CHAPTER FIVE

Lavender called the next morning, saying she felt sick and wouldn’t be coming to our house. I remembered the look on her face in Forsyth’s, when Uncle Harvey was talking to her. Maybe that’s when she had started to feel bad.

Thinking back on it, I realized this had happened before. When there were disagreements or cross words, Lavender wouldn’t say anything. She would set her mouth in a firm line and her eyes would go dead, and the next day she would stay home. It was like she was holding her thoughts inside, and the thoughts made her sick. I wondered what kind of thoughts would do that to you.

Mama hung up the phone and headed back to the breakfast table, shaking her head. “What about the baby? I can’t take him to work.”

I was putting jam on my toast, and Daddy, in a tie and shirtsleeves, was finishing the last of his coffee. Royal sat in a high chair, where Mama had been feeding him. He let out a cry, and Daddy smiled.

“Smart kid. He knows. No Lavender today.”

“I wonder if Grace would help,” said Mama. Grace was Mrs. McCall, who was home during the day.

Mama checked and learned that Mrs. McCall could watch Royal, but only until three o’clock, when she’d be taking Grant to the dentist. Mama said that luckily it was a light day at work and she could leave early. As she told us, Daddy shot me a meaningful look. I didn’t understand for a minute; then I remembered our conversation in the front yard.

“Oh yeah. I guess I could help,” I said. “I’ll be home from school.”

“That would be nice, dear,” said Mama.

And that’s how, later that day, I ended up wiping Royal’s face and other body parts. When Mama got home, we had gone to the McCalls’ and picked up the baby. We had played with him for a few minutes and then, when Grant and his mom had left for the dentist, we took Royal home.

Somehow I got the job of feeding him. Basically, the idea was to try and get more into his mouth than came out. I sat in front of his high chair, spooning mushed-up peaches from a little jar, and he did everything he could think of but eat. He cooed and clapped and grabbed my nose. When he got it, he squeezed.

“Ow!” I said.

Mama, whose workday hadn’t been as light as she’d hoped, had brought home some papers and was shuffling them at the breakfast table. She smiled at Royal. “You little goober.”

I might have picked a different word, but I didn’t say it. I’d been thinking about something else. “Mama, are we prejudiced?”

She looked at me. “What kind of question is that? Of course not.”

“I heard it’s like the mumps. You catch it and pass it on.”

“It’s a choice,” she said. “In our family we choose to treat people with kindness and respect.”

“People like Lavender?”

“That’s right,” said Mama.

“She’s part of the family, isn’t she?”

“Of course.”

That made me feel better. I wondered how Lavender was feeling. I pictured her bundled up in front of her TV watching soap operas, which she called “the stories.” We used to watch them together when I was little. She said the stories helped her escape to another place. I was hoping to do the same thing someday, only I would use a bus.

“When Lavender gets on the bus,” I said, “why does she have to sit in back?”

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“I was just wondering.”

Mama studied me, then asked, “What do you think?”

“It’s the law,” I said. “Also, it’s tradition.”

“That’s right,” she said. “And there’s something else. I think people are more comfortable when they’re separated. They like being with their own kind.”

I’d heard that before. I’d said it myself a few times. But now, thinking about the Freedom Riders, I wondered if it was true. We said all kinds of things about Negroes—what they liked, what they thought, what they believed. If we really wanted to know, why didn’t we ask them?

Royal squirmed in his high chair, and I realized the little jar of baby food was empty. The question was, were there more peaches inside his body or on the outside? I dampened a washcloth and used it to clean him up, while he lunged for my nose.

“I’m not very good at this,” I said.

“You’re fine, dear,” said Mama. “And while you’re at it, could you please change his diaper?”

I sighed and took Royal into his room, where I wrestled him on the changing table. I think he won. Afterward, he looked up at me, burped, and fell asleep. I laid him gently in his crib and returned to the kitchen.

“Did you lose something?” asked Mama, seeing that I wasn’t holding Royal.

“He’s taking a nap. I wish I could fall asleep that fast.”

I went to the fridge and got two bottles of RC Cola. I opened them and put one in front of Mama, then took a gulp from the other one and plopped down at the table.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” said Mama. Gathering up her papers, she put them in her briefcase and took a sip of the RC.

“The McCalls don’t have a maid,” I said.

“Mrs. McCall doesn’t work.”

“Grant told me they don’t believe in maids.”

Mama chuckled. “That’s like saying they don’t believe in cornbread or black-eyed peas.”

“He says maids work too hard and don’t get paid enough.”

“Sweetheart, the McCalls are new to town. They’ll learn.”

“I’m not so sure. You know how Mr. McCall is.”

“He’s a fine person. So is Grant. Speaking of Grant, how’s he doing these days?”

“Grant? He can’t see what’s right in front of him, unless it’s in his viewfinder.”

“I think he likes you.”

“What?” I said. “Oh, please.”

I remembered the way Grant had shown me how to use the camera, with his cheek next to mine and lemonade on his breath.

Mama said, “You’re changing, Billie. You’re a lovely young lady.”

I took another swig of RC. I didn’t feel lovely. I felt hot and awkward and confused. I liked Grant but he drove me nuts. I loved my town but wanted to get out. I wanted to grow up but didn’t know how.