“Stop lyin’!”
I’m so tired, I almost laugh. Of all the times I have been out misbehavin’ with Clay—and there have been quite a few—last night was not one of them.
“That’s the truth.”
“Do I look like a fool to you?”
I massage my temples. How do I handle this?
“No. I wasn’t out with Clay last night cuz I rode my bike up to the lookout to see the meteor showers, and I didn’t tell you cuz I knew you’d say I couldn’t be out that late, but it was important to me, so I—”
“And you just got home half an hour ago? You expect me to believe that?”
Something rumbles within me. I don’t know what it is, but it drops down way past this petty argument and makes me think of this morning and how I felt and how I was confused and scared….
“Who is Virgil Hampton?”
Her face drops. The air in the room shifts.
“Where did you hear that name?”
I try to read my mother’s face to see if she’s already answered my question without using words, but she’s got a wall up, keepin’ me out.
“He’s been botherin’ me,” I tell her. “That’s why it took me so long to get back home.”
She’s pale as a cadaver and frozen still. If it wasn’t for the slightest rise and fall of her shoulders, I’d think she’d stopped breathing altogether. I’m now very sorry I asked, cuz I don’t want to know the answer.
“You’ve seen him?” she asks, her voice raspy in her throat. Her eyes. They’re full of so much sadness. She looks like she’s aged in just the last few seconds.
“Why does he know me?”
“You two used to play,” she says, defeated. “When I did the cleanin’ at the Hadleys. He was—is—one a their relations. He was older than you. Old enough to know right from wrong. He was a kid, but you were a baby.”
The Hadleys. I remember going over there sometimes, especially in the summer. I can’t place this Hampton person, though.
“I don’t remember him.”
“Good,” she says. “He wasn’t a person. He was a pestilence.”
“What did he do?”
Mama seems to think about taking a sip of coffee but then changes her mind. The twins come racing down the stairs.
“Mama, can we have cinnamon toast? We want cinnamon toast,” they say in unison. Creepy when they do that. Mama starts to get up, but I stop her.
“I’ll make it, Mama,” I say. I get out the bread and place the slices in the toaster. Then I make Coralene and Doralene sit down, keeping my attention on Mama to see if she will tell me anything without using words. She does that every now and then. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. But she’s somewhere else right now.
“Evvie, why you up so early?”
“You gotta go to work early today?”
I shake my head and spread the butter and cinnamon and sugar on their toast slices and hand them the plate. Lucky for us they get quiet when they’re eating something they like.
“What did he do?” I ask again.
“Who?” Coralene and Doralene say with their mouths full.
With shaking hands, Mama tries to take a sip again but instead throws the cup against the wall, smashing it and sending the caramel-colored liquid flying everywhere. The twins freeze in terror. I’m frightened too.
“He hurt you. In an unspeakable way. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I just stand shaking in my kimono, not knowing what to do.
Then Coralene and Doralene start crying. I pull a hanky from the drawer and tend to their tears, but I’m surprised when Mama joins ’em, cuz she is not a crier. Now I got three girls crying!
“Mama! Don’t,” I say as gently as I can. I bring the damp hanky over to her, too. She just shakes her head.
“I’m sorry,” she says, breathy and full of sorrow. “I tried—all they did was fire me. They threatened to do worse to both of us if I ever said anything again.”
I caress her arm, feeling helpless. “You did the best you could. That’s all any of us can do.” What else can I say? I’m not upset with her. I feel so mixed up and shocked, I don’t know if I can really get upset at all. Not right now. In a way, I’m relieved. At least now some things make sense.
Someday I might ask her exactly what he did. Though I can guess. Someday maybe I’ll remember it for myself. It’s amazing that my mind could hide something like that from me all these years. Maybe it was takin’ care a me.
“Everybody stop cryin’ right now. I mean it,” I say.
“But I’m sad and Mama’s sad and she broke the coffee,” Doralene blubbers.
Out of ideas, I start singin’ “Dedicated to the One I Love” by the Shirelles. First they look at me like I lost my mind, which I might have, but then they all stop crying and they have to sing. That’s just the way it is. I mean, it’s the Shirelles!
Before we know it, we’re all laughin’ like nothing bad ever happened to any of us. Somewhere, deep down, some small part of me returns to the thought of Virgil Hampton. His name alone had the power to break my mother in a way I’ve never seen, and she’s strong as anybody. I get a chill and try to put him out of mind. Whatever happens, I won’t let him break me.
15
Jubilation
I AM NO LONGER NEEDED in the kitchen. I just like to help if I can, but I think I was annoying Mrs. Alexander, cuz I was carryin’ the green beans to the table, and she took ’em from me and said I should go visit in the livin’ room. Whatever “visit” means.
This house is crawlin’ with folks. I squeeze into a corner of a window seat in an attempt to stay out of the way. I’ve only met Clay’s parents a
