Destiny Lingers (11 page)

“Remember it?
Couldn’t
go? You wouldn’t let me! I never forgave you for that. It was such a big deal—our class picnic. We were all so excited and couldn’t wait to go to Tanglewood Park. And for some reason, you took me out of school that day to go visit Grandma and Grandpa instead. Do you know how much it hurt me the next day to have to listen to my classmates share all the good times they had at the park without me? I was the only one in the class who didn’t go.”

“Because you
couldn’t
go!” Mother snaps. “You were the first and only colored child in that kindergarten.”

“Yeah, and …?” I hate it when she uses the “C” word.

“Well, do you also recall that little note your teacher pinned on your sweater the day before the field trip?”

“Yes, I remember how excited and proud I was when she pinned it on me. It was probably one of those reminders of what to pack, what I should wear, when to meet the bus—
if
you had let me go!”

“Ha!” Mother shakes her head and rolls her eyes as if I still have no clue. She stares off somewhere, where the memories still haunt her. “My darling, let me tell you exactly what that little note read.” She leans in. “It said,
‘Destiny will not be allowed to attend the class picnic tomorrow because Tanglewood Park’s policy does not allow coloreds or
Jews.’
”

“What?” I say in utter disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?”

But the look in my mother’s eyes says she is not. She is telling the brutal truth, and I see that it hurts her as much as it does me.

“That’s unbelievable, Mother. And all this time … I thought …”

“Yes, you thought your mother was an ogre, when I was only trying to protect you. Your father and I desperately tried to hide those terrible things from you. But it was a part of the times, and they were some dangerous times—and not much has changed. We were among the first of colored families to integrate the all-white schools and all-white neighborhoods, and a lot of times we had far more education and money than they did, which made it even tougher for us, because they resented that. But we persevered by knowing which side of the road to stay on and which kind of troubles to stay out of.”

“So my being friends with Chip—or Chase, or whoever—is
tro
uble
?”

“Well, in times like that we just couldn’t take a chance, Destiny. It could be a life-or-death matter. Racism ran rampant down here. It still does to this day, if you ask me. Remember that laws may change but some attitudes don’t. So our family, along with the McKenzies, all agreed that the two of you could never see each other again. It was too much trouble, especially after that ugly day when his mother showed herself on your grandfather’s beach like that! Oh, we vowed to do whatever it took to keep you away from that boy and that trash he calls family.”

“Oh, Mother …” I am disturbed beyond words. “How could you?”

“Well, what did you want us to do? Feed you to the wolves? Just give our daughter away to a poor white trailer-park boy? Oh no. No way. Not under our watch. We did what was right.”

“What? Being racist and classist? And so what do you want me to do now, Mother? Not be his friend because he grew up the poor boy of racist parents when he has been nothing in the world but kind and accepting of me? Yes, what his mother did was wrong—it was very wrong—but what you are doing is wrong too. Don’t you see that? And sometimes attitudes do change, Mother. What you are doing to poor Chase after all these years is horribly unfair. If anybody’s attitude should change, maybe it’s yours. Really, Mother, why should Chase be held accountable for that? The past ignorance of his parents does not define who Chase is today. Why should either of us be punished for the ignorance of our parents?”

Mother shoots me a look like a dart. “Now, don’t you go disrespecting me too!” she hisses as we pull up to the beach house. She slams on the brakes and comes to a skidding halt. Frustrated, she throws the gear into park and sits there, breathing hard and blinking.

“Mother, look, I’m not in kindergarten anymore. I’m a grown woman now. I can make my own decisions—right or wrong—whether you like them or not. I can make my own choices—”

“And
what
? You choose
Chip
?”

“
C
hase!”

“Whoever!”

“
Exa
ctly!”

I cannot muster the strength to argue with Mother anymore, as I am too distracted, noticing that the rental car is still not back, which means Garrett has still not returned home. Where in the world is my husband?

I look across the stubby brush leading to the highway in hope of catching a glimpse of Garrett heading home in the rental car, but all I see across the blades of blowing sea grass is the trailer park, where the forbidden boy once lived next to the shady marshes where we hid to play. I realize at this moment that the boy and the bittersweet memories of our forbidden love still live in my heart today. I somberly remember all I have long tried to forget.

“Well, looks like Garrett is still on the lam.” Mother sucks her teeth and shakes her head as she grabs her bags and gets out the car. “You really know how to pick ’em, Dee. You really know how to pick ’em.”

I hold my tongue and my bags and walk up the stairs to the house. Aunt Joy is inside watching TV.

“Hey, Aunt Joy. Garrett never came back, huh?”

“Yes, he came back,” Aunt Joy says with a troubled look in her eyes. “But then he left again. Said they had an emergency at work, and he felt it better that he help out there than stay here with all the tension. He says he left you a note.”

“Mm-mm-mm.” Mother shakes her head again. “Well, I sure am glad your father slept through it all. He is not going to like this one bit.”

“Well, Mother, he’s the one who told Garrett he could leave!”

“Well, he didn’t really
mean
it. I swear, I wonder about that husband of yours.”

“You don’t like my husband because he stands up for himself. You don’t like my friend because he is white and was poor and grew up in a trailer. What
do
you like, Mother?”

I could not care less about the look of anger growing on my mother’s forever unappeasable face. I could not care less about anything right now. I go to the bedroom that I was to have shared with my husband for what was to have been a wonderful, relaxing, and bonding holiday weekend. I fling myself across the empty bed that still smells like Garrett. There’s a note stretched across the pillow that reads:

Hey,
baby—

I couldn’t wait for you any longer. Didn’t want your Pops to be awake when I left. The new guy, Stevie, is freaking out on the desk and he really needs me, so I’m going to help out at work while you hang with your family. It’s better this way. Take your time, and get some rest and beach time. Sorry for the way things turned out with your f
olks.

Love
you,

Gar
rett

So much for that chance to talk about saving our marriage.

I roll over and cry myself to sleep.

Chapter
Thirteen

G
arrett calls first thing this morning to let me know he made it back to New York safely and was already at work on the assignment desk this Memorial Day. He claims he worked the overnight shift last night and was back at it again today, as he was gathering footage of the holiday celebrations from across the country. I told him he should have stayed for the annual Topsail Island fish fry today. He found that quite amusing.

Mother and Daddy have gone to the mainland for antique shopping, while Aunt Joy is sitting on the beach under a big umbrella, shaded from the sun. She is totally absorbed in another juicy romance novel. I can always tell when she gets to the good part. She nibbles her nails. I decide to join her, as I could use a relaxing day to catch a few rays on the beach.

It is a beautiful afternoon. The sun’s reflection sparkles on the ocean, dancing on the lazy blue sea. A few porpoises play just yards from the shore. I remember swimming right along with them when I was a kid. The pelicans soar above in Top-Gun formation. I appreciate the simplicity of life and nature down here, away from the madness of New York. I find I have sorely missed Topsail Island.

“I knew he’d find a way to get that gal!” Aunt Joy chuckles as she snaps closed her novel and moves out from under the umbrella to sit on the sand next to me. “Oooo—that was a good one.”

“You love your romance, Aunt Joy.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiles and turns her face up toward the sun.

We sit here catching rays, not saying a word, just enjoying this peaceful moment by the sea, dreaming of romance. Finally, Aunt Joy breaks the silence.

“So … your mother tells me you ran into our fine police chief again.”

“Yes, but try convincing her that he’s fine,” I say with a sneer. “Aunt Joy, Mother has this crazy idea that the police chief is that little boy on the beach that day—remember Chip? The boy I couldn’t see? Well, I keep telling her the chief’s name is not Chip; it’s Chase.”

“Well, he changed it,” Aunt Joy interrupts matter-of-factly. Then, she turns to look me in the eye. “Chase
is
that little boy, Destiny. And no matter how much of a fool his mother may be, Chase is not at all like that. He’s a good man. I don’t care what your mother says.”

“So it’s true. It’s him.”

“Yes, Destiny, and unless you got hit by a bad case of denial, you know in your heart it’s him. And I’m glad the two of you can finally meet again today, under different circumstances, when things aren’t as … well, crazy, you know. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know each other anymore. It’s a new day.”

I feel my heart and head pounding as fiercely as the sea. A rush of memories and emotions come flooding back, set free by what I was pretending not to know. I also feel tricked by fate. Was it easier not knowing?

“He sure had a thing for you, kiddo,” Aunt Joy says with a wink. “And I want you two to be friends, to stick together this time. He’s a good man, and you never know when you might need a police chief on your side.”

“Why?” I ask, even though my heart leaps at the idea.

“Well, one day I won’t be here anymore, and I’ll leave Tranquility to you. This will one day be your home to carry on for the family, and I want to leave here knowing you’ll be okay. That you have a community of your own.”

Oh, Aunt Joy …” I feel a sting of tears at the thought of Aunt Joy going anywhere. “Please don’t talk that way. You’re going to be here forever. Plus, the beach house should go to Mother and Daddy.”

“Huh!” Aunt Joy scoffs. “Your parents would much rather sell this place for a king’s ransom and a one-year tour of Europe. No, I want Tranquility to remain in the family, and only someone who loves it as dearly as you can do that. And I want you to have a good friend in Chase. I know he’ll look after you and Tranquility.”

“But we haven’t known each other since we had to hide to play, remember?”

“Yes, but he still came ’round here every once in a while, asking for me but really looking for you. Your folks had a fit when they finally figured that out. Your mother told him to never come back and made me promise I wouldn’t tell you he was looking for you. Well, now you’re both grown, and I can tell you whatever I want, and you can do whatever you want. I hope you’ll be friends.”

I’m so stunned I can’t answer. My heart’s beating fiercely; I fear Aunt Joy might hear it. My head is in a whirlwind.

“Life is a funny thing, isn’t it, Deedle Dee?” Aunt Flo muses, looking out over the ocean. “Time just keeps moving on. Hm. It’s a new day, Destiny; it’s a new day.”

“I guess so,” I respond.

“Well, I’m going in now, kiddo.” Aunt Joy gathers her belongings. “Don’t stay out here turning into a crispy critter all day. Don’t you have a fish fry to go to?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I do,” I say. “Don’t you want to go?”

“Oh, no.” She waves her hand. “I need to stay right here and rest a bit.”

“You sure you’re okay, Aunt Joy?” It’s so unlike her not to want to join me to mingle at a good fair and hobnob with other island residents. “Can I get you anything?”

She shoos me away. “Naw. I got a brand-new novel, and I’m gonna start it tonight.”

“I see,” I say, yet still I’m suspicious. “Okay, I’ll pack up and come with you.”

We head back to the beach house to clean up as I wonder what in the world to wear to a country fish fry. I decide on a white sundress and flat gold sandals. Mother and Daddy are still not back from their afternoon of antique shopping. Daddy probably took Mother out to dinner on the mainland, so I decide to head over to the fish fry alone. I’m eager to find Chase. I have to talk with him. I want to hear his side of our story.

Chapter
Fourteen

I
am just one among the scores of folks who have come out to support the local police department and its annual fish fry. Bands are playing, fish are frying, and the laughter of friends and families fill the air. I head into the crowd and smell the sweet aroma of fresh barbecue. Unlike in New York, here in North Carolina, “barbecue” is a noun, specifically referring to our finely chopped pork, cooked with a vinegar or tomato base, and usually served on a warmed hamburger bun with coleslaw, hot sauce, and a side of hush puppies. Now that’s what I call home. We love to share our barbecue, even at a fish fry.

Organizers have set up tents of carnival games and pony rides for the children. A few old women sit underneath one tent, arguing good-naturedly over which one of their families has passed down the best pecan, peach, or blackberry cobbler recipe. Old men argue over the barbecue pit, where a huge pig on a rotisserie has captured the attention of some mischievous little boys—they seem to enjoy tossing pieces of straw into the flames and watching them curl and burn. The little girls love the ponies.

My hopeful eyes pan the crowd of happy islanders as I search for Chase—I can’t wait to reconnect with him again. I don’t know what it is, but from the moment I first met him—even as a child—there has been an indescribable electricity between us. He touches something deep inside my soul, as he always has.

“Hey, hey! Miss! You, over there!” A clown, sitting in a cage, is calling me. He is in a checkered outfit and has a big red grin painted on his face. He wears a foolish hat with a big yellow daisy and a bumblebee dancing around his head on a long spring wire. The crazy clown is perched atop a collapsible bench that will drop him into a pool of cold water if a ticket-buying patron can accurately throw a softball and hit the tin plate target that releases the apparatus. People are buying up the tickets, excitedly champing at the bit for their chance to “Dunk the Clown.” In a booming character voice, the clown reminds passersby that the tickets are tax deductible, because the money goes to the local battered women’s shelter.

The clown is also talking a lot of smack. He seems to be taunting everyone in the crowd, including the island’s mayor.

“Mayor, we’ll forgive you for everything if you can dunk me!
Aww
wwww!”

The comedic clown charms his captive audience. Folks are howling with laughter as he playfully picks on different local residents in the crowd.

“Harold Mitchell, is that you? When you gonna get that tractor in your front yard fixed? How you gonna dunk a clown when you can’t even fix a tractor?”

The crowd is in stitches, leading me to believe that this is an ongoing story around here.

“Oh-oh, he-e-e-e-re comes
Junior
!” The clown has now targeted a tall and lanky teenage boy. The kid stops in his tracks. His face turns as red as the clown’s big nose.

“Now, all y’all know this boy can throw a ball—baseball champ at Topsail High!”

The crowd applauds the kid. A few guys around him pat him on the back and ruffle his hair. A young girl in the crowd swoons. I smile, knowing a summer crush when I see one.

“But let’s see if the champ can dunk a
clown
!
A
wwww
!”

The clown seems to know everybody and their business. This may be why they’re lined up to dunk him. I decide to move on; after all, I have a good-looking police chief to find and some finger-lickin’ southern food to eat. Where are those spots? Where is that man?

“Yoo-hoo! Hey, little lady, you gon’ buy a ticket?” I hear the clown calling out in a silly southern voice to some poor girl as I continue to move, head down, through the crowd.

“
You
, lady,
you
!”

People around me start to giggle. I look up and realize that that crazy-ass clown is actually calling out to me again.

“C’mon, sweetheart, lemme see whatchu got.
Awww
—you can’t throw no ball, sister. Go on back home!” He shoos me away with his hand. The crowd starts chanting, “Dunk the clown! Dunk the clown!” Then, one man steps up and surprisingly hands me three softballs.

“Dunk that clown!” he says.

The crowd cheers. The clown jeers. I look at the three softballs in my hand.

“G’wan now!”

“Poor little girl! She can’t throw no ball! Where’s my Barbie doll?” Waaaaa!”

Oh, that clown is going to pay now!

I step up to the plate as the crowd goes wild. I am trying to tap into any memory of softball anywhere in my life so I can remember how to throw this damn thing. The charity that protects and houses battered women and children gets the extra dollars when we dunk the clown, and so help me, God, for that cause alone this clown is going down tonight.

“Whatchu gon’ do, little girl?” the blabbermouth clown chides. “Show me your big old muscles.”

I focus, zeroing in on that tin plate, imagining it’s the face of every man who has abused a woman. I think of Grossman and the cops that shot Thomas, but mostly I think of Garrett and Eve—and I rear back and throw!

The softball flies through the air as the crowd brings their excitement to a crescendo. It slaps against the back canvas of the pitching stand, missing the tin target by a long shot.

The clown is on fire, laughing and heckling and slapping his checkered knee as he taunts me into another try at victory.

I wind up, lean back, and throw!

Bam!

This time I almost cream the clown. The softball curves more like a hardball and careens directly toward the clown’s head. Had it not been for his quick reflexes and that strong cage, that clown might have dropped all right—dropped dead!

The crowd utters a collective “Whoa!” in surprise and relief. The clown knows that I am serious, and he becomes even more obnoxious, even more grating with his whooping, and hollering, and clownish gesturing.

“C’mon, sister! Hit me!
Wi-i-i-ind
it up.” He mocks a crazy pitcher on the mound.

“Dunk the clown!” The chanting crowd is hopeful. So am I.

I walk up to a face-down with the clown, final ball in hand. He is going nuts in that cage, and I want to shut his mouth so badly. I wind back with all my might and determination and throw.

The ball flies from my hand, whirling with high speed toward its tin target. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion and then …
bing!

The clown falls with a big splash. The crowd goes wild. Between that softball hitting that tin plate’s sweet spot, that clown hitting the water, and the crowd’s victorious roar, this is the best day I’ve had in I don’t know how long.

Even the drenched and humbled clown is clapping, standing waist deep in cold water, with his makeup and wig dripping wet. His little hat with the dancing flower and spring-mounted bee floats atop the water.

“Good girl!” yells the clown. I wave good-bye and turn to walk away. Then the clown calls out, “I really
thank ya
, ma’am!”

My heart suddenly skips a beat. My skin tingles. I stop, spin around, and take another look. The dunked clown is climbing out of his water pit, with his costume clinging to his very fit swimmer’s body. The clown is “Adonis”—it’s Chase!

I make my way through the crowd and over to the pool where Chase is now drying off with a big towel. He has taken off his shirt, his skin glowing golden in the setting sun. I cannot help but take notice of his strong, cut, muscular arms.

“Hey!” I say as I approach him. “I had no idea that was you in that get up, Chief.”

“Hey, yeah, it’s me all right! And, boy, do you have one curveball,” he says, laughing. “Almost as hard as your mom’s.” Chase extends his hand. “How you doin’ today, Miss Dee?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m still a little bit in shock right now,” I confess. “First of all, I can’t believe I actually dunked you.” I feign a hint of guilt. “Then the situation in the grocery store earlier today, and then to learn—and to remember … but I … I swear … I didn’t know. I had no idea at first … that it was you.”

The clown’s bright red lips curl into a wide grin. “Well, I may not have recognized you either at first, Dee, but I swear I never forgot that little girl.”

I feel a strong bolt of electricity surge through my body. I never knew until this moment how much I’ve secretly longed for those words and dreamed of this moment. I don’t know whether to cry tears of anguish or joy.

“Miss Destiny, I gotta tell ya, you and fate can sure throw some mighty curveballs.” Chase slides off his drenched clown wig. He is just as gorgeous as ever, even in a wet clown suit.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I ask.

“Hurt me? Pshaw!” Chase slings his towel over his broad, bronzed shoulder. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, girlie! I fight the bad guys, remember?”

Chase jumps into the same cartoonish crime-fighter pose that he did as a kid, back when he was Chip. It’s even funnier now, with him in a white clown face, huge red nose and lips, and a stocking cap on his head. But those bright sea-green eyes still sparkle as he smiles down at me in the amber sunset.

“Hey, how ’bout you wait right here, and I go change into some dry clothes, and we go out there and find you your victory meal—some good ol’ North Carolina chopped barbecue and some swaller-yer-tongue fried spots. How ’bout that? I mean, good golly, I
know
you like them. I betcha everybody on the beach knows that by now—this girl loves her some spots!”

“Are you clowning with me again?” I tease.

Chief Chase McKenzie winks at me and heads into the dressing tent to change. I linger here, waiting for him, blushing like a teenage girl with a summer crush.