I feel a lump in my throat. She’s needed me, and I haven’t been available.
“If there’s a hell, you’ll never see it,” I tell her. “I don’t care what anybody says. If nobody’s gettin’ hurt, and somebody’s gettin’ happy, you ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”
She smiles at me with tears in her eyes.
“I love you, Evvie.”
“Oh.” I try to chuckle a little. I didn’t expect this conversation to get so emotional. “I love you, too,” I say.
She tells me all about this Pearl, who is apparently dreamy. For a hot second, I wonder if Anne Marie’s ever thought about me in this way, and I feel a li’l funny about it, but I let the thought pass. She’s my best friend, and she’s happy. It’s nice to see someone happy. The good kinda happy that doesn’t hurt a soul. And this is the most I’ve been able to talk in over a month, and I love her for givin’ me that.
He’s against the back seat, and I’m in front of him, his arm draped over me. It’s cramped, but we don’t mind.
“Tell me somethin’ good,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like somethin’ good that I don’t know about.”
I scratch an itch on my cheek with his stubble.
“Hmm. D’ya know what comets are made of?”
“I do not.”
“Ice, gas, and dust,” I inform him.
“Wow.”
“Does that count as somethin’ good?”
I look up at him. He gets a sad, faraway look in his eyes.
“I wish we’d talked more about that kinda stuff,” he says.
“I didn’t wanna bore you,” I reply.
“You never bored me.”
“I also thought we had more time.”
He kisses my forehead. I squeeze his arms around me tighter.
“Wanna see a movie later?” he says.
“Okay. What movie?”
He snickers in a devilish way. “How about Lolita?”
“Sure.”
He tries to smile as he says, “Wait for me this time.”
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I breathe deep. I turn over on my other side to go back to sleep, and tears dampen my pillowcase. The dreams hurt when I’m awake.
Mama’s makin’ me go to school. I don’t know how I’ll last. Every day is long and joyless. Anne Marie comes over now a few times a week, and that ain’t so bad. I’m learning that life is a thing to get through.
I’m out on my bike. Nowhere to go. Just ridin’. I don’t know why I put myself on display, cuz folks keep wavin’ and callin’ my name, and I ain’t talkin’ to nobody.
I find myself headin’ to the outskirts of town and up that steep hill. To the lookout. I arrive at the top, and I’m winded. The sun’s still out, so the lookout seems pretty ordinary compared to how it is at night. I sit in the dirt and gaze out over my town.
Right now? At this second, I’m thinking about death and responsibility. I am responsible for Virgil’s death. Virgil is responsible for Clay’s. I should’ve waited for him that night. I don’t know if I could’ve saved him, but I should’ve waited. I have to live with that. I wouldn’t say my mistake makes me responsible exactly. It does, however, make me accountable. Who’s responsible for the others? Can haints be held responsible? I don’t think so. I think Virgil and I are both responsible for the others. And it don’t even matter how awful those men were. I’m still half-responsible. Their suffering can’t bring Clay back to me. None of it is a comfort. Virgil’s pale, dying face in my memory is not a comfort.
There was a story in the paper. Mama tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. Took up a lotta space. All about the disappearance of Virgil Hampton, a descendant of the Wade Hamptons (the First, the Second, and the Third). The article talked about his accomplishments—two years at Cornell before dropping out (the article said he “took a leave of absence”)—and his promising future. As far as I know, none of the others made it into the paper. Clay certainly didn’t.
I think I understand what they meant, the haints. In the moment of exacting my revenge, I got a rush, a high, but it was short-lived and it wasn’t joy. I may be a disappointment to my ancestors. But I found no jubilation in vengeance.
I hear footsteps near me. I hope they’ll just pass me by.
“Evvie?” someone calls.
I turn my head to see R. J. Funny. I must’ve seen him at school by now, but I can’t remember. Feels like I haven’t seen him in years.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks. I watch him for a moment and then face forward. After a moment, he sits on the ground beside me. For a long time, neither of us says anything. He’s the one that breaks the silence.
“It ain’t fair. What you been goin’ through. It ain’t fair at all.”
You don’t know what I’m goin’ through, R. J.
He doesn’t say anything for a bit. I’m grateful that he doesn’t need to talk and doesn’t try to force me to talk.
“I’ve lived here my whole goddamn life, and I ain’t welcome here. Neither was Clay.” He says that last part softly. “How can someplace be your home if you can’t be safe there? Why do we put up with it? Just cuz it’s where we’re born? That ain’t a good enough reason. Not for what they do to us.”
I keep staring straight ahead, but I am listening to him. He’s right.
We sit a while longer. I wonder how long we’ll sit here, who will leave first, and if I’ll care. A cool breeze blows, and I momentarily think about makin’ it snow again. It’s a fleeting thought. I don’t do that shit anymore. I think back to what Miss Corinthia said. Would she be disappointed in me? Probably not, given the circumstances. But I’m disappointed. I wanted to save lives. Not end them.
I failed.
“I don’t have any answers,
