The Dry Grass of August(77)

I said I did. She looked me in the eyes. “I know you do.”





In the car on the way home from the funeral, Mama blew her nose, straightened behind the wheel, took a deep breath. “Let’s have dinner at the El Dorado. Pretend we have plenty of money.”

Stell said, “Shouldn’t we find out what the rest of the family’s doing? Aunt Rita and Meemaw and—”

“I’m sick of being sad, and I don’t care if I never see Cordelia again.” Mama blew her nose.

“What’s the W.B.A.?” I asked.

Mama stared out the windshield, not looking at our house when we passed it. She answered in a low voice. “White Businessmen’s Association. Who told you about that?”

“Mayor Lindley was talking to Daddy at the funeral.”

“What did His Honor say?”

“Something about Daddy trying to get the W.B.A. going in Charlotte with money from the business.”

Mama said, “The mayor was in on it. I’m sure he’ll say he wasn’t.”

“The White Businessmen’s Association. What does it do?” Stell asked.

“Scares coloreds into giving up on voting, education. Other stuff.” Mama turned on the car radio, loud.

At the El Dorado, Mama parked the car and leaned her head on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us.” She started to cry. Stell put her arms around her and I reached over the seat and hugged them both; I could feel Mama’s shoulders trembling. I wanted her to stop crying, to be strong. Somebody had to be.

Mama wiped her face. “I wish we could move to Taylor’s for a while.”





CHAPTER 31

The police came to our house a week after Uncle Stamos’ funeral. Daddy invited them to have seats in the den, where he settled in his chair, a glass in his hand, the Jim Beam bottle on the table beside him. He’d already called Cliff Sindell, his lawyer, and the police agreed to wait until Mr. Sindell got there.

There were two of them, dressed in suits and ties, looking like ordinary business friends of Daddy’s, talking about the best places to fish on Lake Wiley.

Daddy said, “Maybe we could meet out there sometime. You could show me the lures you made.”

“We’ll see,” said the older of the two. He pointed at the Jim Beam. “I hear that’s a good bourbon.”

“It is,” said Daddy. “Made near where I grew up, in Kentucky.” He took a sip. “I guess you don’t drink on duty.”

“No, that’s right.” The man cleared his throat. “But there’s no prohibition on ice tea.”

Daddy looked at me.

I went to the kitchen.

When I returned with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of ice tea, Cliff Sindell was there. Daddy had already fixed him a drink. He nodded. “Hello, June.”

“Hey, Mr. Sindell.”

Daddy said, “Jubie, you can leave us now.”

I closed the door behind me, knowing I’d find out soon enough what was going on. Mama was through with secrets.





Having the police in the house hit Mama hard. The next morning, she said to Daddy, “They’ve got something on you. What else are you hiding?” He left and was gone for three days. When he came back, she wouldn’t speak to him, not even hello. After a week of her silence, he moved to a fishing cabin on Lake Wiley. The next day, Mama walked around in her nightgown, drinking coffee and chain-smoking. At lunch she sat at the table, a cigarette in her hand, stabbing a half-eaten tomato with her fork, then picking it up and throwing it against the wall. It slid down the wallpaper, leaving a slick trail of pulp and seeds.

I went for paper towels. Mama snatched them from me and put out her cigarette in her plate, which I’d never known her to do. She scrubbed the wall and collapsed on the floor crying, wiping her face with her nightgown.

Mail piled up on the hall table. I took the unopened bills to Mama, who went to the desk in the den and sat with the checkbook, staring out at the magnolia Daddy had planted when we moved in. An hour later I went back to the den and she was still sitting there in a swirl of smoke. “Mama?”

“Why isn’t he paying the bills, balancing the checkbook, getting the Packard serviced? Doing what a man’s supposed to do.” She looked up at me. “I swear to God, Jubie, I wish I’d never met him.”

“I’m glad you did, Mama.”

Amusement lit her face for the first time in days. “Yes, I guess you are.”

Davie called from his bedroom. “Mama!” She stood. “Nap time’s over.” She handled Davie as well as Mary ever had, and I thought if Mary walked in the door, she’d be a stranger to him. Mama felt smaller to me, and I realized it was because she mostly wore flats or loafers. Carrying a toddler around doesn’t go with high heels.





I came home from school to find Mama at the dining room table, holding a sheet of paper, a torn envelope on the floor. She said, “You’ll want to read this.”

I saw the letterhead centered at the top of the page and sank into a chair.



October 8, 1954

Dear Mrs. Watts:

Confirming our telephone conversation of Saturday last: one Gaither Mowbry, Jr., aged 19 years, was arrested on October 6, 1954, for multiple infractions, not the least of which was a state of advanced inebriation while in command of an automobile.