Harlem Redux (24 page)

“Just spit it out. Nothing can be worse than what I’m thinking right now.”

Something glimmered in her eyes, something like hurt. “A year ago, in January, Lilian stopped by. She hadn’t spoken to me in ages, but there she was. Pale as a ghost. Said she had to talk. But once she came in, she got quiet. Wouldn’t say nothing. I let her be. And I made some coffee. Then the clock struck three. The kids started leaving the school across the street. We could see them through the window, all loud and laughing. Lilian started crying. And then she said she was pregnant.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Neither you nor Annie said anything about Lilian having had a child.”

“Well, I guess that’s because she didn’t.”

“You mean she
lost
the baby?” A horrible possibility dawned on him. “Did she kill herself because she lost the child?”

An indecipherable glimmer came into Rachel’s eyes. Did it reveal sadness, perhaps agony, even a flash of anger? She swallowed and dropped her gaze.

“It would’ve made sense, wouldn’t it? Losing a baby is... why, it’s unbearable.” She gave a little shake of her head. “But no, that’s not what happened.”

“Then what
did
happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said thickly.

“How far along was she?”

“She claimed she was in her fourth month, but there still wasn’t nothing to see. She said she hadn’t been sleeping. She talked a little bit about it being a boy or a girl. And then she said she was scared, that maybe it wouldn’t turn out right. I told her a lot of women worry about stuff like that. But the baby almost always turns out fine. She smiled at me, sort of in a sad way. Then she got up to go. She stopped at the door and gave me a hug. She told me she loved me, but she didn’t come by no more.”

“But that wasn’t the last time you saw her?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But it was a while that went by. She’d stopped coming to church, too, you see. For years, she’d come. Every Sunday, rain or shine. But after Gem, everything changed.

“The time came for our church’s Fourth of July picnic. Even the blue bloods over in Brooklyn come over for it. Lilian was one of our best organizers. Folks at church were hoping she’d show up just to say hello.”

“And did she?”

“Oh, she was there all right. Holding a big plate of food when I saw her. She wasn’t eating it, though. Just picking at it. Like she needed something to do. She didn’t look good. She’d fallen off. Her color was bad. And her belly was as flat as a pancake.”

“What?”

“She tried to act like she didn’t see me. So I went up to her and asked her about the baby. She turned white—whiter than a bleached sheet. Said she didn’t know—didn’t
want to
know—what I was talking about. I asked her if she remembered coming by my house that January. And her face changed. It just sort of.. . crumpled. She looked so sad. I asked her if I could do anything for her. And then she gave me this look.” Rachel frowned. “This look, David, it was hard to describe. There was hurt and anger and, well ... disgust—like she thought I was her worst enemy. Then she turned and ran. She hightailed it out of there so fast you’d have thought the tax man was behind her.”

“So she did lose the baby.”

“David, don’t you get it? When I asked her about visiting me, she really didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“How is that possible?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.”

Rachel took a deep breath. Her gaze went out the window, to the school across the street. “Your sister wanted a baby. Wanted it bad. Don’t you know what that kind of wanting can do to a woman?”

“Are you saying she
imagined
being pregnant?”

Her mouth tightened. “Do you really want to know what I think? What I honest to God think?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I can tell you right now that I
don’t
think she killed herself because she lost a baby.” She looked him in the eye.
 
“She did it cause she couldn’t have one.”

For a moment, he sat there in utter silence. He was stunned. That possibility had never occurred to him.
Could she be right? Was that it?
He sighed.
Was that what brought Lilian down?

“Now that you know, David, would you please, please leave this alone?”

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “No.”

“David, please—”

“I cannot. I will not.”

She sagged down onto the sofa and put a hand to her forehead. He sat down next to her. His voice was quiet but penetrating.

“You might be right about the baby and her wanting one so badly. But there was another hand in this. Another reason.”

“She got sick. That’s all. She was sick and—”

“Yeah. Slit her wrists. I don’t buy it.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying that all this talk of a mysterious illness makes no sense.”

For a moment, she studied him and then her expression changed. She looked as though she were seeing him clearly for the first time. “I almost don’t recognize you and that frightens me. All of a sudden, you’re not just the grieving brother—you’re an avenging angel.”

He didn’t deny it. “Look, there’s something wrong here. I felt it before, but I know it now. And that something has to do with Sweet.”

“I told you—Lilian wanted a baby and when it came to Sweet, she wasn’t confident—”

“The diary, Rachel. The diary. Lack of confidence wasn’t the problem. And I’m betting you know it.”

She swallowed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not angry. Not yet.”

“What do you want me to say? I know how you feel—”

“You don’t know a damn thing about how I feel. I’m riding a rollercoaster through hell. I want to know why it happened.”

“You just want to blame somebody.”

“Yes, I want to blame somebody.”

“But there is no one to blame! Not you, not me. Not Annie, not Sweet. You’ve got to accept that Lilian did what she did because she had to do it. Something in her
drove
her to it. None of us could’ve stopped her. Why can’t you see that? My God, it’d be better if you’d just stop thinking about it.”

“Don’t think about it? Hell, I can’t think about anything else!”

He jumped up. She grabbed his forearm. He tried to wrench himself away, but she held firm. She stood up, put her arms around him, and laid her face against his chest. He was rigid.

“Please, let this go,” she whispered. “Let Lilian rest in peace. Please, please, let her go.”

“I wish I could. But I can’t, not yet. Not until I prove—” He cut himself off.

“Prove what?”

He paused, then said, “That he killed her.”

Her eyes widened.”
What?”

“That Sweet killed her. I know he did and I’m going to prove it.”

She looked stunned, bewildered. “No,” she breathed, “You can’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Her small face paled. She grabbed him and her hands were cold on his wrists. “But why would you think that?”

“They weren’t happy—”

“So what! That’s no reason to say he killed her.”

“He didn’t love her, Rachel. I know he didn’t. He loved someone else.”

She pulled back. “You can’t believe that—”

“Gem wanted him. And he must’ve wanted her. Of course, he denies it, but that’s to be expected.”

Her sweet face was miserable. “But the police didn’t find nothing wrong. Do you think you know more than they do?”

“The police didn’t care enough to dig. I do.”

They argued. She accused him of being suspicious due to his own sense of guilt. He denied it. She asked him whether he was just being a snob, suspecting Sweet because Sweet was born poor. He denied that, too. Finally, she accused him of being willing to do anything to fully reclaim the house.

“Yes, I want the house back! But that hasn’t got a damn thing to do with

it!”

“Think about this. Please! Sweet’s not just anybody. He’s got important friends. Byron Canfield treats him like a son. I’m afraid for you.”

“You needn’t be.”

“But do you have any proof? Any evidence—”

“No—”

“Then why—”

“I have my instincts. And they rarely lie.”

Her expression became grave. “My God, David, has your sense of guilt driven you this far? Is the idea of murder actually easier for you to live with than suicide? Murder’s ugly enough, but suicide is even uglier, isn’t it? Suicide makes you feel guilty. Murder means you can blame someone else.” She stroked his cheek. “Oh, I ache with you. But why won’t you understand that no one is responsible for Lilian’s death? No one.”

“Someone
is
responsible. And no, the idea of murder isn’t easier than suicide. It amounts to the same thing. My sister’s dead when she should be alive. And I refused to come back when she needed me.”

Rachel dropped her hand. She stared at him and her eyes were beyond sad. “You’re determined to go ahead with this?”

He nodded stubbornly and his eyes narrowed. “Now if you know something, then you’d better tell me.”

She turned away, fidgeting with a button on her blouse.

“Turn around, Rachel. Turn around and talk to me.”

She shook her head.

“Rachel?” He lightly but firmly put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Seeing her fearful expression, he softened his tone: “Please tell me what you know. Tell me now.”

A moment went by. She averted her gaze. “All right,” she whispered. “All right.” She wrung her hands. “I knew Sweet was trouble to begin with. He was never no good.”

“You
knew
it?” he repeated. His grip tightened and he took her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Why the hell didn’t you say something to her, warn her?”

She wrenched away. “I tried to, but Lilian wouldn’t listen. She was lost the minute she met him.”

He struggled to keep his mounting anger in check. “So, Lilian’s diary told the truth. He never loved her.”

“No.” In the face of his furious stare, she squared her fragile shoulders. Folding her arms across her chest, she hugged herself. “Look David, Lilian was a grown woman. She made her own decisions—and her own mistakes. Eventually, like all of us, she came to regret some of them.”

His eyes widened. “How dare you! Who’re we talking about here? You or Lilian?”

Her nostrils flared and her pretty lips pressed into a bitter line.

His anger exploded. “Let me tell you something, baby, you’re not the first woman who’s been left and you won’t be the last. Now, I’m sorry I hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take you lying to me.”