“Aunt Corinthia?”
“Shh!” I shush Clay. She needs to say her piece.
“But I see. What is. Happening. We. Still do. I hope. By. Your one. Hundredth. Birthday. We won’t. Need. Our. Kinda magic. Anymore,” she says. She then settles back into her chair. Her hand, still on mine, trembles, and I notice a tiny bead of sweat form at the top of her forehead. I feel tired from just listening to her. She must be exhausted right now.
“Grandmama, you need anything?” Her granddaughter enters the room, cheerful, but lookin’ fatigued.
“No, Noni. Thank you,” Miss Corinthia says quietly.
“This has been nice, but it’s a li’l overwhelming for her,” Noni confides to us. “I should be gettin’ her home and in bed.”
“Miss Corinthia?” I venture. “Do you know why we have this and other people don’t?”
“Why do. Some folks. Sing. Like. Angels? Why do. Some folks. Put pencil. To paper. And draw. Masterpieces?”
“Okay, Grandmama. Why don’t you take it easy?”
“Why do. Some folks. Find cures. For. Diseases? Everybody. Has some. Kind. Of magic. Ain’t. Just. Us.”
Miss Corinthia is incredible. I want to follow her around and just listen to her talk for the rest of my life. Well. The rest of hers.
The granddaughter—Noni—steps in with a tight smile and starts to wheel her toward the kitchen and away from me forever.
“Good-bye, Miss Corinthia. Thank you,” I call after them. It seems strange to thank her, but I feel so grateful that we met.
Noni rolls her along, but then they stop in their tracks, and I see the poor woman raise her head to the heavens and heave a sigh. She then turns to me.
“Honey? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, but she wants you for a minute,” Noni says to me. I go over to Miss Corinthia’s chair. I stoop down beside her so she won’t have to speak loudly.
“Be. A good. Girl. Try. To. Save. Lives,” she whispers so only I can hear.
“I will, ma’am. I promise.”
“And when. You can’t. End them.”
I try to nod as my limbs go numb.
“All right now. I think somebody desperately needs some rest,” Noni laughs. Under her breath, she adds, “And that somebody is me.” Then she wheels her away.
“Wow. Jesus,” Clay muses, a little dazed.
I shake my head at him. “It ain’t Jesus.”
Clay opens the door for me, and I appreciate his chivalry, as always, but it’s hard for me to enjoy it right at this second.
He gets in on his side and backs the car outta their gravel driveway. We start down the road, and we’re quiet. Bad quiet. After a minute, he turns on the radio. “Any Day Now” by Chuck Jackson plays. Clay sings along, and it is a great song. But I simply can’t hold it in anymore, so I turn it off.
“Hey! What gives?”
“Why does your mother hate me?”
“What?” He tries hard to sound shocked, but it’s so obvious he’s faking it.
“I heard her, Clayton. She did not want you to take me home. She wanted me to walk! All alone at night. And I’m wearin’ heels!”
Clay rolls down his window and rests his hand on the side-view mirror. Suspiciously silent.
“What did I do wrong?” I ask. My voice breaks a bit, and I swallow hard, cuz I do not want to cry.
“Nothin’, Evvie. She doesn’t hate you,” Clay says.
“Okay. Why does she really strongly dislike me?”
Clay pulls the car over to the side of the road. I think he has trouble arguin’ and drivin’ at the same time.
“Was she like this to your other girlfriends?”
He draws back, face all scrunched up. “You’re the only one she’s ever met.”
I don’t have enough space in my mind right now to find that flattering. Maybe I will later.
“She’s crazy. Okay? She’s seriously cracked. She’s got it in her head that you’re the reason I wanna move to Chicago, when the truth is she just wants me to stay with her till she’s cold in the ground.”
“Wait. What? That doesn’t even make sense!”
“This is what I’m tryna tell ya.”
“Ain’t that what you always wanted to do?”
“Yeah,” he says hesitantly. “It is, but I hadn’t told her about it. Not till this summer.”
“Why didn’t you tell her before?”
He runs his fingers over the grooves in the steerin’ wheel. Then, outta nowhere, he leans over and kisses me. It’s nice—I’m not gonna lie. ’Specially since I haven’t for-real kissed him in hours, but we are having a conversation!
I push him away. “Quit distractin’ me. I’m tryna talk to you!”
He groans and slumps down in his seat.
“So she don’t like me cuz she thinks I’m the one pushin’ you to go to Chicago?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I should tell her that I truly don’t care where you live as long as you’re happy.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? If this whole Chicago thing is why she hates me, why can’t I set the record straight?”
He looks over at me all apologetic.
“She doesn’t understand you,” he mumbles.
“What’s not to understand?”
“Evvie, let’s not do this.”
“I don’t even know what we’re doing!”
Clay slumps farther down in his seat. Feels like any minute now he’s gonna open the door and slink away.
“Clay, you can tell me whatever it is,” I tell him.
“Not this.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna assume all the worst imaginable things,” I threaten. He just stares straight ahead.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. But I don’t know if I can trust you anymore if you can’t trust me with this,” I say.
“Oh Jesus,” he sighs, and pulls himself upright in his seat. “You’re not who she would like me to be with, okay?”
“Oh.” I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. “Is there—another girl?”
Clay shakes his head. “Why can’t you leave this alone?”
“Put yourself in my shoes for a second. If my mother had some mysterious problem with you, wouldn’t you wanna know what it was?”
“She doesn’t think you’re a nice girl, Evvie,” he finally says. I try my best to grasp this new piece of information. But I can’t, cuz it
