Authors: Persia Walker
Harlem Redux (33 page)
“Yes, the Richards case. We can’t afford to let anything distract us from it. Try to talk to the
widow.”
“That’ll be almost impossible.”
“The key word is ‘almost.’ Find a way.” Canfield drew himself up. “And don’t wait too long on the McKay matter. Now that I know what he
is,
what he’s been doing, I can’t afford to have him associated with the Movement.” He gestured toward the letter. “Your operative will bring the evidence when he comes?”
“Oh, yes,” Sweet said. “He’ll bring evidence. He’ll bring plenty.”
Upon leaving Nella’s, David decided to walk home. It was nearly ten o’clock at night. Fifth Avenue was cold and damp and for the most part empty. The street lamps glowed with a ghostly light through the fog that had descended over the avenue.
It was a good stretch from Nella’s apartment to Strivers’ Row and not all of it was through hospitable territory. Negroes still took their lives in their hands when walking through parts of Manhattan. Even so, he decided to walk that night; he hoped it would clear his head.
He had to admit that the picture Nella had drawn of Lilian strengthened the contention that Lilian killed herself, but he was not free of his suspicions of Sweet. Not by a long shot. He was being stubborn and he knew he looked like a man on a personal vendetta, but he was not prepared to give up. Not yet.
He kept up a good pace and in a relatively short time he’d reached lower Harlem. Soon after that, he was passing 130th Street. He immediately thought of Rachel. He recalled that last lonely image of her standing at the curbside, waving. Without thinking, he turned down her block.
She answered the door still wearing her hospital uniform. She was obviously tired but she pushed aside her fatigue when she saw him. Her soft eyes filled with concern. “Have you eaten?”
He shook his head.
She started banging about in her small kitchen and soon the air was fragrant with sizzling bacon. She dug out some potatoes and onions and fried them. David told her to stop. “I don’t want to cause you work.” She smiled and kept on cooking. David ended up helping her. They ate and afterward, as they were washing the dishes, he told her what Nella had said about Lilian’s lost weekend.
“It was horrible, listening to her. And the thing is, I’m sure she’s telling the truth.”
“Would she lie?”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t think she would.” He rubbed his eyes. They were still irritated from the onions. “It doesn’t really mean anything, what she said, you know. Even if Lilian was a bit ...”—he searched for the word—“a bit confused that weekend ... it doesn’t mean that she killed herself.”
“Have you talked to the man who stayed with Sweet at the hotel?”
“No, but I will. And I’m still waiting on the man at the drugstore to tell me what was in that stuff Sweet was giving her.”
“You’re sure the news is gonna be bad—I mean good, good in the sense that it
was
poison?”
He paused, then said: “I think it very likely, yes.”
She looked away. “But suppose he doesn’t find what you’re looking for? Does that mean you’ll be ready to stop looking? To move on? Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”
He cupped her chin and turned her face to him. Her eyes twinkled like emeralds. He recognized unshed tears. On impulse, he put down the dish-towel and took her in his arms, wishing that he could reassure her, but how could he, without lying? He felt her soften against him and felt himself respond. He remembered how soft and supple she’d been. They had moved instinctively to the same inner song, so closely intertwined they could have shared one skin. Her body fitted perfectly to his.
Too perfectly,
he thought, and released her. “I’d better go.”
“Stay.” She gripped his hand. “Just a little while longer. Please.”
“Rachel ...” He gazed at her and felt his desire harden, but he shook his head. “I can’t.”
She kissed him, muffling his refusals. His resistance weakened. Before he knew it, he was returning her kisses, his hands pressing into the small of her back. After a while, she interlaced her fingers with his. “C’mon,” she said and drew him down the hallway.
She had a small bedroom. The bed itself wasn’t much more than a glorified cot, but like the rest of her place, it was very feminine, very inviting. To a man coming out of the desert, it looked like paradise.
He tried to turn off his thoughts, tried not to think about how he’d feel later, and for a time, he succeeded. But when it came down to it, he couldn’t go ahead. Poised over her, he stopped. He gazed down at her, tightened his jaw against the throbbing in his groin—and made himself think. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He became aware of the thudding of his heartbeat and concentrated on every inhale-exhale.
Rachel moaned beneath him. “David?”
When he thought he was calm, he opened his eyes.
“David?” she said again, this time a little worried.
He kissed her, then rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pushing herself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”
His hands began to shake. Soon, his whole body was shaking.
“David?” She put a hand out and touched his elbow, more than a little worried now.
“I’m all right,” he said. He inhaled deeply, trying to get his trembling under control. “But I can’t—I can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right. I gotta go.” He patted her hand. “Rest, now. Sleep, if you can.”
“The hell I will.” She half-raised up.
He stood and started getting dressed.
“You can’t leave me like this,” she cried.
His response was to finish getting dressed and walk to the door. There he paused, with one hand on the knob. With a low groan, he dropped his hand, went back to the bed, planted his fists on it, and leaned over her.
“Don’t you understand?” he said. “The problem isn’t that I don’t want you. It’s that I want you too damn much. I can’t be messing around and still concentrate on what I got to do.”
He grabbed her face and kissed her hard. Then before she could say anything more, he was gone. The sound of her weeping followed him as he took his hat and coat down from the wall hook by her door. He ran down the stairs, cursing himself. Crossing the street, he headed toward Lenox Avenue and forced his thoughts back to the business at hand.
His reawakened feelings for Rachel disturbed and dismayed him. He felt vaguely that he was taking advantage of her. The next morning, he scolded himself for having given in to his desire to see her, for having let himself be swept away by his need for—
Standing over his wash sink, his thoughts came to a full stop. His need for
what?
When he’d first gone to see her, he had told himself it was to heal old wounds and to possibly gain information about Lilian. He had attributed his second visit to his desire to share his suspicions about Sweet and correct— that is, clarify—what she’d told him earlier. Last night, he’d told himself that she would calm him after his disappointing day.
He splashed his face with cold water.
The fact was, he was finding excuses to visit her. He had crossed the borderline that separates properly ending an old relationship from the territory of building a new one. And he had done it without due thought.
He toweled his face.
Do I really want to start up something new with her?
How could he? Nothing in his personal situation had bettered. In fact, he could practically count the hours before his departure.
But what if you
could
stay?
a little voice asked him.
Would you want to be with her then?
It was a question he couldn’t answer.
He ate a hasty breakfast in the kitchen with Annie, then collected his dishes and brought them to the sink.
“Is Mr. Jameson still here?” he asked.
“No, he’s gone again,” she said. “Another one of them business trips. He won’t be back for days.”
She sounded tired. He glanced at her. The circles under her eyes were more pronounced than usual.
“You all right?”
She gave a wan smile. “I’m fine, Mr. David, really I am. Just had a little trouble sleeping.”
“Well, maybe you’d better go lie down.”
“Soon as I finish here.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No, I cain’t let you—”
“Annie, I’ve been doing my own washing and cleaning for a long time now. I’ll take care of it.”
She looked grateful. “Well, all right. If you think you can manage.” She started out, then paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Rachel called for you late yesterd’y.”
“Thanks. I saw her last night.”
She turned back to him, an unhappy look on her face. “You saw her?”
He nodded. She gripped the back of a chair.
“‘Scuse me, Mr. David, but do you think that was wise? I mean, you coming to depend on her a lot, ain’t you?”
“She’s a good friend, a very good person to lean on.”
“That’s just what I mean. Nobody should be leaning on her too hard. That child’s got her own worries and woes.”
“Yes, I know.”
She gave him a peculiar look. “You know? Just what d’you know?”
He felt uneasy. “I meant ...” His voice trailed off as he realized that he in fact knew nothing about Rachel’s difficulties. He’d been too busy taking his troubles to her to wonder whether she had cares of her own. The vague sense of selfishness that had haunted him that morning and the evening began to take on weight and shape.
“D’you know anything about what’s been going on in that child’s life?” Annie asked.
“No, I’ve been too pigheaded to ask.”
She shook her head and turned away.
He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Annie, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She wouldn’t look at him.
“Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
“I cain’t. Mr. David, I just cain’t.”
“You’ve got to.”
Annie hesitated, then she said, “Just r’member what the Good Book says, Mr. David. What ye sow, so shall ye reap. R’member them words.” She sighed and rubbed her wrists. “I think I’ll lay down now. These old bones just ain’t what they used to be.”
David was nearly out the door when the telephone rang. He had a sense of impending disaster the moment he realized who was on the line.
“What’s this all about, Doctor?”
Dr. Steve cleared his throat. “After our last conversation, I went over my notes on Lilian. It seems there
was
some question about whether she was indeed pregnant—”