by Pearl Cleage
“Is that how you remember it?” Blue’s voice was amused. “I remember you strong-arming me out of a sizable chunk of real estate for the field, and an equally sizable chunk of money for the uniforms and equipment they needed.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m in your debt for always being there when I need you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, and so will I.”
That wasn’t hard. Precious had enjoyed the challenge of Mandeville Maids, but politics was where her heart was. She didn’t know for sure yet, but she thought that was probably where Captain Lee Kilgore’s heart was, too. The idea Lee wanted to discuss was a good one. She was trying to find funds for a pilot program to staff a police precinct entirely with female officers, specifically trained in domestic violence prevention and counseling. The idea was that a woman already victimized by male violence might be further traumatized by having to call on other men she didn’t even know for protection. An all-female precinct would eliminate the problem. Lee was hoping to open discussions with Precious about the possibility that Mandeville Maids could partner with the police department to create the first-ever peace precinct.
“It’s a totally different approach,” Lee was saying, “but I think that’s the strength of it. We’ve tried everything else we can think of and the rate and severity of domestic violence are still rising.”
Precious nodded. “We’re getting more and more women showing up for work with black eyes or split lips. Things seemed to have calmed down last year, but now it’s worse than it was before.”
“Any of their guys veterans?”
Precious frowned, trying to recall the details about the men the victimized women were still going home to at the end of every working day. “I don’t know. Why?”
“We’re seeing a lot more problems with returning vets,” Lee said. “There’s not enough reentry counseling for them, almost nothing for their families, and they really need it.”
Picking up a pen, Precious wrote the words reentry counseling on her yellow legal pad.
Lee smiled and reached into her slim, brown leather briefcase and pulled out a large envelope with Peace Precinct: Confidential printed discreetly on its left-hand corner. “You don’t need to do that. I’ve pulled together some material for you to take a look at. It’s all here.”
Precious smiled and reached for the packet, recognizing someone who was as careful as she herself was about preparation.
“It would mean a lot to the success of the project if we could get you on board early,” Lee said.
“It’s an exciting idea,” Precious said. “We have over a thousand female employees, as you know, and domestic violence is always an area where we’re looking to do more. I’ll take a look at your proposal and let you know if I see a place for our involvement.”
“Thank you,” Lee said, but she hesitated slightly.
“Was there something else?”
“There is one more thing,” Lee said, choosing her words carefully. “I appreciate your time and I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but may I have your permission to speak frankly on another issue that we haven’t discussed?”
“Of course,” Precious said.
“Senator Hargrove, I’m sure you know there is a great deal of speculation that you’re going to run for the top spot. I’m not asking you to confirm or deny it. I know that kind of announcement has to be made carefully and in its own time.”
Precious smiled.
“I just want you to know that if you do decide to run, I’d be honored to assist you in matters of public safety as well as personal security.”
“I appreciate your offer,” Precious said, and she meant it. If she was going to run for mayor, the police department was going to be a major challenge. Captain Kilgore would be a valuable addition to her team, and they both knew it. “And I’ll be making a decision real soon.”
“Well, I hope you decide in the affirmative,” Lee said, standing up as she gathered her things to go. “I was really disappointed for you that the governor’s race didn’t work out, but it’s like the old folks used to say.”
Precious stood up, too, waiting for the punch line. According to how often we quoted them, she thought, the old folks spent so much time spouting wisdom, it was amazing they ever got any work done.
“The Lord never closes a door without opening a window,” Lee said, holding out a hand to shake the one Precious offered.
“Amen to that,” Precious said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Precious closed the door behind Lee and went over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed her to look down from her sixth-floor suite into the building’s airy, plant-filled atrium. The colorful stained-glass dome above her was a constantly changing light show against the white walls. When she first started working here, she had been amazed that so many people hurried through the space every day without ever stopping long enough to notice the rainbows all around them.
As Precious stood there, admiring the building’s beautifully restored architecture, Captain Kilgore emerged from the elevators and started across the atrium’s marble floor toward the front door. Unaware that she was being observed, she stopped suddenly and gazed slowly up to where the sunshine was working its daily show. From where Precious stood in her office window, she could see Lee tilt her head back to enjoy the full view and then, with a brief private smile of appreciation, continue on her way.
Maybe there was something to that open-window thing, Precious thought. She couldn’t wait to tell Kwame what had just blown in.
21
Baby Brother was kicking himself. He should have gone to that meeting with Zora. She had said he was welcome, but at the time, he thought he had some other shit working, so he didn’t make it. But his boys had let him down. Again! Now here he was, back out on the street. He had spent the rest of the money the guy with the BMW had given him on a pair of jeans and some cheap sneakers, but there wasn’t enough left over for a real coat. The cheap windbreaker he’d be able to afford wasn’t much better than nothing. He never thought he’d miss the heat of the Iraqi desert, but he hated this cold almost as bad. If this was global warming, he didn’t like it one bit.
The guards at Union Station had been tailing him suspiciously after two nights there, so he couldn’t go back for a third time. He should have kept that damn uniform. Nobody would kick a soldier out of the train station in the nation’s capital. Not when there was a war going on. But in his civvies, he just looked like another young black man who wanted something for nothing. Realizing with a tsunami of self-pity that he had absolutely no prospects, Baby Brother did what he’d been doing since he was fourteen. He used two of his last few dollars to catch the metro out to his sister’s house. Just because she had married somebody who didn’t like him didn’t mean they weren’t still blood. With his mother gone, she was his closest living relative. Maybe his only one. That had to count for something! She couldn’t let him freeze to death just because they’d had their differences in the past. He was still her baby brother, and to his way of thinking, she still owed him.
He stared out the subway window and tried to make himself believe it, but he couldn’t quite get the judge’s angry face and words out of his mind. What if he walked up on the porch and his brother-in-law came outside and kicked his ass all up and down the street? Maybe it would be better, he thought, to wait until he could see Cassie alone. He’d wait until the judge went to work and then talk to his sister. The only problem was, What was he supposed to do tonight?
He stepped off the train at the stop for his sister’s house and looked around. The cold wind went through his jacket like he wasn’t even wearing one. Baby Brother shivered and realized he couldn’t wait. If he was going to sleep indoors tonight, he was going to have to ask Cassie for a few bucks to tide him over until he could figure out a way to get to Atlanta. He hadn’t realized that was what he was going to do until t
he thought popped into his mind fully formed. Atlanta! Of course that’s what he should do.
Zora liked him. He could tell that at the train station. Plus, she knew somebody he could talk to about the army, too. He didn’t know what he was going to do about deserting his outfit; all he knew was that he wasn’t going back. She had given him some guy’s number to call and he fumbled through his pockets, hoping he hadn’t left the paper in his uniform. There it was! Written in her own neat hand: Samson Epps, 404-344-8642. Ask for Zora. That’s what he intended to do, all right. But first he had to get his broke ass down there.
Lost in his new plan, he was almost in front of Cassie’s place before he saw the front door opening. He ducked into the shadows of the big maple tree beside the house next door and watched his sister and her husband come outside, laughing and talking easily together. Even from where he was standing, he could see how happy his sister was and he felt a sudden, uncharacteristic pang of regret for the pain he’d caused her. He shook it off. This was no time to start feeling sentimental. Baby Brother watched them go down the walk, hand in hand, and get into a dark gray Lexus parked at the curb. That must be the judge’s car, he thought. Cassie’s Pontiac was parked in the driveway. They pulled away without ever seeing him.
It seemed to Baby Brother that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch a break. He stood there in the dark, feeling sorry for himself, then he remembered something. He had hot-wired that Pontiac a thousand times as a kid. He even knew a way to jimmy the lock on the passenger side so he could get in without tripping the alarm. He wondered if Cassie had ever fixed it.
Glancing around and seeing no one, he slipped out of the shadows, hurried over to the car, and tried the door using his old trick. It worked! He slid into the front seat and quickly closed the door behind him. All he had to do now was cross a couple of wires and hope he hadn’t lost his touch. The engine cranked on his first try and he almost shouted for joy. He clambered over into the driver’s seat, checked to make sure she had gas, and put the car in reverse without a shred of guilt for stealing his sister’s car one more time.
Let that nigga she married buy her another one, Baby Brother thought as he pulled off in the Pontiac. This motherfucker is headed to Atlanta!
22
Precious had almost finished her second glass of iced tea and was about to tell her server to go on and bring her Cobb salad when she saw Kwame pull up outside Murphy’s, a popular lunch spot in the bustling in-town neighborhood of Virginia Highlands. Her tall, handsome son was dressed in a dark suit and tie, looking very professional indeed, she thought. She picked up the faint smell of his aftershave as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he said. “I was at the planning-committee meeting down at city hall and I ran into Bob Watson.”
“Bob Watson?” Precious forgot her pleasure in seeing her son and wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. “I can’t stand him!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kwame said, scanning the menu quickly.
His voice had an edge that surprised her. Their server glided up to take Kwame’s order then refresh their water glasses.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sensitive,” she said, teasing him gently. “What was old Bob talking about anyway?”
“Preservation,” Kwame said, mollified by her apology. He and Aretha had started the day arguing. He didn’t have the energy for any more contentious exchanges with the women in his life. “He’s interested in the West End Victorians.”
West End boasted an impressive number of beautifully appointed, immaculately maintained Victorian homes, complete with wraparound porches and gingerbread latticework.
Precious smiled. “Your report is going to get a lot of people interested in those houses.”
“You think?” Kwame had recently completed his exhaustive annotated inventory of West End’s housing stock. It had taken him the better part of two years.
“Absolutely.” Her son had done a good job and she was proud of him. “I read the whole thing last night, cover to cover, including the historical footnotes. That report is going to change the way West End is developed for the next thirty years, not to mention kicking up the price of those Victorians! Blue will love it.”
“I hope so,” Kwame said. “I want to end our association on good terms.”
“End your association?” Precious said as their server arrived with her Cobb salad and his smoked turkey sandwich. “What are you talking about? You know Blue has work for you for as long as you want it.”
“I know that,” Kwame said quickly. “And this contract was fine, but I don’t necessarily want to be on Blue Hamilton’s payroll for the rest of my life.”
Precious looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Kwame said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “It’s just that I’m feeling a little claustrophobic. My world has pretty much narrowed down to this one little neighborhood. I live in West End. I work in West End. My wife’s studio is in West End. My daughter goes to school in West End.”
He was getting more and more agitated, his voice rising just enough to draw a glance from the table closest to them. Kwame took a deep breath and gathered himself. His mother had been a public person since he was seven years old. He knew the drill. Personal business had to be kept just that: personal.
“What’s wrong, son?” Precious said gently. “Are things going any better between you and Aretha?”
“Things are shitty between me and Aretha, as I’m sure she’s told you, but that’s not the problem.” He sighed deeply. “The problem is, I am almost thirty years old and I am still living on the same block where I grew up. I’m four blocks from my mother. I’m spitting distance from every West Ender who remembers me when I was five or six or twelve or about to graduate from high school.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Precious was confused.
Kwame sighed again. “I have to make some major changes in my life, Mom, and I have to do it now.”
“What kinds of changes?” Precious said, feeling a knot of confusion and worry in the pit of her stomach.
“All kinds! Everything! To start off, I want to rent our house to some bright young faculty member from the AU Center and move my family to midtown or Virginia Highlands. I want to get a real job in a real firm where I can be an architect again, not just a glorified surveyor.”
Precious knew her son so well she sometimes felt like she could read his mind. This was one of those times. “Are you going to work for Bob Watson?”
Kwame’s eyes flashed. “He hasn’t asked me, but Teddy mentioned that he was interested in me. So?”
Teddy Rogers and Bob Watson, Precious thought. Two of a kind, both weasels. “Did you ever ask yourself why he’s interested?”
“Because I’m a talented young architect with a bright future who would be a great asset to any firm, even if his mother wasn’t going to be the next mayor of Atlanta.”
Looking at her son’s angry face, she wished she could take back the question. What were they arguing about anyway? Whether or not he had to live and die in the neighborhood she had chosen for him as a child? Whether or not he should wash the dishes or expect his wife to handle it? It was dawning on Precious that she had crossed the line between being a loving, truthful mother and being a meddler who expected her son to agree with her plan for his life, his work, his family. She sat back in her chair and looked at Kwame, trying to collect her thoughts. Another apology was clearly in order.
“You’re right,” she said slowly. “You’re absolutely right and I apologize.”
“Apologize for what?” Kwame said warily.
Precious leaned across the table and took her son’s hand. “For not trusting you to handle your business, personal and professional; for ruining our lunch; and for being the kind of mother I always swore I’d never be. Forgive me?”
Kwame relaxed then, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “Of course I do. It’s my fault, too. Things have been so crazy at
home lately, I probably wouldn’t have been the easiest person to talk to either.”
“Crazy how?” Precious said, watching her son’s face for clues.
He shrugged. “She’s mad at me half the time. The other half, she acts like I’m not even there.”
Precious took a deep breath. “It’s none of my business, but…”
He gave her a very small smile. “But?”
“There’s no other woman involved, is there?”
The irony of his mother’s question, equal parts hope and dread, was not lost on Kwame. “No, Mom. There’s no other woman. Whatever is going on between me and Aretha is something we’re going to have to fix between ourselves. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.”
“Now will you promise me one thing?”
“Do I have any choice?”
“If you go to work for Bob Watson, don’t tell him I said I didn’t like him. It costs a lot to run an effective campaign for mayor, and this conversation aside, I’ll be expecting a significant contribution from your new boss.”
Kwame grinned at her. “He’s not my boss yet.”
“He will be. And it’s okay. You’ve made your point, sweetie. Take the job! Move to midtown! Live your life!”
“Will you come visit us?”
“Try and keep me away,” she said, grinning at her baby who had become a full-grown man without asking her permission. “I like midtown. I just wouldn’t want to live there.”
23
It was almost time for dinner and Peachy was cooking something special. Regina, already in the grip of the first trimester’s overwhelming need for naps, was asleep upstairs. That gave Blue and Abbie a chance to walk down to the water’s edge together. This was a shared pleasure. Whenever Blue had been away from Tybee, he always had to wet his feet in the ocean as soon as he returned. Abbie was the same way. They both thought it had something to do with the fact that in one of the past lives they had shared, they made their home by the sea. Sticking their feet in the same ocean they had known so long ago was a way of acknowledging, honoring, remembering.
