What Lies Beyond the Veil(Of Flesh & Bone #1)(23)

I think Granddaddy gon’ try to give me another kiddie answer, but then he looks me straight in the eye, his wrinkled face settling into a scowl. “Why you ask so many damn questions, Kenyatta?” He spits my name from his mouth. “You betta be careful, askin’ all them questions. One day you gon’ realize, the truth ain’t always somethin’ good. And all them secrets—they there for a reason.”

As he slowly stands, the words repeat in my head like bullets shot from a gun. The truth ain’t always somethin’ good. I feel the sting of each word long after the smoke clears, long after they pierce my flesh through and through.



* * *





For the next few days, Granddaddy don’t talk much. I don’t mind, cause after the way he yelled at me, I ain’t tryna talk to him anyway. The only person I wanna talk to now is Daddy, and he’s gone for good. Even still, I talk to him before bed each night, closing my eyes tight til I can see his face behind my eyelids, and there he is again just like he always was. I like to tell him bout the new books I’m reading and bout my new friends and bout Momma and Nia being weird now. Daddy listens without interrupting, rubbing my hair while I talk. Even though that’s not what he was like before, that’s what I make him like now.

I wonder if Nia still talks to Daddy, too. Truth is, they was always closer than me and him ever were. Sometimes I would even hear them up late after they thought me and Momma was sleep, still talking and playing. But that Nia is gone now. This Nia don’t seem to remember Daddy at all.

I step out on the porch and look around for something new to keep me busy. Another day in Lansing with nothin’ to do. And since Nia out sittin’ on the porch today, I can’t even play with Bobby and Charlotte. I walk toward the field in the backyard. I stop and look at a flower, yellow on the outside, but deep purple inside like a ripe plum. I pick the flower and when I take a closer look inside, I notice something is moving. I peel back the yellow petals, slow. Cozy inside the purple center is a fuzzy caterpillar, black on both ends, but bright orange in the middle. I pick the caterpillar up soft, cause I don’t wanna smash it in my fingers. Once the caterpillar is safe in the palm of my hand, I run back to the house, nearly tripping up the steps in my excitement. I expect to find Nia on the porch, but she ain’t there no more, so I run into the house.

“Granddaddy, guess what,” I screech once I’m inside.

“What’s that?” he replies, his eyes flickering with something like a smile. This is the first time we really talked since he yelled at me, and look like Granddaddy ready to make things right. I ain’t sure I wanna try to get close to him again, but I ain’t got nobody else to share my excitement with. Granddaddy gon’ have to do.

“I found a caterpillar!” I stretch out my hand to reveal my treasure. But on second look it’s an ugly little bug, covered all over with tiny hairs, like the whiskers on Daddy’s chin that used to tickle me when he remembered to kiss me good night.

“Good for you,” Granddaddy responds. I think he ain’t happy bout the caterpillar or maybe he still mad at me, but then, without another word, he rises from his seat and slowly makes his way into the kitchen. I can hear him rumbling around. I hop from toe to toe, wondering what he went to find. Finally, he comes back, carrying an empty mayonnaise jar.

“Here, use this,” he says.

“For what?” I ask, reaching out and closing the cool glass between my thumbs.

“More caterpillars,” he says with a wink.

“Thank you!” I remember to yell as I race back outside to find Nia, letting the door slam behind me. Granddaddy don’t like when I do that, but I ain’t got time to stop. Not even when I notice my shoes are untied. Instead, I run in zigzags to avoid tripping over the wild laces. When I finally spot Nia, she is sittin’ under the giant oak in the front yard.

“Nia! Nia, guess what?” I yell.

Nia responds with a tiny flick of her wrist, instructing me to leave her alone. I continue in her direction, though. I want Nia to love the caterpillar just like I do. For a while, I was nothin’ but angry at Nia. But the more I thought bout that sad look on her face when she was alone in the room, the more I began to wonder if Nia was struggling, too, just like me. I ain’t ready to try to be friends with her yet, but it’s always hard to stay mad at Nia for too long. Even when everything changes around me, Nia is usually the one thing I know ain’t gon’ go away.

As I run, I realize just how much I miss Nia. Miss laughing with Nia til my sides ache. Like that Christmas when Momma wrapped all our gifts in newspaper instead of wrapping paper. Momma swore she could buy wrapping paper if she wanted to, but really it was a waste of money—and wasn’t the personalized wrapping more interesting anyway? Turns out, she was right. Momma wrote little stories for every gift, some true and some make-believe, but all funny. Me and Nia laughed at her little notes written in red pen cross the black-and-white newspaper, rolling around on the floor and cackling and slapping each other’s thighs whenever the laughing slowed down. I hope the caterpillars can make us like that again. At least it’s worth one more try.

I run to Nia’s side and wave my hands in front of her eyes. As usual, loud music is blaring from her Walkman. There is a gentle wind that licks Nia’s hair cross her face, which she tries to pull and tuck behind her ears. Instead, the stubborn locks drift and dance.