I glance at Clay, and he looks like a deflated balloon. I wanna comfort him, but I’m still irritated by the spyin’.
“You know what you can do, though?” Grammie Atti offers.
“What?”
“Trust her and stay out of her way,” she says.
Clay sighs and nods.
“It’s a vulnerable process. Imagine you tryna learn to play a new instrument. It’s gonna sound like nothin’ but noise for a while. What if she was hidin’ in a closet, secretly watchin’ you fumble around? That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“I think he understands, Grammie,” I say. Does she know Clay’s a musician? Does she know everything?
“Are we sure he understands?” she asks, her eyes on Clay.
“Yes,” he responds.
“Good. Anything else you wanna know?”
“Does it—does it hurt her?”
“Well that depends—”
“I can answer myself,” I say. “It depends on what I’m doing, what I’m going through, and what the triggers are. Some things hurt and others don’t. Like anything else,” I tell him. I take ahold of his hand and speak to him without words.
Try not to worry.
I don’t know if he heard me or not, but his face brightens a little.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
Clay rises, and I head for the door.
“Again, I’m sorry for causing any trouble, Miss Athena.”
“I can’t stand apologies, but I suppose I can accept yours. Come back on a Saturday. I’ll give ya a special reading. Family friend discount,” she says with a wink.
“Good night, ma’am,” he says. I grab my flashlight, hold the door open for him and walk him down the steps.
“You mad?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. But I don’t like bein’ spied on.”
“I won’t do it again.”
We walk in silence for a moment. When we get to the gate, he stops and turns to me.
“Can you honestly blame me, though? Some maniac chases you all over town, and then you go out at night alone? That’s insane!”
“No, it’s not,” I say, but he does have a point, and truth be told, I didn’t want to go out by myself; that was Grammie Atti’s idea.
“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says.
“I don’t know if I can promise that.”
“Evvie, come on! Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t call me stupid!”
“I’m not calling you stupid! I’m just—I’m sayin’ don’t make a stupid choice.”
We stare at each other. Neither of us willing to concede.
“I’m always careful, Clay. And you should know by now that I can take care of myself,” I explain.
“You know? It doesn’t make you weak to lean on somebody every now and then,” he informs me.
I look out at the dark street. I flick the flashlight on and off. I turn around to look at Grammie Atti’s. Her kitchen light’s still on. Wasn’t sure if she woulda just gone on to bed—she does that sometimes. But it looks like she’s waitin’ for me.
“I know that.”
“I thought—I don’t know. You said your grandmother’s like your teacher. I was worried. I just wanted to make sure you were… safe.”
So Clay still thinks Grammie Atti is a fruitcake. Great.
“There is nothing wrong with my grandmother,” I tell him. “She has no intention of hurting me. I don’t wanna discuss this again.”
“What about—” He stops himself.
“What?”
“Your grandfather. Didn’t she hurt him?”
I freeze. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Clay, are you an old church lady now? This is nothin’ but gossip! She never hurt nobody. She loved my grandfather, and he was taken too soon.” That is literally all I know about my grandfather. The exact same thing I know about my great-grandmother. Nobody in my family talks to me about our history. Once someone’s dead, they disappear.
He lets out a big bear of a sigh.
“All right. If you are sure that she ain’t touched in the head and you feel safe with her… then I’ll have to trust you.”
“Didn’t you tell me once that in every rumor there’s a ounce of truth? Not a pound?”
He stares at me, eyes full of worry and maybe some anger, but the longer we look at each other, the calmer he seems.
“Yeah. I did,” he finally says.
“Go home, Clay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I turn and head back up Grammie Atti’s walk. When I get to the door, he stops me again.
“I’ll wait. I’ll take you home.”
Somehow accepting this offer feels like I’m losing something (what it is, I don’t know), but I’d rather not walk home in the dark.
I nod, and he goes back to his car, parked across the street.
“He’s somethin’ else, ain’t he?” Grammie Atti appears again at the open door, makin’ me jump.
“He’s a good one. I can tell. Not like the drunks and troublemakers your mother used to mess around with,” she says. I say nothing and make no movement to agree or disagree. One of those “troublemakers” she’s referring to is my father, and I don’t appreciate her insulting him.
“Sexy, too. That never hurts. He reminds me a little bit of…” She waves her hand away, as if what she has to say isn’t worth it.
“Who?” I push. Now I’m curious.
“Your grandfather. Roy. I was pretty smitten with him when I was your age. He was smart and handsome, and he could make me laugh like nobody else.” She laughs for a second, but then her smile fades.
“How did he die?”
She raises both eyebrows at me, taken aback by the question; then she sucks her teeth.
“Ah hell. Is that rumor goin’ around again? People are so damn stupid. He got hit by a train. It was a tragedy. And I had nothin’ to do with it. End of story.”
So Clay didn’t hear a rumor that she “hurt” him. He heard she killed him.
“Why am I just now hearin’ all this? Why didn’t I know what happened to your mama or my grandfather before this summer? Why do we keep so many goddamn secrets? Is he the one buried out here?” I blurt. I think I went too far. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I just feel so frustrated. I hate that if I don’t come
