Till You Hear From Me: A Novel (37 page)

“Y
OU SURE YOU CAN’T HANG AROUND A LITTLE LONGER?” THE
R
EV SAID
as I got ready to go to the airport the next afternoon. “Black History Month is almost over and we could really spend some time together.”

“Every month is black history month now, remember?” I said, glad I’d been able to convince him not to come to the airport with me. Airport good-byes are crazy now with all the security restrictions and the lighting is horrible. Besides, we’d had our moment and, once we got home, we also had that marathon talk I’d been waiting for all my life. Everything was right between us.

Miss Iona called to say good-bye and let us know that Hank had told Wes he’d get him a fair shake with the Justice Department if he would tell what he knew about the efforts to illegally purge voter lists all over the country and Wes was singing like a bird. For Mr. Eddie’s sake, I hoped he wouldn’t get jail time, but it was out of my hands. Flora called to say we could do our WEGA transition interview
when she’s in D.C. next month to look at houses and I’ve already got a few in mind to show her. Until then, I sure had other things to think about. Like finding a job. I had some prospects and Hank had even given me a couple of good leads, so things were definitely looking up.

“Don’t give up on the White House,” the Rev said. “Now that I’m on the right side again, who knows what might happen?”

“I guess you’re right about that,” I said, and a part of me still hoped it was true. After all, it wasn’t March 1 yet. I had another week or so to picture myself walking to work in the West Wing before my self-imposed deadline ran out.

“Have you had a chance to talk to your mother about all this?” the Rev said, reaching for his coat to walk out to my car.

“Maybe you can do that for me,” I said. “She’s headed this way.”

“What do you mean headed this way?”

“She’s going to be the director of the Women’s Center at Spelman.”

At first he just looked at me and then he threw back his head and laughed so loud the dishes rattled in the kitchen. You could have knocked me over with a feather. If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand my parents.

“Aren’t you worried about her coming back?” I said.

“Worried?” He laughed again, not quite as loudly, then took out his big white handkerchief and dabbed his eyes gently. “You know why she took that job, don’t you?”

“It’s too good an opportunity to turn down?”

He shook his head slowly, grinning from ear to ear. “She can’t live without me.”

So there it was. I knew suddenly without a shadow of a doubt that he was right. I wonder if my mother knew it, too. “Then I guess the only question left to answer,” I said, grinning back at him, “is can you live without her?”

“Daughter, I wouldn’t even try!” he said, and hugged me so hard I had to catch my breath, which was fine with me. I can breathe anytime.
Soul mates indeed
.

“Ready, daughter?”

“Ready,” I said, and then realized I had left my briefcase upstairs. That was a sign, as if I needed one, that it really was time to head back to D.C. I was getting careless. In my world, forgetting a briefcase is like a cowboy forgetting his horse: unforgivable. “Oh, shoot, Rev! Hang on a second!”

I heard my phone ringing in my purse as I dashed up to my room. “Get that, will you, Rev?” I called back over my shoulder.

But the phone kept on ringing as I grabbed my briefcase and looked around to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything else. Maybe he couldn’t figure out how to answer it, I thought. No one knew better than I did that technology wasn’t the Rev’s strong point.

“Just push the button in the middle,” I said, heading back downstairs, but the Rev was just standing there staring at the caller ID.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“You’ll want to get this one yourself,” he said, handing me the phone. “I think a friend of mine wants to talk to you.”

“Hello?” I said, wondering why he was being so mysterious, and then the voice on the other end said the most beautiful words in the English language.

“Miss Dunbar? Will you please hold for the president?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you and love to my husband and constant collaborator, Zaron W. Burnett Jr.; to my daughter, Deignan; my son-in-law, Will; and my grandchildren, Michael, Chloe, and Bailey. Special thanks to Kris and Jim Williams, their children and grandchildren, Jilo, Abeo, Osaze, Hasina, Ife, Sydney, Sean, Ayanna, Tulani, Tatayana, James, Kylett, and Cabral; and to my West Coast family, Zaron W. Burnett III; Meghan, Skylar, and Griffin Underwood. Thanks also to Miz Johnsie Broadway Burnett, who wanted to know what happened to Brandi; to Lynette Lapeyrolerie, Glenda Hatchett, Walt Huntley, Cecelia Hunter, Ingrid Saunders Jones, and Jimmy Lee Tarver for their friendship and support; and to Dr. Beverly Guy Sheftall, Founding Director of the Spelman College Women’s Research & Resource Center for her vision. Thanks also to Ron Gwiazda for taking care of business; and to Bill Bagwell, because a deal’s a deal.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

P
EARL
C
LEAGE
is the author of
What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day …
, an Oprah’s Book Club selection;
Some Things I Never Thought I’d Do
, a
Good Morning America
Read This! book club pick;
Babylon Sisters
, for which she was named the 2006 Go On Girl! Book Club Author of the Year;
Baby Brother’s Blues
, winner of the 2006 NAACP Image Award and the African American Literary Award for fiction; and
Seen It All and Done the Rest
. The first author selected for the
Essence
Book Club, she collaborated with her husband, writer Zaron W. Burnett Jr. on the poem
We Speak Your Names
. She is also an accomplished dramatist whose plays include
Flyin’ West, Blues for an Alabama Sky
, and
A Song for Coretta
. Cleage and her husband live in Atlanta.

www.pearlcleage.net