'Round Midnight

by Laura McBride

  There was a large photograph of Odell next to the casket at the front. He was a white man, tall, with fine blond hair; the only interesting thing was his tie, which was fuchsia with narrow silver stripes instead of plain navy or red. Coral gave him credit for the tie. She glanced at her mother, who would not appreciate knowing her daughter’s not-very-solemn thoughts. Sometimes, her mama could tell what she was thinking, but Augusta just sat there, large and calm and elegant, with a black hat and the small white Bible she always held in church.

  There weren’t many young people there. Why had Mama brought her? Mr. Dibb’s son, who looked about her age, sat with his mother at the front. They faced out, toward the congregation, which struck Coral as cruel. She gathered that Mr. Dibb had died suddenly, maybe a heart attack or a stroke. People kept saying he was only fifty-four, which didn’t seem that young. Anyway, his son was trying hard not to cry, and his face had a strained, purply look to it. He had wire-rimmed glasses and the same blond hair as his father, and Coral felt sorry for him. She’d never had a dad, but it would be terrible to lose one, and maybe Odell Dibb was a pretty nice guy, because his son was so upset. Mr. Dibb’s wife wore a hat with a low brim, and sunglasses, even in church, so Coral couldn’t tell what she might be like. She was small, and even though she had to be old too, she was wearing high black heels. She did not move the feet in those heels, even once, even a twitch, in all the time that Coral watched her.

  When the service was over, Augusta nodded her head to one or two people but hustled Coral out quickly. They did not walk over to the reception hall afterward and they obviously weren’t going to the burial.

  “I’ll drop you off at school. Then you’ll only miss half a day.”

  “I don’t want to go to school in this dress.”

  Her mama just looked at her, with one eyebrow raised.

  “I already missed my world history test. I really don’t have anything I have to do there now.”

  “Well, I’ll let you figure that out, Miss Coral, whether you have anything to do with your afternoon in school.”

  Mama was mad. That sort of thing made her mad. Fine. She’d go to school, in a dress, but she was taking off these nylons as soon as she got there. Mama would never know about that.

  It wasn’t until a day later, after she’d told her friend Monica that her mama had made her go to a funeral even though she had a test, and Monica had asked, “Well, who’s Odell Dibb to you?” that Coral had wondered. Monica hadn’t said anything more, but Coral had the feeling that she was going to and then thought better of it, and that had made her suspicious more than anything.

  She’d known for a long time that she probably didn’t have the same dad as Althea and Ray Junior and Ada. There were photos of Ray Senior all over the house, and her mom talked plenty about him, always telling them how hard he worked, what good care he took of his family, how he’d grown up in Vegas—one of the only African American men in town back then. She’d met him after she’d come from Tennessee, and they’d fallen in love at a dance at Carver Park when Augusta was only fourteen. Coral knew all that, and everyone could see that Ray Junior looked like him, and Althea too, but what nobody said, not even Ada, who loved to tease, was that Ray Senior was just as dark as Augusta, and just as dark as all the kids, except her. This wasn’t talked about in her family. How Coral was born after he died, how Augusta must have known another man, how it would have been when Ada was a baby; how else could Coral exist?

  She couldn’t really remember the first time someone had said to her that she was a halfie, a zebra, salt and pepper, or that her skin was cafe au lait, caramel, high yellow. By first grade at least. And not long after that, the faster kids, the rougher ones, they made it more explicit. “Your mama’s black, so who’s your daddy, Coral?” “Who gave you that white girl name, Coral?” And of course, she’d come home crying, and Augusta had told her to stop crying, to be proud of who she was, and to ignore an ignorant child who didn’t know what he was saying. Ada had punched a boy in her class—she could punch hard—and Ray Junior had told every kid in the lunchroom that Coral Jackson was his full 100 percent sister, and anyone who didn’t believe it could talk to him about it after school. She was a full 100 percent Jackson, and her skin, well, her skin just didn’t make any sense, and nobody ever explained anything about it.

  One thing Coral never told anyone was that she had overheard a conversation between Althea and Mama when she was only seven. She hadn’t really understood what Althea was asking, but it had worried her, and for a long time, she had jumped out of bed and checked the locks on the doors before she fell asleep.

  “Mama,” Althea had said, “Ray Junior and Ada are too young, but I was seven years old. I knew where babies came from.”

  “Well, maybe, you don’t know everything about where babies come from.” Mama’s voice held a warning note. “But you’d better stop talking like this. You want to lose Coral? You want someone to take Coral from us? If I ever hear you talk about this—if I ever hear you say one word about it, to your friends, to your brother—I will take a switch to you. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mama. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh baby, I’m sorry too.”

  Augusta had wrapped Althea, so thin and awkward then, in her arms. “Honey, this is a harsh world. And there’s plenty of mysteries in it. But Coral is our baby girl. And it’s just gotta be something we don’t talk about. I ain’t never talked about it, not to anyone, not to Reverend Cole, not to anyone. It’s better this way, Althea. People accept something if you just don’t give them anything else to think.”

  But what had her mother meant? That they could lose Coral? That someone could take her away?

  A few weeks after Odell Dibb’s funeral, Coral finally asked her mama about him. They were alone at home. Ada was in Reno, visiting the university. Althea was already married. Ray Junior had decided to enlist, and he was at the gym, getting ready for boot camp.

  “Did you love Odell Dibb?”

  Her voice cracked like thunder out of her mouth, even though she’d meant to say it quietly, and after, the room was still and silent, like a stone.

  “What?”

  Coral could not repeat the question. She had meant to ask if Odell Dibb was her father, but in the seconds when she was trying to say it, trying to spit out the words, so many possibilities flashed through her mind—that Augusta had been forced, that Augusta had loved him, that Augusta had cheated on Ray Senior—and somehow, this other question had just come out of her mouth.

  Mama moved about the kitchen, sliding the broiler pan into the drawer under the oven, and setting some glasses to dry on a towel.

  “Child, that is quite a question.”

  Coral did not look at her.

  “I had to take you to that funeral. God knows I would rather not have done it. But there’s things that are right to do. They just are.”

  She was going to tell her. Augusta was going to tell her.

  “Come on in to the living room. Let’s sit here together, and talk about some things.”

  So they sat down on the sofa, and Coral put her head on her mother’s shoulder, and Augusta stroked the side of her head for a bit.

  “I didn’t love Del Dibb.” Her mother’s hand rested on the side of her head. “I loved Ray Senior, and I never loved anyone else.”

  Then it was going to be bad, what came next. Coral wished she hadn’t asked, didn’t know why she had.

  “Coral, you’re my child, you’re my daughter, I love you exactly the same as Ada and Althea and Ray, do you understand?”

  It was going to be really bad. Because why would Augusta need to say that? The air left her chest like someone had pounced on it. She couldn’t breathe.

  “I don’t want to hear anymore,” she choked out. “I don’t want to know.”

  Augusta spoke anyway.

  “Coral, I didn’t birth you. I’m not your mother that way.”

  What?

  This couldn’t be. Of cour
se she was Augusta’s daughter. Of course Augusta had given birth to her. What did she mean? Nobody had ever said she wasn’t Augusta’s daughter.

  Coral bucked her head, jamming it sharply into her mother’s chin, and for a second, they looked at each other stunned. Coral’s hand flew to touch Augusta’s face, and then she drew back, looked down. Tears were spurting now.

  Her mother wrapped her arms around Coral and settled her back onto her body. Coral kept her eyes down. She would ever after remember the heave of Augusta’s chest and a small yellow button that jiggled there, when she thought of this conversation. Mama spoke softly.

  “Del Dibb and Ray Senior were good friends. Real good friends. From childhood. And after Ray Senior died, it was a terrible time. I was distraught. I didn’t know how I could live with what had happened.”

  Augusta paused.

  “Mr. Dibb helped me out. He gave me money. Ada was just a baby. He put down the payment on this house.”

  Coral wanted to move. She wanted Mama to stop talking. She wanted to be somewhere else. But her body was solid, like a plank, and she sat perfectly still.

  “He came over and visited us too. He showed Ray Junior how to ride a bike. He bought a dress in Los Angeles for Althea to wear to her first day of school. He told the principal that Althea was like a daughter to him. That all the Jackson kids meant the world to him, that he would be watching out for them.”

  Augusta wanted Coral to understand. She wanted her to believe something.

  “This meant a lot to me, Coral. It meant a lot to this family.”

  Coral watched the yellow button and did not move. Her breath stuttered in and out, and her heart pounded in a lopsided rhythm; she was still afraid of what was coming. If she wasn’t Augusta’s daughter, who was she? This was worse than she had ever imagined. Why had Monica asked her about Odell Dibb? She hated people. Mama had always taught her to ignore what people said.

  “One night, it was a Sunday. It was December, and Althea had a holiday program at school the next day. She was so excited, I had a hard time getting any of the kids to bed. And I was just sitting in that chair, missing Ray and feeling sorry for myself. Those were dark times. I heard a knock on the door. I almost didn’t answer it. But when I did, it was Mr. Dibb. He was standing there, crying. He didn’t say anything. I asked him to come in, but he shook his head.”

  Coral was afraid of what was coming. But she couldn’t stop listening.

  “Mr. Dibb said, ‘Augusta, I need your help.’

  ‘“Sure, Mr. Dibb. I would do anything for you. You know that.’

  ‘“This is a little bit more.’

  ‘“Please come in.’

  “He shook his head. Then he turned and went back to his car. I thought he was going to leave, but he opened the door, and lifted out a baby basket.

  “And that baby was you.”

  Coral started to cry then. She cried so hard, she got the hiccups, and then her head hurt, so Augusta did not say any more. She slept in Augusta’s bed that night, for the first time since she could remember, and in the morning, at breakfast, her mama told her what else she knew.

  Del hadn’t said whose baby it was. He told Augusta that he would never be able to tell her anything about the child. That was not negotiable. But he had money. He had money to raise her, and to send her to college, and he would take care of everything legally too.

  “I don’t know where else to go,” he had told her. “I know I can’t ask you this, but I don’t have anyone else.”

  “Why did you say yes, Mama?” Coral asked. “You had three babies.”

  “Well, I thought about saying no. I had said I would do anything for him, but I don’t think that did include taking on a child.”

  Coral closed her eyes. What if Mama had said no? Where would she be? What would have happened to her?

  “Mr. Dibb was awfully broken up. And you started to fuss. So I picked you up, because he was too upset. You were a pretty little baby, and you had on a pink silk nightie. I still have it, upstairs in the closet. You were real small; smaller than my babies. But it was the way you looked at me, straight into my eyes. I’ll never forget it.

  “I fell in love with you. Right there. My mind had been racing, thinking how I was going to tell him it wasn’t possible, that I couldn’t take another child. How could I explain another child? How could he ask me for this, with all I’d been through?

  “And I knew he meant it, that he wasn’t going to tell me who you were. And who was your mama? Where was she?

  “But I also knew that he wouldn’t have brought you to me if there was anyone else to take you. And I could see you were mixed. I knew what that meant.

  “So I just looked at you, this tiny little girl in a pink silk nightie, and I knew you were meant to be mine. Whatever happened, you were my fourth baby. God works in strange ways, and you came to me after Ray Senior died, but you were our baby, sure as Ada and Ray Junior and Althea.

  “So I said yes.”

  That was all Augusta said that morning, but the next day, Coral asked her, “Odell Dibb never came to see me?”

  “No.” Augusta’s eyes filled. “He never came to see you.”

  “Do you know who my mother is?”

  “No. I tried to figure it out. Las Vegas wasn’t very big in 1960. Our community was tight. I couldn’t think of any woman who was pregnant, who had lost her baby. We were living all the way over here then, but I asked around in the ’Side, people at work. I had to be careful.”

  “What did people say to you about me?”

  “They didn’t say nothing. I introduced the kids to you the next morning. Althea was all broke up, because she had to leave for school, but I told her she had to go and the baby would be there when she got home. I just kept everything real normal. Just didn’t let anyone ask me anything.

  “I brought you to church. Folks said, ‘Who’s that baby you got?’ And I said, ‘This is my daughter Coral.’ And nothing else. And I don’t know what they thought. Maybe they just thought I was a big woman and they’d missed something. Maybe they figured it wasn’t their business.

  “But that’s one thing I learned from Ray Senior. You don’t owe an explanation to anybody but the Lord, and most people will stop asking if you act like you won’t be telling.”

  “Do you think she’s alive?”

  Coral couldn’t bring herself to say “my mother,” but Augusta knew what she meant.

  “I don’t know. I have wondered and wondered. I think he must have known her somewhere else. Mr. Dibb traveled a lot. You could have been born anywhere.”

  “You mean, you think he just put me in the car and took me away? When I was born?”

  “I don’t know, baby girl.”

  Augusta hesitated. Coral waited.

  “You weren’t brand new.”

  “What?”

  “You were new, you still had some cord, but it was all shriveled up. Getting ready to fall off.”

  “How old was I?”

  “Well, I figured you were about a week old. But when your birth certificate came, it listed the Thursday before. So maybe you were just three, four days old.”

  “Where was I before?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he take care of me?”

  Her mom looked down. “I think your mama did.”

  It might have been the way Augusta’s voice dropped, but Coral suddenly felt as if she might cry.

  “You wouldn’t take a bottle. You cried so much.”

  “So?”

  “So I think you were nursed. I think your mama nursed you those days.”

  Augusta was silent then, and Coral was too. She didn’t want to imagine her mother, herself: newborn. She didn’t know how to imagine them. Couldn’t get any picture in her mind at all.

  Suddenly Coral stood up.

  “My birth certificate. What does it say?”

  Augusta pursed her lips.

  “It says I’m your mother. It says you were born a
t this house.”

  “But Mama, that’s my birth certificate. It has to say who I am.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s wrong, Mama. I’m a person. Someone just can’t make up my birth certificate.”

  “I know, baby girl. I know.”

  To this day, that’s what Coral knew about it. That was everything she knew. Who her mother was, what the story was, Augusta never learned. Augusta saw Odell Dibb only a few times in all the years after, and always by accident. He didn’t come around and play with the kids anymore. He wasn’t there for Ray Junior’s first day of school. But there was always money; things always worked out in town for the Jacksons. Even after Mr. Dibb died. Ray Junior had gotten that good job, Ada was chosen for a scholarship, things like that.

  And though Coral and Augusta had talked it over many times, although her mother had repeated the details she knew as often as Coral needed them repeated, in the end, they hadn’t talked about it with Althea or Ada or Ray Junior. When she first learned the truth, Coral had wanted to tell her sisters right away. And Augusta had said that it was her story—she could tell anyone she wanted. But she had also said that she had kept it quiet, that she had never told the truth to a soul, so that Coral would be free to keep it a secret too. She always had the option to tell someone, but she would never have the option to keep it a secret again.

  Coral had said, “Althea and Ada won’t tell. They’ll keep the secret.”

  “They love you, and they’ll keep your secret. But life is long. There’s a lot of ways for a secret to come out. If you tell someone, it might not be your secret anymore.”

  “But why should I keep it a secret? Are you ashamed?”

  “Oh baby girl, I’m not ashamed. I kept it a secret at first because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Mr. Dibb made that clear. That something bad could happen if anyone knew who you were.”