It only took a week for the stillness of Aunt Cara’s house—punctuated by the radio shows always playing softly in the background—to become oppressive. Ethan spent hours lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He played record after record, but soon even Ella Fitzgerald’s gentle voice felt like sharp nails on the inside of his skull.
After breakfast on his first Sunday in Ellison, Ethan stood in the center of his room and dreaded the empty day to come. Aunt Cara knocked gently on the door and leaned in.
“Hey, Ethan,” she said. “Your uncle and I are heading out to church.”
Church, of course—however little Ethan knew about his dad’s hometown, he knew how devoutly Christian it was. His dad complained about it occasionally, and now only took the family to Mass on Christmas and Easter. Ethan stared at Aunt Cara blankly, fearing an invitation and yet knowing, somehow, that it wouldn’t come.
“You’ll be okay here by yourself for an hour?”
Ethan nodded, resisting the urge to groan. As Aunt Cara smiled and edged out of his room, he flopped facedown onto his bed, arms spread wide. A few seconds later, he heard two sets of footsteps walking through the living room, then the front door slammed shut.
Ethan rolled onto his side, staring at the stack of comics on his desk. He’d already gone through all of them at least ten times, and even his favorites had begun to bore him. If this was how he felt after a week, he could hardly imagine the state he’d be in at the end of the summer. His dad would pull up in his Mercury on September 1 to find Ethan catatonic in his tiny twin bed, comic books and records strewn about the room. That would show him, Ethan thought, almost managing a laugh.
After half an hour spent knee deep in self-pity, Ethan finally pushed himself to his feet. “I gotta get out of here,” he muttered. So far he’d only been between the malt shop and Aunt Cara’s house, but there were other things to see in town—few enough that he could count them on one hand, but things nonetheless. And besides, the general store might even have a comic or two.
Ethan slipped on his shoes and hurried out the front door, making his way down the dusty road toward town. Trees towered on either side of him, branches swaying gently in a breeze Ethan couldn’t feel. When he reached the edge of town, he found the main street empty—everyone, he guessed, was at the church service. He felt the tension that always gathered on his shoulders when he was in town dissipate, and he was almost relaxed by the time he pushed open the door of the general store.
The bell tinkled brokenly as he pushed into the shop. Ethan crammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried to duck behind the ceiling-high shelves before he could be noticed, but he had hardly made it across the threshold before a voice called out, “I wondered when I would see you here.”
Ethan looked up meekly, swallowing the sudden urge to bolt from the store. Around a shelf of various snacks, he met eyes with a bearded man standing behind the counter. His dark eyes were wide and close set, and his brown hair stuck out in thick waves from the yarmulke pinned to the back of his head. “Sir?” Ethan mumbled.
The man scratched his beard, smiled tightly, and stared at Ethan with a cool gaze. “I’ve heard all about you,” he announced, setting his newspaper on the counter. “If people in this town are good at anything, it’s running their mouths. I certainly consider it a privilege to meet the boy who has singlehandedly sent them into an uproar.”
Sarcasm dripped from his words like molasses. Ethan nodded and said awkwardly, “I’m Ethan.”
“Oh, son—I know.” The man laughed. “My name’s Abrams, and I’m the only Jew around for miles. In case you were wondering. So we’re not so different, you and I, in a place like this.”
Ethan felt small under the man’s piercing stare, though he towered over Abrams by several inches. While Abrams’s gaze was intense, it was not unkind. He had none of the other townspeople’s disgust in his eyes—just something that seemed like confusion and perhaps, if Ethan was reading it right, a little bit of sadness. Unnerved, Ethan turned away.
“Well, I welcome you to my store,” Abrams said after a moment, sweeping his arm to encompass the small but tightly packed space. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
There was no discernible order to the store, so Ethan wound his way through the aisles, occasionally picking up a box of crackers or can of paint and staring at it for a moment with feigned interest before returning it to the shelf. He was flipping through one of the five outdated and off-brand comics the store had when the bell above the door dinged. Ethan froze, two fingers pinched around a page mid flip.
“—and it’s just real tragic,” a woman was saying. As she swept into the store, Ethan recognized her as the woman from the family he’d seen on his first day in town. She had a white hat on her head and was dressed in her Sunday best. Ethan dropped the comic and hunched his shoulders, wishing he could dive between the fishing poles and sewing kits and disappear before she could notice him. Thankfully, it seemed she was making a beeline for the other end of the store.
“It really is,” another woman agreed, her voice affected and nasal. “That boy shouldn’t be in this town.”
Horror sank deep into Ethan’s gut as he realized they were talking about him. Sweat collected on his upper lip as he glanced around in a panic, searching for a way out. He couldn’t let them see him here—he didn’t know what he’d do if they did. The door was blocked as more women filed inside.
“If only he wasn’t Cara’s nephew,” another woman inserted. “Then we could get him taken care of just like the last one.” She laughed, and though Ethan had ducked behind a row of beans and soup, he could read the smugness on her face. The others murmured their agreement. Ethan slouched down an aisle away from the women, catching a glimpse of Abrams from between the cans. The man was staring at the group of women with dark disdain.
Taking a deep breath, Ethan waited until the women’s voices had drifted to the other end of the store, then stepped away from the cans, ready to make a quick getaway. His heart was in his throat as he edged toward the door.
He made it halfway there. Then the first woman said, “Cara, you poor thing,” and the familiar voice that responded stopped Ethan in his tracks.
“Yes, well.” Aunt Cara laughed nervously, her voice growing closer as they turned into the next aisle over. When Ethan squatted a little bit and squinted through the cereal boxes, he could just see them walking in a colorful huddle. “Some things can’t be helped,” Aunt Cara continued, her voice artificially bright. Through the gap in the shelves, he saw her wring her hands in front of her stomach.
“Well, it could have,” the second woman soothed, wrapping her arm around Aunt Cara’s shoulders. “If your brother hadn’t”—she tilted her head with a knowing look—“you know.”
Another nervous laugh. “Oh, Elizabeth,” Aunt Cara murmured, “you know my brother. He was always the reckless one. Even when we were kids. Does it really surprise you?”
“Of course it surprises me,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “I knew your brother was a troublemaker, but to marry a Negro woman—to bring mixed-breed children into the world—no offense of course, but when he left Ellison, he must have lost his mind.”
Aunt Cara said nothing—she didn’t have to. Ethan had heard enough. Blood rushed hot through his head and pounded in his ears, turning the rest of their conversation to waves. He had just enough sense to hold his tongue against the anger, to wait until they had walked into another aisle before bolting out the door. He didn’t wait to see if the ringing bell had alerted them to his presence. He didn’t care. His feet hit the sidewalk and he kept running until his legs had carried him all the way home.
Ethan was red faced and panting by the time he made it back to the house. He burst through the front door with a force that shocked Uncle Robert, who was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand.
“Jesus, Ethan,” Uncle Robert said, jumping in his seat.
“Sorry,” Ethan muttered. He could barely hear his own voice.
His uncle frowned at him. “Didn’t realize you were out. Where did you go?”
“On a run,” Ethan snapped, and stalked into his room. Once there, he sat on the bed and tried to dissolve the wall with his gaze. The radio was on in the living room, playing the latest episode of Our Miss Brooks. Eve Arden’s voice grated today, so he tuned out the sound, sat still, and stared.
He didn’t know how long he sat there; it was as if time had stopped moving, becoming an indiscernible cloud. Ethan couldn’t think clearly. His eyes, his head, his heart—they pounded together in a painful symphony. He realized that he was still panting. His T-shirt and slacks clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin, and his hair, beginning to grow out in its tight curls, felt like a burning helmet on top of his head.
Sure, he knew he made Aunt Cara uncomfortable. He could see it every time she looked at him—or rather, all the times she didn’t. But this past week, she’d been nice. She filled his plates with heaping portions and always asked how his day was, even though he hadn’t once had any interest in telling her. And she was his aunt, his blood relative. Didn’t that have to count for something?
Apparently not, Ethan thought, remembering the pained smile on her face as her friends had comforted her. She didn’t want him here at all.
Aunt Cara came home a few minutes later, or maybe a few hours—he couldn’t tell. But at some point, through his fury, he heard the front door creak open, the radio volume go down, and his aunt murmur something to his uncle in a hushed voice. He saw her through his cracked bedroom door, grocery bags in arm, and felt her betrayal like a fist to the stomach.
Sensing his gaze, Aunt Cara turned sharply and met his eyes through the sliver of space between the door and the wall. Ethan shifted his glare to the floor with such intensity that he didn’t even hear her approach until she was already at his door.
“Ethan,” she pleaded. “Can I come in?”
Ethan nodded tightly, unable to keep his emotions from appearing in the furrow of his brows and set of his jaw. Aunt Cara slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. With one hand on her stomach, she lowered herself onto the desk chair.
“I saw you leaving the general store,” she said after a moment, her eyes on the floor. “I suppose—I suppose you heard what the ladies and I were saying.”
Ethan nodded again. He opened his mouth, ready to shout, but surprised himself when tears welled up instead. “Do you hate me, Aunt Cara?” he asked, voice wavering. “Does everyone here hate me?”
Aunt Cara’s face crumbled as Ethan turned away and swiped angrily at his eyes. She pressed her lips together and stared at the wall for a long moment before replying. When she did, her voice was shaky and almost imperceptible.
“I don’t hate you, Ethan,” she said. “Of course I don’t. But this—this is a complicated place. These are complicated times. The people here don’t know what to make of someone like you.”
Someone like you. Ethan looked up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror on his closet door. He took it all in: the curls on his head, the brown of his skin, the fullness of his lips, the wideness of his eyes. It seemed impossible that Aunt Cara, with her fair skin and golden hair, could be related to him in any way. He wished, suddenly and vehemently, that she wasn’t.
“If you don’t hate me,” he said slowly, “then why didn’t you say anything to them?”
Aunt Cara stared at the floor. “That’s complicated too.”
Ethan didn’t understand what was so complicated about telling those women off; he was no stranger to dealing with bullies. But he didn’t press his aunt. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and stared down at his knees. He still felt angry and sad, but tired most of all. Exhausted.
“I don’t like it here,” he said after a moment. “I don’t understand why I have to be here.”
“I know, sweetie.” Aunt Cara shook her head. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it different for you.”
You could have, Ethan thought, if you’d just told your friends that they were wrong. He said, “Wishing doesn’t change things.”
Aunt Cara looked him in the eyes for once, her eyebrows knit. “You’re right, I suppose. And I am sorry. For everything you heard. Sad to say, that’s just the way it is around here.”
Ethan was taken aback by her easy complicity but didn’t voice it. Instead, he shrugged. He didn’t speak again until Aunt Cara stood and asked if he’d like a chicken sandwich for lunch. Then he said, “Sure.”
As she left the room, Ethan called after her, “Aunt Cara? I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”
She looked quickly over her shoulder, her expression so sorrowful that Ethan had to look away. “Oh, sweetie, no,” she murmured, fingers rising to her lips. Then she released the door handle, letting it swing quietly shut.