The Kindest Lie(99)
Verna pinned Ruth with a steely stare. “I know you probably think Corey’s adoption is phony. But we have papers. They’re still legal papers. We signed them.” Her eyes pleaded with Ruth to believe her.
“So you’re saying that in the eyes of the state, this was a legitimate adoption?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Mr. DeAngelo met us at Friendship, in Pastor’s office. Harold and I knew there was something fishy about a woman Ernestine’s age having a baby. When we questioned Pastor, he admitted that you were the actual mother, but you were young, too young to raise the baby yourself, and wanted your son to have a good life. And we wanted to be parents so badly.” Verna bit her lip.
Ruth felt a surge of indignation rise within her. “But I didn’t say I wanted anything. I had no say. I had no idea where my grandmother had taken my baby.”
Surprise flashed across Verna’s face, and she quickly tried to hide it. “I’m sorry for anyone who got hurt in all this. When Mr. DeAngelo went to prison for conning those other people, Harold and I got scared. But in all these years, nobody’s come around asking questions or stirring up any trouble for our family. Until you.”
The ticking of a grandfather clock in the living room echoed in the background. Ruth pressed her fingers to her lips. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you or Corey. One thing I’m sure of now is that you love my son and he loves you. I don’t want to mess that up. I won’t interfere.”
Worry and anxiety seemed to drain from Verna’s body. She nodded. Then she got up and moved to the staircase, motioning for Ruth to follow. Ruth had never imagined what Corey’s bedroom looked like, but now they stood in the doorway. Baseball trophies crowded every flat surface, dirty gym shorts hung from the lampshade, and video game cords and comic books poked out from beneath the bedspread. She derived some pleasure from seeing a glimpse of untidiness in the Cunningham home.
“I tell him to put all this stuff away before somebody trips over it,” Verna said quickly, placing a baseball glove on a shelf in the closet.
Every detail of this room reminded Ruth of all the small moments of mothering she’d missed with her son. His first tooth coming in. Stomachaches and scraped knees. The Little League games. Cupcakes for school on his birthday. Time—and one lie on top of another—had robbed Ruth of all that.
Verna pulled a laundry basket from under Corey’s bed and began tossing shirts and socks and pants into it.
Ruth’s voice caught in her throat. “This isn’t easy for me, but I’m grateful to you for loving him.”
Verna nodded. “We’d do anything for him. Corey can be too trusting and na?ve for his own good sometimes. His dad and I had the talk with him last month.”
“Oh. Corey’s been thinking about girls already?” Ruth whispered, as if someone could hear them. “And sex?”
Verna laughed. “All boys think about that at some point. But no, I mean the talk about how to carry himself as a Black boy in these streets when his dad and I aren’t around.”
Sunlight streamed through the curtains of the small window. A Black boy’s life wasn’t worth two dead flies, Mama always said.
Verna continued: “My biggest worry has been that he’ll grow into one of those Black men that white people fear and then kill because of that fear.” What she left unspoken was that his small, young body triggered that same fear.
“I’m sure you told him not to argue with the police.” Ruth’s thoughts returned to the morning at the river and to the bucket boy in Chicago. She thought of Eli getting stopped for carrying weed. Even Xavier wore suits sometimes on casual Fridays to avoid getting hassled. A wave of nausea passed over her as she began to comprehend the constant worry the Cunninghams had trying to keep Corey safe.
Verna looked up toward the ceiling and exhaled. “Always be polite. Don’t talk back. Keep your hands—”
Ruth finished her script. “Out of your pockets. Make sure they’re visible. Stay alive.”
“We tried to prepare him, but see? It still didn’t matter. His best friend handed him a gun and set him up.”
Opening the closet, Verna stood on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. She brought out a framed photo of Corey and Midnight hoisting a science fair trophy high above their heads. Both boys smiled brightly.
Ruth’s heart plummeted all over again wondering how Midnight had learned the truth.
Lines of worry and life experience furrowed Verna’s brow. “First it was gangbangers coming after Corey and his friends. Then Midnight. If Midnight were Black? He’d be in juvie right now. And you know if Midnight had been the one holding that toy, the police never would’ve pulled out their guns to begin with. But my boy. My sweet boy scared them. How could they point their guns at him?” Her voice stretched like a frayed rope ready to break.
Ruth nodded and her own voice quaked as she relived her fear. She recalled staring into the barrels of both guns, bracing for bullets. “I’ve also been thinking about these local gang members. How big of a threat are they?”
“Harold and I reported them to the police. Apparently, Ganton doesn’t have any organized, official gangs. Not yet, anyway. Those guys are Bo Thompkins and Larry Baisden. Their families go way back, I guess. They’ve done some small, petty crimes and police say they have their eye on them. But apparently, befriending neighborhood kids isn’t illegal. It’s Midnight I can’t get over. He’s a nice enough kid, been to our home many times, but he has no idea. He doesn’t know what it means to be a Black boy in this country.”