It was April 1978. Mercy was only four years old and it seemed like the whole town had turned grey. The grey river washed against the grey shore. The grey trees stood against the grey sky, biding their time, refusing to bloom. Trudy and Mercy were sitting in a booth at the back of the Jubilee, and Mercy was peeling the cheese off her slice of pizza and cramming it into her mouth, her little hands covered in sauce. Trudy was smoking, staring past Mercy out the front window of the restaurant, when the door opened and the bells jingled. Two men came in, laughing so hard that they staggered and bumped against each other as they made their way past the front counter.
Both tall. Both lean.
Both dressed like they were from somewhere else. Lower, tighter jeans. T-shirts with dumb slogans.
I’m with Stupid. Keep on Truckin’.
One of the men was pale and freckled with curly dark hair and giant sideburns. The other man had broad shoulders and a broad smile. His skin was a deep, rich brown. This was a show-stopper. Every single one of the eight hundred inhabitants of Preston Mills was as white as paste — of English, Irish, Dutch, or German extraction — and not one of them had ever seen a black man except on TV.
“What?” said Mercy, seeing Trudy’s eyebrows lift. “What are you looking at?”
Trudy scowled at her and shook her head, reached across and touched her finger to the little girl’s lips. Quiet.
Mercy wrapped her hand around her aunt’s finger and pulled it aside. She whispered, “Trudy, what?” Not waiting for an answer, she rose to her knees to look over the back of the booth.
“Sit down, Mercy.” Trudy ground her cigarette out in the ashtray and took a sly look around at the other patrons. Nine or ten others, mostly men. Frozen. Staring. That giant fool, Jimmy Munro, pushed his chair back from the table, stood up, and lifted his chin at the strangers. He was always looking for a fight. Trudy could see him sizing up the newcomers, assessing his chances. Mercy brushed a fly off her forehead and looked from Jimmy to the strangers and back again. Jimmy said, “Can we help you with something?”
The freckled one pushed his hands deep into his front pockets, rocked back on the heels of his boots, and smiled. Trudy could see a good three inches of tanned skin between his belt and the bottom of his shirt. She could see the shadowy trail of dark hair down the middle. Like an oasis in the desert. Unable, or unwilling, to take her eyes off this welcome sight, she reached blindly across the table and tugged at the back of Mercy’s shirt so that the little girl dropped back onto her seat.
“You know what?” said the stranger. “That’s nice of you, but we’re just here to see our friends.” He caught Trudy’s eye and nodded. Then he and his companion walked right over to their table and sat down.
As if it were true. As if they had any right.
“Thanks for letting us join you, ladies. Such a friendly little town.”
Trudy knew she was being observed. Her feelings about this stranger were equal parts rage and attraction. And she was painfully tired. Her eyes were burning from cigarette smoke. She had a full night shift at the factory ahead of her and she had been chasing Mercy all day. And now she found herself in the middle of this ridiculous standoff.
“Listen,” she said.
“Jules,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“Jules Tremblay. That’s my name. And this is James.” James nodded. Trudy thought she would die of irritation.
“Listen, Jewels. And James. Nobody in this restaurant believes that you are my friends.”
“Why not?”
Trudy sighed. “Because they all know me, and they know I don’t have any friends.”
“I’m your friend,” said Mercy.
“Right,” said Trudy. “I have one friend.” She looked over at Jimmy and his table of galoots. Flipped her middle finger at them. They looked away. “Time to go, Mercy. Say goodbye.”
“Bye, friends,” said Mercy, quietly.
“You guys should probably go, too. Nothing good is going to happen here.”
Trudy grabbed her jacket. The men stood to let them out of the booth. Mercy looked back at them and waved as Trudy dragged her to the front of the restaurant to pay.
And she knew it already. Trudy knew that even though it was indefensible, even though he had done nothing to distinguish himself, even though she knew nothing about him at all, she would think of him.
She would think of him and little else until she saw him again.