Turning Angel

fifty weeks out of the year, it’s Little League games and aldermen meetings that are mired in racial crap that got solved elsewhere twenty years ago.“

The resentment in her voice is palpable. ”I don’t think that’s true,“ I reply. ”Race is a problem everywhere. It’s just more in the open here.“

”Let’s don’t even go there,“ Caitlin says with surprising irritation. ”Let’s talk about Annie. You said no sugarcoating, right?“

”Right.“

”The schools here are atrocious, Penn. The public schools, I mean. They have the lowest ACT scores in the nation. And thirty-five percent of their seniors don’t even take the ACT.“

”Actually, the ACTs in Washington, D.C., are lower,“ I correct her. ”The only ones.“

”You want to guess why that is?“

”I know why.“

Caitlin taps the table to emphasize her points. ”This is the most illiterate state in the union. It’s number one in single-mother homes. And Natchez is number two in the state in those rankings. Forget the political implications of that. What does it mean for Annie?“

I start to point out that Annie doesn’t attend a public school-and that she has a single father -but Caitlin pushes ahead before I can say anything. ”St. Stephen’s does a decent job, I know. Smart kids like Mia and Kate still go on to the Ivy League. But for most kids, St. Stephen’s doesn’t compare to what’s available elsewhere.“

”Like Boston?“

She shrugs. ”Sure, Boston. Or New York, or even Wilmington. Any major city, you know that. And I’m not talking about elite private schools. Here you pay through the nose to get an average education. I’m talking about cities where the public school systems actually function, where there’s not racial segregation accomplished by high tuition.“

”And that would be where, exactly?“

She closes her eyes and sighs. ”It’s not just the schools. It’s extracurricular opportunities. And what about diversity? I mean, kids here are either white or black. There’s no other major demographic group. A couple of Indian kids, a few Mexicans. One or two Asians.“

”You want to be honest?“ I ask. ”All right. Is Annie’s education really your main concern here?“

Two pink moons appear high on Caitlin’s cheeks. ”I’m concerned about it, yes. But I have my own issues, too, I’ll admit. I love this town, Penn, but I also see what we’re missing by being here. There are no real art galleries or museums, no-“

”Is that what you spend your time in Boston doing? Going to museums and art galleries? Or are we really talking about restaurants and clubs?“

”That’s not fair,“ she says, looking genuinely hurt. ”But now that you bring it up, there isn’t even an Olive Garden or an Appleby’s here, for God’s sake. Forget truly exotic cuisine. There’s one cineplex with four screens, and I don’t think they’ve ever booked an art film.“

She’s right, but that doesn’t make me glad to hear it. ”Caitlin, you talk about Boston like it’s the best of everything, beyond the reach of people here. Well, Drew Elliott, our murder defendant and small-town doctor, just passed the Massachusetts state medical boards, and he scored in the top five percent. So don’t act like you’re coming down to Hicksville, USA, to preach the gospel of urban enlightenment.“

Caitlin looks stunned. She’s realized that Drew taking those boards means he was planning to move north with Kate when she went to Harvard. But she doesn’t comment on that. ”Drew is an exception,“ she says. ”And so are you.“

”Am I?“

”You know you are. You’re not like the other people here. Not anymore, anyway. The irony is, you can do your work here and still stay connected to the larger world. But I can’t. To work at the highest level in my business, I have to be in a city. Not Boston, necessarily, but some major city. Penn, the simple truth is that you don’t have to give up what I would to live here full-time.“

At last we come to the truth. ”You’re right,“ I admit. ”I know that.“

”Do you want me to give up my work?“ There’s a note of challenge in her voice.

”No. Not when I think about it intellectually. But if you ask me what I want in my heart, I want you to be with us more. All the time, actually.“

Caitlin smiles, but I see pain in her eyes. ”I do, too. And that’s the crux of our problem.“

”How so?“

She lays her hands flat on the table and looks deep into my eyes. ”I know you’re seriously considering running for mayor. Penn, if you do that-and you win-you’ll be tying us to this town for a minimum of four years.“

”Tell me how you feel about that possibility.“

She takes a slow sip of wine, her eyes on the candle at the center of the table. ”I’m afraid you’re about to make this town your personal crusade. You may disagree-you may believe you’re simply running for mayor. But what that job really means is playing referee in a race conflict. I’ve covered Natchez for nearly five years. Every single vote by the board of aldermen is decided along racial lines. Every one. And if Shad Johnson gets in, they’ll be decided on the black side, regardless of what’s right, ethical, or even legal.“

”But if I get in, they’ll be decided fairly.“

”Don’t kid yourself. No good deed goes unpunished. What makes you think you can get elected, anyway? You’ll have to get black votes to do it. A lot of them.“

I’ve given this a lot of thought. ”I think my record in Houston speaks for itself. I convicted black murderers, but I also convicted whites. I put away a notorious white supremacist, and I killed his brother myself. When I got here, I solved the murder of Del Payton. I think there’s gratitude in the black community for that.“ I take a quick sip of wine. ”And then there’s my father.“

Caitlin smiles in spite of herself.

”Dad’s treated the black community in this town for forty years-as equals, with kindness and respect. He’s built up a lot of goodwill. I’m my father’s son in most ways, and I think the voters would see that. Finally, the alternative to me is Shad Johnson. I think enough black people in this town have recognized Shad’s true nature to take a gamble on me.“

”What scares me,“ Caitlin murmurs, ”is that I think you’re right. I think if you run, you’ll probably be elected.“

”Would that be such a disaster?“

A soft sigh escapes her lips. ”For the town? Or for us?“

”Caitlin, this city is at the watershed point of its history. That’s saying a lot, when your history stretches back to 1716. The cotton economy is gone. The oil is all but gone. Industry won’t be coming back here until we fix the public school system. That leaves tourism. To make tourism work takes someone with vision, someone who can unify whites and blacks to sell a history in which blacks wereslaves to whites. That’s a tall order, but if someone doesn’t do it, this town will wither from twenty thousand souls to ten. It’ll be another black shell surrounded by a white ring of suburban homes, and it will cease to be a real community. I don’t want that to happen. More than that, I feel an obligation to try to stop it.“

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. ”I know you do. You grew up here, and you know what this town once was.“

”And what it can be again,“ I say quietly. ”Natchez has become a place where we have to raise our children to live elsewhere. Our kids can’t come back here and make a living. And that’s a tragedy. A lot of people I went to school with would love to come back here to raise their kids. They just can’t afford to do it. I want to change that.“

Caitlin picks at her crab cake with her fork. ”What does your father think about this idea?“

”He’s not convinced that saving the town is possible. He’s also said that the Del Payton case proved I’m a crusader at heart.“

She smiles at some private thought. ”You’re a romantic, Penn. It’s one thing I’ve always loved about you. But sometimes…“ She shakes her head again. ”Do you want to know what I see?“

”Yes.“

”It’s going to shock you.“