DADDY SLICES INTO HIS STEAK; blood and buttery fat pool on the plate. It looks delicious. I play with my spoon, moving it around the broth he’s ordered for me, as if I’m an octogenarian who can’t chew her food any longer. He’s trying to pick a fight. I’m ornery when I’m hungry and he knows it.
A picture of Patience flashes in my mind, cutting Daddy’s steak before dinner, and a pang of regret hits me in my chest. He’s smiling up at her, no doubt seeing Mama’s face reflected back at him: heart-shaped, the color of coffee that’s more cream than anything else, albeit a bit pimply. I should have paid more attention to how she played him. I should have checked her the times she called me tar baby when she was mad, and then forgiven her right after instead of letting that wall grow thick as blackberry vines between us. There were things she could have taught me, things I needed to learn about how to be a girl in this world full of men who want to control you.
There was one time—Mama was sick by then, getting sicker by the day—that Daddy had gotten so bad he’d started sniping at Patience, too.
“Do you like boys?” she asked me later that day.
We were doing the laundry, placing the sheets on the line the way Granny showed us so that we didn’t waste any space: pin left, pin right, smooth and pull.
“Course I like boys. I guess. Just don’t have much time for ’em,” I said, keeping my real feelings close.
“I mean, you never had a sweetheart, and you’re almost seventeen now.”
“So? I’ve been busy. Why do you care anyway?” I asked, irritation lacing my words.
“I don’t care. Just curious is all. Mama’s gettin’ sicker and Peter’s gonna ask me to marry him. I won’t be here anymore, and you’ll be in the house all alone with Daddy,” she said, like it was a to-do list instead of our future.
Until that moment I’d thought she might adore Daddy as much as he adored her, but she looked at me straight on, letting the truth fill the gaps in our voices.
“If you not thinking about marriage, it might be good for you to talk to Mama about college.”
“What’s Mama gonna do?”
“Mama can make things happen in her own way. It may not be your way, but it works just the same.”
The conversation ended and we never talked about it again. A week later Peter proposed and Mama made Daddy promise to pay my way through Spelman. I didn’t give Patience enough credit then. I do now.
“Nutrition! Medical intervention would hardly be necessary if these people would follow simple commonsense guidelines to eating and basic care. It all comes down to the correct amount of vitamins and minerals that are essential to a proper diet. Lean meats and good milk. Fresh vegetables, not all of that fatback and collard greens soaked in pig grease,” Daddy rambles.
He’s excited, vacillating between moods, irritated one moment, energized the next. He’s been useful today. Anyone would think we were having the loveliest of dinners, but he’s not really talking to me—he’s talking to my sister’s substitute.
“Daddy?” I lace my voice with honey like Patience would. “What was it like in the main car?”
His eyes flick up from his steak and then back to his plate.
He grunts as if he’s just realized I’m his sole dinner companion. “Claustrophobic. Odious. Filled to every corner with people talking too loudly or playing cards or checkers. Hardly anyone could be found in serious study of a book of some kind.”
“Was there any music?” I ask, trying my luck.
His jaw works harder to chew the bit of meat in his mouth, as if my question has somehow made the steak harder, less yielding to his machinations. He swallows and takes a sip of water. His eyes find me again, lingering longer than before, but still less than a few seconds. I have to wonder if he’s afraid of seeing himself reflected back at him or his mother.
“Someone had a harmonica. Another a fiddle,” he adds.
“Did they crack open a window to let the devil out?” I say, and laugh.
It’s one of Granny Lou Ann’s old sayings. Even in the dead of winter she’d leave the door open in her place. She said too much of a good time could seep into your bones and make you turn away from work if you didn’t let a little out. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but it doesn’t last. In fact, it backfires.
“Why are you suddenly so talkative?” he asks.
“I was just interested in your day. I’ve been cooped up in this car with no one to talk to,” I reply. Which is partly true.
“Cooped up. Hmm.” He considers the phrase but doesn’t say anything else.
“I was thinking that there might be people that I could talk to in the main car. There might be some other girls traveling as I am.”
“No.” He bites off the word.
“But—”
“I said no. You’ll stay right here in this car until we arrive in Charlotte.”
“Charlotte? But we’re going to Atlanta,” I say, confused. What would he want to do in Charlotte?
“I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve received a wire from an old classmate to look out for a gentleman on our trip, a graduate from Allen University who is pursuing the medical field after a study of theology. We had a chance to meet in the main car. He has invited us to stay as guests at his home for a day or two. He was a great help to me as I tended to the woman.”
“But classes start in a week. Why would we take time out of our traveling schedule to have dinner with strangers?”
“No brother Alpha is a stranger. Besides, he says that he has a sister that you might get on with, not to mention his mother. She’s ailing and is in need of care; I’m sure you could help in that regard,” he replies.
My stomach is in knots. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can’t, but I can. I just never thought he’d stoop this low. I am so foolish. So completely naive. Any man who would disown his own mother would do anything to make his life easier.
“You’re marrying me off,” I say in disbelief.
“Now, now. Don’t get yourself into a tizzy. No one said anything about marriage. This is just a meeting. If you find that you and this boy suit, that would be a happy coincidence,” he says, like we’re discussing the weather and not the fact that he’s sealed my fate without even consulting me.
“Will I have any say in the matter? Would I be able to pursue my schooling? My music?” I ask, the fury and pain building inside me.
“No matter what you do, you can always pursue your music. There is a great need in the community for accomplished classical music instructors,” he says.
My head swims, and every cell in my body is vibrating. I can feel the strands of hair on my head standing at attention. My heart burns with the effort of beating double time. This was a trap. He had no intention of keeping his promise to Mama.
“No.” It comes out small at first, but the force of it grows within me and I have to say it again. “No!” I roar. I slam my fist on the table, rattling the plates and dishes so much that the carafe of water tips and spills onto the floor.
“I will not marry a man I’ve never seen. I will… I won’t go! I’ll stay on myself and continue to Atlanta on my own,” I say, trying to control the tremble in my voice.
“How dare you speak to me in that manner,” he growls. “You will do as I say and when I say it.” His voice is low, the anger snipping at the ends of his consonants.
“I have my own mind. I will make my own decisions. I’m no longer a child. You don’t speak for me!” My voice is at shrieking level now. I’ve lost all control of it.
He coughs, his version of a laugh, and rises to meet me nose to nose. “I speak for you and every woman in this family,” he says, his measured voice full of venom. “You have no status. You have no money. Your name is not even your own; it is mine. You should be grateful that any decent man would want you as his prize.” He puffs out a breath. “Do you think your music will earn you a husband?” he asks, incredulously.
I don’t feel myself doing it; it just happens. My hands, my arms, have minds of their own. In their rage, they pick up the glass on the table and douse Daddy in a shower of iced tea.
He’s slapped me before, for back talk and sass, but never this hard. My teeth rattle and I can taste blood in my mouth, metallic and sharp. His fingers dig into my scalp as he grabs my hair.
My mouth is open in a small scream when the sliding car door opens. Every ugly thing about us, about me, is exposed.
My eyes lock on Fayard’s for just a moment, a moment of relief that is crushed when Mr. Max quickly slides the door closed as if they’ve seen nothing at all.