Pieces of Why Page 10

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  “And what the heck would you say to him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’d ask him why he did it and if he’s sorry.”

  Now that I’d said the words out loud, I thought about how good it might feel to hear my father say he was sorry. Maybe Kenny was right.

  Keisha got up and ducked through her window into her bedroom. She grabbed her laptop, then came back out to sit beside me on the staircase. She typed Louisiana State Penitentiary into a search engine, and we both fell silent as the web page came up with a photo of the prison. I had only the one memory of visiting my father, but now the details came back—how big the place had been, and how it had looked like a fortress. There were barbed-wire fences all around, and lots of buildings shaped like X’s. It was strange to look at them and think that somewhere inside, right this very minute, my father was living his life.

  Keisha went to the section that said Visitor Information and scrolled down.

  “Yup,” she said, as if she’d known it all along. “Minors have to be accompanied by an adult. Plus, the adult’s name has to be on the inmate’s approved list of visitors.”

  “What about your mom?” I asked. “You think she’d be on my father’s approved list?”

  Keisha’s mouth fell open. “Are you insane? Besides, she’d never take you there without asking your mother first.”

  I knew Keisha was right.

  “So, I guess I should scratch that idea off the list.”

  “Good,” Keisha said, shutting the laptop and setting it behind us. “And if you were smart, you’d stop doing depressing things and start doing fun ones. Like making out with Kenny. Trust me, that will feel way better than visiting your father.”

  I laughed. “As if you’d know anything about making out,” I teased, kicking her lightly, but she got a funny look on her face.

  My brows dipped into a V.

  “No offense,” Keisha said, shrugging, “but you’re out of the loop. We’ve made out before rehearsal. Twice.”

  I gasped. “With people around? Are you crazy?” My voice shot up an octave and Keisha slapped her hand over my mouth.

  “Quiet before Mama hears you. We were in the adult choir room, so no one saw us.”

  My cheeks burned. “What was it like?”

  “Nice.” Keisha grinned.

  “Wow,” I breathed. I couldn’t believe Keisha had leap-frogged ahead of me. I tried to imagine what it might feel like to make out with Kenny, but I couldn’t quite do it. I shivered.

  Keisha noticed and laughed. “You’re thinking about Kenny, aren’t you?”

  I blushed and Keisha grinned. “Just wait. We’re gonna get all this stuff figured out and then next time we travel for a concert, me and Khalil and you and Kenny can steal the back seats of the bus, and canoodle the whole way. Then we’ll sing so loud that everyone in New Orleans will hear about the Rainbow Choir, and we’ll never be short of members again. Amen.”

  Me and Keisha leaned back against the stairs, and I looked up into the branches of the magnolia tree high above us, trying to imagine God sitting among the stars listening to Keisha’s wish turned prayer and deciding whether or not we were worthy of making out with boys in the backseat of a bus.

  Then I thought about Ma, sitting on the steps of her high school, smiling up at her boyfriend like he hung the moon. Was that how Keisha looked at Khalil? Made the hairs on my arms stand up straight, so I decided to change Keisha’s prayer. God, I prayed, forget about the bus. Just don’t bring Keisha any trouble.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE NEXT MORNING, we were listening to music in Keisha’s room. It was raining outside and every now and then a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. We’d cracked Keisha’s window just enough to let in a little bit of cool air, and it smelled like mud puddles with an occasional whiff of magnolia.

  I was on YouTube looking for silly videos, and Keisha was sprawled on her bed, texting Khalil fast and furious.

  “Oooh,” Keisha said. “He’s lovin’ me.”

  She typed something back, and then giggled as another text message chimed.

  “He says I’m the best-looking girl in New Orleans, but I’m typing, ‘Only New Orleans?’”

  A minute later she grinned. “Okay. Now he says the whole world.” She turned to me. “Think I should say I want to be Miss Universe? Or wait, maybe I can tell him he’s Mr. Universe to me.”

  Keisha and I both groaned at how corny that sounded.

  “Lame,” I said. “Try something else.”

  Keisha nibbled at the plastic casing of her phone. “I’ve got it,” she said after a minute had passed. But before she could type anything, her phone chimed again.

  “Silly boy,” she muttered. “I can’t even keep up.” Then she paused, frowning slightly. “He says he wants to meet me tonight. We’ve never gotten together outside of choir before.” She shrugged. “Guess you can’t blame him for wanting something extra.”

  “Tell him he’ll have to wait,” I said, typing the words singing cats. “It’s pouring outside.”

  Keisha frowned. “He’s telling me he wants to kiss me,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy this time. She sounded confused, and that made my stomach twist into a knot. Keisha’s eyes narrowed. “He says I promised we’d meet at the library uptown if he took the streetcar.”

  “Did you say that?”

  “Of course not! Why the heck would I want to meet uptown?”

  “So if he’s not replying to you, then . . .”

  Keisha’s jaw fell open as another text message chimed in. “Mary-Kate?” she read aloud. Keisha’s eyes shot open and she hurled her phone across the room. If it didn’t have the shatter-proof case, it would have broken for sure. “He’s fooling around with Mary-Kate?” she repeated. “How . . . since when?” She was sputtering, her cheeks flushed with rage.

  A message chimed, and then a minute later her phone rang, but neither of us moved to answer it.

  “That jerk!” I breathed. Even though I wasn’t the one who’d gotten cheated on, my heart still raced. “How could he do that?”

  “So, this whole time he’s been texting me,” Keisha said, as if she was still trying to piece things together, “he’s also been texting Mary-Kate?” Her breathing was ragged and her fists clenched. “But she’s so stuck-up! Why would he want to fool around with her?”

  The phone had stopped ringing, but now it started again, making us both jump. Keisha shook her head numbly. “I let that boy touch me,” she whispered, “like he had some right to, and now . . . Do you think I’m not a good enough kisser?”

  I got up and sat beside Keisha on the bed, putting my arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “Mary-Kate probably stole him away on purpose just to be mean. You know she hates us both. If he fell for her act, he’s a loser.”

  Keisha threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in her pillow.

  “I’m the loser,” she said, her voice muffled. “Why did I ever trust him? I let him talk me into—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence, and I wondered if Keisha had done more than she was telling me. But this wasn’t the time to ask, so I rubbed her back instead. “You couldn’t have known. He seemed so cool, and I swear he liked you.”

  Keisha sobbed, and a minute later, her bedroom door opened and Ms. Evette stepped inside. She had Jerome with her, and she set him down on the floor beside me.

  “This is about that boy,” Ms. Evette said, like it wasn’t even a question. I moved over so she could scoop Keisha up.

  “Now you listen to me,” she said. “Both of you. There are a lot of boys out there who will do you wrong, but there are also a lot of them who will do right by you. Most of the time you’ll know the difference, but if you make a mistake, you’ve got to know in your heart
that he’s the fool who’s losing out.”

  Keisha only cried harder, so Ms. Evette took her by the shoulders.

  “You are my beautiful daughter, and the boy you end up with will be blessed to have you. So this little . . . twerp . . . who’s passed you up, or done whatever stupid thing he’s done, well, he just missed out on being the luckiest boy alive.”

  This made Keisha sniff a tiny bit, and then Jerome crawled over and put his finger up her nose.

  “Jerome!” she sputtered.

  Keisha’s phone chimed again and Ms. Evette picked it up. She looked like she wanted to hurl it too, but she just turned it off.

  “I came up to tell you that Tia’s mother would like her to come home.”

  There was something in her tone that shot a ripple of fear down my spine. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Ms. Evette paused. “Your mama didn’t sound too happy, hon.”

  Keisha and I stared at each other, our eyes saying all the things our mouths couldn’t. Finally, I whispered one tiny plea.

  “But I can’t leave Keisha.”

  Ms. Evette patted my shoulder. “I’ll take care of Keisha,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Dwayne’s waiting to walk you home.”

  I guessed Ms. Evette knew more than she was telling. I also guessed that Ma calling me home early so soon after I’d visited Danielle Morton’s house was more than a coincidence.

  Somehow, my mother knew.

  CHAPTER 22

  WHEN I GOT home, Ma was waiting in the kitchen, her body rigid. Dwayne walked me inside, shaking out his huge orange-and-black umbrella, and then he squeezed my shoulder. “I know this is a difficult time for you,” he said, “but just remember that things will work out in the long run. They always do.”

  I wanted to believe that, but I knew bad stuff didn’t go away simply because time passed. Sometimes it got worse.

  The moment Dwayne left, my mother pointed to a chair. “Sit,” she commanded. I took the high-backed wooden chair at the kitchen table, my hands trembling. Outside, a siren wailed and another clap of thunder made the thin walls of our house shake.

  “How could you?” Ma rumbled.

  Nothing echoes like those words. I didn’t say anything, unsure of what she knew.

  “He came by the store today,” Ma said. A sob choked in her throat and she put the back of her wrist up to her mouth to stop it. “That little girl’s grandfather came to the Winn-Dixie and asked for me because apparently my daughter—”

  She stopped, struggling to speak through her fury. “Because my daughter paid them a visit,” Ma hissed. She said the words as if she thought it was as bad as breaking into the Mortons’ house like my father had all those years before.

  “How could you do such a thing?” Ma demanded. “Do you think our family hasn’t done them enough harm?”

  “You never told me the truth!” I yelled.

  “Told you the truth? Everything I’ve done has been to allow you to forget! And now the first thing you do after you find out is to march over to the Mortons’ house? What were you thinking? How long have you known?”

  “Long enough,” I snapped. “But I didn’t go to Danielle’s house to hurt anyone.”

  Ma flinched when I said Danielle’s name. “What was it, then?” she spat. “Curiosity? Fascination?” Her words dripped with shame.

  “You certainly weren’t thinking about the Mortons, but did you give a single thought to me? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to see that man again? I can’t imagine how he knew where I worked, but there he was all tender and concerned like I’ve lost control of yet another one of my—”

  This time the sob came out loud and full, and it seemed to take even Ma by surprise. Her shoulders shook and she fell to her knees on the kitchen floor. It wasn’t pretty crying. Her mouth hung open for a second before she could contain the wail, and then she just stayed there, rocking back and forth as the rain beat against the kitchen window. A trickle of water forced its way through a crack in the seal and streamed down the wall and onto the linoleum.

  I got up and walked over to Ma, not sure whether I should try to comfort her or not. Gingerly, I reached my arms around her, but she pushed me away. Hard. I stumbled backward, feeling as if my house of cards was finally falling over.

  “Ma,” I pleaded when her sobs had slowed down. “Please.”

  I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for, but Ma shook her head.

  “You have no idea, Tia,” she said. “You don’t have any idea what it was like, and all I want is to put this whole thing behind us, but apparently that’s too much to ask. Your father broke my heart, and he sure as hell broke their hearts, and now you go dredging everything up after all this time. Why? Why would you do that?”

  The trickle of water was turning into a stream, spreading across the kitchen floor, but I didn’t move. Ma stood up and leaned against the refrigerator as the water trailed between us.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I whispered at last. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. It’s just that you never talked about what happened, and I have so many questions.”

  Ma’s face was hard. “Don’t make excuses.”

  “I’m not,” I sputtered. “I just wanted answers and I didn’t think—”

  “You’re darn right you didn’t think,” Ma interrupted. “You were just being a sightseer.” She said that word like it was the worst word that had ever been invented. “Do you have any idea how many sightseers came around after your father went to prison? People came by to sneer, to spit on our porch steps, to smash the car window . . . All of those judging eyes: my coworkers at the store, folks at church, people on the street when I was walking you to school. Do you really think you would’ve had a better life if I’d told you what your father did?”

  I shivered uncontrollably. “Maybe if I’d known all along . . .”

  “What good would that have done?” Ma snapped. “I’ve given up everything to keep this mess away from you. You think I wouldn’t like to go out and do things like any normal person? But the last thing you need is me there, reminding everyone what happened.”

  I stared in disbelief.

  “Is that why you never go to my concerts? Or June Fest? Or school functions?”

  “Somebody has to protect you!”

  I took a step toward Ma.

  “You call that protecting me?” I hollered. “Maybe if you’d gone and let people stare, they would’ve gotten over it eight years ago and I could have had at least one of my parents around.”

  That’s when Ma slapped me. Her hand shot out so quick, I never saw it coming. Thunder crashed again, as if the outside world was trying to cover up what Ma had just done, one sound canceling out the other, but the falsetto pitch of the slap was louder than the bass of the thunder.

  I froze.

  Ma half lifted her hand as if she might try to smooth away the sting, but then she put it down again. A gust of wind smacked sheets of rain against the window, and I had a crazy urge to grab the cast-iron pan from the stove and smash the glass, letting all the wind and rain howl inside.

  Ma’s face flushed a deep pink.

  “You want to know everything?” she said at last, her chest heaving. “Fine. Your father shot a girl and came home with blood on his hands. It dripped on the floor right where you’re standing, and when he told me what he’d done, I screamed so loud, you hid in the closet behind the brooms and dust mop, and I couldn’t get you to come out for the rest of the night. And you know what I did, Tia? I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed that girl’s blood off the floor. Took me days.”

  I should have been shocked, but as soon as the words were out of my mother’s mouth, I remembered. The memories blossomed like the blood that had dripped off my father’s wrist.

  He’d brought home the gun, wanting Ma to get rid of it, and they’d fought a
bout whether or not she should help him because that would make her an accomplice, and if she went to prison, who would be left to take care of me?

  I remembered the sounds of their voices. The sweaty, filthy smell of my father. My mother’s hysterical scream. The cloying heat of the closet, and the slam of the front door when my father finally left.

  The memories were all there, exactly where they had always been.

  Locked inside.

  I stumbled to the table and sat down hard on a kitchen chair. I waited for the tears, but they didn’t come. Leaking rainwater swirled around me, but I felt parched and dry as a bone. Finally, Ma came over, and this time she really did reach out to stroke my cheek, right where it stung from the slap.

  “I’m sorry, Tia,” she said at last. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

  She put her arms around me, and for a long time we simply held each other tight, listening to the rain. I thought I might never speak again, but eventually I forced a single word from my throat.

  “Why?”

  Ma seemed to understand what I meant.

  “I don’t know,” Ma whispered back. “I don’t think your father even knows.”

  We sat there in silence again, exhaustion overtaking us both. Ma shook her head. “I swore I’d never raise a hand to you,” she said. “I wish I could take it back.”

  As if life gave do-overs.

  We both knew better.

  I curled my feet under me, trying to warm them up. “The old man,” I said at last, “was he angry? Did he hate me for going over there?”

  Ma sighed. “No,” she said at last. “He said he was sorry that he scared you.” She shook her head. “I’ve never apologized to them. Once I sent an anonymous card that said I was sorry for their loss, but I didn’t think they’d want to hear from me, and in the courtroom things were always so . . . tense.

  “I should have been the one to say I was sorry, and instead there he was all these years later apologizing to me at the counter of the Winn-Dixie.” Her chin dropped. “Oh, Tia. I’m such a coward.”

  She reached into her pocket and took out a piece of yellow paper that had been crumpled into a ball. “Mr. Morton asked me to give you this,” she said. “I was so angry, I wasn’t going to tell you, but you deserve to know.” She paused. “He said he heard the Rainbow Choir sing at June Fest, and he wondered if you might participate in their fund-raiser. He’s especially interested in you singing the lead.”