“Something smells good.” She took a seat on the worn sofa while her father carried the laundry basket inside.
“Homemade vegetable soup and rolls,” Ma said.
Dee’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t stopped to eat much on the drive here from Washington, D.C., where she lived and worked. Her parents took seats around her.
“A protest, huh?” her father asked. “Well, you’ve come to the experts.”
“It’s out of the question, Jeremy,” Adele protested. “They’re too dangerous.”
“You did them,” Dee pointed out.
“That’s different. They were part of the times.”
“The times haven’t changed.” Dee tossed a throw pillow into her lap. “People are just protesting different things.”
Jeremy lifted an eyebrow. “What’s this one about?”
“The town of Culpeper, Virginia, is having a controversy about a Confederate statue located near a library entrance.”
“Another one of Robert E. Lee in uniform, sitting on his horse?” he asked.
“Worse,” Dee said. “It’s Stonewall Jackson with a cape swirling around him. He’s standing in his stirrups with a bloodthirsty look on his face and a sword gripped in his hand. The inscription reads The South shall rise again!”
Ma frowned and picked at her apron. “That does sound disturbing and not at all appropriate for a public library.”
“It probably scares the children,” her father surmised, “and encourages hate.”
“Absolutely,” Dee agreed.
“Okay, you asked for advice, so here it is,” Jeremy said. “Find out who the players are so you can get a forecast of what’s going to go down. Then, you can figure out where to locate yourself and what weapons to bring.”
“Weapons!” Adele jumped out of her chair. “Don’t you remember what happened at the statue rally in Charlottesville? She’s not going, and that’s that.”
“No worries,” Dad said, holding out a calming hand to his wife. “After all, we’ll be there to protect her.”
Dee blinked. “You, what?”
“We, what?” Ma echoed as she plopped back into her chair. “We retired from protesting years ago.”
“As long as there’s breath in my body,” Jeremy said, his voice deeper and rougher with age, “I’ll keep fighting for what’s important, and scaring children really pisses me off. Speaking of which, Adele’s stepfather, Reverend Pervert, finally died in prison.”
Dee gasped. “Did he?” She’d heard he made a pass at her mother when she turned eighteen, and, later, he got arrested for groping a couple of minors in his congregation.
He nodded. “If you ask me, prison was too good for him. I would have tied him up by his feet up on the mountain and wrapped a raw steak around his dick so the bears and foxes could have a snack.”
“I’m just glad he can’t hurt anyone else,” Ma said quietly. “About this rally…”
“Guys, I’m in my forties,” Dee said. “I don’t have to be told what to do, and I don’t need protection. I only wanted the advice.”
“Why now?” Ma asked. “You’re an attorney, not a hippie.”
“I’m tired of staring at paperwork and courtrooms all the time. For once in my life, I want to do something hands-on.” She sighed. “My friend Rhonda is going.”
It would be a nice break from the endlessly long hours she worked, too.
“You’re feeling restless, aren’t you?” Dad asked, leaning his arm on the back of the couch.
“How’d you know?” Dee picked at the cushion in her lap. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
“Maybe you miss being a public defender?”
She didn’t miss the low pay. After her mother had racked up some hefty medical bills from beating breast cancer, Dee had moved to the big city—Washington, D.C.—for more opportunities and job security.
“You don’t need a protest. You need a baby,” Ma said, pointing a work-worn finger at her.
“Say what?” Dee laughed out loud. “That’s the last thing I need.”
“Well, if you plan on having any, time is running out.”
“We’d really like a grandchild,” Jeremy added.
Thanks for the reminder. She’d been too busy with a career to even consider raising a family. And she’d never met the right man. She had no idea what the perfect man would look like. Was he black or white? Being biracial gave her more confusion than choices.
“Is dinner ready yet?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. “Can I help?”
“No and no.” Ma stood. “The rolls have risen long enough. I just need to stick them in the woodstove.”
After Adele went to the kitchen, Dad jumped to his feet with the spryness of a much younger man. “Good. We’ve got enough time for some self-defense lessons.”
He acted so zealous, Dee dissolved onto the couch, laughing her head off.
“This is serious, little girl,” he said, gripping her shoulder. “Back in the day, we lost someone on the protest field. We’re not about to lose you, too.”
Her insides chilled as she remembered what they’d told her about Dennis, or was it Denny? Apparently, her father had totally flipped out after his death because it stirred up his miserable childhood, which he’d mostly spent as an orphan.
She stood again. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to being a fighter.”
“Well, we’re not letting you out of this house until you learn.”
“It’s a good thing I brought a suitcase,” she said with a grin. “Show me that last move again.”
“Supper’s ready,” Ma called from the kitchen a few minutes later.
But Dee had lost her appetite. Participating in a protest wouldn’t be like getting her nails painted a different color. It was serious. Would her life be in danger? What if she jeopardized her parents? They’d gotten too old to be fighting anything but the symptoms of old age.
She would do only this one. Then she’d be able to settle back down to the courtroom without feeling restless. With luck, she and her family would age together in peace, and their bravery would give peace to others.
That made it all
