Home In The Morning (13 page)

Stella went on. Although she chose to speak in pronouns, careful not to identify anyone outright, several of the guilty parties huffed and puffed and betrayed themselves immediately, to the great entertainment of their enemies. Others plastered frozen smiles on their faces to avoid detection. When she paused, shielding her eyes with her hand to study the assembled more carefully, picking out victims with the studied patience of a hunter huddled up all night in a blind, one prominent couple in the back left their dinner half-eaten and made tracks for the cloakroom before she could get to them. At her wits’ end, Adella Thompkins reached up from her seat next to the podium and put a hand on her arm as if to arrest her scandalous litany, but Stella shook it off.

Oh, I know, Adella, these are the people whose ass we need to kiss every day of the week just to get poor little children places to sleep at night, but they need shaming. They’ve needed it a long time. Don’t worry, I’m almost done. I’m moving on from Hypocrites I Have to Grovel Before to Secrets I Want to Share.

She paused to take a long drink of water while the room waited with all the dread fascination of rubberneckers at a traffic pile up. Jackson, do something! Adella whispered fiercely. She’s bidin’ her time, she’ll use given names any second! Jackson whispered fiercely back: What can I do? and Adella said well, you could put your arms around her and squeeze so tight she has to shut up or suffocate.

What secrets do I know? Oh, they are legion, my friends. I know who’s battered their child, who’s diddled the maid, who’s cheated some poor man of his pay because he assumed his victim was as stupid as he
was powerless. I know who those greedy bullies are. I know about this one’s drug problem and that one’s gambling. I know who’s dipped in the public till. I know who the takers are, the scammers, the ingrates.

She looked straight at Katherine Marie then. Katherine Marie tensed her neck and threw her shoulders back so that the yet hovering Seth and Aaron went off balance and swayed in their seats. Oh, Lordy, Jackson thought, here it comes. Only it didn’t. In the next breath, Stella launched her summation.

I’ve heard it all in my day from sources none of you would suspect. Well, maybe some of you would. Those who have suffered the fallout from all that battering, diddling, drugging, and theft. The ones I’ve tried to lend a helping hand to in my career. The ones who weren’t too proud or too far gone to take it. And I would like to say that it’s you all who deserve this award, not me. A hero. Me. I was just doing my job. But you all. You survivors. You whose song has not been sung and likely never will be. You who demand so little from the world and so much from yourselves. I’m going to take this lovely little award and put it in the bottom drawer of my desk, the one I put my bag in in the morning and the one I take it out of when I leave. Every time I do that, I’m going to make you all a blessing. Because it belongs to all you all, not me. And I thank you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the gift you’ve given me. The gift of pride, of hope in my fellow man. Because those other bastards nearly killed it.

Stella sat. There was a second or two of silence and then the assembled burst into long, sustained applause, up on their feet again, beaming more, Jackson thought, with relief that they’d not been explicitly exposed than with appreciation of the fortitude of Stella’s most successful clientele. He reached over to embrace her in congratulations but also for the opportunity to mutter in her ear: I thought for a minute there you were going to do it. That you were going to tell on Katherine Marie. And she replied: Maybe they’ll let me speak again after coffee.
I could squeeze it in then if you’d like. Not a chance, he said, I definitely would not like, not at all.

After dinner, there was dancing. Stella had one dance with her husband and the rest with an assortment of civic leaders who suddenly burned to appear on her good side. Meanwhile, as instructed, Jackson worked the room soliciting pledges for Stella’s latest project: a hospice house for AIDS victims. Of his own volition, he bypassed the inner circle of tables for the outer, thinking them the closest route to Katherine Marie. He smiled over at his in-laws’ table every chance he got, making wave motions or holding up a single finger as if to say “just one more minute, I’m gettin’ there, hold on” until Katherine Marie got tired of waiting for him, got herself up, and snuck behind him to tap him on the shoulder as the orchestra played “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” and she said: Dance? That was all, just, Dance? but her voice went through him like a bolt of lightning and immediately he stopped what he was doing to turn and grin and greet and hug hard then guide her to the dance floor with one hand on the center of her back as he had been taught at the age of nine was the proper way to escort a lady to such a place.

Though they were in each other’s arms, face to face, both with full nostalgic hearts pounding wildly, neither knew exactly what to say. It’s so good to see you again, Jackson tried. It’s been too long. Way too long, Katherine Marie agreed, and then they were silent while each remembered the past from separate memory banks, aware their versions differed and wondering what to do about it. Finally, Katherine Marie said: Stella looks wonderful. She hasn’t changed a bit. They both laughed then, with that note of sardonic camaraderie they’d always shared as two veterans of Stella’s command. Katherine Marie leaned her head back and narrowed her eyes. She said she’s forgiven me. Has she? Jackson was never disloyal to his wife. Yes, he guessed, yes, of course. It was a lifetime ago, wasn’t it? And you? You truly forgive her?
Katherine tilted her head. If I forgave you, I had to forgive her, didn’t I? Jackson felt a heat rise to his cheeks. And how’s Mombasa? What’s the word? Katherine Marie sighed. There’s another hearing next month, she said, but we don’t have much hope left.

Now, you can’t ever give up hope, darlin’, Jackson said, forgetting himself by using the endearment. He marveled at his indiscretion, although Katherine Marie didn’t seem to notice or mind.

I heard about your daddy passin’, she said. I was sorry about that.

Thank you.

I’ve been wanting to tell you that for thirteen years now.

Her condolence, however belated, touched him. His velvet baritone went deeper yet. Each word was a kind of caress.

It was a blessing. He was never himself after, you know.

Yes. I do know. I do.

The music stopped. The two old friends let go of each other. All of a sudden, Stella was there, putting her arm around her husband and nestling her head against his chest. It was a most unusual public pose for her whose intent escaped no one.

I’m sorry, but I need Jackson to do some politicking with me, girl, and you’re going to have to let him go. We don’t often get all these fat cats in one room feeling as guilty as they do right now. Why don’t you stop by the house tomorrow and we can all catch up?

Of course, Stella, that would be nice, Katherine Marie said. About eleven?

Eleven’s perfect. I’ll make us a nice brunch.

Everybody kissed one another. Katherine Marie went directly to get her coat and pick up her car without saying good-bye to Mama or the brothers or Mrs. Godwin, a fact Jackson was sure he’d hear about more than once the rest of the night.

You think she’ll come? Stella asked her husband while they watched her back.

No. No I do not.

Neither do I.

The party broke up after another couple of hours. It was a dancing crowd, or it would have been earlier. Jackson was working his way through a token dance with each of the female members of the school board when Mama rolled up, parting dancers with her walker as effectively as Moses the Red Sea with his staff.

Well, son, this shindig could go on ‘til next Tuesday, looks like, and I’ve got the phlebotomist in the morning. Bubba Ray will be frettin’ if I don’t get home soon. Where’s the guest of honor? I can’t believe I’ve gone through the entire evening without more than a nod from her. But then you all looked so busy reacquaintin’ yourselves with the distant past.

His mother gave him a squinty-eyed, pursed-lip look meant to rankle him into saying more than he should, but Jackson hadn’t fallen for it since high school. Luckily, Stella stood nearby, chatting up the president of the Federal Credit Union Bank. He signaled her to come on over and see Mama off. The two embraced, but not warmly. They paid each other’s dresses backhanded compliments. It was late, Mama was tired or she might have tried to push a few buttons, most named Bubba Ray. She settled for an easier mark.

And where’s your mama, girl? I’ve been wanting to give her my regards all night.

Oh, you know, she’s not well. She left a long time ago. And it’s alright, she’s not likely to have known you. Her mind’s not right anymore. The boys watch out for her and thank God, she’s quiet. Otherwise, I don’t think she’d travel well. She likes to get out and watch the pretty lights and the colors, but she can’t much add to a conversation.

Looked like she was enjoying one with that Katherine Marie Cooper.

Jackson had enough of her poking around looking to start trouble. He noticed Aunt Beadie’s back a few people away. Oh, look, Mama.
Aunt Beadie’s trying to find you. You’d best join up with her now.

Kiss me up then, children.

Jackson and Stella did as they were told. When at last they watched Missy Fine Sassaport’s back, bent as it was, they sighed and squeezed each other’s hands.

Katherine Marie surprised them both, arriving at their front door at ten thirty the next morning, her arms loaded with everything necessary for a hearty Sunday brunch: eggs, juice, bacon, sausage, grits, biscuits, fruit, a plastic container of rich brown gravy, and a little basket of pastries. What is all this? Jackson said, after answering the door in his bathrobe and slippers, newspaper in hand, which he promptly dropped to unburden her. Wuz it look like? I know Stella never has a thing in the fridge. Rather than go hungry, I thought I’d bring breakfast with. They smiled together at that, sharing unspoken memories.

She still asleep?

It was a long night.

Why don’t we just get everything ready, and then you can wake her.

Alright.

Give us time to have a chat.

Alright.

The two of them set about unpacking provisions and assembling the tools Katherine Marie would need to cook everything up. Soon the room filled with homely scents redolent of comfort, family, of times gone by. Old habits resurrected, they worked together seamlessly without words, each anticipating the other’s actions. She put out a hand, he filled it with whatever was needed. She cracked eggs and boiled water, Jackson set the kitchen table. They stepped aside or joined up as was necessary with the gracefulness of dancers long accustomed to their partner’s slightest movements. Jackson’s spirit brimmed with sentiment. Such a simple, silent collection of moments, he thought, a treasure.

This feels so ... he said, breaking at search of a proper term.

Katherine Marie turned from the stovetop to flash him a bright smile: Natural?

Yes. I guess that’s it. Natural.

He took a chance: I’ve missed having you around.

She sighed: I’ve missed you all, too. But you know, things being what they were between Stella and me ...

She put down the spatula she’d been working with to emphasize her next words. Turned toward him and put her hands on her hips. Jackson noticed how slim they were, like a girl’s. Good for you! he wanted to say. Good for you for staying damn lovely. But it sounded shallow or flirtatious or worse to voice such a compliment, and he kept mum waiting for her to speak.

I was angry with Stella, Jackson, but never, never for a minute was I angry with you.

I know.

He failed to expand on the subject, leading as it would to a discussion about his feelings on the incident in question. For quite some time, after all, he’d nursed a good head of steam about Katherine Marie’s actions himself. Her disagreement with Stella he could understand, the cultural conflicts she’d underscored during their argument he could understand, but the insults, the threats—they were another matter entirely. At the time, he’d nearly raged on over to her place to put some retaliatory hurt on her himself. Only Stella or his breeding or—and thinking about it, this was probably the real reason—the past kept him from it. Oh, the past, the monstrous past he’d been enslaved to one way or another for thirty-five years! That night that colored everything he ever did. That night, that dammed summer night when he was nineteen and Katherine Marie twenty and Bokay nearly twenty-two and Bubba Ray, Lord, he was only thirteen, hard to imagine now that at a mere thirteen years of age he could have been the catalyst of all that misery, thirteen!

As usual when he suffered meditations on Bubba Ray, Jackson got lost. He started off wondering what that no-good layabout would do when he got down to Mama’s last dime. He imagined his brother finding a way to tap him for support. His thoughts darkened then, churned like a twister with violent images. Completely unaware, he set to beating the spoon in his hand against the kitchen counter in a queer rhythm that matched the fantasies he entertained of pummeling Bubba Ray to an unrecognizable lump of blood-streaming flesh. Katherine Marie called him back to himself.

Jackson. Jackson.

Huh?

Where’d you go?

He blushed like a teenager: Don’t matter. I’m sorry.

It’s alright. Know what that spoon banging put me in mind of? Those days when we were kids. When I was first working for your mama after she got laid up. And you were memorizing poetry for school. You used to bang out the meter just like that, with a spoon on the counter, and you used to quote it for me. Remember?

How could I forget?

You were sweet on me, weren’t you.

Well, I guess I was.

Then you might have chosen poetry a little more appropriate. I can hear you now doing Gunga Din. “...with ‘is mussick on ‘is back/’E would skip with our attack/An’ watch us till the bugles made ‘Retire.’” Oh, Lordy, it still makes me laugh. You’d pause there and give me this hooded look—fraught with meaning, I believe is the expression—and continue. “An’ for all ‘is dirty ‘ide/’E was white, clear white, inside/ When ‘e went to tend the wounded under fire!”