The Dear One (3 page)

At the sound of the first bell, groups scurried like birds and disappeared behind dark wooden doors. I stood at my locker and took out the picture of Grandma. She looked up at me and smiled.

“Afeni,” Caesar called, standing at the classroom door, “I've been waiting for you in the classroom.”

“We're supposed to meet by the lockers,” I yelled down the hall, just as the late bell rang.

Caesar crossed her eyes at me. “Birthday pinch,” she whispered, pinching my arm as I slid past her.

“Have to tell you something. You're going to die!” I said.

“What?” Caesar whispered. “Tell me now.”

“Later,” I mouthed, taking my seat.

In class Caesar passed me a note that said,
Happy Birthday, Feni. Write me a note and tell me what you have to tell me.
There was a stick of Doublemint gum wrapped in the paper.

I took the gum out and wrote at the bottom of the paper,
Later. It's too much to tell in one note. Thanks for the gum.

When Caesar read the note, she turned around, raised her eyebrows, and rubbed her hands together.

“Turn to page fifty-one in
Our World,
” Ms. Temple, our history teacher, said. Books slammed onto desks. Pages flipped noisily. On page fifty-one a pilgrim gave a Native American a turkey. They smiled at each other. The drawing was done in watercolors and the Native American had soft, sad eyes.

When Ms. Temple began reading out loud, Caesar turned to me and crossed her eyes. We both knew that pilgrims had given Native Americans blankets with small-pox on them. Caesar is part Native American and part black. We knew not to call Native Americans “Indians.” Ms. Temple read and we didn't listen. In history we knew to hold on to what Ms. Temple said only until we were tested. After that we threw it away.

I doodled in the margin of my notebook, drawing blankets with little dots on them and Native Americans dying. My stomach dipped when I remembered Rebecca coming to our house.

The wind whistled past the windows. Ms. Temple said, “Do the questions at the end of the chapter, quietly. I'll collect your work and mark it as a quiz.” The class groaned. In front of me a note was passed. Someone giggled and Ms. Temple looked up. Soon after I finished my quiz, the bell rang.

“Someone is coming,” I said to Caesar after class. We were standing in front of my locker, watching the halls fill up again.

“Who?” Caesar asked excitedly. Her hair was pulled back away from her face like mine. It was black and brown and had blue dye in the front.

“I can't believe your mother let you put that stuff in your hair,” I said, reaching out to touch the streak of blue.

“She didn't. I put it on in the girls' bathroom this morning. I'm gonna wash it out before I get home.”

“It looks cool.”

“Who's coming?” Caesar asked again.

“I don't know,” I said. “A girl. Her name's Rebecca.” Suddenly, Rebecca's face came to me clearly. A long time ago, when we were living in an apartment waiting for our house to get built, Clair and her kids visited us. The kids tore through the apartment, knocking over things, breaking my toys. The oldest was Rebecca. She had evil gray eyes and yelled at the little kids. They listened to her for a while, then tore through the house some more. Rebecca watched the television. She asked me if there were old movies on. I was seven then and didn't watch movies. Rebecca looked in our refrigerator when she thought no one was watching. She touched our stuff and frowned.

I told all this to Caesar and her eyes opened wide.

“Why is she coming?” Caesar asked.

I shrugged. For some reason this was the part I wanted to keep to myself for a while. “Me, Ma, and Marion are going to talk about it tonight. Maybe later you can come over. For cake and stuff.”

Even before she shook her head no, I knew what the answer would be. “I can't,” she said. Then she looked at me. “I'm sorry.”

“That's okay,” I said, feeling my stomach close up. “She's not drinking anymore.”

Caesar nodded. “I know. It's just kind of hard.”

A long time ago, drunk, Ma had said some not-so-nice things to Caesar, and Caesar had left the house. She had not been back since.

“She hasn't drunk in a long time.”

“That's good. I'm real glad she stopped.”

“You think you'll come over soon?” I asked, fidgeting with my notebook so I wouldn't have to see her say “no.”

Caesar reached out and touched my shoulder. “Yeah,” she said.

When I looked up, she was smiling.

We held hands walking down the hall and went in different directions at the stairway.

Halfway up the stairs, Caesar stopped. “You going to Jack and Jill tonight?”

“Caesar, I hate Jack and Jill.”

“I know, but they'll probably have a party for you.”

“You know what I hate more than Jack and Jill?” I asked.

“A Jack and Jill party.” Caesar laughed and headed toward her class.

In study hall, which is actually the giant auditorium, we were supposed to sit and read. But I could not stop thinking about Rebecca. I could not stop wondering about how she'd gotten pregnant.

I pulled out the silver frame and stared at Grandma. Her eyes followed me. They wanted to know more about Rebecca too. They wanted to know why.

MARION HAD BEEN A PROSECUTOR FOR FIVE YEARS when she walked into her office one day and quit. The next day she stopped drinking. A week later she got a job as a legal-aid attorney, defending poor people who couldn't afford to hire lawyers. The night she won her first case we had the biggest party in Seton.

Marion arrived for my birthday dinner at eight o'clock wearing blue jeans and a sweater. When I came downstairs, she held me away from her, turned me from side to side, and shook her head. “I knew you when you were just a thought,” she said, and pulled my present from her bag. “Go on and open it,” she said. “It's from me and Bernadette.”

“Where is Bernadette, anyway?” I asked, tearing into the present.

“She has her support group tonight. Gay and lesbian teachers. They talk about how hard it is to teach in such a straight environment. It's good for her.”

“How come you don't go to a gay-and-lesbian lawyers support group?” I asked.

“Because all the legal-aid lawyers I work with
are
gay!” Marion laughed.

Marion and Bernadette have been together for eight years. They met at a professional women's conference in New York. Two years later Bernadette moved here and they bought a house together two miles away from us. It's a happily-ever-after story, I guess.

Marion's the only daughter of a white mother and black father. She could be white but says she isn't. Her skin is the color of sand, and her gray eyes have flecks of gold in them.

“You like that, Feni?”

I was staring down at the jeans and sweater Marion had bought me.

“It's the greatest. I'm wearing this tomorrow.” I kissed her on the cheek.

“I was going to get you some shoes, but I didn't know what size you wear.” Marion sat on the couch, pulled an ashtray across the coffee table, and lit a cigarette. “You're growing so fast,” she said, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Makes me feel old.”

Ma came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of chicken with white sauce. She had been experimenting with French dishes.

“Feni, that's excellent. I love that sweater. Marion, you shouldn't have . . . ,” Ma exclaimed.

“Yes, she should have,” I cut in. “It's my birthday!”

“You're right, Feni,” Marion said. “Birthdays are meant to be celebrated!”

Marion looked at me. “Go try them on,” she said as I headed toward the den. “Don't take the tags off before we know if they fit. Those stores give you such a hard time if you don't have the tags.”

“I know what you mean,” Ma said. “Don't get anything on them, Feni!”

“You know what Clair had the nerve to say to me today?” Marion asked Ma. “I tell you, she says she's better since the breakdown, but I think that woman is still halfway out of her mind. Sometimes I don't know what to think.”

“What'd she say?”

I came out of the den zipping up the jeans.

“Look at
you
!” Marion said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Isn't she something, Catherine? Turn around and let us get a better look.”

I turned slowly.

Ma smiled. “Perfect! Just perfect!” She picked up her camera. “Stand close to Marion, Feni . . . and smile.”

Ma clicked four more pictures before she let me take the outfit off.

“Come sit over at the table, Marion. Hurry up and get changed, Feni, before this food gets cold.”

“Now,” Marion said, when I came back into the dining room, “about Clair and Rebecca! Since Peter left—”

“Who's Peter?” I asked, sitting down at the table and helping myself to some chicken. “And why does Rebecca have to stay here anyway?”

“Let her finish, Feni,” Ma said. “Peter was Clair's husband. I knew that no-good man wouldn't be around long.”

“Well, they were together nearly sixteen years,” Marion said. She turned to me. “I know your mother told you it was the three of us everywhere at Spelman—me, Catherine, and Clair. You would never see one of us without the other two.” Marion bit into her chicken and spooned some green beans onto her plate. “This is delicious. Give me the recipe before I leave.”

“Then what happened?” I interrupted.

“Well,” Marion said, “they had six children. Clair was a teacher. But when Peter left, everything fell apart.”

“Last time Clair and I talked,” Ma said softly, “I was still drinking. I should have called her a long time ago. It's been too much time between. It'd be nice to see her again.”

“I think Rebecca in this house will close that gap a little bit. If that girl is anything like Clair, she must have a little bit of the devil in her.”

“Oh, great!” I said. “Just bring the devil right into the house. Don't mind me!”

“I think you two just might get along,” Marion said, cocking an eyebrow.

“I doubt it very seriously.”

“She'll need all kinds of things, Marion—a tutor—”

“Bernadette could tutor her. She already said she would.”

Ma was silent for a moment. “She'll need clothes, a doctor, childbirth classes. But most of all, attention.”

Marion laughed. “Between all of us that girl will have too much of all of those things.”

“Count me out!” I said. “But then again, I guess it doesn't matter what
I
say, since you two have it all figured out.”

Ma and Marion exchanged looks.

“You know it matters, Feni,” Marion said.

“How come she can't stay with you?” I asked her. “You and Bernadette have a big house.”

“Clair doesn't think I live the right kind of life,” Marion said.

I picked up my fork again and mumbled, “That's so stupid.”

“Clair doesn't understand about me and Bernadette. She doesn't understand how happy we are together, how that's what matters,” Marion said. “I can't make her.”

The dining room grew silent. Ma chewed her chicken slowly, and Marion moved the beans around on her plate. I wanted to tell Marion I loved her. And how much I liked Bernadette, that Bernadette was one of Roper's best teachers and I didn't care how they lived.

“How long does she have to stay here?” I asked. The idea of what was happening was starting to sink in.

“Until the baby comes, at least,” Ma said.

I pushed my plate away from me.

“Feni . . . ,” Ma began.

“Feni, nothing!” I yelled, ramming my chair back. “This is an awful thing to give me for my birthday!” Marion reached out to touch me, but I moved away.

“What if I don't want anybody in this house with us?” I asked, not caring that Marion looked surprised.

“Then,” Ma said calmly, “I guess you'll have to get over it, because she's coming.”

“Why wouldn't you want her here, Feni?” Marion asked. “I would think it would be nice to have some company.”

“Then you take her,” I said.

“That's enough,” Ma said. Marion pushed her plate away and lit another cigarette.

“She'll need company,” Marion said calmly. “I work most of the day, and so does your mother.”

I folded my arms and looked away. Something in Marion's voice reminded me of the power grown-ups have over me and how easy it is for them to do what they want with my life.

“Whatever,” I said.

“I think it'll be good for you,” Ma said.

“No, it won't. It'll be good for
you
and Marion. You're the ones feeling all guilty about Clair.”

I left the table without excusing myself and went upstairs.

Downstairs I heard Marion say, “She's something else, isn't she?” and Ma say, “She's her father's daughter, all right.”

I opened Grandma's frame and stared at her. She was still smiling.

LATER THAT NIGHT, LONG AFTER MARION HAD LEFT, MA tapped on my door and peeked in.

“I guess you don't want any cake,” she said.

“I guess I don't.”

“It's from Ms. Maxie's bakery. Buttercream frosting.”

“I said I don't want any.”

She came in and sat on the side of my bed.