When Did We Lose Harriet?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  Some habits are hard to break. Automatically I tried to calm him down—but my laugh sounded false even to my own ears. “He’s my cousin, for goodness sake! Two years younger than me, and more in love with racing cars than with women. A good dancer, though.”

  “I don’t like to think of you dancing with anybody but me, Josheba. You just stay home until I get there.”

  “Not if I can help it.” I hung up. The phone rang almost immediately and at intervals for the next hour. I let it ring.

  Meanwhile, I called my cousin, but he was off racing somewhere. I was about to settle down for a long dull evening when I remembered Lewis talking about his days as a hotshot attorney. I dialed the teen center.

  “Lewis, do you have a tux?” I blurted as soon as I heard his voice.

  “Hey, Josheba! Sure I do. Want to borrow it?”

  “It and you in it. I’ve been stood up for an important party tonight, and—” I stopped, realizing what I was doing. The man proposed to you, Josheba, I told myself fiercely, and here you are using him like a hired escort!

  I burned with shame.

  “Oh, Lewis, I’m sorry. I called before I thought. Listen, forget I said anything about a tux. But has Mac called you?”

  “From a tux to Mac in one breath? Slow down, girl. First, what about Mac?”

  “We were over at Kateisha’s on Thursday, and she said some dudes are planning to meet at the center early tomorrow morning. Six-thirty, I think she said.”

  “As a matter of curiosity, how do they plan to get in—did she say?”

  “No, but she said something about cookies or biscuits—something like that.”

  “Biscuit. Thanks, Josheba. I’ll take care of it. Now, what was that about a tux?”

  I sighed. “Morse isn’t coming back today after all, and a club I belong to is having a dance tonight. I wondered if maybe—”

  He laughed. “Wonder no more. Morse’s loss is my gain. I’d even like to make that permanent. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up,” I said faintly. “About seven-thirty? It’s dinner and a dance.”

  I still felt faint when I hung up, but then I started humming. As I dressed, it seemed like the time couldn’t pass fast enough. I found myself humming the whole time I was getting ready, and I seemed to be humming inside the whole evening.

  Lewis wore a tux like he’d worn one all his life. I loved the way my friends looked at him—and at me—when I introduced him. I loved dancing against his shoulder. Dancing with Morse was always a bit like dancing with a bulldozer—he shoved me around the floor, and I let myself be shoved. Dancing with Lewis was like—dancing. If this was the last time I ever saw Lewis Henly (and it certainly ought to be, the way I was beginning to feel), I would at least have something worth remembering.

  In spite of getting home late, I woke early Sunday morning. The clock said not quite six. I wondered if Lewis had done anything about that six-thirty meeting over at his club. It would be just like him to think he could handle it without help.

  I couldn’t lie there any longer. I could at least drive by and see if anything was going on. I pulled on the gray knit shorts, green T-shirt, and shoes I usually run in.

  Like I planned, first I drove slowly past the center without stopping. The front door was closed and the street deserted except for one man out jogging with a Doberman. I drove around the block and back, intending to head home. Now the door was a little bit ajar.

  My heart pounding, I parked around the corner and walked toward the center as inconspicuously as anybody could at that hour on a deserted street. At the door I gave a quick look around and darted quickly up the five shallow steps into the front hall.

  I heard voices in Lewis’s office, so I slipped into the lounge and pushed the door slowly shut, hoping it wouldn’t squeak. It didn’t. I left just enough of a crack to peep out of and hear through.

  A voice I didn’t recognize said, “They got Dré, man. What if he talks?”

  “He ain’t gonna talk. Not if he knows what’s good for him.” That sounded like Ricky Dodd. “Say, where’s Z-dog? I ain’t waitin’ much longer. I got stuff to do, man.”

  “Z-dog will be here when he gets here,” the first voice answered. “We wait till he does.” The front door closed with a bang. “Maybe that’s him now.”

  It wasn’t. I had known those light footsteps just long enough to recognize them. Lewis’s voice rang out, cheerful and normal. “Hey, fellows. What’s coming down? What you doin’ here at this hour, Biscuit?”

  “Uh—we got a meetin’. We ain’t botherin’ nothin’, and I’m gonna lock up real good.”

  There was a short thud, as if someone had lunged forward, then a grunt. Lewis spoke again. “Try that once more, Ricky, and I’ll break your neck. Now, clear out, both of you. This place is clean, and it’s going to stay that way as long as I have anything to say about it.”

  Ricky’s reply was low—low enough for me to catch the slight sounds of the front door slowly opening and stealthy footsteps moving down the hall.

  Putting my eye to the crack, I caught a glimpse of a stocky young man with very dark skin. His hair was cut short around his ears and snarled on top of his head. I recognized him at once: the youth at the library who stole Mac’s purse and her car. In spite of the heat, I shivered. The very air around him seemed poisoned.

  My eyes darted from where I stood to the telephone on the desk. Could I reach it and call 911 without being heard? I tiptoed toward it.

  “What have we here? A little friendly conference between homies?” The newcomer’s voice was about as friendly as a cobra’s.

  “Z-dog!” Ricky exclaimed. “We were waitin’ for you.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I run this place,” Lewis said, “and I object to meetings being held here that I haven’t called.”

  Z-dog gave a short, deep laugh. “I hold meetings when and where I please, man.”

  Lewis spoke evenly. “Not in my club you don’t. I don’t want any trouble, so why don’t you all find another place for your little conference?”

  Z-dog laughed again. A more unpleasant sound I never hope to hear. “Think you got things under control, don’t you, Mr. Henly? But you know what? Your being here just makes things easier for me. I’ve been wantin’ to terminate my relationship with Ricky here—”

  Ricky squealed.

  “No, Z-dog!” Biscuit begged.

  “Shaddup,” Z-dog barked.

  “Put down the gun, Z-dog,” Lewis ordered.

  Urgently I pushed the phone buttons and held my breath. As soon as a dispatcher answered, I muttered, “Hurry! Send the police at once. There’s somebody here with a gun and I think he’s about to shoot!” I gave the address as quickly as I could, straining to hear what was going on in the other room. I couldn’t hear a thing. “Please hurry!” I repeated.

  “Right away,” the dispatcher said crisply.

  I put the receiver down silently and tiptoed back to the door to listen.

  “…beautiful setup,” Z-dog was congratulating himself. “Kid killed by director of youth club, who kills himself in remorse.” Ricky was blubbering. “Too bad, homie!”

  Again Z-dog laughed. I felt the hair on my neck rise.

  I heard Lewis shout “Run, Rick!” as a shot rang out. Running feet thundered down the hall, and out the front door. I clung to the doorjamb, wondering what to do. Where were the police?

  Someone groaned.

  Someone else retched.

  “You didn’t have to shoot him, man!” Biscuit blubbered. “He didn’t do nothin’.”

  “Shaddup, or I’ll do you next. I gotta think. Who knew we was comin’ here?”

  “Nobody, ‘cept you, me, Dré, and Ricky. You didn’t have to shoot him, man!” Biscuit’s voice rose to a scream. “You didn’t have to shoot him!” I heard a thump, a thud, and something skid into the hall. Then I heard another thud, and someone hit the floor.

  I peeked out. Just outside my door la
y the gun. I dashed out and snatched it up, marveling at how easily it fit my hand. In an instant the stocky young man turned in the office doorway to face me. I leveled the gun at him.

  Beyond him, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lewis sprawled on the floor against a filing cabinet, with Biscuit crumpled beside him. I dared not look at them longer. I had to concentrate on Z-dog until the police came.

  Oh, God, where are they? I begged. Hurry, God, hurry! I was praying and didn’t care.

  “Give me that gun!” Z-dog reached out, fixing me with the coldest eyes I’d ever seen.

  I took several steps back toward the lounge. “One more step and I shoot.” I was ashamed of the quiver in my voice and the way my hand was shaking.

  He gave me a cocky grin. “I don’t think so.” He moved an inch closer.

  I took a deep breath, aimed for his lower belly, and fired.

  He reeled, clutched his groin, and fell, screaming oaths. In what must be incredible pain, he rolled over and started edging my way.

  My hands were trembling so hard I knew I could not aim again. “Keep coming and I’ll fire again. I’ll probably kill you.” To my horror, I knew I’d do it.

  He must have known, too, for he collapsed groaning onto the floor. I peered over him toward Lewis. Lewis’s shirt was covered with blood, and I heard his breath coming in short gasps. “Hang on, baby!” I urged him. “Hang on. Help’s coming. Hang on!”

  Z-dog continued to groan, Biscuit to sob, and Lewis to gasp for air. The sounds were a ghastly trio that filled and overwhelmed me. How long could I stand, aiming a gun at two men while the only one I cared about bled to death a few feet away? Time stretched until I felt my nerves would snap. “Oh, God, help,” I found myself whimpering. “Oh, God, help!”

  After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a shout behind me. “Lady, freeze!”

  I turned. A police officer filled the front doorway, gun drawn.

  “Thank God,” I breathed, tears of relief running down my cheeks. “These are the men you want, officer. I’m the person who called for help.” I shakily handed over the gun and ran to kneel on the floor beside Lewis. “Hang on, baby. Help is here. Hang on!”

  Suddenly the center was full of police. One called for an ambulance. Another bent over Z-dog, who was still swearing and moaning in pain. A third handcuffed Biscuit, who sat on Lewis’s desk chair and blubbered like a baby. “He took the bullet for Rick. Z-dog hadn’t ought to shoot Lewis. He never done nobody any harm!”

  “Shaddup!” an officer told him.

  “Don’t be rough on him,” I said angrily. “If he hadn’t knocked the gun out of Z-dog’s hand, we might all be dead.”

  The officer helped Biscuit up and out to a squad car with a bit more respect.

  Lewis gasped for air. His head lolled to my shoulder, and his eyes looked into mine pleadingly. “Oh, baby—”

  “Don’t talk,” I said urgently. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I did not want to take my hands from his hair to wipe them away. “Save your strength. Oh, Lewis, I love you.”

  “Too late.” He reached out and clutched my arm. “Sorry, baby,” he said clearly, then his voice faded and his head lolled to my arm.

  I screamed.

  One of the officers touched my shoulder gently. “Okay, ma’am, the rescue unit is here. Can we just ask you a few questions in another room?”

  I stared at him, not quite comprehending. He put one hand gently under my elbow and helped me to my feet. I wiped my cheeks with both hands, then bent and touched Lewis’s shoulder in farewell. He was past knowing or caring.

  “Is he dead?” I asked, terrified.

  “We need to examine him,” said one of the rescue people. “Let us by, please.”

  The officer had to almost drag me across the hall to the lounge. “I want to know if he’s all right,” I begged.

  “I’ll ask them to let us know.” He went back out and returned very soon. “His vital signs are faint, but he’s still breathing. Now, suppose you tell me what happened.”

  Sometime while I was talking, I looked down and saw that my clothes were smeared with blood. They seemed to belong to somebody else.

  He took notes without comment until I had finished, then asked, “Tell me again how you happened to be in this building this morning. I don’t quite understand.”

  I didn’t want Kateisha or Mac involved, so I weighed my answer very carefully, eyes on a tissue I was wadding between my hands. It, too, was smeared with Lewis’s blood. “I…I was driving by and saw the door ajar. I know—” I stopped. Should that be “knew”? “I know the director,” I said with emphasis, “so I came in to see if something was wrong.” I brushed my hand over my forehead. “Sorry, officer, I’m not thinking too clearly. When I got here, I heard Ricky Dodd…”

  His head came up, instantly alert. “Dodd was here this morning?”

  I nodded. How had I forgotten to tell him that? “He ran, right after Lew—Mr. Henly—was shot. From something Biscuit said, I think the bullet was meant for Ricky, but he didn’t stick around to find out.” I suddenly started shaking all over. “Officer, I’m not quite myself just now.” My head felt heavy enough to fall off, and while I had stopped crying, there was a waterfall where my heart used to be. “I’m not doing too well. Could we talk later?”

  He patted my shoulder. “Sure, ma’am. You’ve had quite a shock, and you’re doing real fine. I’ll have somebody drive you home. We’ll have you sign a statement later.”

  I stood up, feeling like a ghost or something. “I have a car, thanks.” I heard myself talking, but couldn’t feel a thing. “I’ll be fine. Do you know where they’ve taken Mr. Henly?”

  “No, but I can find out.” He came back and tried to tell me the hospital, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Finally he wrote it down on a piece of paper and stuck it in my hands. “Now let me send you home,” he said again.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” I walked steadily down the steps and out the door.

  It wasn’t really me doing the walking. I was somewhere up in the air, watching that calm woman who had just almost killed a man and maybe lost the only man she would ever love. She walked to her car, got in, and started the engine. I watched her drive away. That’s the last thing I remember until nine o’clock, when I looked out my windshield, saw the small triangle park across from the Fitzgerald house, and wondered how I got there.

  It looked so inviting! A fountain splashed in the center, surrounded by pink and white flowers Mac would know the name of. I didn’t care about the name, just that they were pretty. A little bench circled one granddaddy of a pine tree. I parked and walked directly across the lawn toward it, inhaling the scent of new-mown grass. I sat down carefully on the bench, feeling its warmth on my thighs below my shorts. That was the first I knew how cold I was. Stretching my arms along the back of the bench, I basked in the sunlight, eyes closed.

  Memories washed over me. Lewis in black turtleneck and pants, like a tall slim priest. Lewis speaking gently to Ricky even when Ricky was sullen and proud. Lewis laughing. Lewis saying he wanted to marry me. Lewis’s slender shoulder beneath my cheek as we danced. Lewis gasping in pain. “Oh, God, save him!” I wailed.

  Frantically I tried all my pockets, but somewhere I had lost the piece of paper saying which hospital he’d gone to. I didn’t know where he was.

  How long did I sit there, listening to birds calling in the trees and two poodles barking across the street? I was so still that a bold crow pecked the grass just beyond my feet. Gradually the peace of the place began to penetrate my numbness.

  I stood and ambled about. For the first time I noticed a small monument to F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Zelda was raised in Montgomery. She met her future husband at a dance there, and after their marriage and years away, she brought him back to live in a house just across the street from this little park. What griefs had they known in their six months in that house? Was her mind already slipping into the darkness from which he would be u
nable to save her? Their park was a good place to grieve.

  With one finger, I traced words on the plaque: It was like the good gone times when we still believed in summer hotels and the philosophies of popular songs.

  The quote meant nothing to me, but it made me remember the second night Lewis and I went out to dinner. The band played the same awful tune again and again, until he joked, “If we’re not careful, this is going to become our song.”

  Finally, tears flooded my eyes. I welcomed their release.

  Twenty-Nine

  Listen to advice and accept

  instruction, and in the end you will

  be wise. Proverbs 19:20

  This is MacLaren again.

  Jake wasn’t quite up to sitting through an hour’s service yet, so I stayed home Sunday morning and packed, while Glenna went to church. “Don’t cook, we’ve got tons of food,” she reminded me as she left. As if I needed telling. There wasn’t a square inch of empty kitchen counter space, and the refrigerator was bowlegged.

  Packing presented a challenge. I had all the clothes I’d bought as well as the ones I’d taken to Albuquerque a hundred years ago. Finally, I had to borrow a suitcase from Jake. Sweet thing, he hated being the cause of my having to buy new clothes so much, he offered to pay for them.

  “I’d love to take your money, Jake,” I told him, “but honesty compels me to admit I needed them anyway, and Hope-more doesn’t have stores anywhere near as nice as Montgomery’s. In a way, you did me a favor by having a heart attack. But you can put a check for a couple of hundred dollars in the collection plate next time you come to visit.”

  When I finished packing, I set the table for three and chose several casseroles that might go together. By then Jake was napping, so I sprayed myself with mosquito repellent and slipped out into the backyard for a few minutes of prayer and quiet on my own.

  I was just about to go back inside when I heard a familiar voice. “Dangnation, I know somebody’s here! Jake shouldn’t be going to church quite yet.”