Natashia Deon - Grace

Jackson packed grains and nuts and canned beets, and Josey gave rest to the young mother, holding Baby Boy right, her hand behind his head. Josey swaddled him, bounced him. So natural with him. “We don’t see many babies out in the community,” Josey told her. “Most mother’s don’t come out ’til the baby’s months old. It’s scary to have a baby in times like these.”

The minister asked Charles, “Why don’t you come with us? We could use strong hands. Build a church. We need families. Bring your son-in-law, too.”

“Oh, they’re not married,” Charles said, just as Jackson came up.

“Who’s not married?” Jackson said.

Now, Josey’s white dress mushrooms from a breeze. Her veil made of bed sheets whips her gold hair to the sky as she stands next to Jackson, hand in hand.

“With your permission,” Jackson had said to Charles. “I’d like to marry her.”

Charles had to choke back tears when he said, “It’s her that has to say yes.”

And now, Charles seems both broken and proud next to Josey while the young minister reads from his Bible. When he finishes, Jackson lingers in front of Josey. She pulls him into her and kisses him like she did her pillow before her life restarted.

I’m covered in sky.

It passes over us in a baptism of colors: blues, whites, and the yellow sparkle of sunshine.

I want to stay here forever.

THE TINY LIGHTS in the night sky make me a believer. Make me think I can wish on a star and all them wishes’ll come true.

I close my eyes real tight, ball my fist. .

I wish Jeremy never left me.

Wish I never made him mad.

Wish this day never happened.

I open my eyes.

It’s still night.

I’m still sick. And Jeremy’s still gone.

To hell with them lying stars.

I fall back against the side of Mr. Shepard’s house, hoping Soledad, the Mexican, will take me in. Hoping she’ll remember her promise that she would, ’cause I was wrong about her. About calling her the devil when I saw her rage at Cynthia. She already knew something that I didn’t. Had a friendship with Cynthia that ended for a reason.

Her street sign across the road is rocking back and forth, squeaking in both directions. The lamp above the sign is showering yellow light on its words, “Hummingbird Lane.” It’s too bright for me to watch for long, already starting me a headache.

I’m crying ’cause it’s all my fault.

Jeremy left me, my fault. I ain’t got no place to lay my head, my fault. I shoulda just told Cynthia, yes and yes, ma’am. I messed up everything. My freedom. My peace. Messed up the chance Hazel risked her life to give to me. I should have stayed on the path she set me on. I should have kept running ’til I found North. Should have never stopped at this place, never met Jeremy, never loved him. I want to erase every moment ’til right now. Want to start again, build a new life. Go anywhere but here. But as it is, I’ve only gone three miles tonight.

I could go farther. South could be my new north like Albert said. But after I told him to leave me alone, I don’t know if he could forgive me, either. Everybody hates me.

Except Soledad. She don’t know me.

The odor of strange food is wafting out of her house making me feel sicker. My throw-up comes again — mostly spit and noise this time. I wipe my mouth, scoot back against the side of the house, lean forward over my knees, try not to smell it.

I had imagined Soledad’s house would be like this. No houses for acres around, and hers, dainty and clean like it’s new out a gift box. A carved blue sign on the front door say, “The Shepards.”

I close my eyes because the light across the street felt like it was thickening and reaching over to me, touching me, thumping against my temples now. I’ll keep ’em closed. No more wishes this time.

The screen door around the front of her house smacks open and I flatten myself against the wall.

“I can’t do this, Sole,” a man say.

“Yes you can, Bobby Lee. You’re here, aren’t you? Mr. Shepard’ll be out of town until next week, dinner’s almost done. We can have wine, make it special.”

I peek around the wall, and see Bobby Lee standing on the front porch. She hangs over his back, climbing up on her tiptoes, pressing her long, thin frame against him like a cape. Her sheer dress ripples away from her legs and a thin strap slides off her shoulder. She kisses his back through his clothes and say, “I can get you ready.”

She swirls around and ends up between the porch rail and his body. With her hands, she feels up the wall of his chest and he grabs both her hands gently, holds ’em together in one of his.

“Don’t worry about him,” Soledad say. “Mr. Shepard and I understand each other. We have a special relationship.”

She inches up on her tiptoes again, leans into his mouth, lips to lips. I notice he don’t kiss her back, though.

She pushes him. “Look,” she say. “We’ve already shared a bed so there’s no reason for you to go and get righteous now.”

When Bobby Lee don’t say nothin, she shoves him again. It only moves him slightly.

She say, “Everything’s not good and evil, you know. You’re always looking for somebody to protect. Last month, that person was still me.”

“’Cause no man should hit a woman,” he say. “Not Mr. Shepard, not nobody.”

“See, then you know what kind of man he is.”

“I talked to him, Sole,” he say. “You had me pinning that man against the wall, threatening to kill him, and he still swore he never did nothing to you.”

“You’re taking his side now?”

“It’s not about sides, Sole. There’s right and wrong no matter what side you on. What we did was wrong. I know it. I take the blame. You’re married. I. .”

“It’s that dead girl, isn’t it? Your wife.”

In one stride, Bobby Lee clears the porch, throws his hat on. “I shouldn’t have come back here,” he say.

He comes in my direction and I slide back a little further in the shadow, flat as I can go.

“You can’t mourn her forever, Bobby Lee,” Soledad say. “You deserve to feel something. Anything.”

He stops in the dirt next to me, don’t see me.

Almost pleading, she say, “I can make you feel good, Bobby Lee!” But he keeps on up the road, out of sight.

IT’S GETTING COLDER out here and I’m hungry. Soledad didn’t go back inside ’til long after he left. I huddle my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around ’em. That stanky food is smelling good now. I close my eyes and imagine it’s Momma’s cooking. Something savory, she called it — stew beef. Or maybe pigs’ feet. A side of greens. Some biscuits. Smothering gravy with onion and pepper, poured thick and rich over everything.

It’s only been about three hours since I left Cynthia’s and I’m already half starved to death, slobbering in my mouth for the food I imagine be inside. I finally knock on the door and take a whole-mouth swallow of spit.

I knock again.

I can hear Soledad sing-songy from the other side. She say, “Coming.” When the door opens and she see me, the smile she had goes. “Naomi?” she say, ’cause she’d hoped for Bobby Lee, then, “Darling,” like she’d wished it was me all along. “Come in,” she say and grabs a blanket from her arm chair. “You could catch your death of cold out there.”

She puts it over my shoulders. “Let me get you some warm tea. You must be hungry.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t have no place else to go.”