Till You Hear From Me: A Novel (13 page)

“That is the big question,” she said, spooning collard greens into a large Tupperware container.
Why do greens always taste better
when you reheat them the day after?
“You’re not looking for a job, are you?”

Before I could say
Make me an offer
, she held up her hand with an apologetic smile. “Of course you’re not.” She lowered her voice just like Miss Iona had. “Congratulations.”

I cringed.
Here we go again
. Nothing like a big fat lie to get a friendship off on the right foot. “Thanks,” I said, lowering my voice, too. “I … I can’t really talk about it right now, you know, until everything is confirmed.”

“I totally understand,” she said. “Hank’s job was like that, too. Couldn’t hardly talk about it until it was all tied up with a bow. Maybe it’s a Washington thing!”

“Are you excited about moving?” I said, moving away from my job prospects to her upcoming relocation. I couldn’t read the expression that flitted across her face well enough to name it, but I can definitely say she didn’t look overjoyed at the prospect.

“To tell the truth, I’m a little intimidated,” she said. “Being involved in politics like Hank is … it’s a real fast track.”

She was right about that. Also treacherous, complicated, ruthless, passionate, and nonstop.

“But he’s really good at this stuff, so D.C. is the place to be right now, I guess.”

“What does your husband do?”

“He was a prosecutor in Detroit. When the crack dealers firebombed our house, he brought me and Lu down here to stay with Blue.”

“Somebody firebombed your house?”

She nodded. “Luckily nobody got hurt, but Hank was worried. He knew we’d be safe here.”

“Is that when you started working with the gardens?”

“I was actually the one who had the idea,” she said with a self-effacing smile. “I had never done any kind of gardening before, but I just had a feel for it. By the time Hank wrapped things up in Detroit
and came to get us, Lu and I were pretty much dug in, no pun intended!”

“Good one though,” I said, enjoying her story.

“He wanted to move to D.C. right then, but Lu begged him to wait until she finished high school and he couldn’t tell her no. She’s always been a real daddy’s girl. Then he ran for City Council, so he’d have something to do, I guess, and got elected, which meant he had
plenty
to do, but he’s not going to stand for reelection because of this new job.”

She still hadn’t told me exactly what the new job was and I suddenly wondered if Hank’s job was as ephemeral as mine. I hoped not. I liked Flora and something told me we’d be good friends if we were ever in the same spot longer than a minute.

“What’s the job?” I said.

Flora shook her head and laughed. “Which is what I started out to tell you in the first place. My mind is gone! You know all that stuff that came out from the Republicans during the campaign? Voter fraud, robo calls full of misinformation, scare tactics. All that stuff? Well, they’re still doing it, but I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” She smiled that
your secret is safe with me
smile again.

“They love that stuff,” I said.

“Exactly. So what Hank does is help the Democratic National Committee manage the ongoing efforts to keep that mess under control.”

From Detroit crack dealers to Republican saboteurs. The man clearly liked a challenge.

“That’s great,” I said. “At least the Republicans won’t throw a firebomb through your window.”

She laughed. “So far, so good!”

“I’d love to come by and hear more about what you’re doing,” I said as Miss Iona came through the door, unable to trust us alone in her kitchen for one more minute.

“Stop by any time,” Flora said. “I’ll be there all day tomorrow.”

“Don’t let her get you in that office,” Miss Iona said, shaking a warning finger. “It’s a force field. First, she gets you in the front door and next thing you know, you’re knee-deep in collard greens and seed catalogues.”

“There are worse things to be knee-deep in,” Flora said, laughing and untying her apron. “Your timing is perfect. How’d we do?”

Miss Iona nodded slowly, looking around at our handiwork with a practiced eye. “Nice job. If you do windows, we’ve got a deal.”

“Not a chance,” Flora said. “Give me back my child and I will say good night.”

“She’s waiting for you up front and so is your dad,” Miss Iona said.

Flora glanced at her watch. “Good grief! How did it get to be midnight already?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Miss Iona said as we headed down the hallway, where we all sort of migrated to the door in a big happy circle of good nights and great evenings and see you in the mornings and even a final welcome home or two. When the dust cleared, Miss Iona and Mr. Charles had gone inside to bed, Flora and Lu had accepted Mr. Eddie’s offer of a ride home, and the Rev and I found ourselves alone on the sidewalk in front of Miss Iona’s house.

The air was February crisp, but not cold, and the sky was clear enough to count the stars. The Rev looked at me and offered his arm. My father has been offering me his arm since I was tall enough to take it.

“Well, daughter,” he said, turning us toward home. “Shall we ramble?”

FOURTEEN

M
E AND THE
R
EV TOOK THE LONG WAY HOME
. T
HIS HAD BEEN OUR
habit since I was a kid. It’s only two blocks to our house, but we never went there directly. We
rambled
. My father liked to be a visible presence in the lives of his parishioners so we’d stroll home through the neighborhood so they could see him and call a friendly greeting or ask him about one of the zillion meetings he was always on his way to, or compliment him on a great sermon the Sunday before. We’d pass Blue Hamilton’s house so we could admire the giant magnolia tree in his front yard. Or we’d turn at the corner so we could check on the progress of Mr. Eddie’s garden or smell the honeysuckle that grows so thick in his backyard that the sweetness can make you giddy if you stay too long.

I had seen Mr. Eddie’s son, Wes, kissing a girl in their back porch swing once when he was about twelve or thirteen. I was taking a shortcut across their yard and as I slipped through unnoticed by the lovers, I wondered if it was Wes or just the smell of the honeysuckle that made her want to surrender to his dubious charms.

“Your father is getting sentimental in his old age,” the Rev said as we strolled down Peeples Street. “Hope I didn’t embarrass you bawling like that in the middle of Iona’s kitchen.”

It was a warm night for February and even though we both had our coats on, it wasn’t too cold for us to fall into the easy rhythm of our ramble.

“You weren’t bawling,” I said, squeezing his arm. “You shed a few very dignified tears is all.”

He patted my hand. “Thank you for that, daughter.”

Sometimes we would talk while we rambled. I would tell him about school or work or my latest run-in with Mom. He would listen for a few minutes and then advise me on a course of action with such certainty that I rarely questioned it. Then he would talk to me about the events of the day. From local politics to world revolution, the Rev had a wealth of information about questions it would take me years to even articulate, much less understand. So I didn’t try. I’d just walk along beside him and let the words wash over me. Sometimes I could follow the course of his thinking and sometimes I’d get lost in it, but just listening to his voice, feeling his courage and commitment, made me proud to be his daughter.

But tonight, neither one of us said a word. I know the Rev had more to say about his interview and I sure wanted to come clean about my White House fantasies, but it had been a very long day and I was exhausted. There was plenty of time tomorrow for true confessions. Tonight, all I wanted to do was ramble my tired ass home to a long hot shower and a good night’s sleep in my bright pink baby girl bed.

When we got to the house, the Rev opened the big front door that he never locked and we stepped inside.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, leaning over to kiss my cheek and give me another hug.

“I’m all yours,” I said, wondering why I thought it would be easier to tell him the whole truth in the morning than it was right now.

“Then I am a very lucky man,” he said. “Good night.”

I started up the stairs as the Rev hung his coat, but I felt bad. How could I lie to this man? Was I crazy? Why not just spit it out and get it over with? I took a deep breath. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

Then I lost my nerve. We had just started talking again and here I was about to let him down big-time. What’s the hurry? I thought. Tomorrow morning was soon enough.

“Nothing. Good night.”

But as I turned around, the Rev called me back. “Daughter?”

“Yes?”

Something in his eyes was suddenly serious. “I need to ask you something important and I want you to give me a truthful answer.”

I tried to look calm. “Okay.”

“Do you think I’m the reason those Obama people haven’t closed the deal on this job with you yet?”

I now felt officially awful. My father was feeling guilty because he thought his being persona non grata was keeping me from sitting at the right hand of
you know who
. I thought so, too, but I couldn’t look my father in the face and say that, so I just leaned down from that third step and kissed his cheek. “No, Rev. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Are you sure? These are some grudge-holding Negroes, Ida B, and they have a very long reach.”

“Everything is on track,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The relief that flooded his face made me feel even worse for keeping the lie going between us.

“Good,” he said. “Then please forgive me for being such a foolish old man.”

“Watch it,” I said, “that’s my dad you’re talking about.”

I stayed in the shower until the hot water steamed the stress out of my shoulders and I was able to convince myself that the Rev would understand. After all, I hadn’t outright lied. It wasn’t my fault
that Miss Iona had told everybody about my slight exaggeration. Of course all that was neither here nor there at this point. What I needed was a way for the Rev to let the folks he’d been bragging to about me know I didn’t really have a White House job without him having to actually
say
I didn’t. As soon as I could come up with a strategy to save his face and mine, I could relax a little. But for now, all I could do was sleep on it.

I stepped out into the hallway wrapped up in the big terry cloth robe Miss Iona had given me after she came by a couple of Christmases ago and found me wearing my high school robe, because I still loved it even though it had seen better days. Downstairs I could hear the Rev playing our old upright piano. He had a beautiful baritone voice and he and Mom used to sing all the time when I was growing up. She was never very religious, but she loved to sing hymns, spirituals, freedom songs from every major American social movement, Christmas carols, and a fairly impressive repertoire of pop tunes from the fifties and sixties.

My father was a gifted musician who had a very brief career around Macon playing saxophone in after-hours clubs until his mother found out and sold his horn, which she regarded as an instrument more suited to secular environments, and invested in a used piano. Some of my favorite childhood memories are of the nights when my parents’ voices would wake me up and I’d slip out of bed and crouch at the top of the stairs, listening to them singing together. When my mom told me she was moving out, I remember not being surprised. They had stopped singing months ago.

But tonight, the Rev wasn’t singing. He was just down there playing his ass off. I recognized the tune, but I couldn’t remember the lyrics. I walked down the hall in my bare feet and sat down at the top of the stairs in my same old place to listen. At the end of the song, the silence in the house was so perfectly peaceful that we both sat still and let it play out. Then the Rev’s voice floated up to me like we were already in the middle of a conversation.