Pieces of Why

by K L Going

  Was my music still there?

  The first words came out quiet, but crisp and clean, and Keisha hissed, “Yes!”

  Even as I sang, I grinned in relief. Breathing deep, I let Charice’s voice lead the way, carrying me along until I reached the chorus, and that’s when something clicked. I thought about the words I was singing and how Keisha had chosen this song—not only today, but that day when she’d told me the truth about my father. And I thought about what those words meant: Pyramid, we built this on a solid rock . . .

  I looked at my best friend and knew this was the truth: No matter what else happened in life, I had something unbreakable. My voice soared, and I stood up straight, rolling my shoulders back and drawing the sound from that deep well inside. My song lifted high, power pulsing out of me, louder and louder until I knew they’d hear me upstairs. Down the block. All over New Orleans.

  Keisha and Kenny high-fived.

  “Sing with me,” I said, and they did. Their voices intertwined with mine, Keisha’s high soprano augmenting the melody.

  And even when the wind is blowing

  We’ll never fall, just keep on going

  Kenny came in on Iyaz’s parts, fumbling the words as best he could, but we still sounded good.

  Really good.

  When the song ended, we all looked at one another and laughed.

  Kenny was grinning the same way I’d grinned about my mom, and he looked handsome, so before I could chicken out, I leaned over and kissed him.

  “Ewww, gross! No kissing!” Keisha made a disgusted face and gagging noises, but it was still a perfect kiss.

  “Wow,” Kenny said, and he didn’t even stutter.

  “Let’s sing that again,” Keisha said. “We sounded awesome together.”

  So that’s what we did.

  Side by side, we sang the lyrics to “Pyramid” as loud as we could, filling our lungs as if our breath were a gift.

  And it was.

  CHAPTER 27

  THAT NIGHT, for the first time, Ma and I walked back from choir rehearsal together. I held her hand and sang the entire way home, one measure at a time, a line of music here, another line there. I replayed the entire rehearsal in my mind, from the brand-new song Ms. Marion had introduced, to the ones we’d been singing for years.

  Ms. Marion had let us march around the sanctuary while we sang “When the Saints Go Marching In” as if we were a true New Orleans Second Line. She never usually let us do that since the boys got riled up, but I suspected she’d made an exception because Ma was there, and that made it even more perfect.

  As we walked, I was skipping ahead, then falling behind, never letting go of Ma’s hand, and she was being dragged back and forth. Ma was pretending to be annoyed, but I could tell she was happy.

  “You sounded so good,” she kept saying, shaking her head. “I knew you would, but to hear you sing with a whole choir behind you . . . everything was so loud with the drums and the clapping!” She sighed. “And then when you came in with your part, everyone stopped to listen. Did you see the way that woman in the front row had her eyes closed and her hands in the air the whole time you sang?”

  “That was Ms. Jo Jo. She always does that.”

  “And the old woman? The one with the—”

  “Whiskers?”

  Ma and I both laughed.

  “Yes. That one. She just lit up when she was listening to you kids sing. At first I thought she seemed kind of crazy, but then I could tell how much she adores all of you.”

  “She doesn’t even have a kid in the choir, but she comes to every rehearsal!”

  “Really?” Ma said. “She just comes to listen?”

  “Uh-huh. Sometimes she brings friends from the old folks’ home.”

  Ma shook her head. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Ma.”

  We’d reached our house, and my mother paused on our front steps, keys dangling from her fingers. She inhaled, then let the air out in a loud stream. “You need to sing at the fund-raiser,” she said at last. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, but you can make a difference, Tia. You have a real gift.”

  I stopped halfway up the front steps, my heart pounding hard. “Do you really think so?”

  Ma nodded. “I’ve always known you were talented, but I’ve acted like your gift was meant just for me.” She paused. “I didn’t understand how your singing could touch other people, but I get it now.”

  Ma reached out and cradled my cheek in the palm of her hand. Her fingers were tough from the calluses she got baking and cleaning at the store, but even with the rough spots, nothing felt as good as Ma’s touch.

  “Do you think you can do it?” she asked.

  A hundred thoughts crowded my head. Thoughts about what it would feel like to meet the Mortons and stand up in front of a crowd, knowing people would see me and think of what my father had done. But then I thought about Keisha and Kenny standing up there with me, and Ma watching in the audience.

  “Yes,” I said. “I know I can.”

  “Good,” Ma said, “because I spoke to Ms. Marion, and she’s going to contact the Morton family. I told her I’d speak to them as well, once we’ve visited your father.” Ma’s brows knit together. “Let’s get that over with first. One terrifying thing at a time, right?”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, really, truly sure?”

  Ma let out a shrill little laugh. “Do I seem sure about anything?” she asked. “Because if I do, I can guarantee it’s an act. But yes, if this is important to you, then we’ll go visit your dad. I asked for the day off on Saturday and I’ve called the prison to clear our visit.”

  A shiver ran down my spine despite the heat. Saturday. It was sooner than I’d expected. Part of me wanted to hold on to this new feeling of happiness just a little longer. It seemed so fragile, as if life had barely begun knitting back together, and now I was going to tear it apart again.

  But I also knew the truth.

  My father had done something horrible—the worst thing a person could do—and I needed to understand why that had happened.

  CHAPTER 28

  SATURDAY MORNING, I woke up feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all. It was raining steady, and Ma offered to make us a feast, but I shook my head. There was no use pretending either of us would enjoy it.

  I wasn’t sure who was more nervous—me or Ma. When we set out, Ma looked pale and she clutched the steering wheel so hard, her knuckles were white. She’d had to ask for a whole day off from work and borrow a car from a coworker, and Ma hated to drive. Plus, I knew she didn’t want to see my father, so every time I looked at her, guilt piled up like landfill.

  We didn’t talk on the way to the prison. Ma kept her eyes fixed on the road, and I stared out the window, watching the countryside pass us by. When Route 66 finally ended at the prison gates, I held my breath, waiting for memories from my last visit to flood back in.

  They didn’t. Everything felt new, from the huge property with the surrounding barbed-wire fences, to the posts with armed guards looming above us. The prison was right on the Mississippi River, lush greenery dipping into babbling water, while men with guns kept watch in towers overhead.

  Ma and I stood in line to get checked in as guards with dogs circled the area. We had to go through a metal detector and get patted down and then take a prison bus to the right building. Ma had warned me not to wear any jewelry and to choose clothes that were plain, so I’d opted for jeans, sneakers, and a green T-shirt, and I’d worn my hair down instead of pulled back so that my hair clip wouldn’t set off the metal detector.

  When we finally got to the visiting room, Ma reached over and took my hand. The room was large and crowded with inmates and families, talking and eating together. I couldn’t imagine eating anything, and the smell of fried chicken and catfish made my stomac
h cramp.

  “Will they bring him in soon?” I asked, glancing at the door.

  “Yes,” Ma said, studying my face. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, but I could hardly breathe.

  “Did he want to see me?” I’d been avoiding that question, but now I wondered if my father might not show up.

  Ma paused. “I don’t know how your father feels about things,” she said, “but he agreed to meet with us.”

  I remembered when my father had said not to bring me here, and I couldn’t stop my knees from shaking under the table. Then Ma nodded toward the door, and there he was being led in by a guard.

  After all these years, he looked almost the same as I’d remembered. Maybe he was thinner, but mostly he had all the same lines and angles as before. His eyes were still dark and deep set, his arms thick and strong. Seemed strange that I ever could have forgotten him.

  He walked slowly toward our table, staring right at me.

  “Tia?” he said at last, as if he wasn’t entirely sure.

  I nodded and we gaped at each other like the strangers that we were.

  I swallowed hard, but my throat was completely dry. My father shifted from one foot to the other, and then he looked at my mother. There was such a mixture of pain and love in his gaze that I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

  “Baby?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

  My mother’s eyes welled up. “Lyle,” she breathed.

  Then we were silent again for far too long, until finally my father sat down across from us. “How you been?” he said at last, but it wasn’t clear who he was asking, so I waited for Ma to answer. When she didn’t, I guessed she was leaving the talking up to me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You’ve gotten real big,” my father murmured, “and pretty. You look like your mama.” I didn’t, so I wondered if he really thought that or if he was just saying it. Then he turned to Ma. “You look good too.”

  My mother held every part of herself completely still.

  “Thank you.”

  My mind screamed, This was a mistake! But despite everything, another part of me wished he’d reach out and hold my hand. How could I want that?

  I opened my mouth, praying that words would come out. “Thanks for seeing me,” I said at last.

  My father laughed, a nervous guffaw. “I was surprised you wanted to come.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I guess . . . I needed to ask you some things.”

  This was harder than I’d ever imagined.

  “You’re twelve now,” my father said. “I should’ve expected as much.”

  It was as close as we’d come to acknowledging why he was in here.

  My palms were starting to sweat, and I shut my eyes tight, just for an instant. “I wondered if you’re sorry,” I said, blurting the words out. “And I wanted to know why you did it.”

  My mother’s jaw fell open and she reached over to take my arm. Even the people sitting nearby were staring.

  “Tia,” Ma started, but my father held up one bony hand.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “She has a right to ask.”

  He scratched the dark stubble on his chin, and for one eternal moment, I waited.

  “Yeah,” he said, at last. “I’m sorry. And I know you probably came here wanting me to say it was an accident or something, but I made up my mind I’m not going to lie to you about any of it.”

  It felt so good to hear that word—sorry—come out of his mouth, but I knew it wasn’t enough. “If you’re sorry, then how could you do it in the first place?”

  My father paused. He glanced at Ma, then back at me. “I don’t know,” he said. “I ask myself that a whole lot, and maybe I’m just a real bad person. Alls I know is, I was drunk, and I was in that house to steal some money, and that girl came out and surprised me, and it happened in a split second.

  “I had my gun, and I saw her standing there in her pajamas, and I thought, ‘Lyle, that girl is going to call the police and she knows just what you look like.’ Then my finger pulled the trigger before I thought anything else. I wish I would’ve thought it through some more, but I didn’t. And some things . . . you can’t take ’em back.”

  There it was. The truth from my father’s own mouth.

  My breath hitched hard.

  “Bad enough what I done to that girl,” my father said, “but then I went and left you and your ma all alone. Figured you were better off without me, so I never wrote or nothing, but when your ma called . . . well, I know I don’t deserve this visit.”

  He was looking at me, begging me with his eyes not to hate him. I thought of Danielle and her family, the baby and everyone who loved him. I even thought about Keisha. For every one of their sakes I should have stood up and left now that I’d gotten what I came for, but instead I sat there studying the features of my father’s face. Soaking him in.

  This time, I was looking for the good, not the bad.

  “So you made a horrible decision?”

  Seemed impossible that the reason why could get boiled down to something so small. That so many lives could be affected by a split-second wrong choice.

  My father leaned back. “No,” he said. “It was a whole bunch of stupid decisions one right after another. Shouldn’t have been drinking, shouldn’t have been in that house, and shouldn’t have had my gun. Shouldn’t have bought the damn thing in the first place and the kicker is, I bought it for protection after that house near us got robbed. But see, that’s what gived me the idea. I knew those people from work and when that Morton guy won all my money in a poker game, I thought, if someone else can do it, and they ain’t even got a right to the money, then why can’t I do it when it’s my money in the first place? You see?”

  I didn’t, but I nodded.

  “Just so’s you know,” my father said, “I’d been going to write to you someday, even if you hadn’t called, and what I wanted to say is that I never deserved your mama.” He looked straight at Ma. “She was always too good for me, and even though I never got to know you all that well on account of you being real small when I got put away, I already knew you were gonna turn out more like her than me. And that’s a good thing.”

  Beside me, Ma was crying silently. Then my father said something I never expected in a million years.

  “’Bout two years ago,” he said, “the Morton family came up here to tell me they forgave me for what I done to them. They’d asked me to go through this program with them that their foundation runs, so we could meet face-to-face and I could say how sorry I am, and they could say they hoped I was saved, and ever since then I’ve wanted to tell you both that I wished I never hurt you.”

  My father stopped abruptly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips and screwed his mouth up tight. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “That meant something powerful to me,” he continued. “Them coming here and all, and I didn’t figure you two wanted to hear from me, but I made a promise to myself that if I ever got the chance, I’d say I regret what I done and I wish I could have been a good daddy for you and the right kind of husband for your mama.”

  My father’s final words came out quiet. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything, but if you ever want to come back and see me again, I’d like to ask you about school and friends and if you still sing songs like you used to when you were small. And . . . I guess that’s all I have to say.”

  Amen.

  My mind was swimming. Tears pooled behind my eyes, but I blinked them away. Then Ma stood up and patted my shoulder.

  “Give Tia some time to think, Lyle,” she said. “This was plenty for today.”

  My father nodded, and the way he looked at me was heavy, as if there was so much more he wanted to say. He glanced over and signaled to the guard.

  “Be good,” he said, standing up, and then he lo
oked at Ma. The two of them stared deep into each other’s eyes as if they were having a whole conversation. Then my father started to walk away, but I stood up quick.

  “Wait!”

  The guard stopped, and my father turned. Before I could lose my courage, I ran over and threw my arms around him. At first, he just stood there, but then, slowly, his arms wrapped around me. I heard his heart beat, and his embrace felt strong and safe. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I breathed in the scent of him and held on tight until the guard made me let go.

  CHAPTER 29

  ON THE DRIVE home, I sat beside Ma in silence, feeling light-headed, my brain overwhelmed. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, and my insides were tied in knots. Ma stared at the road ahead as if it might disappear if her eyes strayed for even a second. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and I knew—just knew—that every inch of her wanted to howl.

  I felt a stab in my gut and clutched at the door handle.

  “Ma?”

  “What?” It came out meaner than she’d probably meant it.

  I swallowed hard. “Could we stop at the rest area up ahead?”

  Ma took in a shaky breath, then nodded. “Sorry I snapped at you. I guess I’m still a little tense.”

  She got off at the rest stop exit, pulled the car over, and I leaped out, pausing a second to get my bearings before jogging over to the women’s room while Ma waited in the car. The rest area was small and dirty, as if no one remembered it was there. The bathroom smelled the way bathrooms do when it’s hot out and no one cleans them, and the odor made me want to gag, but I slipped into a stall.

  When I sat down, my breath caught. I’d gotten my period. Relief mingled with pain. All that waiting and it had finally happened. Today of all days.

  I left the stall and ran back out to the car. Ma’s window was already open, and she peered out at me.