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Khadija watched Anderson walk out the aisle. “I can’t stand his Mr. Nice Guy ass. He’s full of shit.”
“I can’t talk,” Channing said. “I’m working.”
“Working?” She turned in a circle. “I don’t see no one working. I see you hiding is what I see.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got to get involved, Channing. How can we make people listen to us if Presley’s own mother isn’t doing anything?”
“I told you I’m not letting Presley’s accident get turned into some kind of circus for publicity or television ratings.”
“I care about that little girl. Look.” Khadija pulled out a wrinkled flyer. “We’re having a meeting at the Welmont Community Center about Presley Wednesday night. I’m inviting every person I can find. Spread the word. It’s time to unify, Channing.”
Channing read the flyer.
Khadija smiled, rocking from side to side. “You’re the guest of honor.”
“I’m not sure I can make it.”
“This is for your daughter.” Khadija’s arched eyebrows rose to her forehead. “What will it look like if others take the time to show up and you don’t?”
“Will there be cameras?”
Khadija shrugged. “One or two.”
“Not interested.” Channing held the flyer out to her, but she didn’t take it. “I agree with your message but not your methods.”
Khadija crossed her arms. “What methods are those?”
“Your bullying makes the situation worse.”
“Did you call Nate Lancaster a bully after he ran over your daughter? So what if I’m a bully? Someone should be.”
An elderly white couple passed them and glared at Khadija shaking their heads.
“See I have power with these white folks,” she shouted behind them. “They fear me because I call ‘em out on their shit.” Khadija stood with her back erect as a soldier. “One thing you can’t call me is silent or a pushover. I want justice so this won’t happen to another black child again. How many times do our children have to hurt or die at the hands of the white man?”
Channing exhaled.
“We’ve got to do something once and for all.” Khadija punched her palm. “The time is now, sista. Do this for your daughter.” She scoffed. “I bet you’ll let Anderson write his story, huh? All he’ll do is whiten the story up, so it makes Lancaster look like the victim.”
People looked around, whispering.
“Okay, you need to go acting like this,” Channing said.
“I’ll act how I feel like it.” Khadija stomped her foot. “You should be ashamed, Channing.”
“Excuse me?”
“If Presley was my daughter Nate Lancaster wouldn’t be breathing let alone walking around free but he is because of your doormat behind.”
“How dare you?” Channing slammed a can of sweet peas on the shelf. “It’s my kid laying up in the hospital with tubes hanging out of her, fighting for her life. Get the hell out my face, Khadija.”
“I’m not stopping. Somebody has to fight for that little girl since her momma won’t.”
****
The sound of a car driving through the gravel road awoke Anderson from daydreaming on Sonjay and Klein’s porch that evening.
He leaned forward on the bench as a wine-colored Nissan Rogue parked in front of the house. A second later, Channing’s lovely face came into view.
He straightened up as she approached in a summer dress with a thin shawl around her shoulders.
“Hi.” She stopped at the porch, the air alive with the tart, chemical smell of Dark and Lovely. “They’re gone?”
“Yep.” He placed his hands in his lap. “Klein’s working late and Sonjay had to see a parent about a student.”
“I couldn’t call to check if they were around because my phone needs charging.” She had smooth legs, and the dress brought attention to the feminine curves he hadn’t detected through her uniform. “I always forget to charge it.”
“I do the same thing. Unlike the rest of the world, I’m not obsessed with cell phones. I’m not a phone person.”
“Me either.” The gold specks in her eyes brightened. “I’d rather send off an email than to worry about a phone.”
“You mean we have something in common?” He faked a gasp. “Who would’ve known?”
“Funny.” She grinned, rocking forward. “Will you tell them I came by? I’ll see you.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I needed to talk to my sister.” She straightened the wrap around her shoulders.
“You can talk to me.” He held up his hand. “I promise whatever you say is off the record and won’t leave this porch.”
She fidgeted.
“Remember, we bonded earlier.”
She held her waist. “How do you figure that?”
“I told you about my sister’s death. I don’t just sprout that off to anyone I meet.”
She walked up the porch and sat beside him. “I just came from the hospital.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going back for a little while then heading home.”
“I bet you wish you could spend every moment with Presley.”
She closed her eyes and held her breath. “Every, waking moment. When she first got hurt, I slept at the hospital but it wasn’t good for me because I couldn’t eat or anything and people told me I wouldn’t be any good to her if I wasn’t taking care of myself. Plus, I have to work.” She wiggled her foot. “I can’t just take off. If I don’t work, we have no money.”
“Do you work different hours?”
“I work any time they schedule me.” She pulled the shawl over her shoulders. “I’m blessed to have a job in this town.”
“Do you like it here?”
She shrugged. “I had dreams of leaving but they didn’t work out. I wanted to go to college, but my parents couldn’t afford to send me after Sonjay and I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship and I never played sports so—”
“I’m sure you’re smart enough.”
“Either way it didn’t happen.”
“What about community college? That’s something.”
“I tried it for a little while, but I wanted to be a psychologist. No way I could get a decent psychology degree from a community college around here.”
“Are you bitter that Sonjay could go to college and you couldn’t?”
“I won’t lie and say working in a grocery store at thirty-three is not what I planned. But that’s life.”
“Things don’t have to stay this way if you’re not happy.”
“You aren’t from a small town and you had opportunities I didn’t have.”
“You assume I had money just lying around?” He blinked. “I was raised by a single mother. My dad’s been in prison for attempted murder and assault since I was born.”
“Attempted murder?” She stared at him.
“I met him once in prison when I was eleven and haven’t seen him since. If he walked up here now, I wouldn’t recognize him. Guess what my mom did to pay the bills, Channing. Worked at a grocery store and barely made enough to feed my sister and I. After my sister died it got worse because Mom got diagnosed with depression. She went into an institution, and I ended up in the system for a few years. Mom got me back when I was sixteen, and I worked to support the both of us and to put myself through college. I would get up and go to school then work part-time after school and eight hours on weekends. I’ve been working since I was fifteen. Along with the money I saved, I got financial aid, and that’s how I went to college.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That’s right you didn’t because you’re judging me on my skin color or where I come from and you’re too smart of a woman to do that. I’ve struggled like you. I think your parents not paying for your school is a copout you take advantage of.”
He expected her to lash out and tell him to go to hell but she touched his hand instead.
“What will I do if Presley doesn’t make it?”
“You can’t lose hope.” He put his arm around her. “She’ll be okay if she’s as strong as her mother.”
“It’s torture seeing her like this.” She got a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “Nothing feels worse than seeing your child struggling and not being able to help her. I’d trade places in a minute.”
“What happened to Presley’s father?”
“He left me when I got pregnant.” She looked at the tissue. “He doesn’t live in Mississippi anymore.”
“You know where he is?”
“Yep, and I’m not chasing a man who doesn’t want to be in his daughter’s life.” She crossed her legs and rocked her foot. “To think I wanted to marry that idiot.”
He picked lint off his pants. “Trust me, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
They laughed, locking eyes.
She twitched as if she felt the spark between them too. “I’d better go.”
“You don’t have to.”
She stood, fixing her dress in the back. “I need to get back to the hospital.” She walked off the steps.
“Can I see your daughter?”
She stopped and turned sideways. “I guess so.”
“Great.” He rubbed his hands together. “Does she like flowers? I’ll bring her some books too. I read that it’s good to read and talk to people in comas. Our voices comfort them.”
“I read to her too. You can come tomorrow morning.” She struggled to break eye contact. “I’ll be there around seven or seven-thirty before work.”
He smiled. “See you then.”