15

Detroit was on fire. Just one more race riot for the summer. Buffalo, Newark, Minneapolis. And then Detroit. Even in the black and white of our television screen, I could see the hot flames licking up the sides of buildings and houses. Plumes of smoke filled the sky like clouds. Police wearing helmets and carrying shields marched through the streets while black residents ran or fought back.

We watched all evening, Mom shaking her head most of the time. Joel fell asleep on the sofa about eleven. I sat on the floor, legs bent and knees tucked up under my chin. It was near midnight when a gray bar spanned across the screen followed by the face of the president.

Johnson called the riots “extreme disorder in Detroit, Michigan.” From what I saw, I would have thought the words “war zone” were more apt.

A war zone less than a three-hours’ drive from our front door. It simply did not seem possible.

“No one is going to win this,” Mom said, standing to turn the television off.

She looked at Joel and smiled. He looked snug as a bug. Since he was a baby, he could always sleep anywhere, a skill I had never learned.

“We can let him sleep there tonight,” she said. “I’d hate to wake him.”

On that Thursday afternoon, the rain came in lazy showers, and a pair of retired local men drank coffee and grumbled amongst themselves about the weather being no good for fishing. They’d not ordered food but asked for endless warm-ups on their coffee. Bernie rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“They’re going to bankrupt me,” he muttered.

I offered to water down the coffee. To that he’d made a hissing sound. But the corner of his mouth had twitched and I knew he was trying not to laugh.

David came in, as always, for a late lunch, sitting in the booth closest to the coffeemaker like he did every time he came. While he waited for me he read one of the papers that Bernie set out for customers. He had it opened to the comics.

“My favorite is Charlie Brown,” I said, pulling the order pad out of my apron pocket.

“I’m a sucker for Marmaduke,” he said, smiling up at me. “I had a big dog like him when I was a kid.”

“I would have figured you for a Batman reader.”

“He’s all right.” He folded the paper. “But he never made me laugh. Now, Marmaduke. That dog gets me every time.”

“What was your dog’s name?”

“Baby,” he answered. “My little sister named him.”

“I like that name.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to chase him whenever he ran away,” he said. “Come back, Baby! Be a good boy, Baby.”

I smiled, imagining it. “What can I get you?”

“The special is fine, please,” he answered. “And a glass of milk?”

“Sure,” I said, leaving him to his comics to put his order in.

While I waited for Bernie to serve up his plate of baked chicken and mashed potatoes with a side of green beans, I gave the table of men their bills, collecting their empty coffee cups. They grumbled their thanks before going on in their conversation.

“You hear about these riots over in Detroit?” one of the men said. “You hear about them?”

“Sure I did. Couldn’t hardly not,” the other said. “It’s all they wanna talk about on the news.”

“Awful mess, don’t you think?”

“Can’t even imagine.”

“What do you think they’re trying to accomplish? We already got one war on our hands. All these riots. They trying to start a second Civil War?”

The second man crossed his arms and shrugged.

“What do the blacks want anyhow? They can get jobs, they’ve got places to live, they get protected by the police. Heck, they got the vote. What do they want?”

“Don’t know.”

“It’s all those marches, got them riled.” He shook his head. “With that Martin King. He makes them think they’ve got it worse off than the rest of us. I don’t buy it.”

The men both paused in their conversation, staying quiet the way men have of doing with one another. I looked at David; he kept his eyes on the paper as if he didn’t hear a word they said. The way he was able to turn the other cheek astounded me.

“Order up,” Bernie called through the window between the kitchen and the dining area.

I carried it over to David.

“I’ll get your milk in a minute,” I said.

“Thanks.” He gave me a quick smile before turning his face back to look at the food and the paper.

When I turned, I noticed that one of the men was looking at David out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a friendly look, not one that I would have wanted trained on me.

“All they’re doing is burning their own town,” the one with the stink-eye said. “I say we just let them do it. Be less trouble for us if they’d just leave.”

“That’s an awful thing to say,” I muttered, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear it.

It was and he turned his unfriendly eye on me. Turning my back on him, I went to pour David’s glass of milk.

The men got out of their seats, dropping a few coins on the table. Without looking, I knew it would only be enough to cover the cups of coffee. They were never the kind to leave a tip anyway.

“Thank you,” David said when I brought his glass of milk. Then he looked straight into my eyes. “I don’t let them get to me. It’s just talk.”

“Well, they don’t have to be mean,” I said. “I’ll let you get to your lunch.”

When he was finished, I brought him his bill and the last doughnut out of the bakery case, wrapped in a napkin. “On the house,” I said.

“You don’t have to do that.” He grinned and pulled out his billfold. “But I’ll take it anyway.”

Sliding out of his seat, he followed me to the counter, doughnut in hand. I told him his total, and he handed me his money.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“All right?”

“Did you know there are loons in Chippewa Lake?”

“They come every year. Maybe not the same ones, but it doesn’t matter to us.”

“I’ve been hearing them lately.”

“Kind of spooky, huh?”

“You got that right.” He put his wallet into his back pocket. “But a beautiful kind of spooky. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anything like it.”

“You’ll get used to them.”

“Hm. I hope I don’t.” He held up the doughnut. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Have a good day, Annie.”

“You too.”

I took my time setting the fresh place mats on the tables along with the place settings for the next morning. Then I wiped the lunch special off the chalkboard and wrote in the breakfast deal. Two fried eggs, two pancakes, and two sausage links.

Bernie liked to have a new Bible verse on the board for each day. He said it let customers know what kind of establishment they’d come to. Never had he elaborated on that thought, and I’d not asked him to. But he kept a stack of index cards under the counter for me to copy in chalk on the blackboard.

Iron sharpeneth iron, I wrote. So a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.

Just when I finished writing it, the bell over the door dinged, letting me know we had another customer. Of course, right before we were supposed to close for the day.

“I’ll be right with you,” I called over my shoulder, climbing down the step stool. “Go ahead and sit anywhere you’d like.”

“It’s me.”

I turned and looked to see Mom standing in the doorway. When she stepped closer, she was hesitant.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I have some bad news.”

Slowly, as if I was dreaming, I stepped around the counter.

“It’s your grandpa,” she said.

“Is he . . .” I couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

She nodded. “He went in his sleep just a little while ago. Just like a light turning off. It didn’t hurt at all.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

I covered my face with my hands and cried. It was all I could do.