The Vanishing Half(93)

He patted Adele’s hand.

“If that lady ask, we’ll tell her I’m your son-in-law,” he said.

“What you talkin about?”

“That white lady on the porch,” he said. “From the county. Just to make it all go down easier.”

She pulled away.

“Quit foolin,” she said. “That ain’t no white woman. That’s just Stella.”

In all the years he’d hunted Stella, imagined her, dreamed about her, she’d become larger in his eyes. She was smarter than him. Clever, twisting away each time he drew near. But this not-white woman, this Stella Vignes, looked so ordinary, he lost his breath. Not like Desiree—he wouldn’t have confused the two, even as he drew closer, Stella clambering to her feet. She wore navy blue slacks and leather boots, her hair pinned into a ponytail. Pitch black, like she hadn’t aged at all, unlike Desiree, whose temples began to streak silver. It wasn’t just her clothes, though, but the way she held her body. Taut, like a guitar string wound around itself. She looked scared, but of what? Of him? Well, maybe she ought to be. He wanted to rage at her for every night Desiree fell asleep thinking of her, not him.

But Stella wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at her mother, her mouth open like a trout gasping for breath. Adele barely glanced at her.

“Girl, come help us clean those fishes,” Adele said. “And go get your sister.”



* * *



—

HER MOTHER HAD LOST HER MIND.

Stella realized this, slowly, as she followed her down the narrow hallway to the kitchen, where a strange man unloaded fish from an icebox. All the times she’d imagined what her mother might say if she came home—she would be angry, might even slap her across the face—she’d never pictured this: her mother a shell of herself, bustling around the kitchen as if the only thing on her mind were fixing dinner. As indifferent to Stella as if she’d been gone twenty-five minutes, not years. The strange man following after her, picking up a knife after she’d set it down, keeping her away from the stove, finally convincing her to have a seat at the table while he made her a cup of coffee.

“Are you Desiree’s husband?” Stella asked.

He let out a low laugh. “Somethin like that.”

“Well, who are you, then? What’re you doing with my mother?”

“Why you actin like that, Stella?” her mother said, handing her a spoon. “You know this your brother.”

He couldn’t be the dark girl’s father. He wasn’t nearly as black as her, even though he looked grizzled and tough, like the type of man who might bully a woman.

“How long has it been like this?” she said.

“Year, maybe.”

“Jesus.”

“Girl, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” her mother said. “I raised you better than that.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she said quickly. “Mama, I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t know what you talkin about,” her mother said. “Probably don’t need to know. Start workin on that fish.”

Her daddy had taught her how to gut a fish. She’d trounced alongside him in the river, water splashing up to her knees. Desiree marching up ahead, stomping so loud, Daddy said, that she’d scare all the fish away. They were his twin sprites, following him through the woods. The fishing part always bored Desiree; she wandered off, sprawling on her stomach somewhere making daisy chains, but Stella could sit with him for hours, so still, imagining that she could see through the murky water to every living thing swirling around her bare toes. After, he showed the twins how to clean the fish he’d caught. Lay it flat, slide the knife inside the belly, and then what? She couldn’t remember. She wanted to cry.

“I don’t know how,” she said.

“You just don’t like gettin your hands dirty,” her mother said. “Desiree!”

“She at work, Miss Adele,” the man said.

“Work?”

“Over in town.”

“Well somebody ought to get her. She’s gonna miss supper.”

“Stella’ll fetch her,” the man said. “I’m gonna stay right here with you.”

He wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders, protectively. Protecting her from me, Stella realized, gently setting down the knife. She stepped out onto the front porch and stared into the woods. She did not realize until she was walking through the dirt that she had no idea where she was going.



* * *



—

THE FIRST THING to know about the Reunion, as it would later be called, is that there were no real witnesses. Lou’s Egg House was always empty between lunch and dinner, which was when Jude phoned from the student union. Desiree loved those noisy calls, even though Jude always sounded harried, rushing off to a lecture or a lab. That afternoon, she was trying to coax Desiree to visit her again.

“You know I can’t,” Desiree said.

“I know,” Jude said. “I just miss you. I worry about you sometimes.”

Desiree swallowed. “Well, don’t,” she said. “You out there livin your life. That’s all I want for you. Don’t you worry about me. Mama’ll be all right.”