This Is My America(22)
We lost.
Even with the gun missing…even though there was no blood or marks on Daddy…even though he had multiple people who could confirm his alibi…we lost.
My father’s alibi was trumped by white witnesses in the neighborhood who swore they saw Daddy’s Buick, with two Black men inside, leaving the Davidson office late that afternoon, not at noon like Daddy said. I used to ask Daddy if he thought things would be different if he’d had a Black attorney, that maybe his attorney would have understood the bias in the trial more. Daddy squashed that. It wasn’t about the race of his attorney, but about being a Black man on trial in a town that never accepted us. Everyone wanted an answer to a heinous crime, and it was easier to think it was an outsider—someone “not like them.”
I won’t let Jamal go down like that. Not this time. Not if I can help it.
We can’t lose again.
POLICE STATE
Mama’s waiting on the porch with Corinne. She meets me outside, the ends of her hair hastily bumped in a curl. She’s so shell-shocked she’s not tracking things well. Like she knows she needs to be strong, but inside she is cracking. Scared to death.
“Anything on the news?”
“Just local weather,” I lie. Mama knows how bad it can get. I don’t need to add to her concern. “Tasha’s gonna ask around at school. See if anybody’s heard from Jamal.”
“Good.” Mama’s eyes are glazed.
“He didn’t do it. We’ll get Jamal back.”
We both know Jamal could never, but when has that mattered? It sure didn’t when Mama kept saying Daddy was coming home.
As we leave, we’re forced to pass the police car staking out our house. I square my shoulders and narrow my eyes while I reach for Corinne’s hand to pull her close to me. Beneath our anger, there’s hidden shame and embarrassment that’s similar to what we felt the first time we left the house after Daddy was arrested.
Ten minutes on the road and I let my mind wander. Every small town looks the same, all rolling into each other. Except, of course, when we reach the WELCOME TO GALVESTON COUNTY sign. Whenever we pass it, I have the same visceral reaction.
The first time I saw the sign, I was riding a bus from New Orleans. Daddy tried to hide that he was just as frightened about evacuating as we were. The way his eyes skittered around, though, I knew he was questioning if we should’ve waited out the storm. I didn’t know the answer then, but I know now that it wasn’t the levee failures in New Orleans that wiped my family’s life away. It was moving to Texas.
Not returning was Daddy’s idea. Daddy partnered with Jackson Ridges, who’d gotten him his first contractor job when we evacuated to Texas. Later, Mark Davidson hired Daddy by himself for renovation work. After a few jobs, he said Daddy could get a loan if he wanted to expand his business to land development. Mark trusted Daddy. He knew he did good work. He didn’t know Jackson Ridges, and so he tried to edge him out of the development deal. I think he just didn’t like what part of town he was from, but Daddy was always loyal and was ready to pull out unless Mark agreed to include Jackson in the new business venture.
Daddy being charged with the Davidsons’ murder was unbelievable for anyone who knew their relationship. There was no bad blood. Just a disagreement.
I lean my head against the window, let those memories wash away as the signs turn into a blur. Then distract myself with Mama’s voice that rises and belts as she ups the volume on the radio. She points her finger to the ceiling of the car, humming along at the notes that are too high to hit.
The gospel music baptizing her the way it can rear inside your veins and cleanse your entire body, giving you goose bumps, making you raise your hands high. Probably the thing that gives Mama hope and the strength to rise and fight whatever the battle is for the day. And for today, we need all the help we can get.
* * *
After we drop off Corinne at school, we pull up to the police station. The first person I recognize isn’t a police officer. It’s Dean.
“You call him to meet you here?” Mama points at him.
“No,” I say. “You know Dean, though.”
“Well, tell him to go to school. The last thing I need is his mama giving me grief we got her boy caught up in our mess and skipping school.”
“Mrs. Beaumont,” Dean says, approaching our parked car.
“Morning.” Mama and I both get out of the car. “You shouldn’t be here, Dean. You got school.”
“Where else would I be?” Dean runs his hands through his hair. “Y’all are like family to me. My dad knows I’m here.”
“Go back to your mama, then. You know she won’t like you here.” Mama purses her lips.
Dean doesn’t budge, and the truth is, I’m not ready for him to leave. He’s always been someone I can rely on, and I need him more than ever. School won’t be easy. We lost a classmate in a horrific way. Today will be a shock for everyone, and then all that anger will be directed at Jamal as a suspect. Someone to blame so people can move on, because it hurts too much not knowing who could do something like that to Angela. I’ve seen this all before.
“Were you always this stubborn, or is my daughter to blame?”