Pieces of Why (12 page)

T
HE LA
ST THING
I wanted was to see Keisha again so soon after our fight, but the next night was Monday, so I didn't have a choice. I went over to Keisha's place as usual, but there was nothing usual about the visit. Keisha stayed in her room all afternoon while I sat in front of the television. The whole time, Ms. Evette made disapproving noises under her breath.

When dinner rolled around, Keisha and I sat at opposite ends of the table.

“Could I have the salt please?” I asked, a little too gruffly.

The salt was next to Keisha's plate, but she didn't move to pass it. Dwayne raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Keisha said. “She was asking you, not me.”

“Watch that tone,” Dwayne warned. He and Ms. Evette shared an exasperated look, and Keisha glared as if it were my fault she'd gotten scolded. She slid the salt across the table, then waited a minute before fixing me with a stare.

“Well? Aren't you going to pass it back?”

“You didn't ask for it,” I snapped. “How was I supposed to know you wanted salt?”

“Because it was sitting by my plate!”

“Then you should have used it before you passed it to me.”

“Maybe you should have thought to ask if I was done with it!”

“Why do I always have to be the thoughtful one?”

“Why do I always have to help you out?”

“I don't need you to do anything for me!”

“Well, I don't need
you
either because—”

That's when Ms. Evette blew through her teeth in the loudest, shrillest whistle I'd ever heard. “Enough!”

Jerome started to cry and Dwayne made a face that said we were in for it now. Ms. Evette stood up, took both of our full plates away, and put them on the kitchen counter.

“The two of you,” she said slowly, “are going upstairs to Keisha's bedroom to work this out. If you succeed before bedtime, you may come down and finish your dinners. If not, these plates can be your breakfasts, your lunches, or tomorrow's dinners. I don't care if they grow green mold on them. Now go.”

Keisha and I glared at each other and neither of us moved, but then Dwayne cleared his throat. “You heard the queen,” he said. “Go on.”

Keisha ran up the stairs, but I took my time. When I
reached her room the door was shut, but since I didn't have anyplace else to go, I opened it and went in. Keisha was lying facedown on her bed, taking up the entire space. I sat at her desk and turned on the laptop, staring at the screen.

Half an hour passed. Then forty-five minutes.

Ms. Evette came upstairs and stuck her head inside the door. She looked from me to Keisha. “Okay,” she said. “Your dinners are getting cold and slimy. And yes, you will be eating your collard greens no matter what time of day I serve your meals.” The door shut loudly behind her.

Keisha balled up her fist and smacked the bed.

Half an hour after that, Dwayne snuck the door open and sent Jerome crawling inside. He kept making little gurgly sounds, and then he pulled himself up so he could walk while holding on to the side of the bed. He grinned because he was so proud of his big accomplishment. No matter how mean and ugly I wanted to be, it's nearly impossible to be mad when a baby is around.

I smiled at the same time as Keisha, but then we both stopped. Keisha picked up Jerome and handed him back out to Dwayne.

“Leave us alone, Dad.”

Dwayne said, “Huh? What? Oh, did Jerome get in there? What a sneaky little guy.” He swooped Jerome up. “Were you in there being cute? Darn you! Enough with the innocent act.
You get away from me again and . . .” Dwayne placed Jerome back inside the room, and Jerome waved his arms while making a raspberry.

I stifled a smile as Keisha picked him up, saying, “I told you—”

“It's not me,” Dwayne said, throwing both hands in the air. “It's him. Holler at your baby brother.”

Keisha plopped Jerome into Dwayne's arms and then she tried to push Dwayne down the hall. “Go away!”

Dwayne dug in his heels so Keisha had to stand there with her hands on his back and her feet slipping on the carpet, like a cartoon character. Dwayne just laughed before hopping away quick so Keisha went sprawling. Jerome giggled and pointed.

“You're rotten,” Keisha shouted. “That was so mean.”

“Baddest boys in the whole dang town,” Dwayne sang, walking down the hall with Jerome.

Keisha got up and brushed off her shorts, and then she came back in and shut the door, shaking her head. “I swear. Can't a girl be mad around here?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “This is our first real fight and they won't even let us have it in peace.”

Keisha's face broke into a tiny, fleeting smile. “Do you even remember what we were fighting about?”

I shrugged. “I think it was because you made a mistake
with Khalil and I threw it in your face, which was pretty awful, considering how many mistakes I've made and you've never done that.”

Keisha sat down on the floor and leaned against her bed. “Nah,” she said at last. “I think it was because you want to visit your dad and instead of being supportive, I judged you for it.”

I sighed. “I understand why you hate my father. Most of me hates him too. But this other little part wishes none of this had ever happened, so he could have just been my dad. You know?”

“Sort of,” Keisha said. She paused. “Tia? Will you promise not to get mad if I tell you something?”

“I guess.”

Keisha glanced at me sideways. “When I found out what your father did,” Keisha said, “I thought your mother was really weak. I kept wondering why she got together with him in the first place, and how come she didn't stop him, as if she should have seen the murder coming. Plus, I've always thought she was wrong for not going out and doing stuff with you.”

Keisha shook her head.

“But now I'm sorry I judged her, 'cause I didn't see trouble coming with Khalil, and everyone in choir has been texting about it, laughing at how stupid I was not to see that he was playing me. And that whole time I just thought he was perfect. Guess I don't want the same thing to happen to you.”

“Keisha,” I said, “first of all, I couldn't tell about Khalil either. And second of all, I
know
my dad isn't perfect.”

Keisha frowned. “Yeah. But I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I can understand why your mom tried so hard to protect you.”

I wasn't sure what to say, but before I could answer, Keisha sighed. “You know,” she said, “I always assumed I'd be like my mother. I'd be the strong one who would make all the right decisions. And I'd have the fabulous love story. But instead . . .” She looked at me, her eyes watering, and for the first time I could see what I'd been missing all along.

“Are you telling me you're jealous?
Of me?
”

My face must have showed pure shock, because Keisha laughed. “Tia, no one else can sing like you can. You've got this amazing talent. I know we both pretend we're going to be stars, but you're the only one who might actually succeed. And then on top of that, a really nice guy is head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “But you're so much prettier than me, and you make friends a lot easier, and you have the best family ever.”

Keisha smiled. “Can't argue with the last part,” she said, “even if they do drive me crazy sometimes. But you're prettier than you think.”

She nudged me with her foot, and I couldn't help smiling.

“Keisha?” I said.

“Uh-huh?”

“I have something to show you.” I'd been carrying the square of yellow paper with the fund-raiser invitation in my pocket ever since Ma gave it to me, and now I took it out and unfolded it on the floor between us. “They want the Rainbow Choir to perform ‘I know,' and they asked me to sing the lead.”

Keisha's mouth fell open. “They what?” She shook her head as if she couldn't quite believe what I was telling her. “No offense, but why would they do that?”

I'd been wondering the same thing. “Honestly?” I said. “I have no idea.”

“Whoa,” Keisha breathed. “That's huge.” For a moment she was stunned into silence, but then she looked up at me. “So when are you going to tell Ms. Marion? Don't you dare let Mary-Kate sing the lead. And I'm not even saying that because of Khalil. You sing it so much better than she does.”

Keisha was moving ahead as if the decision had already been made, but my throat felt dry and my pulse pounded in my temples.

“Keisha,” I said, “I couldn't sing a note at June Fest, and I didn't even know Danielle's family was there that night. If I choked at the fund-raiser, it would be so much worse. I'm not sure I have the guts to show up, let alone sing.”

Keisha's brow wrinkled. “Of course you can do it,” she said, reaching over to stroke my arm. “This will be different from June Fest because they've invited you. Just imagine . . .
we joined the Rainbow Choir so we could make a difference, and now we'll be able to help raise money for a great cause. And we can use our voices to make people stop and think. Isn't that what you've always wanted?”

I couldn't argue with that. It
was
what I'd always hoped would happen. And there was no doubt that Lyle Frank's daughter singing at Danielle Morton's fund-raiser would make people think. But what if all they thought was that I shouldn't be there?

I remembered the woman yanking the soap out of my hand at June Fest, and heard Mary-Kate's harsh whisper.
I can't
believe you showed u
p. That's nervy. Con
sidering.

But then I thought about standing in front of the baby's house, and knowing I had the perfect song to sing. What if my voice was the one gift I could truly offer ?

T
HE NEXT DAY,
I decided to talk to Ma. I should have had my lesson with Ms. Marion that morning, but since we were still on break, I didn't have any excuse to put things off.

When I got home from Keisha's, Ma was standing in an ocean of bubble wrap. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and cleared my throat. “Ma,” I said, determined to force the words out, “can we talk?”

Ma sighed. “Haven't we done enough of that lately?”

Wasn't exactly the start I'd been hoping for.

“It's just . . . I've been thinking about that invitation. To the fund-raiser.”

“And?”

“And . . .”
I want t
o say yes.
“It's exactly the type of thing Ms. Marion would want us to do, so it would be wrong to keep this from her. Don't you think?”

I could see the wariness in Ma's entire body. She'd been
packaging several small porcelain figurines, but now she set them down.

“Are you saying . . . I mean . . . would you want to sing too?”

I shrugged. “I've been thinking about it. Keisha thinks I should.” I paused. “What do you think?”

Ma sat down at the kitchen table. Sagged was more like it. She held her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. I could practically see the migraine coming on, and guilt spread from my head to my toes.

“I know your singing is important to you, Tia,” she said at last, “and you have real talent. But this . . .”

My chest constricted and for a moment I couldn't breathe. My body felt hot and sweaty, and my skin prickled.
She was g
oing to say no.

“Ma,” I blurted, “why didn't you deliver the bread?”

Ma looked up like this was the last thing she'd expected.

“Don't lie again,” I said. “I stopped by the house to write a note, so I know it wasn't there. Do you think we're not good enough to do anything nice? Is it because we're bad people?”

Ma reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her.

“No,” she said. “That's . . . good Lord, Tia. How could you think such a thing? Of course you're good enough. Your choir is wonderful. You're wonderful!”

“How would you know?” I spat. “You've never come to a concert or to any of our rehearsals.”

Now Ma's cheeks flushed, and her nostrils flared as she drew in her breath. I waited for her anger. Maybe she'd slap me again. But this time she only nodded.

“You're right.”

My jaw fell open, and I had to force it shut.

“I am?”

“Of course you are. And you're right about the bread too. I should have delivered it. I don't know why I didn't, except . . . I was scared.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I know it's hard for you to understand, but I think I've been scared for the last eight years.” Ma searched my eyes. “Sometimes when something terrible happens—something you never saw coming—you live the rest of your days protecting yourself from the next terrible thing.”

I thought that over.

“Ma?” I asked. “Did you ever ask Dad why he murdered Danielle? I mean, what he did changed everything. For everybody. Don't you want to know why?”

Ma's eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. “I don't think there's an answer to that question.”

“What if I wanted to ask anyway?”

The silence between us stretched on a long time, but finally Ma cleared her throat, her voice cracking. “Are you asking to visit your father in prison?”

I bit my lip. “I've been thinking about it.”

Ma got up and paced the length of the kitchen. Then she sat down at the table and traced the grooves in the wood with her nail, etching deeper and deeper.

“Is this why you've stopped singing?” Ma asked at last.

I looked up, and Ma sighed.

“I don't miss half as much as you think I do. I might have missed the fact that you'd find out about the murder on your own and then go over to the Mortons' house. I sure didn't see that coming. But I haven't missed how quiet it's been around here. I noticed that you stopped doing your morning vocal exercises, and that you don't sing in the shower anymore. And I noticed the way you stopped crunching your food in rhythm to whatever song is in your head, and how you've stopped humming those soft little melodies once you get in bed at night.”

I felt like I'd been underwater for a long time and I was fighting my way back to the surface. “You noticed all that?”

“Of course I did,” Ma said. “I love you, Tia. And I love listening to you sing more than anything in the entire world. I'd do just about anything to get that back again.”

I sat up straighter. “Does this mean you'll let me go see my dad ? And maybe you'll come to the fund-raiser if Ms. Marion agrees that the choir can sing?”

“Tia,” Ma started, but then she stopped. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I know, Ma,” I said. “I'm scared too. But maybe if we did things together . . .”

“Together, huh?” Ma laughed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Tia, you have no idea what you're asking.”

But she was wrong. I knew exactly what I was asking.

I just wasn't sure Ma had it in her to say yes.