The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Kianna

  Sofie noted with the bit of humor that was available through her fear that Elvis’s “It’s Now or Never” was playing on the jukebox when they walked in.

  The place was packed, but they had just seen four men get up and leave the lunch counter from their perch outside. Purpose was the only thing that had carried Sofie in through the door after Henrietta, the support that kept her legs from wobbling and giving way as they approached the counter. The place was noisy, raucous, full of teenagers enjoying their weekend and families taking a break from a day of shopping downtown. The happy chatter got quieter as David took his seat. By the time Sofie dropped onto the round leather stool, a low, ugly murmur was going through the crowd, accentuated by the happy, tinkling piano of the Elvis song.

  A man approached the counter, wiping his hands on his towel. Sofie’s body stiffened, and then she heard Ivan’s voice say “Relax,” and she did that to the best of her ability. She expected the man to yell at them, to look at them with derision, but instead his eyes were filled with sadness. “Please don’t do this. Not here,” he said. His voice was heavily accented and shaking, but not with anger.

  Once when she was a girl, a carnival had come through town; only after Sofie had been strapped into the tilt-o-whirl did she see that the operator was a boy not much older than her. The same deep, primordial terror that her life may, indeed, be over pressed down on her as she sat at the counter. She began relisting the rules of a sit-in over and over in her mind in order to calm herself.

  1.) Behave in a friendly manner.

  “Can we get three coffees, please, sir?” Henrietta asked sweetly.

  “I can’t,” the man said. “You know I can’t. Why you want to make my life hell?”

  2.) Sit straight and always face the counter.

  “Okay, we’re just going to read here until you change your mind,” David said with a smile. They remained silent then, each clutching a book they could use to study for finals. Sofie opened her book, but the words were so much gibberish, and she thought it would shake right out of her hands. She read the same line over and over because she didn’t think she’d be able to turn the page.

  “I can’t let you stay,” the man said. Sofie heard the scrape of chairs as patrons stood up. “They’re gonna hurt me and they’re gonna hurt you. I don’t want things to be like this, but what can I do? I just came here a few years ago.”

  And you already have a diner because you have blue eyes and light skin and can pass for one of them, Sofie wanted to say. She knew the man was distraught, but that didn’t change the fact that she would not stand up.

  3.) Don’t strike back if struck, or curse back if cursed upon.

  “What do you niggers think you’re doing?” a voice said from behind them. “This ain’t Nashville.” She could feel the people coming up behind her and realized this was one thing they hadn’t practiced, this innate desire to turn and ward off a dangerous animal creeping up on you. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and when someone gripped her chair from behind, the word “Mama” was incomprehensibly heavy on her tongue. But her mother couldn’t help her.

  David had repeated a version of Psalm 118 to them as they approached the diner, and Sofie let those words fortify her. The Lord is for us. We shall not fear. What can man do to us? The Lord is for us among those who help us; therefore, we shall look with satisfaction on those who hate us.

  A bulky frame brushed past her left side and slid into the seat, and Sofie tensed, then relaxed, preparing for a blow. “Can I get a milkshake?” a familiar voice asked. “I know things are a little hectic, but I’ve had a day. A malted would be perfect.”

  4) Don’t laugh out.

  The harried restaurant owner ignored Ivan and tried to calm the crowd that was getting more riled now that the interlopers at the counter were racially mixed.

  Sofie inhaled the scent of Ivory soap and felt a bit of peace. Why was it that she had gone so long without Ivan in her life, but now, after just a few days, he could make her feel safe? It wasn’t that he was a boxer; she didn’t expect him to protect them from the men in the crowd, which was growing more agitated by the minute. He fortified something in her that David and Henrietta, her best friends, did not. She remembered Mrs. Friedman shaking her head at their games and asking her mother, “What is this saying they have here? Two peas in a pod? That’s these two.”

  “You okay?” Ivan asked in a low tone. His seat creaked beneath his weight as he settled more solidly beside her.

  6.) Don’t hold conversations.

  “Hush,” she said under her breath. She kept her face toward her book, but beneath the counter, Ivan’s knee pushed into hers, stopping her leg from shaking. He was giving her some of his strength. That was probably the least important thing happening in the Special K diner in that moment, but it felt like everything. When she glanced at him, he was pulling a newspaper from under his arm, whistling. He winked with his right eye, like he knew she was watching, and she turned back to her book.

  “Think you’re smart?” an ugly voice said, and the book was ripped out of her hands from behind. She heard the sounds of tearing behind her, and hated that something that could be used for knowledge was being destroyed, but there was nothing she could do. She folded her hands in front of her. Beside her she heard another ugly voice say, “You wanted a milkshake?” She knew it was a different man, but the hatred distorted their voices so they all sounded the same. Gales of laughter suddenly surrounded her, and she looked at Ivan. Chocolate milkshake dripped down his hair and onto his face, but his expression was serene.

  There was more laughter, and then Henrietta yelped. Her precisely flat-ironed hair was now dripping with fountain soda. A shiver went through her, and then she threw her shoulders back and stared straight ahead.

  A thickly accented voice rang out over the noise. “The diner is now closed, everybody out!” A much larger man, obviously the son of the owner, was standing by the door, directing people outside. “All of you out!”

  Sofie sat still as people slapped at her chair on their way out. Finally there was the jingle of the bells over the door, and then silence. The son came over and slapped a hand on the counter. “You trying to ruin us? You know how much money we lost tonight? You get out, too.”

  Sofie wanted to apologize, but she refused. It was the animals who had attacked them and ruined the store who should apologize. Still, she couldn’t stop the guilt that tugged at her heart when the older man emerged with a broom, eyes rimmed with red. “Enough, Constantine. They’re doing what they have to, like I did what I had to in my day. You were born here, so you have no idea.” The man sighed. “I understand, but…please leave now. I have a lot of cleaning to do.”

  Sofie saw David stand, and followed his lead. As they filed out, her stomach felt sour and her heart heavy. Had they accomplished anything, or would this count as another loss for the movement?

  She didn’t have time to think on it, because a glass bottle crashed at her feet, and then another.

  “Run!” Henrietta screamed, and then they were off. Without thinking, her hand slipped into Ivan’s and they careened through the midday crowd, pushing past amazed onlookers as angry shouts followed them down the street.

  “This way.” He pulled her into an alley between a pet shop and a pharmacist and kept running. He turned left and then right and then boosted her over a fence, something she hadn’t done since her tomboy days.

  Her stockings were ruined, her gloves were shredded, and her heart was beating out of her chest. What had she done? What had she gotten herself into?

  There was a thud as Ivan landed in the small enclosure behind her. They both breathed heavily for a moment, but there were no pounding footsteps heading in their direction, no hoots and hollers from people who wanted to do them harm.

  “Did they hurt you?” He stalked toward her with that intense gaze that made her feel like the center of his universe.

  “No,” she said. The word was barely out of her mouth w
hen his mouth came down on hers and her mind went blank.

  The man could kiss. Sofie had been kissed before and kissed well, but this was something entirely different. His lips were warm and smooth, and so, so soft. It evoked a sort of tenderness in her that a man so strong, who brawled with other men by choice, could have such sweet, soft lips. They rubbed over hers, tantalizing, before his tongue swept into her mouth. He tasted of the milkshake that had been tossed on him, and of peppermint candy.

  Sofie knew she should pull away, but instead let him kiss her. Spirals of pleasures cycloned through her body, picking up the anger and fear and adrenalin surging through her and churning it all into lust. She didn’t want to think of the men who hated her and the things they’d called her. She didn’t want to feel that sick sadness anymore. In Ivan’s arms, all of that faded away, leaving only pleasure. His large hands encircled her waist holding her in place as he kissed her senseless. One hand slid up her back, cradling her neck as he transferred his kisses from her mouth, to her jaw, to her neck.

  Sofie touched her neck every day—bathing, applying perfume—but never had she known it could feel so damned good. The skin there seemed oversensitized, so that Ivan’s every touch multiplied and raced off through her like the Pony Express, carrying messages of the pleasure to come to the further regions of her body.

  The brush of his lips converted the fluttering in her belly into something warm and fluid as molasses that settled warmly between her legs. The scrape of his stubble made her rub her thighs together to assuage the need for touch. And then his teeth grazed her skin as his hand moved up to cup her breast, and she bucked in his arms at the jolt of it. His thumb ran over the pebbled nipple through the material of the dress, slowly caressing as his tongue circled around that wonderful spot where neck and shoulder met.

  “Jesus,” she moaned, the word the only thing that could convey what Ivan’s mouth and hands were doing to her. The power and the glory, indeed.

  “Wrong Jew,” he said, and kissed her again.

  Sofie faintly heard a tinkling noise that began to pull her back to reality, but the sound of the back door of a shop opening seemed to reach her in slow motion. She didn’t push Ivan away until after she heard a man call out his name angrily, until after she heard the ugly word “schvartze,” yet another derogatory term for her people, mixed in with an angry deluge of Yiddish. Ivan pulled away from her.

  The magic of the moment disappeared and Sofie realized that they were standing behind a dumpster, like so much refuse. Shame flooded her when she saw the expression of disgust on the man’s face, but even being caught red-handed like a back-alley hussy couldn’t strip her of her manners.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Friedman.” She turned to Ivan, who looked like he had much more impolite things to say to his father. “I have to get home.”

  “I’ll give you a ride,” he said.

  “Not in my car you won’t.” Mr. Friedman moved to block his path.

  “I paid that car off with my own money. I’ll never use it again after tonight, but I’ll be damned if I let Sofie get hurt by the bigots who just chased us down.” Ivan shook his head. “You’re just as bad as them. Worse. You know what it is to be on the other side, you know what it is to be hated for no reason, and you still can’t sympathize. You think they cared about the difference between a Sephardi and a schvartze in the camps?”

  He walked around his father, as if he couldn’t bear to be in his vicinity, and Sofie followed behind him. By the time she reached the car, she was shaking. She didn’t know if it was anger or shock as the adrenalin left her.

  “Sof.”

  She ignored his voice.

  “Sofie. Please look at me.”

  She turned her head slowly. She wanted to hate him, as his father’s ugly slur echoed in her head, but she also wanted to take out her handkerchief and wipe off his face. It seemed that when it came to Ivan, conflicting emotions were the rule and not the exception.

  “You need to go home and clean up, and I need to go home and be told what an ungrateful child I am.” She sighed, feeling a weariness that went deep into her bones.

  “In that case, you should understand that fathers and their children often have differences of opinion.”

  “Difference of opinion?” She whirled, suddenly angry. “Your father thinks I’m a schvartze. A nigger.”

  He started the car. “And your father thinks Jews are cheap, hook-nosed bastards. At least, that’s what he called my parents when he came to collect the last of your mother’s things. ‘Cheap, hook-nosed bastards who worked Delia to the grave,’ but I might be paraphrasing. It was a long time ago.”

  Sofie sucked in a breath. All of the little asides her father had made over the years ran through her mind. How the mechanic tried to “Jew him down” instead of saying he haggled. How he’d always referred to the Friedmans as those people. “So, what? Is that supposed to excuse what your father said?” Sofie asked.

  “Nope,” Ivan replied, and his calm riled her all the more. “But it excuses us. I’m going to have words with my father later, but I won’t be held responsible for his.”

  Sofie sat in her seat, feeling as if she were being torn in two. She had stood up for herself today, and she had been attacked for it, just like before. Ivan had been with her just as before, too. Sofie was waiting for the wrath of God to rain down on her now. Wasn’t that what happened when she took a little something for herself? But the wrath of Mr. Friedman was nothing compared to what she’d been through. And Ivan was still beside her now, glancing at her with a warm seriousness as he navigated her home.

  “Why did you kiss me?” she asked quietly. She couldn’t control anything else in the world, despite how much she wanted to, but she could control what happened between them. A few days ago she wouldn’t have even considered such a thing a possibility, but now she desperately wanted to hear his answer, and not only so she could discount it.

  “Because you’re beautiful. God, you’re beautiful.” The words rasped out of him like they were painful, and instead of fire in her chest, Sofie felt a cool fluttering sensation. “Because you’re smart and sexy and strong as hell, and you’ve got everyone fooled but me. I see you in there behind the quiet voice and the pillbox hats, Sofronia. And I’m still here waiting.”

  Sofie opened her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. She reached out and gingerly wiped away at the milkshake that had spread over his face. It was the only thing she could think to do besides bend over and weep from the blow of such an unexpected kindness. It seemed the last years of her life had been a Twilight Zone episode in which she’d been stuck in someone else’s life. She’d heard all about how wonderful Sofie was from behind the carefully constructed mask, which of course meant that her, the real her, was the opposite of wonderful. Didn’t it? Ivan didn’t seem to think so, and that affected her even more deeply than their kiss had.

  His face was in profile to her as he drove, but she saw at least half of his smirk as she wiped the remains of the dessert drink from his hair.

  “Searching for horns?” he asked, trying to make her laugh. It worked, even though something about the way he said it, with that half-quirked smile of his, made her stomach somersault too.

  “Don’t be silly, you don’t have horns,” she said, but she dropped the handkerchief and thrust her fingers into his thick hair anyway, the slide of it against her fingers a strange, smooth sensation. It was thick and curly, but in a different way from her own. She ran her fingernails over his scalp, and watched in amazement as he shivered.

  “Why’d you check if you were so sure?” he asked when she pulled her hand away. His voice had the same joking tone, but was huskier now, activating something in Sofie that was receptive to this new octave that hinted at darkened bedrooms and the things that happened in them.

  “Maybe I just wanted to touch you,” she said, shocked that she had told him the God’s honest truth. Henrietta would never let her live this down if she told her, and her fath
er would about kill her if he found out. But something in Ivan crowded out what anyone else would think, and what the world could do to them.

  She pulled her hand away as the car pulled to a stop in front of her house. She could see the light on in the living room and the shadowy form of her father through the curtains, and sighed.

  Ivan’s hand encircled her wrist as she moved to open the door. “The feeling is mutual,” he said in a tone that traveled straight from her ears to her core. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the heel of it. It was an unlikely place, and it made her wonder what other unlikely places his mouth would feel just as good against.

  “Goodnight, Sof,” he said after she’d stepped out and shut the door, quietly so as not to draw too much attention. “If I had to get chased by an angry racist mob, I’m glad it was with you.”

  She let out a shocked laugh, and slammed her hand over her mouth.

  She didn’t watch him as he drove away. She saved that bit of laughter and warmth inside of her as she pulled herself back together. Back straight, shoulders dropped. She may have looked like a ragamuffin, but her poise would be impeccable when she walked into her home and faced her father.

  Chapter 9

  Ivan knew he should have gone back to the store to pick up his father, but he had been so angry and confused that he hadn’t wanted to share the small space of the car that still smelled of Sofie. Part of him was scared of how angry he was at his father. Not of losing his temper with his dad, but of losing his respect for him.

  He’d driven home instead. As the steaming spray of the shower rinsed away the schmutz that’d been poured over him by those assholes at the diner, he remembered the way Sofie’s eyes had gone round with fear when the bottle landed at her feet, and the way they had been liquid heat just before he kissed her in the alleyway. When he thought of his father, of the way he’d reacted to seeing him with Sofie, Ivan felt a deep shame descend upon him. It was the same shame that had haunted him since that day Sofie had protected and then lost her mother, as if his cowardice had brought down some wrath upon them all.