Queen Sugar: A Novel (11 page)

“Well, don’t forget. ’Cause Charley and them are sleeping up front in Ralph Angel’s room and I know they’ll change their minds once they see how big that back room is.”

Micah made a tiny sound and stepped on Charley’s foot.

The afternoon they arrived, they followed Miss Honey through the den with the faux wood paneling and down the narrow hall, past a laundry room, past the half bath, and the sunporch with a washing machine and a deep freezer that hummed loudly.

“Won’t have anything back here to bother you but the sound of your own voice,” Miss Honey had said. She stepped into a darkened room where the air was noticeably cooler, and yanked the cord dangling from the ceiling. Harsh white light flooded the room. “It’s the biggest room in the house,” Miss Honey had said. “And it’s private.”

Standing on the threshold, Charley looked past Miss Honey into a room crowded with garden tools, old bicycles and vacuum cleaners, mountains of browning newspaper, boxes of old clothes, and shopping bags brimming with mismatched shoes. She spotted a king-size bed piled with clutter, just visible beneath a small window. And worse than the sight was the smell—ointment and mothballs, mildew and dust. Odors that lingered, Charley thought. Odors that would hang in her clothes and hair.

“It’s so messy,” Micah had whispered. “And it smells like old people.”

“Don’t mind this junk, sugar,” Miss Honey said, and went on to explain that she’d hired Hollywood, her gardener and all-around handyman, to clear away all the boxes. “He only got to half of what’s back here, but when he’s through, y’all can make this your home away from home.”

That’s when Charley interrupted. Said, as delicately as she could, that it was too much trouble.

“Back here, you’ll have room to spread out, get comfortable,” Miss Honey had said, waving Charley’s protest away. “I saw all those suitcases and bags you brought with you.”

But Charley had pushed. “I remember another room.” She’d pressed her finger to her lips. “Up front. It had a window that looked out onto the porch.”

Miss Honey had hesitated. “Ralph Angel’s room. Besides, there’s but one bed in there.”

That was the first time Charley had heard her half brother’s name in years. “Really, we’ll manage,” Charley had said.

Miss Honey shook her head. “Mighty silly to crowd two people into that little room.”

“I like that room,” Micah had said. “I like
little
rooms.”

“We’ll manage,” Charley said.

Miss Honey had sucked in her cheeks. “Big room like this going to waste, but if that’s the way y’all want it.” She gave the light cord another quick yank plunging the room into darkness.

Now, with Hollywood promising to finish the job, Charley imagined what might have nibbled through the stacked boxes, made nests in the piles of old clothes, given birth to litters of pink blind hairless babies the size of her thumbnail. She squeezed Micah’s hand. She looked at Miss Honey and thought, She may be the ringmaster, she may be the Grande Dame, but there was no way in hell they were staying in that back room.

•   •   •

Uncle Brother’s turtle soup and Miss Honey’s gumbo had been devoured. There was still a wedge of Violet’s lemon pound cake left, though it wouldn’t last long, and the last carton of Blue Belle ice cream was melting. But Charley’s crudités with garlic hummus sat untouched as the Impala cruised past Miss Honey’s and parked.

Charley looked up from the clutch of older women seated on the porch and watched the latecomer as he stepped through the gate. She nudged Violet. “Who’s that?”

And because it took Violet a long moment to answer, Charley thought she had forgotten the man’s name, thought that the long afternoon of laughter and old stories and a beer or two had made her aunt a little tipsy and forgetful. But Violet said, clearly, “Good Lord. What’s he doing here?” which made Charley and everyone else on the porch look again. Even Uncle Brother, who had planted himself at the bid whist table two hours ago and not gotten up once, put down his cards and stared in disbelief.

The man stood just inside the gate. A small boy called, “Pop, wait,” from the car.

“Well, come on, then,” the man said, and held the gate open as the boy climbed out, then broke into a gallop that was lighthearted and, Charley thought, a little desperate. They stood together in the grass, waiting.

“Pop?”

“Don’t worry.” The man threw his arm over the boy’s shoulders, pulled him close. “This is your family.” He cleared his throat and stepped forward, the child clinging to his wrist. “Well, hell. Somebody say something.” He gave his son’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “You all are making my boy here uncomfortable.”

The boy’s shirt, with a truck decal on the chest, was one long smear of chocolate fingerprints.

Uncle Brother balled his napkin and stood up. “What are you doing here, Ralph Angel?”

Charley was twelve the last time she saw Ralph Angel, and he was nineteen. He came to her parents’ house for Christmas dinner, his first visit since their father sent him home, and he’d surprised her with a chemistry set—the small metal cabinet with a black leather handle and real glass beakers, copper sulfate, aluminum bicarbonate, and citric acid in brightly labeled bottles. He was a college freshman, he said, planned to major in engineering then work for a big oil company after he graduated. But what Charley remembered most clearly was that he gave her ten dollars. And it wasn’t the money as much as the way he gave it: pulled a roll of bills from his pocket, licked his fingers, and peeled off a ten, which he folded in half and held between his fingers, flicking his wrist as if to suggest he had money to throw away.

The metal locker, Charley thought now. The roll of bills. Ralph Angel. Her big brother. Here he was.

A quiet had descended upon the yard.

Ralph Angel smiled at Uncle Brother, who had come down from the porch and stood on the walkway. “Now, c’mon, uncle. Is that any way to greet your favorite nephew?”

Ralph Angel took a toothpick from his jacket pocket and slid it into his mouth. He looked like a guy who wouldn’t fight fair; not at all like the boy she’d followed around or the young man who gave her ten dollars.

And just as Charley was thinking these things, she saw John rise from his chair and walk to his father’s side. His fingers grazed his hips, Charley noticed, though of course, there was no holster. He drew himself up to full height, spread his feet, squared his shoulders. “Is there a problem here?” His tone was respectful, but cautious.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ralph Angel said. “Look at you, man. All grown up.”

They stared at each other, then John bent to shake the boy’s hand. “Hey there, Blue. I need to talk to your daddy for a minute, okay?”

Blue. Charley wondered at the mother who would name her child something so sad. But his solemn expression, the way he looked up, pleadingly, at his dad—somehow, the name suited him.

Ralph Angel put his hand on Blue’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry about my boy, John. Blue is just fine.” But when Aunt Rose from Opelousas hurried down the step and took Blue’s hand, saying, “Let’s get you some lemonade,” Ralph Angel let him go.

Uncle Brother stepped closer to Ralph Angel. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”

Ralph Angel put his hand over his heart. “What makes you think I wasn’t invited?”

In a fluid gesture, John put a firm hand on Ralph Angel’s arm. He was twenty years younger than Ralph Angel but stood a foot taller, and was, Charley guessed, at least thirty pounds heavier. “Why don’t we take this out to the street?”

Something flashed across Ralph Angel’s face. Charley saw it. Ralph Angel looked at John’s hand on his arm and pulled away slowly. “I don’t want to take this out to the street. I’d like to say hello to the rest of the family.” He stepped forward, but John blocked his path.

“I can’t let you do that, cousin. I’m sorry. Not before we straighten this out.”

Ralph Angel stared at John. After a long moment, he laughed. “Come on, man. Why you want to hassle me?” He brushed past John, quick as a running back, and made his way up the walk. He stopped at the bottom step and looked up at Charley. “Hello, sis.”

Charley recalled what Violet had said about Ralph Angel pushing Miss Honey. Something about the way he stood there with that toothpick in his mouth made her think he might be capable of it. Still, he’d held Blue’s hand with great tenderness. That counted for something. A lot, actually. How harmful could he be? Charley moved down the steps. “Hello, Ralph Angel. It’s good to see you.” She heard Violet gasp behind her. Unsure whether to hug him or shake his hand, she took a chance and opened her arms. Their embrace felt wooden.

Ralph Angel broke away first. “Yeah. It’s been a long time.”

The screen door creaked, and Miss Honey, wiping her hands on her apron, stepped out onto the porch. “Why is it so quiet?”

“Hello, ’Da,” Ralph Angel said.

“Hello, Ralph Angel,” Miss Honey said. She barely blinked.

Ralph Angel tipped his head toward the side yard, toward the tables and chairs, the last of the food on dishes covered with crumpled foil. “Looks like I missed the celebration.”

“Mother,” Violet said, standing up now, “did you call Ralph Angel?”

Miss Honey looked almost dreamily at Violet, then out into the street, where a car—a dark blue Monte Carlo, Charley saw—approached. Music pulsed and young, defiant voices rang out over heavy bass. The driver honked and waved. Everyone looked, out of habit, to see who was behind the wheel. “That’s sister Martin’s boy,” Miss Honey said, more to herself than anyone. “Where does he think he’s going?”

“Mother, I’m asking,” Violet said. She inched up to Miss Honey and held her shoulders just the way she’d held Charley’s that day she’d begged her to go to Sugar Town. “Did you call Ralph Angel? Because someone did, and now he’s here.”

The music blaring from the car’s speakers was swallowed by the heat. Miss Honey’s yard fell quiet again. But Charley still heard layers of sound—the hiss of insects in the trees, the creature whine rising from the gulley, faint voices of neighbors up and down the block, and beyond that, the faint drone of cars whipping over the asphalt. She heard all of it, felt herself drawn down into the mucky clay and the stalks of cane.

Miss Honey pulled away from Violet’s grip. “What if I did? What’s wrong with wanting my family to come together? Yes, I called him, and now it’s done. Now I want you and Brother to welcome Ralph Angel home.”

Violet and Brother exchanged glances.

“No, Mother,” Violet said. “I’m sorry.”

Miss Honey glared at Violet. “I’m booking you, girl.” She turned to Uncle Brother. Her voice was raw. “I’m going to say this one time, so y’all better hear me, because I’ve come to the end of my row. Y’all may be grown out there in the world, but when you come to my house, you better leave your manhood and your womanhood under my porch step. If Charley can welcome Ralph Angel, so can you.” She paused to wave a finger across the porch and over the yard. “As a matter of fact, all y’all can.”

Charley looked at her relatives, at Screw Neck in his workday overalls and Maraine, small and birdlike in her compression stockings and orthopedic shoes, whose name, Charley had learned earlier, was actually Clemence, but who went by Maraine, which meant “godmother” in French. She searched every face, waiting for someone to say something, wondering what they knew. No one moved.

“Forget it, ’Da,” Ralph Angel said. “Don’t force them.”

And as Charley struggled to make sense of what was happening, Violet pulled the screen door open. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” She disappeared into the house, emerging a moment later with her purse.

“Where are you going?” Miss Honey called.

Down the steps now, Violet paused in front of Charley and took her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry this had to happen today. I’m sorry this had to happen when you have so much on your plate.”

“Violet,” Charley said. “Whatever is going on, whatever happened before, I’m sure we can work it out.” Who knew why Miss Honey never told anyone she had invited Ralph Angel to the reunion, but in the end, what did it matter? He’d stay for a couple days, and yes, it would be uncomfortable, but then he’d go back to wherever he’d come from.

Violet shook her head. “You’re sweet. But no, darling, we can’t. We won’t work this out. You don’t know that now, but you’ll see.” And with that, she walked past Ralph Angel, past Uncle Brother and John, and out of the yard. Charley felt desperate watching Violet drive away. For Violet was the one person she’d come to feel at home with in her new home. Violet was family. When she turned back, she saw Ralph Angel give a little shrug. Then he looked to her.

“So, sis, what’s going on? Long time, no see. And by the way, I heard the good news. Congratulations on your farm.”

•   •   •

The party was over. Charley tossed the empty bottles and paper plates in the trash, dragged the garbage can to the street, and was about to go inside when she heard someone call her name. Hollywood, walking fast down the street.

“Was that Brother and John I just seen?” he asked, breathless, pointing over his shoulder in the direction he’d just come from then peering into Miss Honey’s yard. “Where is everybody?”

He’d showered and shaved, combed his hair and changed his shirt, though he still wore his shabby army fatigues and reeked of cologne, underneath which Charley smelled laundry detergent and the deep odor of armpit perspiration run over with a hot iron. “Gone,” Charley said, and looked back at the trampled grass, the tables and folding chairs stacked neatly near the bottom step. Within an hour of Ralph Angel’s arrival, everyone left.

Hollywood’s face fell. Though he was certainly older than Charley—he had to be close to Ralph Angel’s age—Hollywood’s disappointment made him look much younger. “Aw, man. I thought y’all would be partying all night.” He gazed down the street like a boy who had missed the parade. “Doggone,” he said, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Charley said. Twilight had declared itself with a rush of cooler air, and though she wanted to sit by herself for a while, sit and try to make sense of the day, Charley said, “Why don’t you come in? At least let me fix you a plate to take home.”