This Is My America(65)

Have a good day, Bighead. I love you.



I go back to the table to finish up breakfast. Mama sends Corinne upstairs to brush her teeth before they leave. Steve finally sits down.

“Have either of you heard from Jamal, since last night?” Steve asks.

There’s tension in the air. No one wanting to put the words out loud that we’ve been in touch with him at all. The trust that our house is sacred, gone. Mama’s eyes are wide, hopeful, but she lowers them when I don’t respond. Steve doesn’t know us well, but even he’s picked up that our family is tight. Jamal might be on the run, but he wouldn’t forget about us. He’d be worried if word got to him. I hope this means he’ll reach out.

I check my phone. Nothing.

“You think they’ll catch whoever did this last night?” I ask.

Steve takes a bite of food, then looks up. “Hopefully, when they question Richard Brighton, they’ll find out who he’s affiliated with. Could be more suspects to look into.”

“He’s family to them. You think much will come out of his arrest?”

“He was taken into custody for questioning. If he’s released after a break-in, we’ll know exactly what side the police are on.” Steve takes a sip of coffee.

“Why do you think they did this last night?” I ask.

Steve pauses, then looks at Mama. “Was James harassed when news came out he was going into business with Mark Davidson?”



“A bit,” Mama says. “It wasn’t easy fitting in a few months after we moved here and it became clear we were staying.”

“What kind of things were happening before the Davidsons were killed?”

I sit up straight. I don’t remember much about before, just everything that fell out after.

“Phone calls. Then hang-ups. Cold shoulders out in town. But nothing we weren’t used to,” Mama says.

“Was he worried about going into business with Mark Davidson?”

“James never worried about nothing.” Mama laughs. “He said the land was there to be built on, but people were too scared to buy it up. If he didn’t do it, someone else would eventually. When he explained it like that, what could I say?”

“James should have told me about this,” Steve says.

“Told you what?” Mama says. “If the murders had anything to do with the Klan, then they would have killed James, not Mark and his wife.”

All those visits, talking about the case, Daddy never mentioned any of this. I wonder what else he might be hiding. Steve stares at the boarded-up window, looking like he’s having the same thought.

Mama takes another bite and doesn’t say more. Then she grabs her plate to clean up.

“Come on now, Corinne, I got to get to work,” Mama yells up the stairs.



“Are you going to ask my daddy about this?” I ask Steve.

“I am.” His mouth is a thin line.

“Good,” I say.

“He might have kept things to himself to protect you all. You ever seen any harassment?”

“Just about the case,” I say. “People driving by, name-calling. But all things that were related to the trial.”

“There might not have been a need to bother you all once your dad was convicted.”

“But now…”

“Now your dad is represented by an organization known to help those wrongfully convicted. And there could be something bigger going on with your dad’s case.”

“Connected to my brother?”

“I don’t know about that. But you all weren’t visible, or a threat. Until—”

“The interview Jamal did. Then Angela being killed and you coming to town to work on my daddy’s case.”

Steve doesn’t respond. It only makes me worry more about Jamal. Steve clears his dishes, then meets Mama and Corinne by the door.

I stand up, pull out my phone, and log on to the community meeting invite. Refreshing the page for an update on attendance to the meeting, I hope that folks show. It’s one thing for people to say they’re planning on showing up, a whole other thing when the day comes. A piece of me wants to pray for Jamal to be there, hanging in the back of the room. But he can’t. With each day he’s farther and farther away—never more so than last night, when our sense of safety was stripped away by the sound of shattering glass, the flash of bright orange, and the flames waving among the shadows of a cross.





EAGLE HAS LANDED


I step out of the shower and get ready for school. As I do, I note a sound downstairs. I’m supposed to be alone, but the bones of the house scream: intruder.

At first, I wave it off to the house adjusting to the heat, but the creak repeats. I peek outside. Beverly’s patrol car is long gone.

The back door slams. I jump up, race outside. There’s movement by some bushes before the trail reaches the trees. My eyes skitter around cautiously so I don’t run blindly through the woods. I know my way around, but also how easy it is for someone to lie low in the shadows to catch me by surprise. Someone from the Brotherhood. Never mind that, hope that it’s Jamal propels me toward what might be an ambush.

On the run, the dry grass scratches at my ankles. I reach the trees; shadows and dark patches block my ability to see far. I enter, and ten steps in, I’m instantly engulfed, struggling to keep up with a person zigzagging through the woods.