to fear white men in trucks,” I said bluntly, then winced. Why had I said that?

He stared at me. Shook his head. “I don’t know who you are anymore,” he said. He turned and headed toward his truck, while I walked back to the store, wondering how Win was healing today after the beating my brother had given him.

I was surprised that Brenda didn’t stop by the store to see me. I was sure Reed would have told her—or at least told Garner—that I was there. Uncle Byron came in and looked surprised to find me behind the counter.

“You’re home?” he asked. “For good?”

I tried to smile. “Daddy needs me here in the store,” I said. That was going to be my party line, I’d decided. I’d tell only Brenda the truth about why I’d come home a month early.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m glad you’re back. That voting program was the wrong place for you. It’s too soon for the sort of change they’re after, can you see that now? The time will eventually come, but it has to come naturally. Can’t be forced. Things are fine the way they are.”

“What were you doing at that rally, Uncle Byron?” I nearly whispered the question, not wanting customers to overhear us.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “I was there to keep the peace. What was your excuse?”

“Curiosity,” I said.

“You kids weren’t wanted there.”

“We figured that out.”

“I think maybe you played with fire a bit too much this summer,” he said, and I wondered exactly how much he knew about my life in Flint. I was glad when a customer came up to me to ask a question, and Uncle Byron walked over to talk to my father.

I finally reached Brenda on the phone that night and knew instantly that something was wrong. Not with her. Not with the baby or Garner. Something was wrong between us.

“I’m home!” I said, trying to sound chipper. “Do you have time to get together this week?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, her voice flat.

“Oh please,” I said. “I’ve missed you so much. I want to catch up.”

She was as quiet as if the line had gone dead.

“Brenda? Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “The baby’s fine. Garner’s fine. But I think my best friend has gone off the deep end.”

I stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that Negro boy or man or whatever he is, Ellie. What the hell are you thinking?”

I was dumbfounded, first, that “everyone” could possibly know, and second, that my dearest friend was talking to me so coldly. “Who is ‘everyone’?” I asked.

“What does that matter? The thing is they know, and if you think I’m going to meet you in public for lunch, you’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind. Garner and I are going to raise a family in this town and … Everything’s different now, Ellie. I have our reputation to protect.”

“Brenda!” I could barely believe what I was hearing. “You think having lunch with me will sully your reputation?”

“Garner says—”

“I saw Garner at a Klan rally,” I interrupted her, suddenly very sure it had been Garner in the crowd. I wanted to shock her. Hurt her. “Is that where your husband spends his evenings now?”

For a moment, Brenda said nothing. “You know, I really missed you,” she said finally, dodging my question. “But I feel like you died. Like the Ellie I’ve known since I was twelve years old has died a quick, horrible death.”