Pieces of Why (3 page)

T
HE
SOUND
of whispering tickled my ears. It seemed to be coming from far away, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make out whole sentences, but I caught certain words. Important ones.

Tia's father . . .

. . .
life withou
t parole . . .

. . .
horrible memories .
 . .

I recognized the voices: Ms. Evette, Ms. Marion, and Mary-Kate's mother. Why were they talking about my father?

Seemed strange. I was only four when he went to jail, so I had no memories of him: not the sound or smell or look of him. We didn't visit or write, and no parole meant he'd never come home again, which, according to Ma, was a good thing.

He's
dead to us, Tia Rose
. When your father c
ommitted
that robbe
ry, he walked away f
rom this family fore
ver. Don't let me ca
tch you wasting your
time, dwelling on t
hat man.

But now, all these years later, people were talking as if my father had reached out from the Louisiana State Penitentiary to push me off the risers.

Didn't make any sense.

I opened my eyes, squinting a bit, and saw wooden giraffes hovering over my face—Ms. Evette's big old dangling earrings.

“Tia,” she said, stroking my hair. “Thank goodness you're awake.”

I lifted my head, and Ms. Evette breathed out a long, loud sigh of relief. “That's right. Lift it up to the Lord,” she said, as if I were praying instead of lying in a heap.

Beside her, Mary-Kate's mom waved a fan over me, and I could see her daughter scowling from the risers. Kenny was making his way to the front row, his face creased with worry, and I wondered why he seemed to care so much.

Something hot and sticky trickled down my cheek and without thinking, I reached up to wipe it away, only now there was blood on my hand and that nearly made me faint again. I've always hated the sight of blood. Even a drop can make my vision narrow to black and my breath catch until I think I might suffocate.

Ms. Marion turned. “Someone get a wet paper towel for Tia's cut.”

Kenny bolted off the risers, and I tried hard to keep my bearings.

“That was quite a spill you took,” Ms. Marion said, bustling me into a sitting position. “I'm so sorry. I never should have pushed you to sing. I thought it would help, but—”

“I'm okay,” I lied.

Ms. Marion frowned. “We should take you to the emergency room.”

I shook my head. Emergency room visits cost money Ma and I didn't have. “I'm fine,” I said, clearing my throat. “I should've told you I wasn't ready, that's all.”

Right then Kenny came back with a wet wad of paper towels. “H-here,” he said, and his eyes were so worried, I had to look away.

“I'm a nurse,” Mary-Kate's mom told me. “I can check for a concussion.”

Old Nana Whiskers launched into a stream of gibberish. “Went to the hospital and never came out! Those doctors just ate her up! Guns, sirens, and hospitals gonna eat Tia up.”

I felt all the kids in choir gaping at me, and my cheeks burned in humiliation. Amber Allen and Faith Evans were snickering, whispering behind their hands. I gave Keisha a look that begged her to save me, but she just shrugged helplessly as Mary-Kate's mom shined a penlight in my eyes and asked me tons of questions. Finally, she nodded.

“You look okay, sweetie,” she said, pushing her blond hair behind her ears, “but you'll want to get checked out just in case. Have your mother drive you to a clinic once you get home, all right?”

I managed a fake smile. “I will,” I said. “I'm sure I just got overheated from running up and down the stairs.”

Ms. Marion and Ms. Evette exchanged glances, and there was something hidden in the corner of their eyes. None of it made sense, but I suddenly felt cold even though the sanctuary had to be a hundred degrees. I hugged my arms tight around my body.

“I'm fine,” I whispered again even though this time no one had asked.

Ms. Marion pinched the bridge of her nose the way she did when she was upset. More parents were starting to arrive, bursting in full of panic, and the pastor was calming them, but I knew Ms. Marion wanted to be there too.

“Go ahead,” I told her.

Ms. Evette nodded toward the doors. “Go. I'll stay with Tia.”

Ms. Marion paused, wiping the sweat from her brow, but then she sighed and made her way up front. A police officer stepped inside the church and I could see the relief on everyone's faces when he said we could go home.

“Okay, children,” Ms. Marion shouted over the noise. “If your guardians are here, you may leave. I'll wait with anyone
who needs to stay. If June Fest is canceled I'll activate our phone tree, otherwise I'll see you all tomorrow night. This community will need your voices now more than ever, so be prepared to sing!”

Keisha jumped down from the risers and took her baby brother, Jerome, from Mrs. Chen, who'd been holding him while Ms. Evette took care of me. Jerome tugged at her braids. “Let's get out of here,” Keisha said. “This was the worst night ever.”

My heart panged. Was it horrible to feel disappointed about choir being cut short? Someone had just gotten shot, maybe even killed, and I was unhappy to lose an hour of rehearsal? But I couldn't help the surge of sadness.

“What do you think happened?” I asked Keisha, brushing myself off as I stood. “Do you think . . .” I couldn't bring myself to say it. “I mean, do you think it was . . .”

“A robbery gone bad? Like your dad?” Keisha shook her head. “No. I'm sure that wasn't it. I bet you anything this was gang related. You know those fools are always shooting at each other. Serves them right if one of 'em gets hit.”

I wanted to believe that was true. I even thought about those men who'd taunted me on my way to rehearsal, but something about the pastor's face and the woman's scream made me sure this hadn't been the kind of violence anyone could shrug off.

“Let's go,” Keisha said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

I followed her to the door, but before I could slip away, Kenny caught up to me.

“Are you sure you're o-o—”

Bruce Abrams banged into him from behind. “Move it, l-l-loser.”

There was a crowd of boys heading for the door and all of them snickered while Kenny blushed.

“Don't listen to them,” I said. “You'd think they'd get tired of the same old jokes.”

Kenny nodded, but he still didn't look up. “Can I get you a drink of w-water or something? You look f-f-f—”

It was wrong to rush him, but I couldn't help it. When Kenny stuttered, it was hard not to get impatient. “Flushed?”

Kenny sighed. “Yeah.”

I shook my head. “No thanks. I have to go.”

Kenny glanced at the doorway as his mother burst in, fear etched on her face. I could tell he wanted to say something else, but he didn't try.

“Well . . . g-g-g-good night,” he said instead.

I studied his dark tousled hair and his deep, coffee-brown eyes. Kenny was kind of handsome when you stopped to look at him. “Good night,” I said, wishing he'd said whatever it was he'd been thinking.

“Ready?” Keisha called, waiting by the door.

“Yeah.”

I glanced around the sanctuary one more time. Kids and parents were pairing off, bustling around as they gathered up their things. Was I the only one who still heard the gunshots?

I touched my head where I'd cut myself, expecting to see blood on my fingers, but there was nothing.

Nothing to show that everything had changed.

P
OLICE CARS
filled the road outside the church, their red and blue lights flashing silently under the neon-pink sunset. Made my nerves prickle. I knew Ms. Evette and Keisha felt it too, because Keisha was stone-cold quiet, and usually she never stopped jabbering. She'd handed Jerome back to her ma, and now Ms. Evette hugged him tight to her chest.

In the middle of the police was a single car with a bullet hole through the back window. Spiderwebbed cracks extended outward on the glass. Yellow caution tape marked off the area around the car where three officers stood writing in little white notepads. They looked up when they saw us, and their eyes stopped on me. They looked at Ms. Evette like she was stealing me. I knew that Ms. Marion wanted us to believe in a rainbow vision, but I suspected these cops still saw things in black and white.

Ms. Evette raised her chin defiantly, as if daring them to say anything.

“Move along,” one of the officers grumbled. Baby Jerome pointed at the policeman and Ms. Evette pressed his soft belly against her waist. I paused, studying the bullet hole, and Keisha gave me a look that said
hurry up.
I meant to follow, but I couldn't stop staring.

It was odd the way the car sat there in the road. Not parked near the sidewalk, but abandoned as if the driver had run out of gas. It was old, and I knew I'd seen it before. That made my heart beat faster and my stomach churn. Ms. Evette held out her hand. It was time to move on, but I kept looking back, wondering
Who? W
hat? Why?

I stumbled the rest of the way home, my feet betraying me on every step.

When we finally reached my house, Ms. Evette peered in through the front window. “Your mother is home, right?”

I felt like a worn-out quilt, unraveling. “Of course,” I mumbled, although it wasn't true.

Ms. Evette sighed. “I hate leaving you when there's just been a shooting and you've had a fall. I'd rather talk to your mother first.”

“She's sleeping,” I said. “But don't worry. I'll wake Ma up as soon as I get in.”

“Tia,” Keisha said, “why don't you run inside and ask your mama if you can sleep over tonight? If she's asleep, why would you want to—”

I put my key in the lock and thrust the door open.

“I can't,” I said. “Not tonight.”

Ms. Evette's frown deepened. “You're
certain
your mother is inside? Asleep?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well . . .” Ms. Evette said, and I knew she couldn't figure out the answer to that question. “All right. It's getting late and I need to get Jerome home to bed. Tia, you lock this door the second you get inside, and you wake that mother of yours up immediately. Do you hear me? Tell her everything. Understand?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma'am,” I said, stepping inside my dark, empty house. I shut the door behind me and doubled-locked it, leaving the chain off for Ma to come in later.

Then I slid down the back of the door and closed my eyes.

What had happened tonight? Something awful. But why hadn't the adults told us what it was? Was it so horrible they thought we shouldn't know? Maybe that was okay for the nine- and ten-year-olds, but most of us were older now. We even had a few fourteen-year-old guys in the bass section.

A flash of anger surged through me, and for just a moment I hated those adults for keeping secrets—Ms. Marion, Ms. Evette, Mary-Kate's mom, the pastor—but then I tamped the feeling down because none of this was their fault.

They didn't shoot anyone.

But someone had.

T
HE NEX
T
MORNING,
I woke with my sheets twisted around my ankles and my forehead drenched with sweat. I'd had nightmares, tossing and turning all night, waking to the sound of imaginary gunshots, only to fall asleep again and dream about Ma driving the car with the bullet hole in the back window and my father standing in the road with his fingers shaped into a gun. In the dream I screamed until I was hoarse.

It was a relief to finally see daylight, but the feeling was short-lived. I'd never dreamed about my father before. Not that I could remember. It'd been a long time since I'd last asked Ma about him. I'd been six, maybe seven? Old enough to wonder if Daddy was ever coming home, but not old enough to understand the answer. I shivered, remembering the coldness in Ma's eyes, as if she'd been angry at me for asking.

I'll answer your qu
estions this once, b
ut after this you
n
eed to understand: Y
our father is dead t
o us, and there's no
thing new to say abo
ut a dead man.

I tried to remember my mother's exact words about what he'd done, but the facts were scattered in my brain—just out of reach. I wanted to force them to the surface, but I was exhausted. My stomach churned, creating a sour taste in my mouth, and I swallowed hard before stumbling into the bathroom and splashing cold water onto my face. I didn't even bother to warm up my vocal cords. For the first time I could remember, I didn't want to sing.

When I finally made it to the kitchen, I was surprised to see Ma still up, sitting at the worn table we used for meals. Ma rarely stayed up after she worked a night shift, and she looked tired. She also looked hard as iron.

“There was a shooting last night,” she said, without even saying good morning. “Near your church.”

It wasn't a question, but I nodded. “How did you hear?”

“Morning edition got delivered to the store just before I left.”

She pushed a newspaper across the table. The front page had a black-and-white photo of the abandoned car, and a fragment of the church was visible in the background. The headline screamed, INFANT KILLED, GUNMEN FLED.

I gave an involuntary gasp.
“A baby.”

Immediately, I thought of Keisha's brother, Jerome. He was eleven months old now, all big brown eyes and rolls of fat.

I sat down heavy, my legs giving way beneath me. Ma hesitated, like she wasn't sure what to do. Finally, she reached over and patted my hand before drawing back to scrape at a splotch of dried ketchup on the table with her fingernail. Then she stood abruptly and went over to the refrigerator to get out the eggs. Her movements were quick and jerky, as if she couldn't decide whether to comfort me or punish me.

“So, did this happen during your rehearsal?” she asked. “Why didn't you call me at work?”

I mumbled something about not wanting to bother her, and Ma grunted a response, but what that response meant, I couldn't be sure. She moved to the stove and scrambled the eggs while I read the newspaper article.

The baby, ten months old, had been shot by accident during an attempted carjacking. Two gunmen had fled on foot and police were trying to locate them. There was a number to call if anyone had information, and there was also a picture of the baby and his mother.

“The Raven woman,” I breathed. It was the dark-haired woman who lived on Seventh Street. She didn't speak English and dressed in long skirts and shirts with flowing sleeves. We didn't really know where she was from, but Keisha and I thought she looked like a raven because her hair was so black it almost shone blue. Plus there was something mystical about her that made it seem as if she might take flight. She lived with her husband and her—

No, not her son. Not anymore.

For a split second, the world went fuzzy, like it had before I fainted. But this time I held on, forcing my fists to unclench and my breathing to slow.

“Tia?” Ma studied me hard and then she walked over to snatch the paper off the table. Ma's auburn hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail, tied back with an old gray scrunchie. The lines on her face were strained as she dished me my scrambled eggs and cheddar grits. “You aren't dwelling, are you?”

D
welling
was what Ma called it when I thought too much about bad stuff. I didn't answer, and she frowned.

“Now look,” she said, real stern, as if dwelling were something I could get grounded for doing. “What happened to that baby is horrible, and we will hope for justice and mercy, but this burden isn't yours to carry. We've each of us got our own burdens and they're plenty big enough. Do you understand?”

She looked me in the eyes and I nodded, but I'd already thought about those gunshots again.
Why do things like this
happen?

A voice whispered in response.

Because of people li
ke your father.

I pushed the food around on my plate until I couldn't sit still any longer. Then I stood up. “I'm going to meet Keisha early and hang out at her house today,” I said, trying to make
my voice sound normal. “The choir's singing at the festival tonight, so Ms. Evette will bring me home.”

Ma said, “Finish your breakfast,” and gave me a good hard stare until I sat back down and shoved in another bite of eggs and two more bites of grits. They tasted like paste and I could hardly make my throat swallow.

“I'm not sure I like the idea of your choir being out so soon after—”

“I'm
not
skipping choir,” I said. “I sing the lead, so I have to be there.”

Ma took a step back, and I could tell she was surprised that I could be hard as iron too.

I softened. “You could come tonight. Hear me sing.”

Ma was shaking her head before the words were even out. “I've got auctioning to do online.”

I looked at her as she stooped to pick up a giant stuffed dog from the kitchen floor. “Ms. Evette will be at June Fest,” I said. “She works a side job too.”

I couldn't believe I'd said that, but Ma pretended she didn't hear. “I've got to get this boxed and into the mail,” she said, shuffling toward her bedroom, where she kept the postal scale.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, scraping my fork against my plate. It made a sound like nails on a chalkboard, which I knew drove Ma crazy. So I did it again. Finally, Ma snapped.

“Fine. Go to Keisha's then. Lock the door when you leave. Don't talk to strangers, and call me if you have any problems.”

Same thing she said every day.

“Fine,” I echoed, getting up to leave. “I'll stay out of trouble.”

But even as I said those words, I knew they were a lie. Trouble was like a hurricane. If you were in its path, it would barrel down on top of you, no matter how hard you tried to shore things up.