Pieces of Why (13 page)

B
Y THURSDAY
afternoon, Ma still hadn't given me an answer about the choir. She'd made some calls about visiting my father, and I supposed that would have to be enough. I'd get to look him in the eyes after eight years and ask him why. Maybe the answer would make things better.

Or maybe it would make things worse.

Ma and I moved around the kitchen like two magnets with the same charge, silently pushing apart even though we wanted to connect. We made our meals and I washed a few dishes, but it was awkward right up until the moment Ma had to leave for work. She stood in the doorway in her store uniform with her purse tucked under her arm. Hovering.

“Are you going to tell Ms. Marion about the invitation tonight?” she asked at last.

I frowned. “Yeah. I won't tell her I'll sing the lead or anything, but . . . the rest of the choir should have a chance to do it, right?”

Ma paused. “Right.” She nodded. “Good decision. Smart.” She turned as if she were going to leave, but then she stopped again. Her mouth opened and shut as if she'd meant to say something. Finally she said, “You'll be careful walking to the church? Don't talk to strangers and—”

I groaned. “I know, Ma. You say the same thing every time. I think I've got it by now.”

Ma walked over and kissed the top of my head. “It's not you I don't trust, it's—”

“People like my father. Uh-huh.”

I finally knew how that sentence ended, but Ma's eyes opened wide, as if even now she hadn't expected me to understand. She sucked in a breath, and then forced a thin smile. “Okay, then. Have fun tonight.”

I shrugged. Seemed like a long time since anything had been fun. I remembered what Ms. Marion had said that day in my lesson about how some people needed joy in order to create. Was I one of them? Did that mean I might never create anything beautiful again? If I wasn't brave enough to sing for Danielle's family, and I wasn't good enough to sing for the Raven woman, then what was the point?

At that moment, joy seemed impossibly far away.

When the clock hit five, I left my house, locking the door behind me. I followed my usual path, trying to push away the oppressive gray of the sky and the hopeless feeling in
my heart. As always, I took the shortcut straight through No Man's-Land.

The temperature was 102, so I had on jean shorts and flip-flops, but as I got nearer, I wished I'd worn long pants despite the heat. I could see the men watching me as I approached, and I willed myself not to turn around.

They were sitting on the steps of the abandoned building drinking beer, just like always, but this time instead of studying my feet, I made myself look at them.

There were five men, three older and two younger, and one of the older ones wore a tropical shirt and a straw hat. They were laughing and joking, tipping back their drinks like they were at a summer barbecue.

“Hey baby,” one of the young guys called out. I recognized him immediately. He was the guy who'd aimed his fingers in the shape of a gun. My palms started to sweat, and I almost broke into a run.

“Come on over!” He held out his beer, as if there was even the slightest chance I would take it. But this time, one of the older guys swatted him upside the head.

“Knock it off. Leave that girl alone.”

“What?” the young guy said. “Why you messing with my mojo?”

“'Cause you're being a fool as always.”

They broke out in a chorus of laughter, but it wasn't at my
expense, and for the first time I wondered if maybe these guys weren't as dangerous as they'd seemed. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't going to stop and chat, but my heart quit pounding out of my chest, and instead of sprinting the rest of the way to church, I kept a steady pace.

Then, just like that, I was off their radar, moving past them, on my own.

For once I was early to choir, and I was surprised that Keisha was too. And Kenny. Seemed odd, since Keisha had dance class right before, and Kenny came straight from practice, but it felt good to walk into the sanctuary and see my two best friends standing side by side, heads together. I knew in my gut they'd showed up early especially for me, just so I'd know they cared.

“Ah!” Ms. Marion said when I joined them. “The third Musketeer has arrived!”

Kenny grinned, and I snuck a glance at Keisha, hoping she was okay with that.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Fine,” she said. “Guess there's no arguing with Ms. Marion.” She was acting put-out, but I could tell she didn't mind adding Kenny to our group.

I went up to Ms. Marion and handed her the yellow flyer.

“I got an invitation for the choir to sing at this fund-raiser. I'm not sure I can make it, but I think the choir should do it. It's for . . . Danielle. The girl who . . .” I was pretty sure Ms. Marion knew exactly who Danielle was without my having to explain. “Er . . . the foundation raises money for families who are affected by violence, and Danielle's family organizes this event.”

Keisha appeared at my elbow. “They asked Tia to sing the lead on ‘I Know.'” She shot eye rays at Mary-Kate, who'd just arrived hand in hand with Khalil. The two of them sat down together in one of the back pews and within seconds they were practically making out. “They specifically asked
Tia
to do it.”

“Keisha,” I said, “I'm not even sure I'm going to be there.”

“You have to go,” Keisha said. “Just because your mother won't come, doesn't mean—”

“Girls . . . girls!” Ms. Marion said. “How about I start by contacting the foundation and verifying the invitation? Then we can check the choir's schedule and
then
we'll worry about who will sing the lead.”

Keisha scowled, but I couldn't help feeling relieved.

Kenny had come up beside me, and he reached over and took my hand. “You should d-do it, Tia,” he said. “Esp-esp . . . especially if they asked for you. That's really amazing.”

His hand felt good in mine. Solid and warm.

“I haven't sung in weeks,” I said. “I'm not even sure I can sing tonight, let alone at the Mortons' fund-raiser.”

“Then let's practice,” Keisha said. “I've got music on my phone. Want to sing something?”

I could feel Ms. Marion's eyes on me, waiting for my answer.

“I guess if—”

“Oh my God. Is that your mother?”

Keisha's jaw dropped, and I spun around, completely certain she was wrong. Ma had gone to work. I'd watched her leave.

But there she was, framed in the open doorway.

Parents were arriving with their kids in tow, the preacher man was straightening a pile of papers in the back, old Nana Whiskers was muttering to herself, and Ms. Evette was chasing Jerome around the sanctuary, but all of that activity came to a grinding halt.

Ma was still in her Winn-Dixie uniform. Her face was pale, and she looked like she might turn and run. I knew I ought to go over, but I was too stunned to move.

“Is that her?” someone asked.

“That's
the murderer's wife,
”
Mary-Kate whispered to Khalil, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Her words kicked me into gear. “No,” I snapped, stomping down the aisle. “That's my mom.”

It was as if I'd turned a faucet back on. Ms. Evette
hurried to Ma and hugged her, and the preacher man came over to shake Ma's hand. Then Ms. Evette was herding Ma down the center aisle, and I met them halfway.

“What are you doing here?” I sputtered. “You have work tonight.”

Ma smiled in a strained way that didn't quite make it to her eyes. Her hands trembled, and she clenched them tight. “I haven't taken a sick day in eight years,” she said. “I decided it was time.”

“That's . . . I mean, I can't believe . . .” I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight of Ma here in this church. At my rehearsal. I flung my arms around Ma's middle, not even caring who was watching. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Me too,” Ma said.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” I asked, but Ma looked taken aback.

“Of course not. I came to hear you sing.”

“I'd be happy to keep your mother company,” Ms. Evette said. “Now you kids run along and get some warm-up time before Marion starts rehearsal.”

“Come on,” Keisha said, tugging at my elbow. “We have five minutes left, and we need to make sure your voice is strong for your mom. Let's sneak downstairs.”

Keisha was pushing me forward the way she'd pushed Dwayne that night in the hallway, digging in her heels to make me move, but it was hard to leave when Ma was
sitting just a few feet from me, her shoulders stiff and her back straight. Felt as if she might disappear the minute I looked away.

“Your mother is p-pretty,” Kenny said. “Like you.”

I knew I had a goofy grin spreading from ear to ear, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I followed Keisha and Kenny downstairs and we leaned against the lockers, our feet making a line of V's.

“Ready to give it a try?” Keisha said. “I have the perfect song queued up.”

I nodded and she hit the play button on her phone.

I'd been expecting “Amazing Grace” or “A Note to God,” but it was “Pyramid,” and for some reason that made tears pool in my eyes. I reached over and squeezed Keisha's hand. She was right—“Pyramid” was perfect. I listened for my cue, reaching down to that solid inner core, right where Dwayne had poked me.

Was my music still there?

The first words came out quiet, but crisp and clean, and Keisha hissed, “Yes!”

Even as I sang, I grinned in relief. Breathing deep, I let Charice's voice lead the way, carrying me along until I reached the chorus, and that's when something clicked. I thought about the words I was singing and how Keisha had chosen this song—not only today, but that day when she'd told me the
truth about my father. And I thought about what those words meant:
Py
ramid, we built this
on a solid rock . .
 .

I looked at my best friend and knew this was the truth: No matter what else happened in life, I had something unbreakable. My voice soared, and I stood up straight, rolling my shoulders back and drawing the sound from that deep well inside. My song lifted high, power pulsing out of me, louder and louder until I knew they'd hear me upstairs. Down the block. All over New Orleans.

Keisha and Kenny high-fived.

“Sing with me,” I said, and they did. Their voices intertwined with mine, Keisha's high soprano augmenting the melody.

And even
when the wind is bl
owing

We'll never f
all, just keep on go
ing

Kenny came in on Iyaz's parts, fumbling the words as best he could, but we still sounded good.

Really good.

When the song ended, we all looked at one another and laughed.

Kenny was grinning the same way I'd grinned about my mom, and he looked handsome, so before I could chicken out, I leaned over and kissed him.

“Ewww, gross! No kissing!” Keisha made a disgusted face and gagging noises, but it was still a perfect kiss.

“Wow,” Kenny said, and he didn't even stutter.

“Let's sing that again,” Keisha said. “We sounded awesome together.”

So that's what we did.

Side by side, we sang the lyrics to “Pyramid” as loud as we could, filling our lungs as if our breath were a gift.

And it was.

T
HAT NIGHT,
for the first time, Ma and I walked back from choir rehearsal together. I held her hand and sang the entire way home, one measure at a time, a line of music here, another line there. I replayed the entire rehearsal in my mind, from the brand-new song Ms. Marion had introduced, to the ones we'd been singing for years.

Ms. Marion had let us march around the sanctuary while we sang “When the Saints Go Marching In” as if we were a true New Orleans Second Line. She never usually let us do that since the boys got riled up, but I suspected she'd made an exception because Ma was there, and that made it even more perfect.

As we walked, I was skipping ahead, then falling behind, never letting go of Ma's hand, and she was being dragged back and forth. Ma was pretending to be annoyed, but I could tell she was happy.

“You sounded so good,” she kept saying, shaking her
head. “I knew you would, but to hear you sing with a whole choir behind you . . . everything was so loud with the drums and the clapping!” She sighed. “And then when you came in with your part, everyone stopped to listen. Did you see the way that woman in the front row had her eyes closed and her hands in the air the whole time you sang?”

“That was Ms. Jo Jo. She always does that.”

“And the old woman? The one with the—”

“Whiskers?”

Ma and I both laughed.

“Yes. That one. She just lit up when she was listening to you kids sing. At first I thought she seemed kind of crazy, but then I could tell how much she adores all of you.”

“She doesn't even have a kid in the choir, but she comes to every rehearsal!”

“Really?” Ma said. “She just comes to listen?”

“Uh-huh. Sometimes she brings friends from the old folks' home.”

Ma shook her head. “I'm so proud of you.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Ma.”

We'd reached our house, and my mother paused on our front steps, keys dangling from her fingers. She inhaled, then let the air out in a loud stream. “You need to sing at the fund-raiser,” she said at last. “I'm sorry I didn't see it before, but you can make a difference, Tia. You have a real gift.”

I stopped halfway up the front steps, my heart pounding hard. “Do you really think so?”

Ma nodded. “I've always known you were talented, but I've acted like your gift was meant just for me.” She paused. “I didn't understand how your singing could touch other people, but I get it now.”

Ma reached out and cradled my cheek in the palm of her hand. Her fingers were tough from the calluses she got baking and cleaning at the store, but even with the rough spots, nothing felt as good as Ma's touch.

“Do you think you can do it?” she asked.

A hundred thoughts crowded my head. Thoughts about what it would feel like to meet the Mortons and stand up in front of a crowd, knowing people would see me and think of what my father had done. But then I thought about Keisha and Kenny standing up there with me, and Ma watching in the audience.

“Yes,” I said. “I know I can.”

“Good,” Ma said, “because I spoke to Ms. Marion, and she's going to contact the Morton family. I told her I'd speak to them as well, once we've visited your father.” Ma's brows knit together. “Let's get that over with first. One terrifying thing at a time, right?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, really, truly sure?”

Ma let out a shrill little laugh. “Do I seem sure about anything?” she asked. “Because if I do, I can guarantee it's an act.
But yes, if this is important to you, then we'll go visit your dad. I asked for the day off on Saturday and I've called the prison to clear our visit.”

A shiver ran down my spine despite the heat.
Saturday.
It was sooner than I'd expected. Part of me wanted to hold on to this new feeling of happiness just a little longer. It seemed so fragile, as if life had barely begun knitting back together, and now I was going to tear it apart again.

But I also knew the truth.

My father had done something horrible—the worst thing a person could do—and I needed to understand why that had happened.