Queen Sugar: A Novel (38 page)

On the floor, John groaned.

“Answer my question,” Ralph Angel said.

Charley sighed. If she could turn the clock back twenty years and alter Ralph Angel’s fate, she would. Gladly. “I don’t know,” she said. It was an unsatisfactory answer, but the only one she could offer.

But Ralph Angel nodded, as if she’d confirmed something. He reached over, then, and turned on the radio, tuned the dial away from Miss Honey’s church music, and stopped at Marvin Gaye’s voice, smooth as cane syrup.

Charley couldn’t believe what she was hearing: the some song that played the first time she and Hollywood sat in Miss Honey’s kitchen after the reunion. She glanced at Hollywood and their eyes met.

And that’s when Hollywood inched forward, perhaps emboldened by the song on the radio, held his hand out. “Come on, Ralph Angel,” Hollywood said. “Put down the gun.”

If this were one of Hollywood’s movies, Charley thought, police would be creeping around outside. Men on the roofs across the street, calling each other on their radios. Charley closed her eyes. No one was going to burst through the doors.

Ralph Angel blinked. “I’ll be damned. Look who’s decided to be the hero.”

“Please, Ralph Angel,” said Hollwood. “I’m asking you nice. You done enough already. John’s hurt. Give me the gun.”

Charley watched as Ralph Angel.checked the clock. He wiped blood off his cheek. “Shouldn’t you be out cutting somebody’s grass? You ever take my advice and raise your price?”

In the background, Marvin Gaye sang low and smooth.

“We got to get John to the doctor,” Hollywood said.

“Of course you didn’t,” Ralph Angel said. “Why would you listen to me? You know, Charley thinks I’m jealous of you.” He turned to Charley. “Ain’t that right, sis? Ain’t that what you said about your boyfriend here?” Then he turned back to Hollywood. “You know, we used to be best friends. In fact, I’ll even admit you were my
only
friend. But then you got all chummy with Charley, and where did that leave me?” He tapped the gun’s barrel against his temple. “Hey. I just got an idea. Since you two are buddies now, why don’t you tell Charley how you got your name.”

Charley saw Hollywood’s face change. He looked confused.

“My name’s Francis. After my granddaddy.”

“Not your real name. Your nickname.”

“My nickname’s Hollywood.”

Ralph Angel rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Not that one. Tell her how you got the name Peanut. Hey, Charley, you want to hear a funny story?”

Hollywood shook his head. “No. No, no. You can’t tell that story.”

Ralph Angel looked at Charley. “A bunch of us boys used to work for this man, Mr. Sam. He owned a pharmacy downtown.”

Hollywood put his hands over his ears. “Stop talking, Ralph Angel. Stop talking.”

Charley put her hand out. “Don’t do this.”

“What’s wrong? I’m giving you your big break. You get your chance at stardom.” Ralph Angel turned back to Charley. “Mr. Sam used to hire a lot of the black boys from the Quarters to work on the loading dock after school. Thing was, he had this wife, see? Tits like cantaloupes. Mr. Sam liked to take us home with him on our breaks. Used to like to watch us fuck his wife.”

“Shut up, Ralph Angel,” Brother said.

“So, one day, Mr. Sam took ole Hollywood here. But when it was his turn—”

Charley knew there were only two ways for action movies to end. The hero either died or he didn’t. She looked at Hollywood. But what if you weren’t the hero? What if you were only a guy who lived with his mother and cut people’s grass for five dollars? What if you were the guy who stood on the sidelines while someone else got the girl? “Ralph Angel,” Charley said, and it sounded like she was begging because she was. “You have to stop.”

“When it was Hollywood’s turn, he got scared,” Ralph Angel said. “Couldn’t get it up. Mr. Sam called him a nancy boy. Threw him out. When Hollywood came to work the next day, Mr. Sam told him to take his peanut-sized dick and get off his dock.” He turned to Hollywood. “Am I telling it right, Peanut? Ain’t that the way it happened?”

Charley didn’t have to look at Hollywood to know he was crying.

Ralph Angel had finished his story. Everyone stared at the floor.

“I guess that does it for me.” Ralph Angel sighed wearily, as though he were relieved to finally set down a heavy box he’d been carrying. He looked at Miss Honey, his whole demeanor softening, and Charley saw the little boy reemerge. “Well, ’Da, it looks like Violet and Brother were right. Things didn’t work out like you wanted. But before I go, I wanted to say I’m sorry I pushed you last time. I feel real bad about that. Violet and Brother won’t believe me, but I really am. You’ve always been in my corner and I hate myself for hurting you. I know I’ve let you down.” He walked over to Blue. “Time to go, Buddy.”

Blue whimpered as Ralph Angel picked him up.

Charley took a step forward. “Leave Blue here. I’ll take care of him.”

Ralph Angel looked baffled. “And let you have the last thing that means something to me? No, thanks.” Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

No one moved until the front door slammed. When they heard Ralph Angel’s car pull away, Violet and Brother rushed to John’s side. Charley grabbed Micah, who was crying, then she called 911 for an ambulance. After that, she called the police. And after that, she walked over to Hollywood, but he wouldn’t look at her.

Miss Honey, meanwhile, stood by herself against the wall.

Out on the road, Ralph Angel rolled down his window. The night was cold, the air stung his face. He turned on the radio and settled back into his seat. A two-hour drive to New Orleans. They’d lie low for a couple nights and then what—Orlando? Miami? Maybe they’d try Atlantic City. He looked over his shoulder. Blue was stretched out on the backseat, where he’d cried himself to sleep.

Ralph Angel blew past the Indian casino, all bright and glowing, and for a moment he thought about Amber, wondered if she ever got that cherry-red pickup. He had just passed the turnoff where she lived when a car pulled out and sped to catch up with him. Another second and the icy blue and white lights flashed. Ralph Angel slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, cruised to a stop.

“License and registration, please.”

Ralph Angel recognized the voice. His heart drummed.

One Mississippi.

“Good evening, Officer. I’ve got my license right here.” His hands started to sweat.

Two Mississippi. Three.

The beam of the officer’s flashlight swept over Ralph Angel’s face, swept over the dashboard, swept across his shoulder, and hovered for a few extra seconds above the passenger seat.

“Step out of the car, please.” The officer’s voice was tense. Tenser than it had been before.

Ralph Angel squinted into the harsh light. He shielded his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

Four Mississippi.

“I said, step out of the car, please.”

“If it’s about the rental, I can explain.” Ralph Angel laughed nervously. “You see, I was going to turn it in. I got the contract in here, somewhere. I’ll pay what I owe. I swear.” His thoughts shifted to
The Cane Cutter.
After he took it from Charley’s dresser, he wrapped it in a towel, put it in the trunk. In the end, he hadn’t given it away; couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d just wanted to give Charley a good scare. Hold on to it for a couple days then give it back.

“I said, step out of the car.
Now.
”

Five Mississippi.

Ralph Angel saw the trooper pull his gun from its holster and take a measured step to the side. He listened as the trooper called for backup on his walkie-talkie, and it seemed like only seconds before he heard sirens in the distance. Ralph Angel reached down, slowly, to unbuckle his seat belt and saw what the trooper saw: John’s gun on the passenger seat where he’d tossed it. He heard a click as the trooper released his gun’s safety.

“I won’t tell you again, sir. Step out of the car. Do it now. Right. Now.”

Six Mississippi.

“Please, Officer. It ain’t how it looks. I got my kid with me, see? Just give me a second.
Jesus
. It’s not what you think. I swear to God.” Without thinking, Ralph Angel reached out his hand. “Please. I can explain.” And then he heard the trooper’s gun fire.

In the last week, Charley did everything she could think of to save her farm. She called her suppliers and pleaded for extensions. She went back to the banks. Miss Honey loaned her twelve hundred dollars. Violet asked her congregation for donations. Micah and Blue sold lemonade and baked cookies using Violet’s secret recipe. Denton and Alison insisted on forfeiting their cuts of the profits. Remy tried to work out a deal with the mills.

But nothing helped. The numbers were nowhere near adding up.

And so, on a beautiful, crisp Saturday in October, when a light wind rustled the cane and the roads were clogged with tractors hauling loads to the mill, Charley prepared to meet Landry and Baron.

In the kitchen, Micah’s Polaroids were spread over the table. Charley gathered them into a stack. Here was a picture of her standing at the edge of her fields looking exhausted and overwhelmed the first day they arrived; here was a picture of Miss Honey at the stove. Miss Honey didn’t like being photographed and Charley guessed Micah took it when she wasn’t looking. Here was a picture of Micah and Violet and Micah’s crawfish cake, and here was a picture of the cake that won first place, though they all agreed Micah’s was better. Here was a picture of Micah and Blue that Ralph Angel must have taken. Micah looked so serious, Charley thought, but she liked that she could see Miss Honey’s house in the background and that if you looked close, you could see where all the Christmas lights were still strung across the porch from last year. Blue must have taken the next two, because they were all blurry and out of focus. One was a picture of Ralph Angel’s car, the next, a picture of the bike Blue wanted for his birthday, which Charley remembered was still on sale downtown at the five-and-dime. Here was a picture of Blue and Ralph Angel, both of them smiling the same smile as Blue sat on Ralph Angel’s lap and Ralph Angel wrapped his arms around him. And finally, here was a picture of Micah standing in her garden the week she started it, the ground in the background dark and bare, the newly dug rows evenly spaced. Charley was tempted to ask Micah if she could keep it, but put it back on the table. There would be plenty of time for gardens; plenty of years left for pictures. Charley picked up the picture of Ralph Angel and Blue again, and felt a squeeze in her chest. Her brother was dead. She still couldn’t quite believe it.

At last, Charley slid the picture of Ralph Angel and Blue back into the stack. “I guess I’d better go,” she said, and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“I just hate the thought of you having to cut a deal with those devils,” Violet said. “I still wish we could have done more.”

Charley loved that Violet wanted to keep fighting, even when it was clear they’d lost. “Three or four years, once I’ve paid off the debt, maybe I’ll try again,” she said.

The hardest part had been breaking the news to Denton and Alison. The morning after Ralph Angel shot John, she found them in the fields setting fire to the acres of dried cane leaves the combine had left behind. There was something unexpectedly beautiful about watching the cane burn.

“She sure looks better with her clothes on,” Alison had said, and after a few startled seconds, Charley realized he meant the cane looked bare without its leaves.

“Guess I’d better dig out my old fishing pole,” Denton had said, stoic as ever, and that was when Charley broke down.

Now Charley patted her pocket for her car keys. She hugged Violet and they stood by the sink, holding each other tightly before Charley pulled away. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Someone knocked at the front door.

“I got it,” Micah yelled, and in a minute, she walked back into the kitchen followed by Hollywood.

Charley had not seen him since the shooting. Remembering the way he stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at the floor rather than at her, she understood why he hadn’t come around. But her heart swelled at the sight of him and she didn’t hold back.

“It’s great to see you,” Charley said. “How’ve you been?”

Hollywood shrugged. “I’m okay.” He wore his helmet instead of his baseball cap. “I was just on my way—I was heading over to—I mean, I thought I’d—”

“It’s fine,” Charley said, and gave him a look that said all of it—the awful peanut story, his tears of humiliation—was forgotten. “I’m just happy you stopped by. I’ve missed you.” She stepped toward him, extended her hand, pulled him close. When she stood back to give him space, she saw his face had flushed.

“We’ve all missed you, man,” Violet said.

And just then, Miss Honey stepped up from the den. “Is that Hollywood?” She marched over and swatted his arm with a rolled-up
TV Guide
. “Where’ve you been? My yard looks awful.”

Hollywood beamed then. “I’ve been missing y’all, too. How is everybody? How’s John?”

“He gets out of the hospital today,” Charley said. “We’re meeting Brother over there in a couple hours. As soon as I—” Her voice trailed off.

Violet looked at Hollywood and sighed. “Charley’s losing her farm,” she said, and explained that without
The Cane Cutter
, there was nothing for Charley to sell at the auction.

“Without the money I would have made from selling the statue, I don’t have money to get through grinding,” Charley said.

Hollywood looked at Charley. “How much do you need?”

“Fifty thousand dollars. At least.” She shook her head. She was tired of saying the number.

“I got fifty thousand,” Hollywood said.

Charley looked at Hollywood standing there in his T-shirt and faded fatigues and sneakers. She looked at his pale blue eyes that always seemed to be searching, and his doughy, open face. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

Finally, it was Violet who said what they all were thinking: “Hollywood Ancelet. How in the world do you have fifty thousand dollars?”

“It’s my grass-cutting money,” Hollywood said, like
what do you think I been cutting grass for all those years?
“It’s just sitting down at the bank, collecting dust.” He looked right into Charley’s face. “You can have it. You’ve been a good friend to me since the day you got here. I don’t have any use for it. I got everything I need. You don’t even have to pay me back.”

Charley looked through the window into the powder-blue sky and imagined her fields, the rows of cane—her cane, her father’s cane—looking lush and orderly like the fields she passed when they drove in all those months ago. She allowed herself, maybe for the first time, to think her dream would come true. She thought of Micah. She thought of her father.

“You know what
Maman
used to say about cane farming?” Hollywood said. “She used to say, ‘Cain killed Abel but I ain’t gonna let it kill me,’” then he waited for them to get the joke.

“Of course I’ll pay you back,” Charley said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘Thank you, and praise the Lord,’” Miss Honey said. “Why don’t you start with that?”