The Rock and the River (15 page)

M
AMA INSISTED ON SPENDING THE NIGHT
in the hospital. No matter how I urged her, she refused to allow Leon Betterly to take her home or me to bring her anything to eat. She clutched my hand and wouldn't let go.

We sat in chairs overlooking the lake. I wished we could see the shore over the tops of the other buildings, to find comfort in the gentle surge of water onto the sand. But our view was of the lake's heart, where whitecapped waves churned in the deep. Each pocket of foam glowed pale in the moonlight as it surfaced, before the water's bulk swallowed it back down. The rocking water could not soothe my thoughts, but the feelings beating me up inside finally knocked me out. I sat feeling nothing but Mama's fingers pressing my palm, and my own pulse thumping beneath them. Everything else in me fell quiet. I wished for sleep, but it didn't come. There was nothing
but the waves. The waves. The waves. Finally the gray light of morning touched the sky. The air began to blush with a hint of pink, streaks of red, orange, purple rising behind the water.

When it was finally, fully morning, the world looked right again. Except for the churning feeling I couldn't shake, that nothing could ever be the same.

The doctors let us in one at a time to see Father, who had come out of surgery back in the early evening. He was doing well, they said.

Mama went in first and came out looking refreshed. “He's going to be all right,” she said, touching my arm. It was my turn.

There was a soft hum in the room, and the air smelled thick and warm. Father was lying on the bed, his eyes closed. The heart monitor beeped at the side of the bed, and two thin tubes snaked out of Father's arm, connecting him to an IV stand. I moved up beside him, quietly, in case he was sleeping.

His fingers brushed against my hand. “Sam,” he murmured. I could barely hear him. “You're all right.”

“I'm fine, Father. How do you feel?”

“Sore. Where's your brother?”

I have no idea.
“He's safe,” I said. “He was here with us yesterday. He brought us to the hospital.”

Father's eyes closed. I thought he had fallen asleep, so I began to move away.

“You scared me,” he said. I stepped closer.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean for—” I choked on the words. My eyes began to ache, and I pressed my hands over them. I tried to concentrate on Leroy's words, but it didn't help. Father was lying there, hurt, because of me. “I'm sorry.”

“Sit here,” he said, smoothing his hand against the sheet at his side. I lifted his hand carefully and sat down. He ran his fingers over the sleeve of my shirt, then let his hand rest on top of mine as he drifted off to sleep. I sat there for a while, feeling his fingertips against the back of my hand. Letting the flutter of his eyelids tell me everything would be all right.

 

When I came out, Stick was leaning against the wall across the hallway. For the first time in a long while, I was not even a little bit happy to see him. I turned away from him for a moment while I rubbed my eyes.

“How is he?”

“You can go in if you want.”

Stick shook his head. “He doesn't want to see me.”

“He asked about you.”

Stick pushed off the wall. “I came by to pick you up. Leroy's expecting you. Are you ready?”

I swallowed a surge of anger, but not all of it went down. “I was ready last night,” I snapped. Why did he, too, think my life should run on his terms? I was old enough to make my own decisions.

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Tell me where and I'll get there myself.”

“Don't be stubborn.”

“It works for you. Where's Mama?”

“I asked Fred to take her home.”

“How'd you manage that?” I said, but I didn't even care what he'd done. I already hated it, that he could come back and in a minute put right everything I couldn't manage in his absence. His shadow seemed as big as Father's, and I was lost in the whole mess of gray.

Stick started down the hall. “I thought I might have to carry her to the car. I can't believe you let her sit up all night.”

Insult to injury. “She wouldn't have slept, anyway,” I said.

Stick and I walked out to the parking lot. The vigil keepers had gone home, the only evidence of their presence was a few wax-stained signs strewn across the pavement.

Stick drove us away from the hospital, back down into the neighborhood. He stopped in front of a tall apartment building. He cut the engine and sat there for a moment. His fingers drummed lightly against the wheel.

“You look tired,” he said.

“You would too, if you'd been sitting up all night.” Stick did look exhausted, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

He nodded. “I could take you home, instead. They'll understand.”

I opened the car door and got out without replying. Stick came around and led me into the building. I felt like a kid being walked to school. I glared at the back of Stick's head, wishing I could do this on my own.

The apartment was on the third floor, and we climbed the stairs quickly. Two guys I didn't recognize stood on the landing by the door, holding guns. I moved close behind Stick as he greeted them. One of them opened the door, and Stick motioned me through.

My gaze swept about the room, trying to absorb the sights. The apartment was cluttered with tables and chairs piled high with books and papers. The walls were plastered with posters and newspaper clippings and photographs, bombarding me with scenes from the life of the Panthers. Through a doorway ahead of me a second room appeared to contain more of the same. On the left wall, surrounding the windows, hung a huge curtain of African-print cloth. Deep blue swirled among lighter shades, like ocean draped in sky. The room had a voice of its own, a scream of outrage,
a whisper of truth, and in the corner, a murmuring cry. I released my breath.

“Amazing, right?” Stick said in my ear. I couldn't answer him; I was busy drinking it all in, busy trying to understand the stirring in my chest. I'd never stood in this room before, but somehow, I recognized it.

Lester and Leroy were bent over a desk to my left, talking. They turned as we came in. I looked to the right, and Maxie was standing there. I stepped back, bumping into Stick.

“Hi, Sam,” she said.

“Hi, Maxie.”

She walked over. “I'm glad your dad is going to be okay.” The bundle of dynamite burning in me suddenly diffused. She could do that somehow—melt me when I was cold, cool me when I was too hot to handle myself.

“Thanks.”

She stepped up and put her arms around me. I didn't know what else to do, so I hugged her back. It only lasted a few moments. Then she moved away, sitting at a table with her back to me.

“Sam.” Leroy greeted me with a bump of his fist against my shoulder. “You made it.”

“I've got to get going,” Stick said, moving to the doorway.

“You're leaving?” My heart sped up. If Stick left, I'd only be here because I wanted to be.

“Raheem took over the shift,” Leroy said.

Stick turned, a flicker in his eyes. “I was going to cover it.”

“You got bigger things today. Don't sweat it.” Leroy went through the doorway to the second room, motioning Stick to follow. I started to go after them.

“Not so fast,” Lester said from across the room. “We'll be needing you in here.” He pointed me toward the desk where Maxie was sitting. I sat down in the chair she cleared off for me, but she didn't look at me or speak. She was tucking folded letters into envelopes one after the other and stacking them.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Playtime's over, kid,” Lester said. “We've got work to do. Help Maxie with the letters. We've got to get them out or we'll go broke.”

“What are these for?” I took one of the letters off Maxie's stack and read through it. “Do a lot of people send in money?” I said.

“Something's got to pay for all that food you kids go through every morning,” Lester said. “Not to mention Bucky's lawyers,” he added.

“What?” I said. It had never occurred to me to wonder
how Bucky's lawyers were being paid for. He certainly couldn't afford them. But I never would have guessed the Panthers were behind it.

Lester just grunted at me. “Top drawer. Lick 'em and stick 'em.” I pulled open the desk drawer. It was full of postage stamps. I took out a few sheets and began separating them.

Maxie met my eyes as she handed me a stack of stuffed envelopes.

“Where was Stick going before?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

She gave me a funny look, like I should already know. “Roy Dack's.”

“The auto shop?”

Maxie nodded. “Someone's got to fill in for Bucky every shift or Roy's going to hire someone else to take his place. Someone who won't quit if—when Bucky comes back.”

“Stick doesn't know about cars,” I said. “Not like Bucky.”

“He must have learned.” Maxie handed me another stack, and we stopped talking to concentrate. I licked stamps and envelopes until my mouth went dry. I paused and spent a few moments rolling my tongue around my mouth, trying to bring life back to it.

Maxie snickered. “You can use the sponge, you know.”

I glared at her. “Now you tell me. Where is it?”

“I left it in the kitchen.” She grinned and angled her head toward the other room. “Through there.”

I shot her one last dirty look as I walked into the other room. Stick and Leroy were sitting in low-backed armchairs facing a bookcase that filled one entire wall.

Stick rubbed his forehead and leaned back in his chair. “I'm saying, I don't think it's a good idea,” he said.

“And I'm saying, you need to talk to Sam about it.” Leroy drummed his fingers along the armrest.

“Talk to me about what?”

Stick sat up and turned. “Sam.”

“Bucky's lawyers still want you to testify at the trial,” Leroy said, tilting his head back toward me.

I went around in front of them. “Still? They never asked me.”

“Father said no,” Stick said quietly. “And they respect him too much to go against him.”

Just like that, my fuse reignited. “Why didn't anyone tell me? Father wants me to help Bucky as much as I can! He said so.”

“There were plenty of witnesses, Sam,” Stick said, glancing at Leroy. “He didn't want you to get any more involved than necessary.”

“But they still want me?”

Leroy leaned toward me. “You're Roland Childs's son. People know your name, and that means the jury might be more likely to believe your story.”

“I'll testify,” I said. “I saw what happened. Bucky doesn't deserve to go to jail.”

A muscle in Stick's cheek twitched. Leroy smiled. “Good. Now you just have to convince your father.”

“I don't need his permission, do I?”

“No,” Stick said. “But if he asks them not to put you on the stand, they won't.”

“Just to make him happy? Even if it's worse for Bucky?”

“It's more than that,” Stick said. I waited for him to say more, hating the fact that I didn't know things.

Leroy brushed his hands together. “Well, my work here is done.” He stood up and looked at Stick. “Help him figure out what to do to make this happen.”

Stick nodded. Leroy pressed my shoulder as he passed. “Make me proud, kid.”

Stick studied me for a few moments. “I know you'd do anything for Bucky,” he said. “But this is a big step.”

“I can handle it. Why don't you want me to?” Finally, something I could do that Father and Stick could not. I was determined to be there for Bucky now, in a way I couldn't help him on the street that day.

He leaned forward. “You have to understand what it means to tell what you know.”

“It's the truth. I'll say the same as everyone else. Bucky didn't do it.”

Stick sighed. “There is no everyone else, Sam.”

“There are plenty of people,” I said. But I knew what he meant. I swallowed the knot that formed in my throat.

“People are afraid to testify. It's a serious thing to stand up and say the cops are lying.”

“Maxie's not afraid,” I said. “Did you ask her?”

Stick hesitated. “Yes. She'll do it.”

“Then I'll be there too.”

“Don't decide because of Maxie.”

“I'm not.” I paused. “The easy choice is almost never the right one, right?” Father had taught us that.

 

In the morning, I went back down to the hospital. I took a deep breath and stepped into Father's hospital room. He was sitting slightly propped up in bed. Mama perched in the chair beside him, leaning in. They saw me.

“Sam,” they said at the same time.

“Hi.” I hung by the doorway. I didn't want to do this in front of Mama, but there was no good way to ask her to leave. She must have known what I was thinking, because she stood up.

“I think I'll go find some tea.” She kissed my cheek as she passed.

I moved closer to the bed. Father watched me.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“Friday.”

“That's what I thought. Where should you be?”

For a second, I didn't know what he was talking about. Then I realized. “School.”

Father sighed. “That makes three days in a row you've missed. I'm sure your teachers will understand, but no more, you hear?”

I nodded. “I wanted to talk to you.” I took a deep breath and plunged in. “I've been asked to testify.”

He frowned. “Who asked you?”

I didn't answer. He already knew. “I'm going to do it.”

“I said no, and I meant it.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I told Steven not to get you involved in this. I told him.”