CHAPTER 15
Same as most mornings, the newspaper was shielding my father’s face when I walked into the kitchen. Bacon frying in the skillet made my mouth water, and I knew hot grits were in the pot next to it. I lifted the lid and inhaled. I was still wearing my nightclothes. It was six thirty.
Mama smiled. “You’re up early for a summer mornin’.”
“Mornin’, son,” Daddy said without showing his face.
“Mornin’.”
“You want some eggs?” Mama asked.
“Yes ma’am. Sunny side up, please.”
“The answer is no,” Daddy said. “The bicycle is off-limits for the full two weeks, Gabriel. I’m not gonna budge on this one, and neither is your mama, right, Agatha?”
Mama nodded her agreement.
“I wasn’t even gonna ask about the bicycle.”
Daddy’s face appeared from behind the paper, and he glanced at his watch. “Then what’s the matter? Why’re you up so early?”
“Nuthin’ . . . I was just thinkin’.”
“You go to bed thinkin’ and wake up thinkin’ too? Do you sleep at all?”
“Yessir, like a log,” I replied.
He gazed at me in a strange way, as if somehow I’d changed now that I’d turned twelve.
“Your mind still set on becomin’ a pilot?” Daddy asked. “Because I’m of the opinion that you might wanna set your sights on a career that pays you to think. Study something like philosophy and become a college professor, maybe a lawyer.”
“Nossir. I think a pilot is what I aim to be, or maybe a detective.”
“That so.” His face disappeared behind the paper again.
“I got up early to tell you I’d like to work at the shop, maybe help Matthew pump gas, wash windows, check the oil, and all that, if you like. It’d be good experience. I’m old enough now. And you don’t even have to pay me.”
“Free labor. I won’t say no to that.” He hesitated, and seconds passed. “Plus, you can look after Meriwether that way.”
I was a squeaky-clean window—very easy to see through. “Yessir . . . that too.”
Mama spoke up. “I do not want my son around that Lucas Shaw.” Then she said something I’d never heard her say about anyone before. “He’s trash. Wish you could let him go, Jake.”
“Can’t do that yet, Agatha. Gotta first see if Meriwether works out. So far, he seems to know his way around an engine just fine. But still, I need two mechanics.”
Mama set a plate in front of me. “I hope it’ll work itself out.”
“Gabriel, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told Meriwether. Lucas starts up with you, don’t feed his fire by biting back. I’ve never had to bring physical harm to another human being and I’d just as well leave it that way, but—”
I looked in his eyes. “But?”
Mama turned away from the sink and faced us. “That’s enough, Jake.”
“So, it’s all right with you?” I asked.
“It’s okay. You might even pick up some understanding of automobiles and engines, and there’s a clear advantage to learnin’ almost any technical skill. I’ll even pay you a wage. You can save it for the expensive college I have a feelin’ you’ll be headin’ off to.”
Daddy stood up from the table and kissed Mama goodbye.
“What time should I be at work?” I asked.
“Three thirty . . . on the dot.”
“On the dot,” I repeated.
My parents had said I couldn’t ride my bicycle, but they hadn’t forbidden me to sit on it. And that’s where I was when Patrick showed up, his swimming goggles around his neck. “What you gonna do today?” he asked.
“Got some chores, then I’m goin’ to work.”
“To work? When’d you get a job?”
“This mornin’ . . . Gonna help out at my daddy’s.”
“He gonna pay you? ’Cuz if he is, tell him I want a job too.”
“He’s payin’ but I think for now he has all the help he needs.”
“Yeah, Lucas and Matthew and the uncle and now you, spoze that’s enough.”
“He’s got a name,” I barked, “plus, he’s not your uncle.”
“You talkin’ ’bout that colored man?”
“Yes. His name is Mr. Hunter, or Meriwether, if you like . . . but he’s not your uncle, so you shouldn’t call him that.”
Patrick defended himself. “You don’t havta get all mad, Gabriel. Colored men are uncles and colored ladies are aunties. That’s what a lot of the white folks around here call ’em.”
“I don’t.”
Patrick shrugged.
We were interrupted by Mama. “I’m goin’ to get my hair done!” she hollered. “And then stop at the grocery! See y’all later!”
“Bye.”
The screen door banged shut and she was gone.
Patrick studied my face and I studied his. “You still mad?” he asked.
This time I shrugged.
THERE ARE THINGS you shouldn’t even think about doing when you’ve gotten off easy—but you do it anyway.
“I’m gonna take it outside and ride it,” I informed Patrick.
“But?”
“It’s the same as puttin’ food in front of a hungry man and tellin’ him not to eat. Sooner or later when no one’s lookin’, he’s bound to take a bite, isn’t he?”
“If it was me, I sure would. Pro’bly eat it all up,” Patrick agreed.
“I just gotta.”
“What if you get caught?”
“It’s the worst temptation ever. Almost like they’re daring me, makin’ me look at it day and night. The way I figure, it’s not my fault for givin’ in, it’s theirs for temptin’ me.”
Patrick thought for a while and responded, “Yeah . . . they’re to blame, that’s for sure. Can I ride it too?”
“Yeah, but if you breathe a word to anyone, I’ll never let you ride it again. Promise?”
“Cain’t promise,” he replied.
“How come?”
“If someone asks and I lie, then I gotta tell it in confession.”
“Okay, but not your mama or anyone else. Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he replied.
Fearing someone might see us and squeal, I only circled the block once and then let Patrick do the same. And then we parked it back in my room.
“Think that’ll do you until the two weeks are up?” Patrick asked.
“Can’t say for sure . . . Maybe, maybe not.”
“Well, if you decide you’re gonna ride it some more, wait for me so I can ride it too, word of honor?”
“Word of honor.”