Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

“Good to know,” Ralph Angel said. He leaned against the porch rail and surveyed the garden. “’Da had a garden when I was coming up, but I always hated yard work. Too hard.”

“Hard work builds character,” Charley said, picking up a shovel Micah had left facedown in the grass.

“Maybe, but this here is plain old manual labor, which doesn’t build anything but an aching back. Thanks, but no thanks. That’s why I was an engineering major.”

“What kind of work do you do, exactly?”

Ralph Angel seemed to hesitate. “Actually, I’m out of work at the moment, but my last gig was for the Department of Water and Power.”

“Like designing power grids and reclamation facilities?” Charley asked, thinking maybe she’d underestimated him.

“Reading meters,” Ralph Angel said. “But it’s more technical than you think. Have to be extremely precise or customers complain.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Sort of hoping you’d made a decision about me working on the farm.”

But for the cereal bowls he often left in the sink or his sweat jacket she noticed slung across the back of a kitchen chair, Charley had almost forgotten Ralph Angel was around.

“Here’s the thing—” Charley began, but then, thankfully, the screen door slammed again and Micah, and then Blue, holding a small action figure, stood on the top step. Micah took the camera from around her neck and slipped it over Blue’s, helped him point it at the sky. He pressed the button and smiled as the camera churned a dark square into his hand.

“Now blow on it,” Micah said.

“Micah, we need to go,” Charley said.

“Those aren’t the gates of heaven,” Blue said, disappointment leaking into his tone. “That’s a tiger’s eye.” And just like that, he and Micah were bickering like they’d known each other all their lives.

“Hey, now. Cool it, you two.” Ralph Angel’s voice was like a firm hand on the napes of their necks. “Here, let me see that thing.” He studied the photo, asked Blue what he saw, and when Blue said he saw the tiger’s whole body now, Ralph Angel laughed, and Charley laughed too, because wasn’t it just like a kid to let his imagination run wild? “Now, show me those gates of heaven.” He held the picture while Micah explained.

Charley tucked her keys back in her pocket as she watched Ralph Angel with the children. She thought he looked like a regular father playing with his kids on a Saturday afternoon, was impressed when he managed, somehow, to convince them the Polaroid could be both things, and no one cried or pouted or ran into the house.

“Uncle Ralph Angel has memorized the whole Bible,” Micah said. She yanked his arm. “Say that thing about clean hands.”

“What’s this?” Charley said.

“Your daughter’s overstating things,” Ralph Angel said, looking sheepish. “The other day I told her I used to memorize Bible verses for Sunday school.”

“Whatever,” Micah said. “Just say it again, so Mom can hear.”

“Okay. But one time and that’s it.” Ralph Angel took a breath, closed his eyes. “‘Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.’ Psalm twenty-four, verses three through five.”

Micah and Blue clapped, and Charley clapped too. “Impressive,” she said. “I didn’t make you out for the religious type.”

“Yeah, well. The Lord and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but some things are just hardwired, you know? ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.’ Ephesians, chapter two, verse eight.”

“Nice,” Charley said, and meant it.

“Say another one,” Blue demanded.

“That’s enough.” Ralph Angel handed Micah the stack of Polaroids. “Your mother’s ready to go.”

Micah turned to Charley. “Can Blue come with us?”

Charley hesitated. She had talked to Ralph Angel more in the last ten minutes than she had in the last three weeks. She looked at him. “It’s fine with me.”

Ralph Angel reached for his wallet. “Uh — well, buddy, let’s see.”

Charley didn’t want Blue to see his father fumble with his flimsy billfold. She didn’t want Blue to see his father finger the two measly singles and grab for the smeared scraps of paper that fell into the grass, not that there was anything wrong with being broke, but she didn’t want Blue to understand that Ralph Angel was broke in a particular and humiliating kind of way.

“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s my treat.”

• • •

The John Deere 3510 sugarcane harvester was designed for comfort and convenience with its forward-tilting cab and pressurized ClimaTrak temperature control that provided a dust-free environment, its air suspension driver’s seat and optional DVD player with surround sound speakers. Lying on her bed that evening, Charley stared at the machine’s picture featured in a two-page catalog spread with the same rush of desire as a high school boy staring at his first Playboy centerfold. All those hoses, gears, and bright green paint, Charley thought. Who knew a piece of farm equipment could be that sexy? She was reviewing the safety features for the second time when Ralph Angel knocked on her open door.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said when she startled. “You busy?” He stood awkwardly, just over the threshold.

“Just reading.” Charley invited him in, aware that she was sitting on the bed that should have been his.

Ralph Angel stepped into the room. He looked around, brushed dust off the lampshade, and drummed his fingers on the headboard. Charley expected him to say something about the way she’d maintained the room, but he didn’t.

Instead, he laughed nervously. “Weird, you know. Never thought I’d be back here again.” He drifted over to the dresser, lifted Micah’s T-shirt off The Cane Cutter. “Something tells me you didn’t get this at Walmart.”

“It belonged to Dad.”

Ralph Angel nodded, and again, Charley waited for him to say something about her being spoiled. But he lifted the shirt higher and studied the piece more closely, ran his finger along the cane knife, traced the pant fold. He stared into the figure’s deeply carved eyes, then turned it around to examine the back, handling it with respect, even reverence.

“Micah said you talk to it.”

“Micah said that?” Charley wondered what other personal tics and idiosyncrasies, what small moments, forgotten or overlooked, Micah had innocently revealed.

Ralph Angel gently turned The Cane Cutter around. “Kids. Boy, I tell you, nothing gets past them.” He shook his head. “And, man, don’t promise you’re going to do something and then not do it. They never let you off the hook.”

Charley recalled the recent promises she’d made to Micah: that she’d have her own room in the house they’d own one day, where she’d be free to hang her favorite posters and paint the walls any color she chose, because it would be their house and not some rental; that she’d help Micah find kids to play with and her afternoons would be filled with endless games of Capture the Flag and Kick the Can, because everyone wanted to know a kid from California. Charley thought of those promises and all the others she’d made to lure Micah into coming, and felt sick at how few she’d delivered on.

“On our way down here,” Ralph Angel was saying, “I promised Blue I’d buy him a toy, some Power Ranger thing he saw at a rest stop. I thought he’d forget, but he must have asked me about that thing ten times. Probably stopped at twenty rest stops before I found it.”