by Parrish, PJ
Louis shrugged out of his grip. “My job,” he said, hurrying down the steps.
“Your ass is in big trouble now, Kincaid,” Junior called after him. “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can do what you want here.”
“I’m an investigator.”
Junior caught up. “In name only. You think the sheriff would have given you this job if he’da known who you were?”
Louis stopped, his hand on the car door. “What do you mean?”
Junior hesitated, pulling his hat down against the rain.
“Junior, what are you talking about?”
“Nothin’.”
“Don’t tell me, ‘Nothing.’ Dodie knew who I was. I sent him a resume. I was interviewed.”
“Yeah,” Junior said uneasily, “over the phone.”
Louis stared at Junior over the top of the car. Junior wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“He didn’t know you was black,” Junior said.
Louis turned away, shocked. Slowly, the shock gave way to fury. What the hell difference did it make? Shit, he knew what difference it made. He had just forgotten where he was.
He jerked open the car door and got in. Junior slid into the passenger seat. The rain grew into a downpour, beating down on the windshield.
“He didn’t know, Louis,” Junior repeated. “I mean, it’s not like you talk black and all.”
Slowly, Louis wiped a hand across his wet face, struggling to contain his anger. “‘Talk black’…Jesus,” he muttered.
“And then when you got here, well, what could he do?” Junior went on. “When you walked in, in that fancy suit, we all thought you was some N-double-A-CP lawyer.”
Louis said nothing, his mind traveling back to that first day.
“Then when Uncle Dodie found out, man, I thought he was gonna shit,” Junior said.
“Junior, shut up.”
Junior sighed. “I’m jus’ tellin’ you how it is, Louis.”
Louis put both his hands on the steering wheel, staring out at the gray county building, misshapen by the rain. “This place stinks. Junior, you know that?”
Junior looked hurt and scratched his temple. “I don’t think it’s so bad, Louis. I like it here. I was born here.”
Louis started the car. “So was I,” he muttered. He swung the car out into traffic, heading back to the freeway.
“Louis?” Junior said after a few minutes.
“What?”
“Don’t tell the sheriff I done tol’ you.”
Louis glanced over at him. “Why not?”
Junior shrugged. “I don’t know. I jus’ don’t want him to think I can’t keep a secret.”
Chapter 5
It was near eight by the time they got back. Louis dropped Junior off at the station then headed back to the boardinghouse. As he slowly drove through town, he replayed in his head Junior’s remarks. He was tempted to quit, to say. The hell with the whole thing. But the fact was, he couldn’t afford it.
As he drove, he thought about the string of events that had led him to the job. After Bessie had called him about Lila, he had gone to his lieutenant to ask for a leave of absence from the force. “Your mother…that’s tough, man,” his lieutenant had said. Louis hadn’t told him the truth, that he didn’t know the woman. He said only that Lila wasn’t expected to live long. But the truth was, neither he nor Lila’s doctor really knew how long she would last. Could be months, the doctor had told him by phone.
It was Bessie who suggested that Louis look for temporary work in Black Pool. “Call your cousin Charles,” she told him. “He works for the mayor. He know where the jobs are.”
Louis hadn’t known he even had a cousin. He called Charles Devlin, asking about police work. Charles sidestepped, offering information about the logging company and the city sanitation department. It was only after Louis pressed that his cousin said he had heard about an opening in the Sheriff’s Department. Louis fired off his resume and within a week got a call from Dodie.
“We’re a small department here, Mr. Kincaid,” the sheriff had told him over the phone. “I gotta say, I don’t know what a law officer needs with a college degree.” Nonetheless, Louis could tell by the man’s voice that he was impressed. “But we’re looking for some new blood, a new attitude, and a fresh approach. The fact that you was bom here, well, that’s a nice plus now, isn’t it?”
Dodie had offered him the job as the Greensboro County Sheriff’s Department’s first investigator. The title meant that while he wouldn’t have authority over the other deputies, he would have more decision-making power as far as the police work went. And the pay was higher, Dodie said proudly, $150 a week—although he cautioned Louis not to mention that fact to the others. The pay was ridiculously low, but Louis was willing to overlook that. His dream was to be a detective, and that could take years on a large force in the North. A stint as an investigator, even a short one, would look good on a resume.
He could still remember vividly the first day he walked into the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t a fool; he knew things would be different in the South. A black guy back on the force in Ann Arbor had worked in Birmingham and had warned him that “it took some getting used to,” but that the other cops had treated him with respect.
Louis sensed something very different that first day in Black Pool. First there was the stunned look on Mike’s face when he told him who he was. Then came the hard stares from Larry and Junior, stares that immediately told him he was not merely a stranger here—he was an intruder. Junior had disappeared into the sheriff’s office, and Dodie had kept him waiting a half hour before finally asking him to come in. Dodie’s expression was harder to read, but Louis could almost imagine his thoughts: Oh shit, what am I going to do? They got through a few moments of small talk so painfully awkward that Louis fully expected Dodie to tell him to turn around and go home. But finally, the sheriff had thrust out a hand and said grimly, “Welcome to Black Pool.”
Louis pulled the Mustang to a stop at the curb outside Bessie’s house. Man, he was smarter than this. He should have realized things would be worse in a place like Black Pool. There was racism in Michigan; there was certainly racism in the South. But he should have known that the smaller the town, the greater the magnification would be.
Louis cut the engine, his mouth twisting in a rueful half smile. Dodie had said he wanted new blood, a fresh attitude. Well, he certainly had gotten it. Hell, it didn’t matter. These weren’t his kind of people and this wasn’t his kind of place. He didn’t plan to spend one day more in Black Pool than he had to. But for now, he and Dodie were stuck with each other.
Bessie was still awake and called to him when he came in. He hung up his damp jacket on the hall tree and went into the living room.
Bessie called it “the parlor,” and it was a warm room, like the rest of the house, even though the children who had filled it with laughter were long gone. Tiffany-style lamps illuminated the corners and sheer Priscilla curtains billowed over each window. Rugs that had seen the feet of Bessie’s grandparents covered the polished hardwood floors.
Bessie was sitting in her usual chair, reading the newspaper. “You look tired, Louis,” she said, setting the paper aside. “Come sit with me for a while.”
He dropped into a lumpy sofa. Bessie got up and padded off to the kitchen, returning with a cup of coffee for him. He thanked her, gripping it in his cold hands.
“Your mother was awake today, Louis. She asked for you.”
He took a sip of the coffee. “I’ll go see her…in a while.”
She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something. Finally, she went back to her chair and sat down. The room was silent except for a muted clang from the furnace deep in the basement.
“Louis?”
“Hmmm?”
“It don’t do no good to keep things bottled up inside you.”
“I’m not bottling up anything, Bessie.”
“Then why you avoiding talking to your mama, Louis?”
He didn’t answer. When he looked up, it was right into Bessie’s eyes.
“I knew you when you was just a child,” she said gently. “I’ve known your mother since we were little. What happened to you was a sorry thing, dear Lord, but you can’t carry all that anger, you just can’t.”
Louis looked away.
“She needs you now,” Bessie said softly.
He shook his head slowly. “Well, I needed her once, too, Bessie. And where was she? Hiding in a bottle.”
“Louis…Louis…”
He set the coffee cup on the table, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him. It had been a long day, first finding the new body and the trip to Jackson and back. He didn’t mean to be abrupt with Bessie, but he didn’t want to talk about Lila now.
“It wasn’t easy for you, Louis, I know that,” Bessie said.
“I don’t believe in looking back, Bessie,” Louis said.
“I know. But everyone’s got a past, some more hurtful than others, and it ain’t healthy to run from it. If you do, it’ll just keep following you around, like a ghost.” He could feel Bessie’s eyes on him. “There comes a time, Louis, when a person’s gotta just stand his ground and face it,” she said.
When the furnace went off, the drafts quickly took over the old house. Louis shivered slightly.
“You want more coffee?” Bessie asked.
Louis shook his head slowly, staring into the cup. It was several moments before he spoke.
“What was he like, Bessie?”
Bessie didn’t have to ask who Louis was asking about. She shook her head’ derisively. “Jordan Kincaid was trash, Louis, jus’ like all Lila’s men. Your sister Yolanda’s daddy was trash, too, I suppose. He done took off, too.”
Louis sat back against the cushion. Bessie’s bare honesty hurt, yet somehow brought him relief at the same time.
“Why?” Louis said softly. “Why, in the fifties, in a place like this, did a black woman get herself hooked up with a white man?”
“‘Cause she didn’t know no better. Or maybe she did and she just didn’t care. But it didn’t work, Louis. Neither of them could take the meanness.” She paused, looking at Louis sadly. “Jordan Kincaid wasn’t your father in any real way, Louis. He hung around long enough to seed you and then he was gone, like he had gotten a taste of her and then he went on to the next one. That man left you nothing but a cross to bear.” She smiled slightly. “That and those gray eyes of yours.”
And the name Kincaid, Louis thought, even though he knew that Jordan and Lila were never legally married. Interracial marriages had been illegal in Mississippi in the fifties, and remained so until 1967. Louis carried the name Kincaid because that’s what Lila had put on the birth certificate. She used the name Kincaid to this day, just as he did, even though he had been raised by the Lawrences.
Empty spaces, there were so many empty spaces in his memories. And questions, so very many questions. He had managed to keep the questions buried all these years, but the spaces were getting harder to ignore.
“What happened when he left?” Louis asked.
Bessie shook her head. “I can’t say, really. When Jordan came into the picture, your mama changed and we kinda lost touch. A black woman and a white man, it just wasn’t done, and there was a lot of meanness…a lot of meanness.”
Bessie paused. Louis waited.
“Things got worse after you was bom, and neither of them was strong enough to take it. Jordan left, and your mama was never the same after that, Louis. I think maybe she just gave up.” Louis thought about his sister Yolanda and his brother Robert. He thought about Frances Lawrence and her willingness to accept a strange child into her home. “Why were we taken away from Lila?” he asked Bessie.
Bessie shifted her bulk uneasily. “Things was real poor for you children. Lila was drinking and wasn’t fit to tend you. It got so bad, we just couldn’t help no more. Yolanda went to your aunt Jenny, and Robert was took in by your mama’s grandma, till she passed, and then by a friend.”
Louis looked deep into Bessie’s eyes and knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Why was I the only one put in a foster home?”
Bessie heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t know how else to say it, Louis.” She paused, rubbing her hands. “It was ‘cause you was half white.”
His eyes held hers for a moment, then he lowered his head, resting his elbows on his knees. “You were ashamed of me,” he murmured. “Weren’t you?”
“No, Louis,” Bessie said softly. “We wanted the best for you. We just didn’t know what else to do.”
“Yeah…” he muttered.
Bessie slowly got up from the chair. She went to the bookcase, pulled out a large volume and came back to sit down beside Louis. “I want you to see this,” she said, spreading it open on her knees.
From out of the old photo album, the face of a beautiful woman looked back at Louis. In the sepia-toned photograph, he could see the sparkle in her dark eyes, a lovely seductiveness in her smile. A satin ribbon curled downward to her shoulder from black curly hair.
“Your grandfather had this taken when Lila was eighteen,” Bessie said, running her hand over the plastic covering. “He wanted to send it off to magazines and movie studios, but there was little call for black actresses back then. I remember he said it cost him three weeks’ pay. It’s yours, if you want it.”
Louis stared at the photograph. He did not remember his mother like this. It was too stark a contrast to the sloppy drunk he knew. He took the book from her and closed it gently. “You keep it, Bessie,” he said. “You obviously see more in it than I do.”
He stood up, and Bessie grabbed his hand. “Things was hard back then,” she said. “People get tired and selfish and do weak things.”
She paused, her eyes soft. It almost looked like pity, and Louis felt both touched and uncomfortable. “You have strong convictions, Louis,” she said. “And that’s good in a man. But a man gotta have forgiveness to go with that. Let God do the judgin’, Louis, not you.”
Louis looked down at her hand holding his own. “I don’t know why I’m here, Bessie,” he said softly.
“Jesus knows, Louis,” Bessie said. “Jesus has brought you here for a reason. And if you open your heart, he will show you that reason.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Your mama is dying. Now is the time for forgiveness. Pray with me, Louis.”
He looked down into her face, then gently pulled his hand away. His eyes went toward the staircase. “Is she awake?”
Bessie shook her head. “The medicine has put her to sleep. She’ll ask for you again in the morning.”
He felt suddenly tired to his bones. He nodded and took a step away. Hesitating, he bent awkwardly to kiss Bessie’s cheek. “Good night,” he said.
He went quietly up the stairs and paused outside Lila’s door. Hearing nothing, he went into his room, closing the door behind him.
Junior knocked on the door and then stuck his head into Dodie’s office. Dodie was on the phone and looked up, a pained expression on his face. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand.
“What you want?” he asked in irritation.
“We gotta talk. Uncle,” Junior said.
Dodie frowned and motioned for Junior to sit. He turned his attention back to the phone.
“Yeah…yeah…I heard ya, Walt,” he said. He reached for his cigar and propped the phone on his shoulder while he fumbled for his lighter. “I don’t need you hollerin’ at me about this.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “Yeah…I won’t.” He hung up loudly.
Junior propped his feet up on the sheriff’s desk and leaned back in his chair. “That the mayor?” Junior asked.
Dodie gave him a long, withering look. “He’s riled about those damn bones. Wants to know what we’re doing about them.”
“We ain’t doing nothing,” Junior said, pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket.
Dodie looked at him oddly, then went back to searching for his lighter.<
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“Listen, Uncle, we gotta talk about Louis. It’s important.”
“Not now.”
Junior let the chair thud back to the floor, and leaned forward. “You gotta do something about him. Uncle. I’m telling ya, he threatened me.”
“I can’t see Kincaid threatening nobody.”
“Well, when we was in Jackson, he pulled rank on me, right there in front of everybody.”
“You were probably provokin’ him. Junior.” Dodie started rummaging through a drawer. “Now, I keep telling you, Kincaid is here, whether you, or me—or anybody in this town—likes it or not. So I want you to just shut up and deal with it, for the time being at least.”
Junior got up from the chair. “But you should have seen the way he talked to me in front of that lab guy—”
“And I suppose you did nothin’ to make yourself look like an ass, did you?” Dodie said sarcastically. “I suppose you conducted yourself like a fine professional jus’ to show those Jackson boys that we’re not the hicks they think we are.”
“Uncle Dodie…”
Dodie jerked open another drawer, still looking for the lighter. “I don’t need you jawing at me about Kincaid, Junior,” he said, cigar clenched in his teeth. “Need I remind you that this is an election year. The sheriff is an elected official of this town. You know what I’m saying. Junior? No Sheriff Dodie, no Junior.”
Junior leaned forward, jabbing a finger at Dodie. “I never thought I’d see the day when a member of my own family would let a nigger walk all over him,” Junior said angrily. “I’ll tell you something. Uncle, you don’t put him in his place now, it’ll be Sheriff Kincaid next fall.”
“Don’t you point at me!” Dodie slammed the drawer shut, making Junior jump back from the desk. “Goddamn it, where’s my fuckin’ lighter?!” he thundered.
A tap on the glass made Dodie look up at the door. Dodie could see the outline through the frosted glass.
Louis poked his head in the door. “Good morning. Sheriff. Figured you’d want to see me.”
“Yeah, come in. Sit down, Kincaid.” He glanced at Junior. “You too.”
Junior slumped into a chair. Louis hesitated, then sat down. The sheriff set the cigar down in the ashtray.
