by Malik Will
During the ride home, I wanted so much so to question my mom as to the identity of that man. How did he come to know Caroline? What motive would he have to kill her? But she and Mr. Gaines chatted all the way back about subjects I couldn’t quite comprehend yet because of my youth. To think my mom had detested this man when I was younger. It was always Mr. Gaines this and Mr. Gaines that. His unkempt house and boarded windows did nothing to sway her opinion. Now that my dad was gone, they seemed to be the best of friends.
After nearly five hours of driving, we finally made it home. As we pulled up to the house, Sheriff Hollis waited in our driveway.
Mr. Gaines was the first to exit the car. “How you doing there, Hollis?” he asked.
“I’m quite alright.”
Mr. Gaines introduced me as if I had been a newcomer in the city of Natchitoches. “This here is Freddie’s boy.”
Mr. Hollis turned in my direction while wearing this colossal smile. “Yeah, I know Danny. He’s the one used to be throwing them rocks at ya house back then. Always causing a stir, that boy.”
“How you doing, sir?” I asked.
“Well, I’m good, son. I ain’t seen you around these parts in a while. Way yo momma tell it, you just disappeared.”
“No sir. I just took a little trip.”
“A trip?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To where, son?”
“Everywhere, sir.”
“Okay. Well, next time, before you take a trip, can you maybe leave a note?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hollis saw my mother, overcome by agony, slowly push herself from the car and again turned back to me. “You know we thought you were dead, son,” he said in more grim tone.
“Why would you think that, sir?”
“Well, your sister... It was just a little strange having ya’ll both disappear on the same night, is all.”
“Hmm...okay.”
“I’m just saying...”
“Why didn’t you pronounce me dead. You did for Caroline and you ain’t got no body.”
“Well, we had no reason to do all that. But that nigger... H-he had a motive!”
“What motive could he possibly have?”
“Boy, yo momma didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He turned to my mom. She just stood, looking toward the ground.
“Cindy, you ain’t—”
“It’s been a long day,” said Mr. Gaines.
My mom walked up the porch steps as Mr. Gaines followed, helping with her purse. They moved inside and closed the front door.
Sheriff Hollis and I continued our conversation.
“Now what were you saying, Mr. Hollis?”
“There’s a rumor going on that your sister and that colored fella running into each other was no coincidence.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. My mom said they were friends. So what?”
“No, you’d be mistaken. They weren’t just friends, I can tell you that! Rumor has it they were messing around. If you know what I mean.”
“Noooooo... I don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Well, did you ask him?”
“I did. But he didn’t confirm or deny it. Only thing he been saying is the same ole crap. Talking about he don’t know where nobody is. Just a bunch of hogwash, nigger bull shit.”
“How can you be so sure if you ain’t got the body? You said it yourself that you thought I was dead.”
“Son, we got two witnesses who say they saw that monkey arguing with her over there by Cane River. The next day,” he raised both hands in an I-give-up gesture, “she came up missing. The day after that, he fled the city. Now I don’t know what they call it where you from, but in Natchitoches, that’s called open and shut.”
“You think he gonna ever tell you where she is?”
“Psssh. Probably not. He gonna take that to the grave.”
“Why would he just not tell? I don’t get it. He’s gonna die anyway.”
“Boy, it don’t matter. You spend all your time worrying about why people do what they do and you gonna find yourself in a world of sorrow, ya hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
“Now go on inside and get you some rest. It’s been a long-ass day.”
“Alright Mr. Hollis. You have a good night,” I replied.
Though as I walked inside, I strayed into my old room as if it was yesterday. Underneath those old blankets, a storm was taking place. The water to my soul was boiling because none of it at all made sense.
That morning, I awoke to the sweet smell of rolls and coffee, a delightful mix. It was stunning because all those years, she had only cooked breakfast twice. And there she was, clad in an apron and oven mitts, a new woman. I walked into the kitchen and greeted two smilingly faces: my mom, and once again, Mr. Gaines.
“Good morning,” they said together.
“Morning. You’re here early, aren’t you, sir?”
“Uhh...yes! Your mother needed a carton of milk.”
“Oh, and did you bring it?” I asked.
“Yes. Yes I did,” he said with this seemingly artificial smile across his face.
“Well, thank you for all your help.”
“I try to do what I can, is all.”
“You want something for breakfast?” asked my mom.
“No. For some strange reason, I just lost my appetite.”
“Well, alright,” she mumbled as if disappointed.
Mr. Gaines jumped from the table. “Well, ya’ll take care.”
“You’re leaving?” my mother asked.
“Yeah, I have some business to tend to. I’ll see if can make it back this week to check on ya. Make sure everything’s okay.”
“Well, alright.”
Mr. Gaines put on his hat and walked out the front door, leaving me and my mother alone.
She scolded me like never before. “Why you go and treat him that way?”
“Treat him how?”
“You know what I mean, Daniel. Mr. Gaines is good folk.”
She stared at me with this look, as if she had so much to say but couldn’t. So she just changed the subject. She grabbed a plate from the pantry and piled it with several biscuits and gravy.
“Eat up, boy! You a little too scrawny for my liking. I don’t know what the hell you been eating, wherever you were, but you gonna eat here.”
To hear that woman speak was awe inspiring in its own right. The person she had become was all that we wanted and everything she should have been, years ago. One wonders, why did it take us to be gone for us to become it?
I sat and watched as she repeatedly scrubbed the same pots and pans she cooked from. Her eyes focused, her mouth trapped in a sulk. It was if something grave depended on the purity of those dishes. That’s how life is in a sense. We cleanse and cleanse, attempting to wash away all the foul smells and filth of yesterday. And one day we look, still green behind the ears, thinking we could become something brand new in a world that’s centuries old, and the spot that should have been long gone still exists. It becomes a constant reminder about the mess we made. Just look what this house became. Caroline was gone and so was Dad. It all seemed conveniently linked to that fateful Christmas night.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Know what?” she replied as she kept scrubbing.
“How do you know she’s dead?”
Her body came to a halt for a brief moment. Then she turned to me. “Why would you ask such a question, Danny?”
“It’s just a question.”
“Well, it’s a foolish question.”
“How is that exactly?”
“This is your sister for God sakes,” she screamed. “What, you think, she just disappeared?!”
“Well, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“How come you ain’t never looked for me?”
“What...?”
“How come...you ain’t never took the
time to look for me.”
“Child...I’ve spent too many nights worrying sick about your wellbeing! Don’t you ever question that!”
“But you never looked!”
“JESUS! I KNOW! YOU DON’T HAVE TO REPEAT IT OVER AND OVER AND OVER!”
“What?”
“I said I know Danny. I know I didn’t.”
She looks to the floor.
“Why didn’t you, Ma?”
“I don’t know. I was someone else I guess. But I ain’t like that no more.”
There was a pause in the room. Her words had silenced me, not by their content, but by the conviction inside of them.
“You know there’s a rumor going around town,” I said.
“This is Natchitoches, there’s always a rumor,” she replied.
“Yes, but this ain’t just any rumor.”
“No?”
“It’s about Caroline.”
“What about her? What they say?”
“They say it wasn’t no accident she was with that colored fella.”
She turned away, her eyes tense, hidden in scandal.
“The say they knew each other personally. And they fancied each other.”
She remained silent and aloof, stepping closer to the sink. In one hand, a silver scrub brush and the other, a plate.
“You think there’s any truth behind it?” I asked.
In a fit, she slammed the plate. It broke and fell in the pool of soapy water.
“Jesus! Can we talk about something other than this?” she said.
“What’s more important than this?”
She remained unresponsive, her face paralyzed by her gelid demeanor, shaking her in head in annoyance. She was bitter and angry; she loathed her own person for reasons I couldn’t understand until that moment. It had everything to do with my own antipathy. You see, I wasn’t only one who had met the man in the cell before. She did as well, a long time ago, long before he was arrested way before he saved me in New Orleans.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Sum of Your Words
