The Weight of Blood (48)


Wendy sat up straighter, gripping the phone. “Really, Char?” she said, her voice ice cold, anger leaking through. Charlotte probably enjoyed that part most.

“Well, you better put the reins on that boy if you want to keep him in check when he goes to Alabama. There will be way more dangerous girls there than Maddy Washington.”

Wendy’s jaw clenched. “I . . . gotta finish this paper.”

They said their goodbyes and Wendy immediately checked her texts. No new messages from Kenny.

Since when did he start doing things without telling me?

She threw her phone across the bed, wishing she had never picked up.

Five minutes later, it dawned on her what Charlotte was alluding to. That Kenny needed to be broken in like a horse, like he was a farm animal, merely livestock. She cursed at herself for not setting Charlotte straight just as a betraying thought crept in, moving her pen.

On top of her English notes, she wrote Kenny + Maddy and drew a heart around their names.

They did look good together, she thought, before proceeding to rip the page out of the binder. She crumpled it into a ball and chucked it into the trash can, which wasn’t hard considering her room was the size of a closet.

Wendy’s family didn’t have a solid footing in middle class, like the rest of her friends. Her parents tightroped over their status in a heavily coordinated dance and were too busy keeping a roof over their family’s heads to be bothered with cheerleading dinners, high school games, or fretting over their only child dating a Black boy, despite the scandalous whispers.

Wendy had been acutely aware of their precarious situation from a very early age, but she never complained. Instead, she swore to herself that she wouldn’t wind up in her parents’ shoes come hell or high water and did what she did best: strategized, playing a long game with an offensive strategy. Anticipating people’s needs, always willing to volunteer and hand out compliments. She would finish reading entire textbooks ahead of class and offer to do homework for anyone who felt they were falling behind. She practiced her jumps and splits long before cheerleading tryouts were possible, baked cookies (premade dough, never from scratch) every Monday, and had a specific calendar just to keep track of birthdays so she could bring cupcakes to the caf or classroom. And in the ninth grade, when Kenny’s future of going pro started to become clear, she brought his favorite candy to lunch every day so he’d have no excuse not to talk to her. She told herself that Kenny wasn’t a part of her master plan—just a bonus, not the goal. But his rise to small-town fame did make her sparkle a touch brighter to others, which pleased her.

Staying a step ahead of everyone’s expectations and aligning herself with the right popular friends made it easy to hide the slight cracks in her facade.

But her senior year was threatening to bring everything down.





Twelve


May 26, 2014

PAPA SAT IN his recliner, watching The Beverly Hillbillies, chuckling at their antics while Maddy finished dinner. She made something extra special, hoping to soften him, make him more malleable to the conversation that she intended to have. Pork chops in a cranberry glaze, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, and a key lime pie for dessert.

I am powerful, she thought. I have power now. He can’t take it away from me.

But her mouth went dry at just the thought.

“Dinner’s ready,” Maddy announced, lighting the stick candles on the center candelabra. Papa sauntered into the dining room, inspecting the setting. When satisfied, he nodded and sat at the head of the table. Maddy took her seat beside him. Papa prayed over their food for almost five minutes before ending with an amen. Maddy dutifully fixed his plate.

“So. Madison,” he said, cutting into his chop. “What did you think of North by Northwest?”

Papa always asked her about movies as if she had never seen them before, as if they hadn’t watched them too many times to not remember.

“It was wonderful, Papa.”

“Ah yes. Cary Grant. Wasn’t he terrific? He had done four movies with Alfred Hitchcock. And Hitchcock was very selective about his cast. Pushed them all to impossible limits. They say there were all these problems on set. But what I think was . . .”

Maddy poked at her sprouts, her appetite nonexistent. Heart racing, she pretended to be enthralled with Papa’s meandering thoughts, agreeing at the appropriate times. When he broke to take a bite of his pork, she took a deep, steadying breath.

“Papa, I was invited to a dance.”

Papa’s fork hovered in the air, right at his mouth. He stared at the empty seat on the other side of the table. Maddy could feel the air tense. She pressed on with a gulp.

“It’s the prom. His name is Kendrick Scott. He plays football and is going to college. A really good college, on a full sports scholarship. He’s going to study English and likes to read.”

Papa gently set his fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin. Her heart plunged into her stomach with a shudder.

“He’s from a nice family, and I—”

It happened so fast she didn’t have a chance to shriek. Papa backhanded her across the face, his rough knuckles connecting with her cheekbone. Maddy’s chair tipped, dumping her out on the floor. She rolled onto her side with a whimper, tasting the blood on her lip.

Papa stood over her, fist rolled into a ball. “You are having lustful thoughts for some Negro.”

Tiffany D. Jackson's Books