I put my fork down as my stomach lurched and twisted. “Who?” The smell of the river came back to me like a bad dream.
“I dunno. One of them coloreds.”
I set my napkin on the table and stared at him. “You don’t know who it is, but you know he’s missin’?”
My father glared at me. “Alison, know your place young lady.” He took a sip of his coffee. The tension in his cheeks softened. He reached out and patted my hand. “Sorry, Pix. Albert Johns, if you must know. Why are you so interested?”
Albert Johns. I repeated his name over and over in my mind. I could no longer listen to Daddy refer to the coloreds in town, or the ones who worked for him, as “them coloreds.” I’d been ignorin’ how Daddy’d spoken of them forever, as if they were invisible. But now, havin’ come face to face with a dead colored man, a man who I was sure had died at the hands of a white man, I could no longer pretend they didn’t matter. They were people. They had names, and families, and feelin’s, and thoughts.
I looked down. I’d overstepped that thin, gray line Daddy saw so clearly. “I’m just…it’s just…after what happened to Mr. Bingham, I just wanted to know his name.”
My father set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. I could feel Mama’s eyes on me from behind. “The boy isn’t dead, Pix, he’s beat up. Probably did somethin’ to deserve it.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled. “May I please be excused? I need to get ready to go to the library before Mama and I start bakin’ for the day.”
Daddy nodded. “Sure, Pix. Come over here and give your daddy a hug.”
“I’ll drive you in today, Alison.” Mama’s eyes were dark and serious.
“Okay,” I said, thankful that she’d saved me from what was sure to be an uncomfortable ride with Daddy—me holdin’ in my new feelin’s about the coloreds and him tryin’ to talk to me about marryin’ a boy I wasn’t sure I wanted to be marryin’. I wrapped my arms around Daddy’s neck. His earthy smell warmed me, his whiskers tickled my cheek.
“Are you sure, Hil?” Daddy only called Mama by her full name when they were in contention, which wasn’t often. She was always Hil, not Hillary. Her features softened as he spoke.
She nodded. “I have to go into town for some sugar anyway. I’m makin’ a cake for tonight’s Blue Bonnet meetin’ so we need more. Go get ready, Alison, and don’t forget your sweater. It’s gettin’ chilly.”
Mama drove faster than her usual careful pace, her left elbow rested on the open window, her fingers pressed firmly against her forehead. You’d think a small-framed blonde might look out of place drivin’ a beat up, old, pick-up truck. I always thought she made Daddy’s truck look better. Mama didn’t need to drive an expensive car to get noticed. People were drawn to her natural beauty. When it was warm out, she’d whip a scarf around the front of her hair, and tie it under the back, the scarf trailin’ down her back. The end result looked perfectly planned. Today her waves blew free.
She hadn’t said a word since we’d left home, and as we neared town I asked her if she was okay.
“Mm-hmm,” she answered, then forced a smile. “I’m fixin’ to stop at the drugstore first.”
As I wandered through the drugstore door behind Mama, I caught a whiff of Mr. Shire’s familiar aftershave. Ever since I was little, he’d worn Old Spice, a fragrance Daddy said smelled like a waste of good money. I loved the peppery-vanilla and warmed-wood smell. “Are you ready for your weddin’, Alison?” he asked. Mr. Shire reminded me of any generic grandfather; a sweet, gray-haired man who tsked at the ways of youth these days.
“Yes, sir, almost. I’m wearin’ Mama’s weddin’ dress, and the church is all set. We just have to coordinate who’s makin’ what for the reception. Thank you for askin’.” Thoughts of the weddin’ left an acrid taste in my mouth. I glanced at Mama as she shopped and contemplated talkin’ to her about my misgivin’s about Jimmy Lee, but I wasn’t sure she’d understand. My own father talked about his farmhands as though they were a commodity, not individual people, and she was married to him. I decided I’d better hold my tongue for a while.
Mama returned to the counter with an armful of bandages, bottles of antiseptic, and medicated creams. She quickly slipped down the condiments aisle and returned with a bag of sugar.
“What’s all that for?” I asked.
She looked at me, then at Mr. Shire. “Oh, just stockin’ up. You can never be sure when you’ll need first aid items.”
We made one more stop on the way to the library that mornin’. She pulled up behind the furniture store and told me to wait in the car.
Seconds later she was up the back steps, carryin’ the bags she’d just purchased. She knocked on the door, her back to me. A colored woman opened the door and peeked out. Mama shoved the bag into her arms, lookin’ behind her as she did so. The woman pushed the package back at Mama, shakin’ her head. Mama pushed it back into the woman’s arms. What was she doin’? If Daddy knew that she used our money to buy things for a colored family, he’d…I don’t know what he’d do, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the house when he found out.
The woman nodded fast and hard. Mama took the woman’s hand in her own and leaned in close, sayin’ somethin’ that I couldn’t hear. The colored woman looked down, hugged the bag to her chest, and nodded.
When Mama came back to the truck, I stared straight ahead. I wanted to ask her who that was, and why she’d given her the bag of first aid supplies, but I couldn’t find the right words without soundin’ disrespectful. I had so many questions racin’ through my mind. How often did she come here? Does Daddy know? How long has she known that woman? What other colored people does she know? Were they friends? I turned to face Mama, gatherin’ the courage to ask.
She stared straight ahead as she drove away from the store, and said, without lookin’ at me, “Your father is never to know about this. You hear me, Alison Jean? Never.”
Pride swelled within me. Mama had trusted me with a dangerous secret. “Yes, ma’am.” Maybe I could talk to her about Jimmy Lee after all. I learned more about Mama in that five-minute stop at the furniture store than I had in my entire eighteen years of livin’ in her house.
She reached out and touched my leg, her eyes focused on the road. “Good girl,” she said.
Chapter Four
I sat on the deep front porch mullin’ over my conflictin’ feelin’s, tryin’ to enjoy the sunshine and the gentle breeze, but the air carried with it whispers of the colored boys’ cries for help. I rocked, tellin’ myself to think of somethin’ else, but the porch creaked, remindin’ me of the way I impotently pleaded for Jimmy Lee to take me instead of hurtin’ those boys. I covered my ears, wishin’ the memories away. Shame warmed my cheeks. What would Daddy think of me?
The sound of tires on dirt and gravel brought my eyes to Jimmy Lee’s truck pullin’ into the driveway. Somethin’ I wasn’t used to rose within me. At first, it was like I’d eaten somethin’ bad and it was stuck in my throat, pushin’ its way out, but then, it melted to a heat that filled my chest and spread to my limbs.
Jimmy Lee stepped from his truck, swaggerin’ all tall and handsome across the front walk and up the steps. He wrapped his arms around me, kissed my head. “Hey there, beautiful. How’s my girl?”
There it was—the sweet that evened out his sour. I stood in his arms, against the chest that was so familiar. I felt safe, and I breathed him in.
“Ready to go to town?” he asked.
We held hands as we walked to the truck. Jimmy Lee’s hand engulfed mine, like Daddy’s did. Daddy’s hand was calloused from workin’ in the fields. Jimmy Lee’s was tainted with the blood of those boys. Daddy would never beat up anyone. I dropped Jimmy Lee’s hand and climbed into his truck, happy to be free from the memory of the fields. “As long as we stay away from the old high school crowd. I swear, ever since I found Mr. Bingham’s body, they act like I’m the one who did somethin’ wrong.” Jimmy Lee didn’t say anything, but he patted m
y leg as if to say, It’s okay. I’m here. We used to talk more, and I wanted that now. I needed it. I needed to feel his comfort and love, and try to wipe away the darkness that was creepin’ into my heart.
“Remember last June, before graduation? How my friends stopped hangin’ out with me? I was the odd girl out because of datin’ someone older? I was the literal third wheel that got kicked to the curb,” I admitted, sadly.
He drew his eyebrows together and I watched tension darken his eyes. Then his gaze lightened and he said, “I remember. It’s worth it though, right? You didn’t need to go anywhere with them. You had me.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But now, it’s happenin’ all over again. It’s as if by findin’ Mr. Bingham’s body, I carry some sort of bad luck. I never knew bad luck could be contagious, but others seem to think so.” Jimmy Lee turned on the radio, and I continued, “Do you remember a few years back, when the Holsten’s farm flooded? The neighbors helped them through, but after that year, when the next crop season began, everyone disassociated with them. I’m beginnin’ to wonder about the strange relationships that our small town is made up of, and it scares me.”
Jimmy Lee didn’t respond. He tapped his hand on the steerin’ wheel to the beat of the music. I tried again to bridge the gap between us, to gain his understandin’.
“I feel like findin’ Mr. Bingham is like that—like I’m bad luck and that’s why they’re shunnin’ me now. I saw Sheila Porten at the store the other day and she didn’t even say hello to me. We graduated together! Do you think they somehow blame me for findin’ him?”
He stopped tappin’ the steerin’ wheel and cast his winnin’ smile upon me; his white teeth beamin’ like pearls, a sparkle in his eye. “Nah, they’re just jealous that they didn’t find ‘im.”
“You’re such a jerk, Jimmy Lee. That’s just awful. Who would want to see that?”
“A dead nigger? Most of the town,” he laughed. His eyes danced with delight at the nastiness of his own comment.
I clenched my teeth against the unfamiliar venom that wanted to spew, and leaned against the door. In silence, we drove out to the river in the next county, which we’d done often enough for me to know what he had in mind. He had to return to school the next day, and the last thing I wanted was to be intimate with him again before he left. Sometimes I regretted givin’ into him the first time. Oh, I can’t blame him for that. I wanted to do it just as badly as he did. He was everything I had dreamed of, strong and decisive like Daddy, and on a successful enough career track that I knew Daddy would be pleased. I just wish I had understood then what I understand now. Somehow, and I’m not sure why, sex complicated things. Sex was no longer somethin’ that we fought the urge for. Now it was expected.
Jimmy Lee reached over and grabbed my hand, a lusty look in his eyes. He hadn’t started drinkin’ yet, and he was always kinder when he was sober. I liked his gentler side and felt my heart softenin’ toward him.
“Soon, we won’t have to sneak away to the river to be alone,” he said with a grin.
I feigned a smile, then turned and looked out the window, watchin’ the town fall away. I wish I had talked to Mama about my feelin’s. I was battlin’ myself, wantin’ to be with him and not wantin’ to at the same time. I wish I understood what was goin’ on inside my crazy heart.
The wind blew the tips of the long grass this way and that, the smell of manure from nearby fields hovered in the air. Leaves rustled in the trees as we walked toward the water. Jimmy Lee carried a blanket under one arm and held me with the other. The smell of him rose to meet me, musk and pine, liked he’d rolled around on the forest floor. I felt a tug down low, and gritted my teeth against my growin’ desire for him.
Jimmy Lee spread the blanket out below a tree and lay down, relaxin’ back on one elbow. He beckoned me with his finger in a playful way. I continued toward the water.
“Can’t we just walk a little first?”
“Walk?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know, one foot in front of the other? Come on.” I headed down river, hopin’ he’d follow. The last thing I felt like doin’ was lyin’ naked beneath him. I was too confused, too sickened by the way he’d viciously attacked Albert Johns, leavin’ the poor boy in a field, lyin’ in pain, broken ribs an’ all.
Jimmy Lee came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my middle. I flushed, ashamed of how my heart fluttered at his touch.
“We don’t have much time,” he whispered in my ear. “I want to be with you.”
It was hard to turn away from him. As much as I loathed what he’d done, I still loved him.
He took my hand and led me back to the blanket, lowerin’ me to my knees. I closed my eyes, willin’ myself to be in the moment. Allowin’ myself to. His fingers trailed down the buttons of my blouse, unbuttonin’ them one by one, then caressin’ the skin beneath. Shivers ran up my chest, a collision of desire and the frigid air. He pulled my blouse down off my shoulder, kissin’ each bit of skin as it was revealed. His lips were soft and tender.
“I’m cold,” I complained, partly to slow him down, and partly because it was chilly kneelin’ there in the breeze.
“I’ll warm you,” he said. The scent of him wrapped itself around me. He leaned against me, pushin’ me back until I was lyin’ beneath him. I could feel him pressin’ against me. With one hand he reached behind his back and pulled his t-shirt over his head, his hungry eyes lookin’ right into mine. His knees pushed my legs apart and I wanted to hate his touch, wanted to want to push him away because of what he’d done to those boys, but that hatred melted under his touch and I longed for him to be closer to me. His hand slid down my side and hiked my skirt up around my waist. He kissed my neck, sendin’ a shiver down my spine. His fingers hooked my panties, drawin’ them down. I hated myself for wantin’ him.
A bird sang out from the tree, bringin’ my brain back to the surface. The breeze on my naked chest was causin’ me to shiver. I opened my eyes, listenin’ to the flow of the river, the bristlin’ of the leaves above us, Jimmy Lee’s heavy breaths against my neck, and I began to tremble. Byron Bingham. Albert Johns. Thoughts tumbled like stones into my mind, knockin’ me out of my reverie. I must have gone rigid, because Jimmy Lee lifted his head and looked at me with a quizzical, lust-filled gaze, like he wasn’t really seein’ my face, but he was lost in the frenzy of what he was doin’. I pushed at his chest.
“Stop,” I whispered. My voice was lost in the image of Byron, strangled by the thought of Albert.
Jimmy Lee laughed, tugged his jeans down.
I turned away, a tear slippin’ down the side of my face. “Stop,” I whispered again, or maybe I just thought it in my mind.
He thrust himself inside of me, groanin’, one hand clenchin’ my breast, the other clamped onto my hip.
“Stop, stop.” I whispered. My body shook with each poundin’ thrust of his body. Anger rushed through me. I clawed at his back, screamin’, “Stop! Stop!” I kicked and fought against him, and he pumped harder, faster, as if he didn’t hear me.
“Almost,” he said. “Al…al—”
“Stop!” I found my voice and screamed until my throat was raw, my nails stripped chunks of skin from his back.
He gave one last, long thrust then fell on top of me, pantin’. I pushed him off, cryin’ and shakin’ as I did so. I thought I was gonna throw up, pass out, die. I crawled away. He lay there, spent, lookin’ at me with a stupid grin on his face.
I pulled my clothes on, sobbin’, strugglin’ to stay upright, and stumbled through the grass, toward the water. The breeze stung my skin. The birds sang out in a beautiful tune that I could not reconcile with the awful feelin’ bloomin’ inside me.
“What?” he called after me with his palms held up toward the sky, confusion in his spent eyes.
Hate blinded me. I wanted to go home. I wanted to run away. I wanted to find someone to beat him up. The grass and trees swirled around me, pointin’ their branches like fingers at my guilt of knowi
n’ what he’d done. As he climbed back into his jeans, I ran past him, clambered back into the truck, and slammed the door, sobbin’. Curled up against the door like a child, I covered my face and waited for him to get back into the truck and take me home. I smelled like him, like sex. I had never felt so powerless and alone.
On the way home, I remained huddled against the door. All I could think of was Mama, and how she’d kill me if she knew I was havin’ sex with Jimmy Lee, and how Daddy might slaughter me if I told him I wasn’t sure we should get married. Jimmy Lee kept lookin’ over at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to answer, but all I could do was cry. How do you tell your fiancé that he makes you sick to your stomach? Anger simmered within me when he didn’t ask me again, or try to figure out why I was pullin’ so far away from him. I never thought Jimmy Lee would force himself upon me. He’d been rough with me before, but not like this, not like he ignored what I wanted. How do you tell him that the world you’ve lived in for eighteen years suddenly looked different, that you noticed sneers that you previously accepted as normal, or maybe that you—ashamedly—had also doled out? Jimmy Lee was hummin’ to the radio, his thumbs tappin’ on the steerin’ wheel like he was fine and dandy, while my world was spiralin’ out of control and I could barely keep my head on straight.
My father’s truck was gone when we arrived home. Jimmy Lee leaned over to kiss me but I pulled back and hopped out of the truck.
“That’s it? No goodbye kiss? I’m goin’ back to school. Won’t you miss me?” He looked so hurt, and the last thing I wanted was an argument.
“Sorry,” I said, and reluctantly climbed back into the truck. I scooched across the seat and pecked his cheek.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
Anger bubbled up again, but this time, I found my voice. “Jimmy Lee, I asked you to stop, and…” I saw it then, a look in his eye that said it all. Not only was I wastin’ his time tellin’ him somethin’ he didn’t want to hear, but he could no better understand what I was sayin’ than I could understand what he’d done to those boys. “Nevermind,” I said, and slammed the door.
Have No Shame Page 3
