Till You Hear From Me: A Novel (30 page)

Mattie Jenkins
, it said,
Madison, Georgia
. No phone or email
listed, but under comments, she had written.
I am seventy-two years old and have never voted for president before. I sure do hope he wins
.

That made me smile. I replaced it and pulled out the next one.

Mrs. Hugh Barnett
, it said,
Albany, Georgia
. No phone or email on this one either. Her comment was:
Come together, black people! Yes, we can!

I pulled out two or three more and they were all so hopeful and determined, it made me remember how people would come in the headquarters, asking what they could do to help, offering time or money or homemade chocolate chip cookies. Then I looked at all those boxes and I thought about all the hard work and love and faith that had gone into getting all those people to register. I thought about how great it feels to be
freedom high
and how hard it is to keep that feeling going when things get crazy and I thought about how long the Rev had been getting up every morning, rain or shine, doing what needed to be done. I thought about how much I owed him for it.

Even if he did miss a birthday party or two, and even if he was stubborn and defiantly
old-school
. Even if it was sometimes hard to get a word in edgewise. The Rev had given me and all of us a gift that no one could ever take away,
our freedom
. That’s when I knew I didn’t have to write a big long elaborate introduction for Founder’s Day. All I had to do was say two words on behalf of everybody who would be there:
Thank you
.

FORTY-TWO

W
ES AND HIS ASSISTANT WEREN’T DUE AT THE
R
EV’S UNTIL LATE THAT
afternoon since I had promised Flora I’d come by her house this morning so we could talk “off site.” That’s just fancy
consultant speak
for getting the subject of the interview out of their everyday work space for a few hours, which theoretically frees up their mind and allows them to see the long-term possibilities more clearly. I actually did my meditation, ate some Cheerios and the last banana, checked to make sure the downstairs bathroom was ready for company, and headed on over to Flora’s.

She lived about five or six blocks from us on Queen Street, but West End blocks are short so it only took me about ten minutes to get there, as the crow flies, but of course I
rambled
. I stopped at the West End News for two cappuccinos and when I came out, Aretha blew her horn at me in greeting as she headed down Abernathy in her bright red truck. Across the street at the grocery store, folks were already taking advantage of Wet Wednesday, when all seafood was half price.

I love walking through West End. It’s about the only place I know where things only change for the better. Too bad there’s no way to clone Blue Hamilton and send him to inner city communities from coast to coast to replicate the model. The problem is, some models can’t be replicated. Some models require such a specific set of skills or such a specific group of people or a specific visionary at the helm, that as hard as you try, it’s not possible to grow it anywhere else.

I think West End is like that. Newark, Chicago, St. Louis, Detroit, New Orleans, and Oakland will have to come up with their own way of figuring out how to get control of the men and renew the hope of the women and make these kids act like they got some sense. In the meantime, it was good to know there was still one place where you could ramble any hour of the day or night without looking over your shoulder.

When I balanced our two cappuccinos in one hand and rang Flora’s front doorbell, I couldn’t hear the sound it made because someone was playing
The Sound of Music
so loud I could hear it standing on the front porch. A lifelong movie musical fan, I recognized the scene where the lovely governess, Maria, comforts her charges during a thunderstorm by sharing a few of her favorite things. My mother loved the song. So did the Rev, although he was partial to the John Coltrane version, not the one Julie Andrews made famous.

Flora opened the door and hurried to turn down the DVD. The Von Trapp children continued to pile into Maria’s big featherbed, but now we couldn’t hear their voices or their seven-part harmony. “Come in! Come in! Is it ten o’clock already?”

“On the nose,” I said, handing her a cappuccino. “Didn’t know if you’d already had your coffee.”

“Bless you,” she said, taking my coat. “I didn’t even go by there this morning because I knew I’d find myself at the office and once I’m in, I can never seem to get out.”

“That’s why I thought we should meet over here,” I said, taking a seat on the couch.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” She took the rocking chair next to a large basket of bright orange and yellow yarn with two giant knitting needles sticking out of it. “My favorite chair,” she said, reading my mind, but her voice cracked just a little. “Good grief,” she said, raising her cup to her lips and taking a small sip.

“I’ve been weepy all morning. My hormones are all over the place. I keep trying to get a jump on the packing, but everything makes me sentimental, so I stop to catch up on a little housework and then I start worrying about Lu graduating high school and dating and I wonder if I’ve told her everything she needs to know.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “My mother told me more than anyone had a right to know and I’m still clueless.”

Flora smiled. “I’m going to be a basket case on moving day. I can see it now.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “D.C. is an amazing place. Especially in the circles you’re going to be running in.”

“I know, I know,” she said, not sounding like she knew anything of the sort. “It’s just that we’ve had such a great life here. All our friends, the gardens …” And she teared up again. “Here I go! Don’t tell Lu!”

I had come with a bunch of questions for Flora, but they could wait. She was in the midst of a big life transition, just like I was, and sometimes business just had to wait. Flora reached in her pocket for a Kleenex and blew her nose.

“You ever consider commuting?”

Flora shook her head. “No way. I had enough of that mess when me and Lu were here and Hank was going back and forth to Detroit for a year and a half. It drove me nuts.”

Clearly, she was one of that small percentage of very lucky women in this world who are crazy about their husbands.

“Besides,” she said, with a shaky smile, “I’ve heard there are
some predatory sisters up there in our nation’s capital and a good man is hard to find.”

“You got that right,” I said. “I told Miss Iona yesterday I was getting tired of looking.”

“I know what I’ve got and I love Hank to death,” she said. “I guess the thing is, sometimes it just seems like such a
retro
position to be in. This is the only job I’ve ever been passionate about and I’m chucking it in to follow my husband to a city I don’t even like.
No offense
.”

“None taken,” I said.

“I’ll bet your mother would read me the feminist riot act.”

Funny how my mother keeps coming up as the standard of political correctness, but I didn’t want Flora to be too hard on herself.

“The truth is,” I said, “my mother is in no position to talk. She’s getting ready to take a job at Spelman and move right into the Rev’s backyard, so what kind of example is she setting?”

“A great one.” Flora laughed.

“Well, I wish them the best,” I said, “but I’m glad I won’t be around for the fireworks.”

She looked at me and put down her cup. “Does that mean there’s absolutely no way I could talk you into taking over the Grower’s Association when I leave?”

The Von Trapp children, under clear skies, were now romping in the Alps, presumably singing their asses off.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, and I realized the idea had not just occurred to her. “You could do this job with one hand tied behind your back.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not moving back here, I just—”

She interrupted me gently. “I know, but I’m just saying
if
you end up … staying for a while. This wouldn’t even have to be full time. I know Precious Hargrove could use somebody with your expertise and you could spend some time with your parents, too.”

She was on a roll, so I didn’t point out that the parents thing wasn’t her strongest selling point.

“These gardens are the heart and soul of West End,” she said, “and you never have to raise a dime for operating expenses. We don’t even have a board!” She stopped suddenly then grinned at me sheepishly. “No pressure or anything.”

I smiled back. “Listen, Flora, I love West End as much as you do, and I know what an amazing job all of you have done rescuing this one small community, but that’s not the only work that needs to be done. We have to rescue the whole country! And maybe it’s crazy to love living out of a suitcase and flying all over the place talking to people I’ve never seen before and never will again, but I did love it, because I could see the difference it makes when people all come together to do something for themselves. I could
see it
, just like the Rev could see Atlanta as a city too busy to hate, and Dr. King could see that beloved community he used to talk about, and Blue Hamilton could see West End as a peaceful oasis.”

“And our new president can see a new America?” she said gently.

“It’s all changing,” I said, wondering if she had a Kleenex I could borrow, since all of a sudden, I was feeling a little sentimental, too. “And I want to be part of that more than I ever wanted to be part of anything so that when I get old, I can look around and see the changes and say,
Yeah, I helped make that happen
.”

We just sat there for a minute. I think I was talking to myself as much as I was talking to Flora.

“Well,” she said finally, “I think you can stop worrying about looking for that real good man.”

“Why is that?”

“You just fell in love with your country, girlfriend, and nobody can compete with that.”

FORTY-THREE