When You Come to Me (40 page)

“No, of course not, Mama…”

“You aren’t pregnant?”

“No, Mama…”

“You two don’t make sense…no kind of sense! Who else knows of this…do his parents know?”

Natalie nodded. “I will meet them in a couple of weeks…”

“And? What do you think they’ll think?”

“Well, it might be shocking to them initially but they’ll come around…”

“Exactly! Do you think they want a little black girl in their family? Tainting their image? No…they want a little pasty white girl to go along with their little pasty white boy!”

Natalie shook her head. Mama saw her defiance. “Oh, it’s not true? It’s not true, Natalie? You think the two of you will be different, huh? I bet you think you and this Brandon will change the world, don’t you? This is a cold world, Natalie Chandler…face the reality! You two will never last…he will abandon you!”

Natalie continued to shake her head. She didn’t want to cry…Lord, have mercy…she didn’t want to cry.

There was silence between them. It was the first time that Natalie begin to realize that her mother was wrong; and she begin to question all of the others times…was she wrong then?

The silence wasn’t broken again until Maya was in the car. This time, Mama was enraged. The first person she’d told about her engagement to Brandon was Maya, who’d met Brandon a couple of years back, on a weekend visit to UGA.

“How old is he?” Her Mama asked.

“Twenty-six, Ma,” Natalie told her mother, looking at her sister. “He’s twenty-six…”

“Mama, times have changed! Nat loves this boy! Why can’t you see that?” Maya said.

“I refuse to see it, Maya,” their mama said. “I refuse to believe that
my
daughter, the one with the
most
sense in my house, would do such a thing.”

“She didn’t commit murder, Mama,” Maya defended in her soft voice. “She just fell in love.”

Oh yes, falling in love…what a travesty! Such a bad child!

“She’s being foolish,” their mama said.

“You haven’t even met the boy yet, Mama.”

“And have
you
? Has that white boy got you fixed too? The both of you…so different from Sidney.”

Maya nodded. “I have…he’s great. You really should meet him before you pass judgment.”

“Can’t I? Isn’t he the one who’s trying to snatch my baby away?”
 “You shouldn’t look at it like that, Mama,” Maya said. “You should look at it like, Nat’s found a great guy, Nat’s happy, and you should be happy for her…”

Mama rolled her lips in tightly, Natalie saw her grip the wheel tightly again, and the two daughters said nothing more.

She called Brandon that night and she cried to him.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said in a low comforting voice. She wished he were there then, as she sat on the floor, leaned against her bed, the window above her headboard cracked, letting the night air in.

She knew that if he were there, he’d be holding her, he’d be kissing the side of her face over and over, the smell of his proximity would overwhelm her. That is what she wanted for the rest of her life.

#

The next morning, she had Granny’s straw hat atop her head, her straight hair, coiling at the scalp from the heat, her brown skin moistened, glistening, glowing, darkening under the sun. She knelt beside her grandmother in the rose garden behind her yellow house at the dead-end of Hargrove at midday, her hands engrossed in hybrid teas of reds and pinks and yellows, pruning, while her grandmother, taking a break, sat in an old rocking chair, sipping lemonade.

She hadn’t said much to her grandmother since she got there, only to acknowledge the kids on their bicycles, bickering at each other as they raced toward the sound of the ice cream truck, perhaps no more than a couple of streets over. After all, that is what she and her two sisters did as children whenever they visited their grandmother in their younger years. Yes, the three Chandler sisters, fighting with the little Harold boys who lived next door, arguing over who could get to the truck the fastest, with their Granny Marie, standing on her front wraparound porch, yelling at her grandchildren to stop messing with the boys and come in for lunch.

Sid was always the fastest, and young Nattie, three years behind her, stayed behind to make sure that Maya, only a few years shy of being a toddler, was okay. Her legs were always considerably short.

A breeze picked up, her grandmother knelt beside her, handed her a glass, the ice cream truck neared, and Natalie collapsed on her bottom.

“Tell me about him,” her grandmother began.

Natalie pursed her lips, took a deep sip from the glass, and looked toward the backyard, the trees scarce, the birdhouses that hung from the branches, bouncing with the wind…

“He’s Brandon…and I want to marry him…”

“I got that much, young lady,” her soft-spoken grandmother chuckled. “I want to know more about him…”

Natalie sighed and turned in her grandmother’s direction. Granny, rosy-cheeked, smooth-skinned and narrow-eyed, smiled sweetly.

“He’s from upstate New York…he has three brothers…he’s Catholic…he’s really good at soccer…he makes me laugh…he gives good hugs…and I want to marry him…”

“Do you love him?”

She took another sip, slowly, replaced her drink on the length of her leg, and whispered, “So much…”

“Well…that’s all you need…and that’s all I care about…oh…wait…is he good-looking?”

Natalie giggled. She didn’t understand why, at the sound of her grandmother’s laugh and the thought of Brandon’s smile, she allowed a tear to roll down her face.

“He must be…shoot…the boy brings tears to your eyes…I want to see pictures.”

She had just one in her purse…

Jekyll Island, Spring Break, 2002…

She was in her yellow bathing suit. Her skin baked that day. He was in those pretty blue shorts with the white hibiscus flowers. He tanned very well. She didn’t do water…she remembered the moment that he walked into the waves with her slowly, coaching her each step, as if she were a child.

They’d emerged from the waves, she, gathered in his big arms, smelling the salt from his body, and Scotty was there to capture the moment.

She handed the picture to Granny, and she examined it for minutes. Then she smiled. “Oh, he’s somethin’ fine to look at, isn’t he? Of course you love him, you’d be stupid not to, wouldn’t you? And Granny taught you better than that, didn’t she?”

She nodded. Granny took her hand. “She’ll come around,” she said. “If you love him, if you’re happy, your mother will come around.”

She only nodded again. This time, her throat hardened.

“My girl’s a stubborn little thing, isn’t she? She’s always been that way…mean as a rattlesnake, my Helen. And all she’s got is you three girls…Sidney’s in Columbia, Maya’s in Savannah becoming an artist…and with you getting married, it’s devastating for a mother, as much as it’s satisfying knowing that you did something right…you did something good with your children…”

“But he’s white…”

“Oh, hosh-posh,” Granny said, slapping the top of her boney hand. “All of a sudden you care? If you
cared
, Nattie Chandler, you would’ve taken that ring off a long time ago. The only person that should give a damn about that is you…and if you look him in the eye and all you see is the man you love, then why should you care what other people say? Why should you care what your mama thinks? This is your life, girl…this is your life with him…you’re in this life together…”

#

The green Explorer had no trouble finding the humble brick home on Green Hill Street in the early evening, and in her jeans and white shirt she raced outside at sunset, just as he emerged from the driver’s seat, clad humbly in a blue polo shirt and jeans, hair free of product, eyes gleaming in the dazed sunlight. She felt she hadn’t seen him in ages, and she leaped into his arms like a silly child, took in his amazing smell, the strength of his arms around her, the feel of his lips on her cheek, kissing over and over and over…

Maya and Mama stayed put on the porch.

She took him by the hand and guided him toward them…her heart pounded, of course…

Mama did not smile. Brandon gave Maya a small hug.

Natalie presented Brandon to her Mama shortly after.

“Ma,” Natalie Chandler said, clearing her throat. “This is Brandon Greene, my fiancé…”

Brandon Greene extended his hand with a smile. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Chandler…”

Helen Chandler looked down at his hand, and walked back into the house.

#

He had gotten a small room at the Sheraton in Atlanta, just in case he wasn’t welcomed in the home, and she went with him that evening. They ordered room service, and she nestled herself between his legs as they watched a rerun on television.

He had his hand on her head, stroking softly, and he said, “She hates me…”

“Almost as much as your parents will hate me…”

“How the hell am I supposed to go to a ‘fish fry’ tomorrow if I’m not even welcomed at your home?”

“How the
heck
am I going to Saratoga Springs, New York?” Natalie asked, placing a hand on his leg. “Because I love you…”

“Yea, I
guess
that has something to do with it…”

“Exactly.” She kissed the side of his face.

“How am I going to get her to like me, if all she can see is the fact that I’m white?”

“It’s just where we come from, Brandon,” she told him. “It’ll take time…”

This time, she turned her body over and looked up at him. He gave her a quick kiss. “And time is what I got…”

He was such a good dancer it scared her. He took her by the hand, pulled her off of the bed, put in one of his old acoustic CDs, pulled her close to him. She had just began to cry on the bed as they talked…of their future, of them together, of them even making it at all…and he didn’t want to hear it. He only wanted to show her how they’d dance their first dance as husband and wife, reminding her of the nights that he’d whisk her to downtown Atlanta, where’d they’d dance in ambient light until their toes turned blue.

“I want a small wedding,” she whispered into his face. “Just a couple of friends…”

“I want that too,” he whispered back.

“I want my Mama to walk me down the aisle and give me away…”

She grabbed onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

“Mm-hmm, go ahead…”

“I want a small orchestra to play…”

He kissed her cheek this time. “Mm-hmm…”

“I want to vacation in Anguilla…”

“For the...
honeymoon
?” A sleazy grin crossed his face.

She nodded, giggling. “Yes, Brandy, for the honeymoon.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, my darling…”

“I want to scuba dive, water ski, snorkel, parasail…”

“You don’t
do
water, remember?”

“I will for my honeymoon…”

“How about we just…uh…stay close by the room?”

“I can’t promise that…I’m going to do things I’ve never done before…”

“You can do that…in the room…”

“Brandon Greene!”

Her cheeks warmed.

He smiled cheekily. “I’m just making a suggestion, Tal…you know, the wedding’s got to be consummated…”

“When I want it to be…”

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Please, boy, I have the rest of my life to do that…slowly…
carefully
…”

#

On Sunday morning, Natalie walked into the church that she grew up in, located on the bend in the road, where the rays of the sun hit the high stained glass windows perfectly, that sat on the same street where which she was raised, a place where she and sisters would stand in the altar after choir practices and take turns walking up and down the aisles pretending that they were brides, and that they were marrying Deacon Julian, who, twenty-three at the time, light-skinned, greeted them at the door every Sunday. In the Indian summer, she and her two sisters would run through the falling petals of a Japanese cherry in the yard by the sign that read Holy Deliverance Baptist Church. It sat peaceably just a few paces down from Miss Mabel’s store on the corner of Duluth and Wade, where her granddaddy played checkers with the rest of the deacon board beneath a big maple tree, when Granny was getting on his nerves.

It was on that same aisle in the church that Natalie stood that warm Sunday in late August, with her white fiancé in tow, and the entire congregation of Green Hill Baptist, staring at her, sending her nerves through loops, as she anxiously awaited the usher’s return. She hoped to be seated somewhere in the back, where they couldn’t be seen, where they couldn’t be talked about, where she and Brandon could be close and she could hold his hand and silently be reassured that they were doing the right thing. She wished then that the choir wasn’t singing her favorite song, and she melted at the moment that she looked up at Brandon and he gave her those don’t-leave-me eyes, only forcing her to take a deep breath and grip his hand tighter.

The usher returned, with two fans with funeral advertisements printed on each, and with a cautious glance to Brandon, she asked, “Come on, child, while the choir’s still singin’…I can find you a seat in the back…”

She followed the elderly woman toward the right-hand, last row pew, placing them down next to a young family with a small girl. Waving her fan nervously with one hand and tapping Brandon’s thigh with her other, she searched the other pews, saw her mother, her grandmother and two sisters on a row toward the front. Mama held a hymn book, Granny knew all of the words to the song, Sidney clapped her hands, rocking her body back and forth, Maya held the bible school teacher’s baby, James, bouncing it up and down, singing in its ear. Brandon and Natalie were the only ones seated, and after a few seconds had passed, she raised to her feet, pulled Brandon by the arm up to his feet, and she began clapping her hands, singing the words under her breath, her lips quivering a little, her fingers shaking a little, her arm grazing Brandon’s as he stood motionless.

After another song, the choir rocking from side to side, hands raised, voices high, the sun spilling through the stained glass, a vision of the cross at the head of the altar, Natalie’s inhibitions began to fall by the wayside, and she wrapped one arm around Brandon’s waist, hoping to ease his nerves, hoping that he knew that she was there for him, and she parted her lips a little more to sing.