-15-

She walks quickly uptown. Broadway stretches awake beneath the humid June morning. It’s early. Many stores still shuttered. Well-stocked outdoor fruit stands offer an occasional passerby with a quick hand a free apple. No one steals for fun, she’s heard herself say many times, but lately it seems some do. Not just apples.

Still rankled by Johnny’s visit yesterday, she couldn’t settle. It wasn’t so much what he said, which was bullshit, but the angry words with which she responded that still upset her. They must’ve been hurtful. He is her brother. It was the worst day for him to show up. Maisie’s suggestion was batting at her brain, and she was nervous that Melvin could somehow arrive home at any moment. Her worry was wasted. He didn’t come home at all. He phoned around midnight, said they should meet today for breakfast at their coffee shop. He wouldn’t say anything more, and she knew not to probe.

After his call her mind refused to quiet. The questions wouldn’t abate. Was Melvin about to tell her that he has to disappear, go underground like others in the movement have already done? If so, could she go with him? They would need money, which they don’t have. Where would they get it? Where would they hide? Would he choose to immerse himself in a Black neighborhood where she’d stick out like a sore thumb? Oh lord, it all made her feel so powerless.

UUU

Melvin is in a booth when she arrives at the coffee shop. They touch fingers across the table. The steam-fogged windows offer coziness; the smells of bacon and fried eggs rise with the greasy smoke. There’s a scattering of people at tables, mostly Columbia University students. One overworked, overweight waiter trundles back and forth with orders.

“I ordered for both of us,” he says.

“Missed you at home last night.”

“Me too,” he says, without conviction, though it’s clear he’s excited.

“So . . . tell . . .” she prompts, trying not to sound as alarmed as she feels.

He leans forward as if to pick something out of her hair and whispers. “It’s going to happen. Not sure for how long. Mexico, Cuba, then Ghana.”

“You have to disappear?”

“Not at all. I’m being sent as an emissary of the Panthers to open international offices. We want to expand. It’s the right time.”

She wants to go with him, not only to be with him, but also to visit those countries. But who would send her? Not the Panthers. Not her family. Maybe Nina’s wealthy father, she thinks bitterly.

“Who’s paying?” she asks.

“Some rich dudes.”

“Why not use the money for the Panther bail fund?” Her voice as low as his.

“Good question. We rolled the idea back and forth for hours last night and decided progressing to international stature is more important. A presence in the world strengthens the party here. Look at Malcolm; he knew when to travel.”

Malcolm was murdered, she doesn’t say. “I could worry a lot.”

“Josie, if you want to worry your ass, worry twenty-four a day while I’m here, because no one there is gunning for us, okay? The police filling Black Panthers with bullets could happen only in the US.”

When he talks like this, like now, she needs to peel away the layers, find the heart of the matter, which is what, she can’t say. She nods, though, because they’re in a public place, and everything they utter must be circumspect.

“I’ll drop by the apartment this afternoon to pack a few things. Look, I’ll miss you hard,” he adds.

She nods, too close to tears to utter a word.

The waiter sets down their English muffins and coffee and stands for a moment as if wanting to make sure they eat, or is it that they’re the only Black and white couple in the restaurant?

They walk briskly toward the subway station. She can’t help but notice his elation and is careful not to rain on his parade. But the warmth of their daily lives feels upended.

“I’ll try and call you. The feds will know where I am as soon as I land, so what the hell? Just don’t complicate the conversation, understand?” It’s a warning to be brief and trite, and something in her wants to say, Why not send a postcard? Except hearing his voice will reassure her. Some women kiss their men good-bye, knowing they’ll return at six. Some women bid farewell at airports with their itineraries in hand, and some watch prison gates close, but they can visit. She, too, needs something to grasp while his body is gone and his soul invested elsewhere. But what that could be, she has no idea.

Outside the subway entrance, him going uptown to the Panther office, her downtown to work, they stand close enough for her to breathe in his tea-like scent. His wispy beard a bit longer now, his bush of hair modified by an inch or two, the shine in his eyes as bright as ever. Yet a Black man and a white woman who don’t crave attention kissing passionately in the middle of the street isn’t going to happen. Instead she lightly brushes his lips with her own and for the first time this morning feels him focus on her. Anywhere else and they’d be locked together. His hand tightens around her arm, and he whispers, “I’m scarred from our love, baby, and plan never to heal. I’m already looking forward to homecoming.” He slides something into her pocket. “Rosemary’s private pay phone. Don’t speak to anyone else. It’s for emergencies only, not the simple cold, but on a scale of lung cancer. And, baby, memorize the number.” His finger travels across her cheek, and for a moment he gazes at her. “You take care, okay?”

Watching him disappear down the subway steps, she wants to call out, Take me with you; I’ll be good. A child’s cry ahead of abandonment.