But Camille knew that unsupervised kids could get into all kinds of trouble out here in the country. She knew they had to be especially careful with so much distance between them while she and Reuben worked in Manhattan. It could be disastrous if one of the kids fell off their bike and needed stitches or something, with her and Reuben working two states away.
She forced herself to think calmly in the face of rising panic. She still had several weeks before summer vacation began, and a lot could happen in that time. By then she’d probably know more of the neighbors. She’d meet people on the bus once she and Reuben returned to work next week. Surely there had to be a couple of teenage girls in the neighborhood who offered babysitting services. Maybe she and Reuben would let them watch the kids while they went to dinner or something and see how it worked out, then offer them a summer babysitting job if it all went well.
Monday morning the idyllic week came to an end, with a new week starting uneasily. Camille arose groggily at 4:40 after snoozing for ten minutes. To her stilltired body it felt more like 2:40. She wondered if she’d ever be able to get Reuben up at this hour.
She managed, but not without much difficulty. He practically sleepwalked his way into his clothes, but she didn’t plan on his being much help, anyway, knowing how he hated getting out of bed in the morning. Working quietly and efficiently, she gathered the lunches she’d packed into microwave dishes the night before and poured juice into thermoses. On the inside of the front door as a reminder to the kids, she posted a note written in jumbo letters: Don’t forget your lunch! She and Reuben left the house at 5:25 to drive to the train station. She hated the idea of leaving the house before the children and even the sun had risen.
At 7:00, well after the bus had made its last local pickup and was headed north on the New Jersey Turnpike, she called home to make sure the kids had gotten out of bed. Reuben had already fallen asleep in the seat next to her. She managed to doze off herself. Little conversation could be heard on the bus; except for a few hearty souls working on laptops, just about all the passengers had nodded off.
She peeked at her fellow riders. Surprisingly, only one other black couple was aboard. She expected to see more, but of course this was hardly the only bus to New York. Even one couple could tell them a few things that only other black people would know . . . like the name of a good barber and hairdresser. Reuben, as particular about his hair as any woman, wouldn’t even consider going into a Supercuts for a trim, no more than she would want to risk her tresses to an unknown beautician.
The passengers slowly came to life when the bus emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel. Compacts and lipsticks were pulled out, peppermints were popped to freshen sleepy breath, and men and women alike ran combs through hair that had gotten a bit mussed as they napped.
At Port Authority she and Reuben parted ways, he for the subway to bring him to the supermarket’s Bronx location, and she for the street, where she would walk to her office on Fifth Avenue near Forty-Eighth Street. This isn’t so bad, she told herself as she speed walked, swinging her arms as best she could with the weight of her shoulder bag on her shoulder, plus her tote bag in one hand and her insulated nylon lunch bag in the other. I might even lose a few pounds.
By the end of the day she wondered how she’d ever survive. She’d already been awake thirteen hours, and she still had a two-hour commute back to Tobyhanna. If traffic was as bad as it had been this morning, it would take more like two and a half hours.
Mitchell called from the library using the calling card she had provided him with, letting her know he and Shayla had arrived safely and were doing their homework.
He called back as she was on her way to Port Authority. “We’re all done, Mom. Can we go home now?”
She kept her brisk pace as she talked, not wanting to miss the 5:35 bus, or else she’d have to wait until 6:05. Her breath came out in ragged near-gasps, and her scalp line and upper body felt damp from perspiration. Her dry-cleaning bills would be murder. “I’m sorry, Mitchell, but you have to stay there until Daddy and I pick you up, and the bus doesn’t leave until 5:30. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Read a book or something.”
When Camille boarded the bus she automatically sat next to the black woman she’d seen on the trip in. “Hi,” she said. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to sit here for the entire trip home. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Camille Curry, and my husband and I moved to Arlington Acres a week ago.”
The woman smiled. “My name’s Tanisha Cole. My husband and I live in Arlington Acres, too. Oh, here he is now.”
Camille turned her head toward the aisle. A large, light-skinned man with a shaved head, his tie loosened around his throat, carrying his suit jacket, rapidly approached. “Oh!” Camille said, “I’ll move across the aisle.” She held out her hand to the man. “Hi, I’m Camille.”
He gripped her hand, and she tried not to wince from the pressure, which was well past firm. “Douglas.”
She sat across from Tanisha and Douglas and anxiously looked out the window. The bus had arrived at Port Authority from Lower Manhattan a few minutes early, but Reuben had only about two minutes to get here before it set off at 5:35.
She relaxed, letting out a relieved sigh, when she caught sight of him running along the side of the bus.
“That must be your husband,” Douglas said to her from his aisle seat.
“Yes. He made it, thank God.” If Reuben had missed the bus she would have had to wait at the Tobyhanna station for him to get in, and she wanted to get to the library as soon as she could to pick up Mitchell and Shayla.
She introduced Reuben to Douglas and Tanisha. The return trip proved to be much more lively than the snooze of the morning commute. She found her other fellow commuters as friendly as her neighbors had been. She enjoyed hearing their stories of adjusting to the suburbs—they, too, had been driven out of New York by unaffordable real estate prices. Everyone seemed to love it here, and no one regretted their decision . . . They just wished those train tracks would get laid so they could take a train instead of being at the mercy of traffic patterns.
She noticed one exception in all the praise of suburban living. Douglas and Tanisha Cole, while welcoming, remained conspicuously quiet, concentrating more on each other than on the conversation around them. At one point she even saw Tanisha grip her husband’s shoulder, like she was trying to offer him moral support. Maybe, Camille thought, this couple had some kind of crisis situation at home to deal with.
Or maybe the Coles didn’t share their neighbors’ high opinion of life in Monroe County.
Chapter 14
The Currys
June 2002
Camille formed more hamburger patties than she could count. Their new grill could hold forty hamburgers, and Reuben said he wanted to cook all the burgers, hot dogs, and chicken at one time. She didn’t blame him. Who wanted to be stuck in front of a hot grill when you could be socializing with your guests? They’d set up the grill on the deck, which, due to the sloping grounds, looked from the back of the house like it was on the second floor. They’d rented round tables and folding chairs from a local party planner, setting them up on the grass of the backyard.
After delivering the tray to Reuben, she returned to the kitchen to wash her hands. On her way out to join her guests she stopped in the living room to pat the sky blue sofa and two matching striped chairs they’d purchased, along with pecan-wood accent tables. They’d gotten a good price, plus interest-free financing for the next two years. They’d also bought bedroom furniture for Mitchell and Shayla, who for the first time in their lives had rooms of their own. She knew that they probably shouldn’t have bought all this additional furniture after the other purchases they’d made, but she wanted their house to look perfect for their housewarming, and she knew Reuben did, too. She still remembered the comments her in-laws had made when they announced their plans to build a house in Pennsylvania, and she wanted their eyes to bug out when they saw it for the first time. Like
someone had once said, Living well is the best revenge. A room devoid of furnishings didn’t fit the image. They’d moved their old living room furniture into the family room. She’d start setting money aside every payday to give to the store when the bill became due. It shouldn’t be too hard. When their salaries rose their mortgage payment would remain the same, unlike the rent they had paid in the Bronx. In two years they’d be sitting pretty.
A pang of worry stabbed at the center of her chest. Their mortgage payment ended up being considerably higher than the $740 that brought them out here in the first place, thanks to their selecting a lakefront lot and a larger house with upgrades here and there, like the deck that cost three thousand dollars. But they’d manage. What counted was that today they played host to their families and their friends, both old and new, in their beautiful, brand-new home. Her friends who’d moved south or west of New York in search of a better life had nothing on her now.
She smiled. Her childhood friends always sent her Christmas cards, often with a photo of their families on the steps of their homes. This year she and Reuben and the kids would be able to do the same thing.
The day couldn’t have been prettier if they’d ordered it from a catalog. Camille loved weekends, when the morning sun shone over the lake behind their house, making it look like sparkling, dark green seawater.
Curious guests began arriving at the exact time their party began, 11:00 AM. Camille basked in all the oohs and aahs. When the question invariably came up about black families in the neighborhood, she politely replied that there were a number of them. She simply shrugged at comments that she and Reuben had better get a second lock put on their door and some covering on their new furniture to keep it clean. She’d always hated that plastic that people in New York often put over their chairs and sofas. It stuck to the back of your legs when you wore shorts in the summertime, and the rest of the year you sweated.
Her sister-in-law Arnelle pulled Camille aside. “This is a great house, Camille. I love all your new furniture.”
“Thanks.” Camille kept her voice casual. She still hadn’t forgiven her sister-in-law for her snide remarks about their new house, but she did appreciate Arnelle’s gracious comment. She certainly seemed sincere. “We like it,” she added with a shrug.
“I never saw white carpet before. It’s beautiful, but how do you manage to keep it clean?”
“We bought a carpet shampooer. I usually run it every two or three weeks. And the kids have been trained to wipe their feet before they come in the house.”
“Oh. One thing I didn’t understand. Why are there two living rooms?”
“Uh, the one by the kitchen is a family room, Arnelle.” Camille quickly looked around. It would be embarrassing if anyone from the neighborhood—she’d invited a few families from the street, as well as Doug and Tanisha and the new black couple from Mount Pocono who rode the bus with them—heard Arnelle’s question. She might have asked the same question herself before she’d come out here, but now that she’d seen the model homes she knew better. Fortunately, no one else had overheard.
“Oh. Well, I’m sure Kierra will have a wonderful time out here this summer.”
“Actually, it works out well for us, too. We won’t have to worry about who’s taking care of the kids all day.” Once Camille realized that Kierra represented the cheapest child care for Mitchell and Shayla, she warmed up to the idea of having Reuben’s niece here. It solved a large problem and really didn’t create any.
“Maybe next year Tiffany can be your babysitter.”
Camille kept her expression impassive, but inside she fumed. Arnelle hadn’t complimented her about the house out of sincerity; she’d had an ulterior motive for her own daughter. Their relationship had been strained since she’d declined to make Arnelle any more loans. All Arnelle wanted was to put in a reservation for Tiffany to spend the summer out here, and she’d tried to butter her up like an ear of corn.
From the beginning of her marriage to Reuben, Camille had preferred Arnelle’s easygoing, almost happy-go-lucky nature to that of her older sister, Brenda, who, when not complaining about this or that being unjust, concentrated solely on trying to make something out of nothing. They could put her picture in the dictionary next to the word “dour.” Now the sisters practically seemed like one and the same, friendly only when they wanted something. Brenda had gone way overboard when she arrived with Kierra, greeting Camille like they were best friends.
But in the meantime Arnelle waited for an answer. “We’ll see,” Camille said vaguely. No way would she get in the middle of what she suspected would be a battle between the sisters. Surely Brenda would want Kierra to return next year, and Camille and Reuben had neither the space nor the need to house two teens. After all, they weren’t running a fresh-air camp for city kids. Instead she would refer their mothers to the same camp she’d attended as a child. If she remembered correctly, they had a separate facility for fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds.
She made a mental note to warn Reuben not to commit to anything. She wouldn’t put it past Arnelle to try to extract a promise from him that she could hold them to.
She reached for the bags of hamburger and hot dog buns. “Would you bring these out to Reuben for me, Arnelle? He wants to put them on the grill to get them a little toasty.”
“Sure.”
Camille reached for the dishcloth to wipe a crumb from the counter, then went to check on Kierra, who was unpacking her clothes in Shayla’s room, which she would be sharing.
“How’s it going?” Camille asked pleasantly. Brenda was with her. She zipped Kierra’s large suitcase and removed it from the bed, standing it up against the wall.
“Good, Aunt Camille. We’re just about finished.”
Camille caught sight of a yellow and blue two-piece swimsuit on top of the pile of clothing Kierra held. “Oh, what a pretty bathing suit!”
Kierra smiled shyly. “Thank you. Mom bought it for me, since you guys have a pool here.”
Brenda spoke up. “Camille, did you want me to put Kierra’s suitcase in the closet?”
“Sure. There’s plenty of room. It’s a walk-in.”
Brenda carried the empty bag to the closet door and opened it. Camille heard her gasp. “Wow. This is one big closet.”
She couldn’t help doing just a little bit of bragging. “Yes, the closet space in this house is pretty generous. Reuben and I have two walk-ins in our bedroom.” She turned to her niece. “We’re very happy to have you with us for the summer, Kierra.”
“I’ll probably like it so much I won’t want to go home.”
Camille didn’t dare look at Brenda’s reaction to her daughter’s remark, but she knew Brenda couldn’t have liked it very much. “But of course you’ll want to go home in August,” she said. “You’ll miss your mother.”
“Oh, I’ll probably come out a couple of times to see her between now and then,” Brenda said airily. “You know, Camille, this really is a nice house. I never really knew anybody who lived in a house before, other than friends of friends who live out in Queens.” She paused a moment before adding, “It’s too bad you and Reuben spend so much time commuting to work that you hardly ever get to enjoy it.”
Camille felt her jaw tighten. “Well, we’d rather spend two hours on the road every afternoon and come home to this than take a half-hour subway ride home to a too-small apartment in one of the ugliest sections of the Bronx.” She conveniently shortened her commute time—the trip took two and a half hours each way—but she refused to give Brenda any ammunition.
The defeated look on Brenda’s face told Camille she’d hit her target.
When Camille returned outside, the air was permeated with the scent of barbecued meat. Veronica Lee approached her, plate in hand. “Camille, it was so nice of you to invite Norman and me.”
“You’re welcome.” Camille hadn’t known Veronica very long, but felt she and her husband, Norman, would make a nice addition to their barbecue. The main purpose of the
party was for her and Reuben’s friends and family members to see their new house, but she also wanted them to know that they had met new people. “We black folks have to stick together,” Camille said in a low voice. Douglas and Tanisha Cole, who’d also attended, would know what she meant, but she wouldn’t want the Tillmans to overhear her; that was the type of comment that would make non-black guests make a beeline for the exit. It pleased her that their neighbors from next door and across the street both accepted their invitation and appeared to be having a good time. It wasn’t every white person who could feel comfortable surrounded by black folks.
“Where is Norman, anyway?” she asked.
“He couldn’t make it. Unfortunately, Sunday is a workday for him.”
“Does he drive into the city on the weekends?”
“No, the bus runs on the weekends. He just has to take a later one; the bus we usually take in the morning doesn’t run that early on the weekends. But the hospital has been very nice about letting us tailor our work schedules to accommodate the available transportation.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “I think they expect us to stay on with them, but we’re going to switch to the local hospital as soon as they make us offers, and I hope it doesn’t take long. This commute is killing us.”
“I didn’t even know the buses run to the city on the weekends.”
“Yes. Apparently a lot of people go in on Saturday to shop or have dinner and see a show, and then come back Sunday. People who don’t have to make the trip Monday through Friday, I’m sure. But I might swing back with Norman after I pick him up at the station.” Veronica held up her plate. “By the way, this macaroni and cheese was the bomb.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
If These Walls Could Talk Page 9
