The Good House

by Tananarive Due

  Adieu?Suddenly, Angela’s mind tumbled with unanswered questions. She locked her arms around Gramma Marie’s back, resting her chin on her shoulder, refusing to let her go. “Not yet. I miss you,” she whispered.

  Gramma Marie looked at her face, surprised. “Why? We talk every day.”

  That was true. A part of her was talking to her grandmother all the time. “Yes, but…”

  “Come visit us here. Bring food, from time to time,” Gramma Marie said.

  “And rum!” an old man shouted, waving his cane, and there were waves of laughter.

  Angela felt suddenly cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing toward the trail that would take her to her grandmother’s house. Despite her unanswered questions, she was eager to go. There were too many faces she had hoped to see here and hadn’t, people more dear to her than family she had never met. The ache of that disappointment grew worse the longer she stayed. This celebration was beautiful, but she had not been invited. She didn’t belong here.

  “I’m going now,” she said, kissing Gramma Marie’s sweaty neck.

  “Yes, you go on home!” Gramma Marie said, dancing her way back into the crowd, closer to the fire. “On your way, think about that miracle. You’ve earned it. Don’t put it to waste.”

  Trying her best to believe in miracles, Angela set out on the worn trail home.

  Miracle

  And he said, Young man, I say unto thee,

  Arise. And he that was dead sat up, and

  began to speak. And he delivered him

  to his mother.

  —LUKE:7:14–15

  Where there is mud, there must be water.

  —WEST AFRICAN PROVERB

  Thirty-Five

  JULY2, 2001

  ANGELA SAT AT THE TABLEon the backyard deck, waiting for her dizzy spell to pass.

  Shit on me,she thought, taking deep, even breaths. What was wrong with her?

  The dizziness had overwhelmed her in the house, making her nearly swoon over her pot of jambalaya on the stove, but it seemed to be gone now. Maybe it was nothing, she thought. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been any match for the fresh air outside.

  Before Angela stood up, she gazed out at the green awning of trees that grew north of her, toward The Spot. She had been able to name most of the trees when she was in high school; cedars and Douglas firs and western yews, all of them pointed out carefully by Gramma Marie, but she rarely thought of them now. She’d spent too much time away from her land. In the time she’d been here this summer, she hadn’t taken the first walk by herself, too busy working the phone or cooking or shopping or supervising Corey.

  And Tariq, of course. Tariq was her toughest challenge.

  “Do you love him, Angie?” she asked herself aloud. “Does he love you? Because if there isn’t love here, these bedroom games have to stop. Neither of you is looking for a fuckbuddy.”

  The longer she sat outside in the fir-heavy air, the more Angela’s thoughts sharpened, as if she’d been living in a misty, undefined version of reality until now. She’d been trying so hard to make these past two weeks with Tariq work, she hadn’t bothered to ask herselfwhy . She and Tariq had been separated for four years, and they were supposed to pretend this was a friendly visit? If this experiment turned ugly, Corey would be caught in the middle again. He’d already seen them break up once. Sitting outside in the late-afternoon air, Angela made that vow to herself: She had to ask herself what she really wanted, what she really felt. What was best.

  As she walked through the back door to the kitchen, Tariq was standing in her path, his shoulders almost as wide as the doorway. She jumped, startled by the sudden sight of him.

  “Sorry,” she said, her heart racing, as always. “You scared me.”

  “Just checking to see if you need help with dinner.”

  Tariq was not a cooking man except on the grill, so his offer sounded as conciliatory as he’d meant it. Tariqwas trying hard, bless him. Maybe he was trying harder than he ever had. But his presence in the doorway made her uncomfortable. As if he were blocking her.

  “Thanks, but I just have to pop in the cornbread,” she said. “Where’s Corey?”

  “Still in his room. Want me to bring him down?”

  Angela was about to say yes, since she’d rather let Tariq battle Corey’s moodiness, one of the perks of having another parent in the house. Corey had been withdrawn the past few days. But as Tariq stepped back and Angela closed the door behind her, she changed her mind.

  “Maybe you should put on the cornbread, Tariq. I’m going to talk to him.”

  “He goes through a teenage funk every once in a while. I just ride it out. If we get out to the city and see a movie tomorrow, he’ll be fine.”

  A teenage funk. That could be it, but Angela didn’t think so. Corey had beenglowing when Tariq first came, but his mood had shifted wildly since the day he’d scraped his arm falling off that horse. There was obviously more to that story, and she was tired of Corey’s evasiveness. More than that, though, she was worried about him. Something was wrong. She’d always been able to count on Corey’s appetite, but he barely ate at mealtime. This didn’t feel like any of the other times her instincts had warned her about Corey. This was very different.

  “I just want to be sure,” she said.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No. I think I’ll try it alone.”

  Tariq smiled, deciding not to argue. “Your call, Snook.” Angela had been glad to hear Tariq use her old pet name in her bed last night; but this time, it grated on her. He had lost the right.

  Upstairs, Angela knocked on Corey’s door, her old room. She heard him scurry around like a crack dealer trying to flush his stash, she thought. Her instincts roared. “Corey?”

  “Coming!” Corey called hoarsely. Will Smith he was blasting on his CD player, but she heard him close a desk drawer, then she heard the squeaky hinge of his closet door. She tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. “This door isn’t supposed to be locked,” she said.

  He was hiding something. Maybe it was only an embarrassing teenage masturbation moment, but it could be anything.Anything. Corey might get away with murder at Tariq’s house, but he would not get away with it here. “Corey, open this doornow.”

  The door opened.

  Corey had gone upstairs only about an hour ago, but she felt her insides melt when she saw her son, a feeling that had nothing to do with worry or anger. Justlook at this boy, she thought. He was three inches taller than she was. There was a whisper of a fuzzy moustache above his upper lip. His eyes twinned hers. His frown was identical to Tariq’s, except gentler at the edges. The sight of her son amazed her. She felt herself thinking a prayer, something she hadn’t done in years:Thank you, God, for giving me this boy. Thank you so much.

  How could she have relinquished the raising of her son for almost four years? Nowonder Corey was so angry, she thought.

  “What, Mom?” Corey whined, a toddler with a man’s voice. “I’m taking a nap.”

  Angela gazed into his room over his shoulder, her eyes drawn to the window, where a shadow played through a tiny gap between the curtains. Was that movement out there? Angela touched her son’s warm cheek with her palm, then nudged her way past him into his room. “Honey, I want to visit with you a little while,” she said.

  He barely gave her space to pass.“Visit?” He repeated it as if it were a foreign tongue.

  “Yes, visit,” she said. “Is that all right with you?”

  His stonelike face, staring at her, clearly said no. Often, that look had been enough to turn her away, to silence her, to shut her out. But she was never again going to be afraid to mother her son. She could find ways to be more kind, but she would have to fight back.

  “I thought it was time to eat,” Corey said, stalling her.

  “Soon,” Angela said. As she walked into his room, her eyes took in as many details as she could: his closed notebook on his desk, CD cases, a duffel bag half
-stuffed into his closet. She thought she saw an old-fashioned walking stick pushed back in the closet, barely within sight in the cracked door. She’d never seen that in here before. She’d have to ask him where he found it.

  For now, though, her priority was the window.

  The thing was, the closer she got to the window, the worse it smelled. She couldn’t pinpoint the scent the way she might if it were old meat or a rotten egg, because it wasn’t any kind of scent her nose knew. In a strange way, it almost seemed that she wasn’t smelling it with hernose, but another one of her senses. Whatever was outside that window didn’t smell right.

  Angela walked to the curtains and threw them open. The window was closed, but the branch outside was shuddering and bouncing as if a great weight had just sprung from it. The branch thumped against the closed windowpane.

  “Corey, was someone out there?”

  He looked confused now instead of only irritated.“What? Like who?”

  Her instincts told her he was telling the truth; if someone had been there, he hadn’t known. Not yet, anyway.

  It wasn’t time for him to see yet,came a faint whisper in her mind, one so quick and slight that she did not question it.He would have seen after dinner. Angela locked the window tight, but before she closed the curtains again, she stared out fondly at the walnut tree, whose branches were laden with unshed green walnuts. She remembered like yesterday when Myles Fisher had carried his crazy butt up here, asking her to the prom. Thinking of Myles, Angela felt a keen sadness she forced herself to release. Wherever Myles Fisher was, she wished him well.

  Then, Angela turned to her son. She sat on his unmade bed, patting the spot beside her.

  “Sit down, honey.”

  Corey’s mouth fell open. He looked both surprised and full of dread. “What?”

  “We have to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About you and the way you’ve been acting. You’re worrying me. Something happened the day you fell off that horse, and you’re not telling me. You’re a terrible liar, Corey.”

  He shrugged. “Mom, I don’t know—”

  “Corey, I’m notblind . You’re too smart to think you came from stupid, so tell me what’s bothering you. Does it having something to do with Tariq? Are you upset he’s here?”

  His face softened, suddenly earnest. “No, Mom. It’sgreat he’s here.”

  Angela nodded, smiling. That was good to hear. If she wasn’t trying to make this work with Tariq for Corey’s sake, then why else? She just had to figure out a way to do what was best for Coreyand best for her. Since Corey had never sat beside her, Angela stood up again, walking toward his closet. This time, he grabbed her arm to stop her.

  “No, Mom. That’smy stuff. Don’t go in there.”

  “Corey, you’re hiding something from me. Why?”

  She saw his face break. She’d seized on an inner conflict, and he was crumbling. He didn’t answer, so she went on. “Honey, I know this feels unfair to you, but Iam going to look in that closet if you don’t start talking to me. Do you hear me?”

  “That’s not right.”

  “That may be, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Mom, why do you have to act like this? Why are you in my face?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m here so you cantalk to me. Why is that so hard for you?”

  That was when she noticed it: Corey was wearing a gold ring. He followed her eyes, and his face crumpled with disgust.“Damn…” she heard him whisper. He stared at the floor, and she saw him blink as if he were about to cry.

  Her eyes must be fooling her, she thought. It looked like Gramma Marie’s ring.

  “I should have told you about it before,” he said, his voice barely audible. Then, slowly, he pulled the ring off his finger, holding it out toward her.

  “Oh my God,” Angela whispered, staring. The feeling of déjà vu reminded her of her near-swoon in the kitchen, as if she were separating from herself. That was nearly as strong as her joy.

  Corey’s eyes had suddenly become adult. He held the ring in front of her. “I could tell you a lie, or I can tell you the truth. The lie is easier to understand, but it’s not the truth. The truth will scare you. Which one do you want?”

  Angela’s mouth dropped open, soundless for a moment. “The truth,” she said finally. “You know I always want the truth, Corey.”

  Corey sighed, giving her the ring. Angela examined it, turning it over in her hands. Oh God, thiswas Gramma Marie’s ring, she realized, down to every detail of the symbols around its band. She slipped it onto her finger, remembering the day Gramma Marie had given it to her, right before she died. How had he gotten this? The ring had been stolen!

  Angela was so transfixed by the ring, she barely heard the squeak as Corey opened his closet door. The next time she looked up, he had a stack of pages in his hands, spotted with yellow, green, and red paperclips. “I should have given this to you when I found it. I was just being a brat,” he said, and he gave the papers to her.

  Le Livre des Mystères,the title page said. Her French came back to her:The Book of the Mysteries. What in the world was this? What did it have to do with her ring?

  “I don’t…”

  “There,” Corey said, pointing to the bottom of the page.

  Marie F. Toussaint,the familiar signature read. Dated 1929.

  “Mrs. Toussaint, you’re the last person I expected to be here tonight,” Sean said, grinning widely from the edge of the bonfire. He reached into his back pocket for his cigarettes, but Corey gave him a cutting look.

  Mom was being cool so far, but he didn’t want to push it.

  “Well, Sean, to tell you the truth, I don’t like you and Corey sneaking around in the middle of the night. But this ceremony was important to Corey.” Mom looked at him and smiled when she said that. She’d been pissed when he first told her about her ring and hiding the papers, but the more he told her, the happier she’d been to find out he was so interested in Gramma Marie. She’d gotten very quiet for a while, then she’d said,Well, Corey, maybe we can find some common ground.

  Corey smiled back at her, but he felt shy, lowering his eyes. He was glad Mom was here, but it was hard to smile at her. He didn’t know how to handle her when she was being nice, he realized, almost as if he was afraid tolike her. That was messed up. He had to put that in check.

  Mom looked like a kid, sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her legs, wearing jeans and a Seal T-shirt. Dad had asked if he should come, but Corey had taken him aside and said he thought he and Mom should do it alone.

  Corey hadn’t had the heart to tell Sean he couldn’t come. For a moment, the three of them were silent, listening to the rollicking bonfire and buzzing insects. At least there weren’t any mosquitoes, Corey noticed. He didn’t have any bug spray, and even if he did, he wouldn’t mess up the new Raiders jersey Dad had just brought him—number 81, Tim Brown.The man.

  “Sean,” Mom said quietly. “I’m sorry to pry, but is it true that you found a letter in your mailbox from your mother? A letter you’d burned?”

  Sean glanced at Corey, unsure of how to answer. Sean might be irritated he’d told his mother that part, since he’d made Sean swear not to tell his dad. Corey nodded to let him know he could talk. “Yes, ma’am, the letter came back,” Sean said. “It was hard-core magic, something most people don’t see in a lifetime. Same thing that happened with the ring.”

  Corey studied his mother’s face, wondering what she was thinking. She’d listened to his story and read the manuscript since dinner, but he knew she didn’t want to believe in magic. She’d told him he should considerother ways the ring might have come back to him, even though they both knew there was no other way to explain it. But maybe she’d figure it out before long, after tonight.

  Corey was just grateful his mother hadn’t forbidden him from conducting the cleansing ceremony. If she’d really believed in the curse, she wouldn’t have let him come, and she would have stayed far awa
y herself. But she’d been fascinated by the ritual items in his closet, especially the walking stick, and even the raven feathers and blood hadn’t bothered her the way he thought they would. When she said she wanted to come with him, he’d been shocked.

  Maybe she couldn’t resist the idea of having a wish of her own one day. Corey wondered what his mother’s wish would be.

  With the ancestor altar arranged and his petition to Papa Legba finished except for the ritual symbols from the wheel, Corey could already feel the difference with Mom sitting beside him. The air seemed to behumming , a sound he felt tickling his stomach, unless it was his imagination. He felt a bubble of protection around them he hadn’t felt before, as if bad things could not touch them. Together, they were too strong. All the fear he’d felt was gone. Maybe therewas no curse.