Detroit, April 1963
Nora hoped her nerves didn’t show as she walked into a diner on Twelfth Street. It had been her suggestion to meet in William’s neighborhood to avoid running into anyone she knew. Now as the bell overhead rang and patrons looked up from their meals, she felt like an exhibit at the zoo. Most turned their attention back to their food or their companions, but a few kept their eyes on the white girl in the doorway.
She scanned the room, hoping to spot the winsome photographer she’d met at the art exhibition. It had been a month, and she worried she wouldn’t recognize him at all. When she didn’t see any familiar faces, she lost her nerve and pushed back through the diner door, slamming it into a man on his way in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
The man recovered and smiled. “I know I’m a little late, but there’s no call for that.”
“William! I’m sorry! I didn’t see you and then I didn’t know what to do.”
He knit his brow in confusion. “It’s a restaurant. You just sit down at a table.”
She laughed to cover her discomfort.
He sighed as he eased past her and headed for a booth in the back corner. “You’d be happier back here than by the windows, am I right?”
Nora felt shame rising but slid into the secluded booth without a word. She thought she detected a hum of whispers filtering through the room. William nodded at a couple people who nodded back. But Nora couldn’t tell if they were friends of his. They were watching her like one might watch a strange dog that had wandered into the neighborhood, waiting to see if it was friendly or not.
“That’s a pretty dress,” William said.
Nora shook off her paranoia. “Thank you. I was hoping it would be done by Easter, but I ran out of time.”
“You made it? Hmm.”
“What?”
“You make all your clothes?”
“Some, why?”
“I dunno. You don’t strike me as the frugal type.” William handed her a menu.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’ll just have a Coke.”
“It’s eleven o’clock. You already ate lunch?”
“No.”
“Then eat. It’s on me.”
“I had a big breakfast.”
“No girl your size ever had a big breakfast. Just order something.”
She read the menu in silence as the waitress approached the table. Once they had ordered, Nora studied the salt and pepper shakers and searched for something to say.
“I was beginning to think you never intended to call, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Took me longer than I thought to get enough time in a darkroom. I can’t develop on Sundays—church and all—and I’m on the line at Detroit Assembly six days a week making Cadillacs.”
“And how did they turn out?”
“The Cadillacs? Real good.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “The photos, of course.”
“Oh, those!” he said with feigned stupidity. “Beautiful.”
Nora tried not to seem too eager as she said, “Can I see them?”
William nodded. “Absolutely.”
She waited for him to produce something—a box, a folder, she didn’t know what. But something. “Well?”
“Oh, I don’t have them here with me now.”
“I thought you said—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I’ve got them, don’t worry. They’re back at my house.”
“But isn’t that why we’re here?”
William shook his head. “I didn’t think it would work to show them to you here. They’re not real . . . portable.”
“They’re photos. They’d fit in your pocket.”
“No, I sized them up a bit. They’re bigger than you’re thinking.”
Nora couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Then why did you suggest we meet at a diner rather than just meeting at your house?”
He shrugged. “Because I wanted to have lunch with you.”
William smiled at her and Nora realized she’d been tricked into a date. She narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“Would you have said yes?”
Nora stopped to consider. Across the table William raised his eyebrows and waited for her answer.
“I don’t know.”
“I guess we’ll never know. But in the meantime, here you are.”
The waitress glided up to the table, glanced nervously at Nora as she set down their meals, and then disappeared again. William pounded on the bottom of a ketchup bottle.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Nora said. “You only have to shake it a bit.”
“No, you have to hit the bottom of the bottle.” He demonstrated it for her. “You can’t just shake it.” He shook the bottle mockingly.
She held out her hand. “Give it to me. You’re not doing it right. You’re shaking it too much.”
“Okay, you try.”
Nora positioned the bottle over his hamburger and shook. Nothing came out.
“See? Give me that thing. My food’s getting cold while you’re ‘just shaking it a little bit.’” He reached for the bottle, but she pulled it away.
“No, this works.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It does.”
“It don’t work. Look at it.”
Nora shook the bottle a little harder and a little harder, but still nothing came out.
“Can I have that ketchup now, please?” William said in a tone that suggested he was talking to a child.
“No.” She was determined now.
“Then can you at least try it my way so maybe I can eat sometime today?”
“Fine.” Nora smacked the bottom of the bottle hard with her right hand, and half of its contents emptied out onto William’s burger. She gasped as she righted the bottle too late.
“You see? I told you,” he said.
“I’m so sorry!”
“Nah, don’t worry.” He smashed the bun down. Ketchup oozed out the sides and onto the plate. “But now we know, don’t we,” he said through a smile, “that just shaking it up a little doesn’t work. You gotta smack it.”
“I’ll buy you a new burger.”
“That your solution for everything?”
“What? No, I just—”
“Look, it’s fine.” He scraped the excess ketchup onto the lip of the plate. “Now eat your sandwich.”
Nora and William ate in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.
“So where do you live?” she finally thought to ask.
“Just down the street off Seward.”
She nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure where that was.
“What about you?”
“I live in Bloomfield Hills.”
“Of course you do.”
She put down her sandwich. “Why ‘of course’?”
“Beautiful, well-bred white girls always live in Bloomfield Hills.”
“That’s not true.”
“True enough.”
She wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Do you dislike white people?”
A few heads at neighboring tables swiveled her way.
“I like you,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked,” she said, quieter now.
“Do you dislike black people?” he said.
“No.”
“None of your daddy rubbed off on you?”
“What? No! I would never—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I would never use that word.”
“Don’t matter if you’d never say it. It’s what’s in your heart that matters.” He gave her a look of challenge. “What’s in your heart?”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you think I’d come to this neighborhood and meet you for lunch if I was a racist?”
“Does your father know you bought that camera for me?” he said with a provocative smirk.
She hesitated. “I’m an adult.”
“It’s none of his business.”
They were both quiet for a moment. In her mind, Nora traced the conversation in reverse, trying to figure out where she’d made a wrong turn. She had been looking forward to this all week, remembering William’s charm and ready smile. But it was obvious that this was not going well. She picked up her sandwich again but couldn’t bring herself to take another bite.
William regarded his burger. “So what did you do with that picture? You burn it?”
She wanted to say yes, but the truth was that hardly a day had gone by that she had not unrolled the print and stared at it. She kept hoping she would see some minute detail that had previously escaped her notice, one that would prove to her that it wasn’t her father, that perhaps it was just someone who looked like him. But each examination only confirmed his identity.
“No, I didn’t burn it. I’m not sure I’d ever do something so dramatic as that.”