The raft jerked to a halt. “I didn’t know you had a cousin Joralynn,” I said. “I thought I knew all your cousins.” I suddenly felt hurt. We were so close that I had automatically assumed I would be included as some kind of baby official, if needed.
“She’s her mother’s first cousin,” Terrell explained. “She lives in Maine, though we hope we never need her.”
Shay stared into her melting ice cream as though suddenly fascinated by its loss of structure.
“It’s because they’re boys,” Terrell added. Shay nodded, still saying nothing.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What does being a boy have to do with being a guardian, hoping again you never need one.”
“It’s not the guardian part,” Shay said quietly. “It’s the . . . the—”
“White girl part,” Larry finished.
“Oh,” I said, then, “What?”
Terrell sat up in his chair and leaned toward me. “You have to understand—these are going to be two black boys growing up in a mostly hostile culture. You have to know how to navigate things. You can’t send them out in society like white boys, thinking it’s all okay.”
I instantly thought back to Tommy, though he was a universal bigot. “I get that,” I said. “But why couldn’t I teach them whatever they need?”
Terrell laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “It’s something you have to live to understand,” he said. “We live in different worlds. Man, I’ve been stopped just for driving through my own neighborhood.”
“DWB,” Larry said knowingly. “Me too, many times.”
I looked at them, puzzled.
“Driving While Black,” Larry explained.
“Try Jogging While Black. We’ve all experienced that,” Terrell said quietly. “Some cop stops you because you’re running.”
“But you got to do the dance,” Larry added. “You know what I mean?”
“I guess so,” I replied.
“You have got to be not just respectful—okay—that’s the right thing to do anyway,” Larry continued, “but you’ve got to be extra, extra, extra respectful. ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ ‘yes, sir.’ And be careful as shit.”
“And you still can get killed,” Terrell finished. “That’s the way it is.”
I looked at Shay, nodding her head, her face filled with fear and sadness, knowing something that I had no real knowledge of, even though I had read it a million times in the newspapers and seen sickening incidents on television that had enraged me. Still, I had never worried about it on a personal level. I lived insulated. White people do. I never worried if I could rent a vacant apartment when I was in college and didn’t want to live in the dorm anymore or suddenly found someone tailing me in a fancy department store. I had never watched a patrol car in my rearview mirror with dread and wondered if this was going to be my last day on earth, for a flickering brake light. I couldn’t imagine a black mother waiting by her window for her son to come back from the store with a loaf of bread, and hear sirens and worry that he’s late.
I took a deep breath. “I never realized, Shay, that it was something that worried you!”
“I love you,” Shay said. “But you’re not equipped to raise black boys to be safe.” She looked down at her hands, and clenched and unclenched them, and said very, very softly, “I don’t even know if I can.”
“Oh, Shay.” I got up to go over and give her a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, too. I will always be there if you need me, hoping you never do.”
She grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Thank you. Hope I never do.”
I returned to my ice cream. The table was quiet for a moment. Maybe we were all realizing, sadly, it will always be the same bay, but very different water.
Chapter 27
Lawrence LaSalle was already waiting for me at the Galley when I arrived to open the doors at six a.m. He was wearing white slacks, the red sneakers, a Red Sox baseball cap, and a French sailor striped blue shirt in what I guessed was a city-boy attempt to look like he was at home on the seas. I had to smile.
“What took you so long?” he asked in mock impatience. “I’ve been waiting here for half an hour.”
I started to explain that he was way too early, but he interrupted me, laughing. “Just teasing, I got here about two minutes ago! I’m going fishing with Terrell this afternoon, so I thought I’d get our interview finished in the morning before we both got busy.”
He helped me open the gate and followed me into the store, waiting while I shut off the alarm and cameras. Then I introduced him to Vincent, who started sniffing Larry’s new red sneakers with great interest.
Larry bent over to pet his head and Vincent licked his hand in friendship. “I think he likes me,” Larry said. “You know, I wouldn’t mind having a dog like this.”
I turned on the lights and ducked behind the counter to start heating up the flattop.
“You want breakfast?” I asked.
“I already ha—wow—yes, thank you,” he replied, slowly turning on his heels, looking around the store like a kid in a candy shop. “Could I have anything I want?” I nodded and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “What shall we make?”
“Anything you like,” I replied. The front doorbell tinkled and Mrs. Ahmadi arrived, looking like a large daffodil in green and white, with a yellow head covering.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily, and headed to the back door to bring in the bakery goods.
“I can’t decide what I want,” Larry said, his eyes glowing with anticipation. “There’s too much to choose from.”
“How about bacon and eggs?”
His face lit up. “Yes, yes! I love bacon and eggs. Just the thing.” I started his breakfast while he poked around behind the counter.
“We have one of these in my office,” he announced after examining the coffeepot. “I’ll make the coffee.” He expertly filled the grinder with fresh beans, added water, and started it up. Mrs. Ahmadi returned with her arms full of newspapers and bags of muffins and took her place behind the counter.
“Do you want something to eat?” I asked her.
“Oh, no thank you,” she replied. “I pray before and after breakfast, so it’s easier for me to eat at home.”
* * *
The early morning crowd starting coming in, some of them pausing in surprise at the sight of a trio working behind the counter. But the orders came fast, as they usually do, and though we were working hard, Larry, who had now just finished his second breakfast, smoothly started helping without my even asking. He was ebullient, whistling show tunes and singing as he served the customers, making cup after cup of coffee while I made the sandwiches and Mrs. Ahmadi rang them all up.
“I guess Miss Shay worked so hard she needed two people to replace her,” one customer joked as Sam’s mother bagged her groceries.
* * *
Mrs. Skipper worried aloud when her turn came and she saw that Larry was serving her. “Does he know how to pick out fresh cherry Danishes? I only want the freshest ones,” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am, they’re so fresh, I had to smack them,” Larry said as he handed her the little white bakery bag. Mrs. Skipper smiled despite herself. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
* * *
The morning passed quickly and I was surprised how helpful Larry had actually been. He seemed to like the work and his easy, joking manner had everyone, even Mrs. Ahmadi, smiling.
Everyone except for Sam.
The bell on the door tinkled and Sam stepped into the store. He stopped in surprise when he saw the three of us crowded behind the counter.
“Sam!” I summoned him to come and meet Larry.
“Thank you for serving our country.” Larry extended his hand to Sam. Sam flushed and shook it and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.
“Larry is the lawyer I was telling you about,” I explained. “He says that you have a strong lawsuit against the dealership. You two should really talk.”
> “Anytime you want,” Larry agreed. He moved to the flattop. “So, dude! Food before business, right?” He held up a spatula. “I always wanted to do this. How do you like your eggs? You want a bacon and egg sandwich?”
“No pork,” Sam replied dourly. “And no lawsuit.” He turned around abruptly and left without saying good-bye.
“I guess no sandwich, either,” Larry said.
“Please excuse my son,” Sam’s mother said to Larry after Sam left. “He needs to be alone, sometimes. He’s fighting other battles.”
* * *
Lunch orders came fast but we were on top of them all.
“You need vegetarian bacon,” Larry boomed out after a customer ordered a bacon substitute for his sandwich. “The world is filling up with vegetarians! Where’s the grocery list? Put in on the list!” To my consternation, he wrote FAKONin big letters on my Marine Conditions Board. “Come back tomorrow, friend,” he told the customer. “We’ll give you a sandwich half-price for your trouble.” The customer practically bowed his way out the door. “I’ll pay for his sandwich,” Larry said to me. “It’s worth building good relationships.
“It would be easier if everyone who came in made their own coffee,” Larry advised another time after a rush of coffee orders. “You know, give them a cup and a pod and let them brew it themselves, any flavor, keep the pot and the cream and sugar on a table over there. It’ll cut the crowding at the counter.” He wrote new coffeepot and pods on the Marine Conditions Board, as well.
And Boston Crème Doughnuts, because they were his favorites.
And New! Chicken-Fried Steak Sandwiches because his late mother used to make them and he missed her.
* * *
When the crowd thinned out, Larry grabbed me by the elbow. “Where can we talk?” he asked.
“The kitchen,” I said, then gestured to Sam’s mother. “She’s new. She’s never worked the counter alone before.”
He looked over at her. “Stop worrying. She’s a grown-up,” he pronounced. “She can figure it out. The counter’s not going to blow up if she makes a mistake.”
His remark had a few people suddenly eye Mrs. Ahmadi’s hijab. “Take care of things for a few minutes, Mrs. A!” he shouted over to her. “We love you, but we have some important business to conduct. The store is in your capable hands.”
She gave Larry a thumbs-up and the people in line smiled at her while she smoothly returned to her next customer.
* * *
Larry already had a plan outlined. I had sent him all the information two weeks before and he was ready with papers for me to sign. He had already filed against the dealership and the parent car manufacturer. Now he was planning to announce it to the newspapers, make it go viral on the Internet, arrange for radio interviews. He was also going to embarrass the dealership and push for a public apology and financial damages. I signed.
“We’re dealing with assholes,” he said. “The best cure is to hit them in their pocketbooks. Your dog was innocent and was seized on false testimony. A rescue dog traumatized again! They claim they have no security tape of the day you came in, but we’re going to question it. There was no hospital report, no wounds, no scars, no corroboration at all. Time to fight back.”
I already had my fists clenched.
“Your friend has an even stronger case, too,” he added as he put the papers back in a folder. “An important one. What happened to him was blatantly against the law. Tell him he’s making a big mistake.”
“It’s not up to me,” I explained, peeking out at Mrs. Ahmadi. “And I have a feeling it’s not up to him, either.”
* * *
Terrell came in and announced it was time to leave. “We’ll pick up some pizza on the way,” he said to Larry. “Shay was going to make us sandwiches, but she couldn’t look at food.”
I didn’t point out that he was quite capable of making sandwiches, too, but then felt sorry for him. “How would you like me to make you two my special Sandwiches?” I offered. “I do owe Larry payment for his advice.”
Larry practically salivated on my shoulder as I worked and I hoped that he would like them. I had promised him an extraordinary sandwich, or had I said “weird”?—I couldn’t remember—but I very carefully layered the ingredients, making sure to color-coordinate them, then wrapped the final product, a Sandwich of massive size and eclectic mixture, in aluminum foil and handed one to Terrell and one to Larry. Terrell thanked me as he tucked his into a small thermal carrier, but Larry said nothing. He opened the foil to carefully examine the Sandwich, his lips pursed in concentration. He pulled back the bread, which had been upgraded from rye bread to a more structurally substantial ciabatta, and lifted the contents gingerly with a toothpick.
“Hmmmm.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He said nothing. Now he was sniffing it.
“What?” I asked again.
“Be patient,” he said. “Let me check this thing out. What did you call this?”
“A Sandwich. But you have to say it with a capital S.”
“Okay,” he finally said. “Is there room for negotiation?”
“Oh God,” I groaned. “What’s wrong?”
“It needs marinated artichoke hearts.”
“Deal,” I said, relieved, and we shook hands. He handed the Sandwich over to Terrell, who put it in the thermal bag, and they headed for the door. Once they were gone, I marveled at how much energy and good humor Larry generated and how, when he left, the store felt like the air had gone out of it.
Chapter 28
My curiosity was getting the better of me. I hate people who imply they have a secret that they couldn’t possibly share but really want to tell you, which is the only reason they mentioned it in the first place. Mrs. Ahmadi had hinted that she had gossip about my family and I wanted to know what it was.
Business had slowed down and now Mrs. A, as Larry had addressed her, was stocking the shelves. “I noticed that somebody likes Cheerios!” she called out, lining the boxes in a neat row on the shelf.
“I do,” I replied. “And so does Mrs. Skipper. That’s why I order so many.”
“You’re very kind to her, considering that she’s sometimes rude to you.” She started setting up the potato chip rack. “Family history and all.”
That did it. Another reference to her “secret.” “You have to tell me what family history you’re referring to,” I told her. “It’s not fair to keep talking about it without talking about it.”
She smiled at me. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get curious.”
“My grandmother was very important to me,” I said. “So either explain all these mysterious comments or don’t mention it again.”
“The town clerk knows everything,” she said. “She’s the best source of anything that concerns anyone in town. She knows everything, and she doesn’t mind gossiping one bit. She can tell you whatever you want to know. About anybody.”
* * *
Lorna Hummings, the town clerk, was surprised to see me. She came out from behind her desk and trundled over to the window to talk. “How’s that dog of yours?” she asked right away. “He’s had a bit of an exciting life.”
I had to agree that he did.
“I understand your lawyer sprung him from jail,” she said.
“Dogs don’t go to jail,” I said. “Someone lied and reported that he bit them and I had to leave him with the vet.”
“I heard Animal Control seized him,” she said. “That’s what happens with dogs that look a certain way. They get arrested.”
“He’s a good dog,” I said.
“I’m a fish person myself,” she said. “You’ll never see a fish get incarcerated.”
“May I ask you something? I’m hoping you can help me,” I started. “I had heard something about my family that was from years ago and someone said to ask you.”
“Who said to ask me?”
“Dorothea Reyes. Ahmadi,” I replied.
“Oh yes, Dottie,” she said. “She’s back from Jordan with her son. I heard he got badly wounded and had some kind of breakdown and they’re living with Phyllis. They’re sisters, Dottie and Phyllis, and another one, though they didn’t become Muslims like Dottie did.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know. But I’m curious about something I heard about my family.”
“I don’t know if I know,” she said. “Besides, I’m not one to gossip.”
I wondered how stories got around if no one was the one to gossip but pressed further. “Well, actually, it was about my grandmother and The Skipper.”
“Oh my, yes,” she said. “Now there’s an interesting story. But I don’t like to goss—”
“It’s not gossip,” I interrupted her. “It’s family history. And since it’s my family, I would really appreciate it if you could tell me what you know.”
She stood in front of me for a moment, pondering my request.
“Please,” I said.
“I only know what I heard. I was very young. Everyone was talking about it then; the whole town was talking about it.”
I nodded my head. “My family seems to provide a great deal of entertainment for this town.”
“Not as much as some, dear.” She stepped away and opened the door to her office. “Come have a seat,” she summoned me. “We’ll have some privacy in here.”
The walls of her office were glass from the middle of the walls and up. Privacy was the last thing it provided. But I sat in the chair in front of her desk as she plopped down in the cushiony leather chair behind it. She leaned back and cleared her throat.
“Now, I’m not telling tales, but from what I understand,” she said, plunging right into it, “your grandmother was single and The Skipper was engaged to Mrs. Skipper who was just Florence at the time, and they had an affair, your grandmother and Donald, Donald being The Skipper. I’m not sure he was The Skipper at the time, but he was still Donald.” She put her finger to the side of her nose to help her remember. “I think she—your grandmother, not Florence—got pregnant and everyone was shocked. You know, it was a long time ago and things were different back then. Now you got every movie star getting pregnant without getting married—and personally, I think it’s crazy to bring a baby into the world just because you starred in a movie with its father. In fact—”
And All the Phases of the Moon Page 17
