Pieces of Why Page 11

  She handed me the paper and ever so slowly, I unfolded the creases and smoothed it out against my leg. It was a flyer, and all around the edges were butterflies.

  The Butterfly Foundation

  invites you to

  our annual fund-raiser at

  Audubon Park

  to benefit families who have been the victims of violence

  August 4

  12:00 to 4:00 P.M.

  Food, entertainment, and fun!

  I took a deep, shuddering breath, remembering the angry stares at June Fest. Someone from the Morton family had been there and I hadn’t even known it? I tried to remember if I’d seen butterflies on any of the posters around the courtyard, but I couldn’t recall. Why would Mr. Morton ask me to sing the lead when he’d seen me fail so spectacularly that night?

  I shook my head. Maybe I’d tell Ms. Marion about the invitation, but even if the Rainbow Choir sang, I didn’t plan on showing up. It was too much to ask.

  I understood why my mother had crumpled up the paper. How could we possibly go to a fund-raiser organized by Danielle’s family?

  But another question lingered behind that one.

  How could they have invited us?

  CHAPTER 23

  ON SATURDAY I went over to Keisha’s place and found her on the couch watching TV in her pajamas. Her hair was sticking up, and she was watching reruns on the Cartoon Network. The TV blared, and she wouldn’t turn it off even when I suggested we go up to her room and listen to music instead.

  “Nah,” she said. “I’m watching this.”

  “SpongeBob reruns?”

  “Yeah.”

  She was crunching on Doritos even though it was only ten a.m.

  “Did you talk to Khalil?” I asked.

  “Yup,” she said, popping the p sound. “I broke up with him, of course, and he said he was sorry and it was all Mary-Kate’s fault, and he’d never do it again. Blah, blah, blah.” She rolled her eyes. “Can’t trust fools like him. They say what you want to hear, and if you’re stupid enough to believe it, they’ll suck you right back in. But I’m not gonna be a fool twice.”

  I plopped down on the couch beside her.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” Keisha said, but she sounded hard. Then she softened a little. “What happened with your mama? Was it bad?”

  “Beyond bad,” I said. “Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it. We had the hugest fight ever. Ma cried. And she slapped me.”

  “She did what?!”

  I nodded. “Told you it was bad. But the good news is, we finally talked about my father. She told me what happened after . . . you know . . . afterward. There was stuff I hadn’t remembered until she said it—horrible stuff like my dad bringing home the gun and Ma screaming when she heard what he’d done—but I’m glad I finally have my memories back.”

  “Why would you want to remember stuff like that?” Keisha asked.

  I shrugged. “I guess it’s like you said when you first told me about my father being a murderer. It’s better to know the truth.”

  Keisha frowned. “I’m not so sure I feel that way anymore. Sometimes the truth sucks.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But without it . . . I’ve decided I’m going to ask Ma about visiting my dad.”

  Keisha sat up. “You’re gonna do what?!” I couldn’t believe the fire in her eyes. “I thought we decided you wouldn’t do that, and now you’re telling me you’re going to see that . . . that . . .”

  She was searching for just the right hateful word.

  “He’s my father,” I argued. “I thought you’d agree that I can’t hide like my mom. If she says she’ll take me to the prison, then I want to go.”

  “Making a smart decision isn’t the same thing as hiding,” Keisha said, enunciating the words. “Your father is a user and a liar, and you’re giving him a signed invitation to walk all over your heart. You think he’s not going to talk and talk, trying to get you to see him more often? Do you truly believe he’s not going to say everything you ever wanted to hear? Why would you even think you could trust that man?”

  She stood up and stormed out of the living room, and I was left sitting on the sofa with my mouth hanging open. Dwayne came in carrying Jerome and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, whistling softly through his teeth.

  “Hoo-boy, we men are bad news,” he said. “Bad, bad, bad.” He bounced Jerome on one knee. “You bad news, son? ’Cause I think you’re trouble just waiting to happen.” Jerome was wearing a green onesie and a hat with puppy dog ears. Dwayne turned to me. “He looks like trouble, doesn’t he? I mean, look at those big, brown deceivin’ eyes. Look at this bad-boy getup.”

  “Da,” Jerome said, and Dwayne’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You hear that? What kind of lies are you spewing?”

  Jerome grinned a great big drooly smile, and I laughed despite everything.

  Dwayne laughed too, and then he looked at me. “Don’t mind Keisha. She’s a bit worked up right now, but she’ll get over it. Did I hear you say you’re going to ask about visiting your father?”

  I nodded and Dwayne thought it over.

  “I’m not going to lie,” he said. “You can’t watch a woman cry the way your mama cried and not hate the source of those tears just a tiny bit. I used to watch you and Keisha so Evette could sit with your mother at the courthouse, and you got real quiet during those months. You bounced back, but never to the same point you’d started. I remember when you and Keisha were both these squirming, laughing, screaming, running-around, singing, dancing little girls with hardly a care in the world, and then . . .”

  Dwayne sighed.

  “I became disturbed?”

  “No,” Dwayne said, poking me hard. “Loretta . . . she doesn’t know all that she thinks she knows. There will always be people who want to judge, but no one knows what will come out of adversity. It’s different for every single person. Some people turn hard, and others, well . . . Want to know what came out for you?”

  I nodded.

  “Your voice. After your father went to prison, you started to sing like Mahalia, something deep and powerful flowing out of that tiny body. First time I heard you sing like that, I was looking around the house to see where the stereo had gotten moved to.” He laughed. “Then I came around a corner and there you were. Nearly knocked me off my feet.”

  “I thought I’d always been able to sing,” I said, but Dwayne wagged his finger.

  “Oh, you could always sing,” he said, “but before your daddy went to prison, you sang the notes, and afterward you sang with heart. Anyway,” Dwayne said, “for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

  Dwayne poked me in my sternum. “You’re strong, Tia. Right here at your core.” He glanced up the stairs. “My princess is strong too; she just doesn’t remember it right now. But she will.”

  I got up and hugged Dwayne tight, scooping Jerome into the embrace. “Thanks.”

  Dwayne grinned. “Don’t mention it. We men have our moments, don’t we? I mean, most of the time we’re just full-on rotten.” He made a mean face. “We’re bad, bad Leroy Browns. Baddest men in the whole dang town.”

  “Da,” Jerome said.

  I smiled, feeling the shadow of a song creeping in, right where Dwayne had poked me.

  I went home and for the rest of the day I tried to do normal things, but all I could think about was Keisha. Didn’t feel right for us to fight. Not after all that had happened.

  That night I called her cell phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Keisha?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s me. Tia.”

  Keisha sighed. “Duh. You think I don’t know your voice?” She was short and snappy, as if I’d annoyed her.

  “I wanted to know if
we could talk.”

  Keisha was quiet.

  “Listen,” I said. “I get that my father probably doesn’t deserve anything—not even a visit—but he’s the only father I’ve got.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” Keisha said at last. “If you visit your father, are you planning on forgiving him? For murder? For leaving you and your mama alone? Could you really let him off the hook for all that?”

  Now it was my turn to be silent.

  “Well?” Keisha prompted.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe deep down, I do want to forgive him. If he’s sorry, I mean.”

  There. I’d made my confession.

  Keisha exploded. “What?! After what he did to that little girl and her family . . . Honestly, Tia, he’s a sick, twisted murderer. How could you even sit in the same room with him? You’re so much better off without him, and if you forgive him, it’s like saying that what he did was okay. Would you forgive the men who killed that baby?”

  I wanted to defend my father—say that this was an entirely different situation—but I couldn’t because that wasn’t true. I thought about the Raven woman. What would she think if she knew I wanted to visit my father in jail?

  “I didn’t say I would forgive him,” I said at last. “I just want to talk.”

  “And you don’t think he’ll convince you to come back for more visits? To have some kind of relationship with him?”

  “Would that be so horrible?” I said. “He probably doesn’t even want to see me, but if he does . . . if my own father remembers I exist . . .” I paused. “If you weren’t so angry about Khalil, you’d understand.”

  “Leave Khalil out of this,” Keisha spat. “He hasn’t got anything to do with your stupid butt-brained father.”

  This time those words didn’t sound funny at all.

  “Keisha,” I sputtered. “You’re being selfish. You get a hundred hugs a week from your dad and you take them all for granted. You’ve been treated right for twelve years and now because of this one guy—”

  “Don’t even go there!” Keisha shouted. “You think I’m being selfish? Then how come your mother was on the phone with my mom last night, crying for hours? ’Cause you sure haven’t been thinking of her. As for Khalil . . . at least the guy I fooled around with was hot, unlike Kenny, who’s a total nerd. At least I’ve kissed someone.”

  Keisha was hitting below the belt, and she knew it. But I could hit below the belt too. “Yeah?” I said. “And you’ve done a whole lot more than that, so how’s it working out for you?”

  We both went silent.

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but Keisha sniffed loudly on the other end. “A best friend would never say that,” she said.

  “A best friend wouldn’t judge me for wanting to visit my father.”

  “Fine,” Keisha said. “Then maybe we’re not best friends anymore.”

  “Maybe we’re not.”

  Keisha snorted. “Hope you and your dad enjoy each other.”

  Then the phone went dead with a final click.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE LAST THING I wanted was to see Keisha again so soon after our fight, but the next night was Monday, so I didn’t have a choice. I went over to Keisha’s place as usual, but there was nothing usual about the visit. Keisha stayed in her room all afternoon while I sat in front of the television. The whole time, Ms. Evette made disapproving noises under her breath.

  When dinner rolled around, Keisha and I sat at opposite ends of the table.

  “Could I have the salt please?” I asked, a little too gruffly.

  The salt was next to Keisha’s plate, but she didn’t move to pass it. Dwayne raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” Keisha said. “She was asking you, not me.”

  “Watch that tone,” Dwayne warned. He and Ms. Evette shared an exasperated look, and Keisha glared as if it were my fault she’d gotten scolded. She slid the salt across the table, then waited a minute before fixing me with a stare.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to pass it back?”

  “You didn’t ask for it,” I snapped. “How was I supposed to know you wanted salt?”

  “Because it was sitting by my plate!”

  “Then you should have used it before you passed it to me.”

  “Maybe you should have thought to ask if I was done with it!”

  “Why do I always have to be the thoughtful one?”

  “Why do I always have to help you out?”

  “I don’t need you to do anything for me!”

  “Well, I don’t need you either because—”

  That’s when Ms. Evette blew through her teeth in the loudest, shrillest whistle I’d ever heard. “Enough!”

  Jerome started to cry and Dwayne made a face that said we were in for it now. Ms. Evette stood up, took both of our full plates away, and put them on the kitchen counter.

  “The two of you,” she said slowly, “are going upstairs to Keisha’s bedroom to work this out. If you succeed before bedtime, you may come down and finish your dinners. If not, these plates can be your breakfasts, your lunches, or tomorrow’s dinners. I don’t care if they grow green mold on them. Now go.”

  Keisha and I glared at each other and neither of us moved, but then Dwayne cleared his throat. “You heard the queen,” he said. “Go on.”

  Keisha ran up the stairs, but I took my time. When I reached her room the door was shut, but since I didn’t have anyplace else to go, I opened it and went in. Keisha was lying facedown on her bed, taking up the entire space. I sat at her desk and turned on the laptop, staring at the screen.

  Half an hour passed. Then forty-five minutes.

  Ms. Evette came upstairs and stuck her head inside the door. She looked from me to Keisha. “Okay,” she said. “Your dinners are getting cold and slimy. And yes, you will be eating your collard greens no matter what time of day I serve your meals.” The door shut loudly behind her.

  Keisha balled up her fist and smacked the bed.

  Half an hour after that, Dwayne snuck the door open and sent Jerome crawling inside. He kept making little gurgly sounds, and then he pulled himself up so he could walk while holding on to the side of the bed. He grinned because he was so proud of his big accomplishment. No matter how mean and ugly I wanted to be, it’s nearly impossible to be mad when a baby is around.

  I smiled at the same time as Keisha, but then we both stopped. Keisha picked up Jerome and handed him back out to Dwayne.

  “Leave us alone, Dad.”

  Dwayne said, “Huh? What? Oh, did Jerome get in there? What a sneaky little guy.” He swooped Jerome up. “Were you in there being cute? Darn you! Enough with the innocent act. You get away from me again and . . .” Dwayne placed Jerome back inside the room, and Jerome waved his arms while making a raspberry.

  I stifled a smile as Keisha picked him up, saying, “I told you—”

  “It’s not me,” Dwayne said, throwing both hands in the air. “It’s him. Holler at your baby brother.”

  Keisha plopped Jerome into Dwayne’s arms and then she tried to push Dwayne down the hall. “Go away!”

  Dwayne dug in his heels so Keisha had to stand there with her hands on his back and her feet slipping on the carpet, like a cartoon character. Dwayne just laughed before hopping away quick so Keisha went sprawling. Jerome giggled and pointed.

  “You’re rotten,” Keisha shouted. “That was so mean.”

  “Baddest boys in the whole dang town,” Dwayne sang, walking down the hall with Jerome.

  Keisha got up and brushed off her shorts, and then she came back in and shut the door, shaking her head. “I swear. Can’t a girl be mad around here?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “This is our first real fight and they won’t even let us have it in peace.”

  Keisha’s face broke into a tiny, fleeting smile. “Do
you even remember what we were fighting about?”

  I shrugged. “I think it was because you made a mistake with Khalil and I threw it in your face, which was pretty awful, considering how many mistakes I’ve made and you’ve never done that.”

  Keisha sat down on the floor and leaned against her bed. “Nah,” she said at last. “I think it was because you want to visit your dad and instead of being supportive, I judged you for it.”

  I sighed. “I understand why you hate my father. Most of me hates him too. But this other little part wishes none of this had ever happened, so he could have just been my dad. You know?”

  “Sort of,” Keisha said. She paused. “Tia? Will you promise not to get mad if I tell you something?”

  “I guess.”

  Keisha glanced at me sideways. “When I found out what your father did,” Keisha said, “I thought your mother was really weak. I kept wondering why she got together with him in the first place, and how come she didn’t stop him, as if she should have seen the murder coming. Plus, I’ve always thought she was wrong for not going out and doing stuff with you.”

  Keisha shook her head.

  “But now I’m sorry I judged her, ’cause I didn’t see trouble coming with Khalil, and everyone in choir has been texting about it, laughing at how stupid I was not to see that he was playing me. And that whole time I just thought he was perfect. Guess I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  “Keisha,” I said, “first of all, I couldn’t tell about Khalil either. And second of all, I know my dad isn’t perfect.”

  Keisha frowned. “Yeah. But I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I can understand why your mom tried so hard to protect you.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but before I could answer, Keisha sighed. “You know,” she said, “I always assumed I’d be like my mother. I’d be the strong one who would make all the right decisions. And I’d have the fabulous love story. But instead . . .” She looked at me, her eyes watering, and for the first time I could see what I’d been missing all along.