The Color of Family Read online

  “Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” they both said as they walked away.

  Roscoe, smiling and nodding, finally said, “Boy, I guess the honeys just come out of the woodwork. I guess you don’t even have to look for a date.”

  But before Aaron could say anything, his mother said, “He sure doesn’t. He’s going with Maggie Poole, and she’s all his eyes can see.”

  Aaron said nothing as he looked at her with certain incredulity. She wasn’t trying to convince herself, he knew, because she was as sure of him and Maggie as she was of Clayton. What he didn’t know was whether she knew just how much he needed convincing. So he slid his eyes into Roscoe’s face and said, “Yeah, Maggie Poole and I are dating.”

  “Maggie Poole?” he questioned. “The woman who anchors with you?”

  “Yes,” Aaron said.

  “Huh,” he said questioningly, as if he had such authority. “Well, what do you know. I don’t know, though. I just don’t see that, but I guess you never know.” Then he stood staring off at the lights overhead as if contemplating whether Maggie and Aaron should stay together. “Okay, well it was good seeing you, man. I’m gonna bounce and let you good people get on with your lunch. But you stay positive, brother. And you take care, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. You take it easy,” Aaron said.

  “That’s right,” Antonia said. “Bye, now.”

  “So anyway,” Antonia said as she buttered a roll, “I think that once Clayton knows that we’re his family, we should all establish some sort of tradition so that we don’t lose the connection. Tradition, Aaron. Like meeting once or twice a month on a Saturday night at a restaurant downtown for dinner. That is if he’s in town.

  At first Aaron didn’t know why what she’d just said gripped him so viscerally that her words twisted and turned in his gut until they simply plain out irked him. As his narrowed eyes took her in, he repeated tradition, tradition, in his mind, trying to imagine starting such a tradition. Trying to imagine having to interrupt his only day off to fight Saturday-night traffic all the way downtown by dinnertime just so that Clayton could live like black folks once a month or so to keep true to the flip side of his life. And anyhow, he thought, how in hell does Clayton’s presence suddenly get to start a tradition when Ellen had just attempted to do that? “Where did you get that?” he finally asked.

  “Get what?”

  “That whole thing about meeting downtown for dinner. You hate to go downtown to eat. You’ve always said there’re too many people down there. Why can’t he just come to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner and be done with it.”

  “Well, I just thought it would be nice. That’s all. Is something wrong with it?”

  “Well, I just think it’s odd that tradition is suddenly important to you now that Clayton might be coming around. I mean, what’s wrong with the telephone for not losing the connection.”

  “Well, it was just a suggestion, Aaron. We don’t have to do it.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Ma. If that’s what you want, then you should start it.”

  The waitress came over to take their order. Aaron hadn’t even looked at the menu, but knew what he wanted. “Prime rib,” he said. “What veggies come with that?”

  “It comes with a house salad of baby greens, a baked potato, and your choice of broccoli or squash,” the waitress said with an overstretched smile.

  “Squash, please.”

  “And I’ll have the sirloin tips,” Antonia said.

  The waitress wrote down Antonia’s order, then said, “Okay, so that’s it? Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

  “No, I’m all set here with the water,” Aaron said. And as he watched the waitress walk from the table, he was captivated by what he saw just beyond her. It was her, he was certain. But as magical as it was to see her, this fortuity was anything but that with his mother sitting there, with everything but a pompom set to sing a cheer for Maggie.

  So now he could see that she saw him, and she smiled, just as sweetly as he remembered. When the hostess collected her and her lunch companion—thank God a woman, Aaron thought—they headed directly toward him. And he with his mouth open with not a word to say.

  When they were only steps from the table, she slowed as if she would most certainly stop, which she did. “Aaron, it’s really good to see you again,” and she bent to kiss him softly on his cheek.

  Her lunch companion stopped along with her, then grabbed her arm and seemed to try her best to whisper, “That’s Aaron Jackson! I didn’t know you knew Aaron Jackson!”

  Tawna smiled awkwardly at Aaron, then at the woman and said, “Yes, I do. But you go on to the table and I’ll be right there.”

  Once the woman left, Aaron said, “It’s really good to see you too, Tawna. What are you doing out here, of all places?”

  “Oh, I suppose I’m doing what you’re doing—having lunch,” she said, then laughed with a lightness that infected him. “You know I work around here, right up on Painters Mill Road.”

  “Oh, sure. T. Rowe Price, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  And then he felt his mother’s heat on him, so he said, “Tawna, this is my mother, Antonia Jackson. Ma, this is Tawna Stokes. Tawna is new to Baltimore.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tawna,” Antonia said, shaking Tawna’s hand. “How are you liking Baltimore, so far?”

  “It’s real nice, ma’am. I moved up here from Winston-Salem. It’s very different here. Bigger, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve only been to Winston-Salem once. It’s a very sweet town. So what brings you here?”

  “My job, and the need for a change of pace.”

  “Oh, well I guess we all need those every once in a while,” Antonia said, boring a focused eye into Aaron that said she’d have plenty more to say once Tawna was gone.

  And Aaron saw, but only Tawna was on his mind in that moment, and there was only one thing he could think as he heard Tawna’s voice in a hazy distance talking to his mother about something he really couldn’t hear: God, she’s so lovely. Just as that night when he remembered sitting across the table from her at a dinner party, he was now equally as mesmerized by everything that came together to be her. Her laugh that was certainly more blithe than any spirit he’d ever known within himself. And when she talked, it was with an effortlessness that said she was intimate with every part of herself. But more than that, there was this southern thing to her, not necessarily a belle quality, but just an easy southern way that seemed to make her more womanly than any woman he’d ever known, and he was certain that it was something maybe only she could carry off to such heights of perfection. When he became aware that Tawna and his mother were finished chatting, he asked, “Tawna, do you have a card so that I can reach you? I’d like to have lunch with you one day because I’d like to talk to you about doing some investing with T. Rowe Price.”

  Tawna looked at Aaron with definite surprise, then she smiled and, digging into her purse, said, “Oh sure. It’ll be my pleasure, Aaron.” And she handed him her card.

  “Okay great,” he said eagerly, slipping the card into his jacket pocket. “I’ll call you soon, Tawna. It was really good to see you again.” Aaron took the hand she offered him as she bent to kiss him good-bye, and when he kissed her on her tawny cheek, it was closer to her lips than he had intended, but certainly not as close as he wanted.

  “I’ll look to hear from you,” was all she said to Aaron as she went to leave. “And Mrs. Jackson, it was very nice to meet you.”

  “Same here, dear,” Antonia said as she watched Tawna leave. Then she slid her eyes into Aaron’s and said, “All right, what was that all about?”

  “What was what all about?”

  “That whole thing with that girl over there. You’re sweet on her, and don’t you sit here and try to deny it, because I could see that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You fidgeted in a way you haven’t done since you were in the seventh grade and discovering a girl’s wom
anness for the first time.”

  “Ma, I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I’m interested in is finding out about the financial services T. Rowe Price might offer.”

  Antonia looked skeptically at him, then twisted her mouth into a wry smile and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want me to believe, but keep in mind that I know that you work with a fancy New York stockbroker on Wall Street.” Then she took away her smile and grew stern when she said, “I just don’t like this one bit, Aaron. You know how much I love Maggie, and now you just sat right here in my face and made a date with another woman. And I don’t care what you want to call it, you were making a date with a woman you’re sweet on. I would just die if you broke things off with Maggie to be with that woman, Aaron.”

  Aaron picked up his ice water and took a large swig from it. As he put it back down on the table, he thought, You might get pretty doggone sick, but let’s hope you won’t die. But he actually said, “It’s just lunch, Ma.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  Junior’s suits were flung formless across the bed as Antonia went meticulously through each pocket for miscellaneous remnants of his trip to New Orleans. This man’s pockets, she thought as she pulled receipts and stray pieces of paper from the folds of his gray slacks, are just like her purse. The major difference being that she would never, except maybe under the circumstance of death over which she’d have no control, allow Junior to clean out her purse. There was no telling what he’d find that she wouldn’t want him to see. The thought of it sent a spasm through her that shook her shoulders. Why, he’d be likely, she thought, to find out exactly what she paid for things, like the amethyst earrings she told him she got at a half-price sale in Hecht’s but actually paid nearly a king’s ransom for them at Bailey, Banks and Biddle. That’s why now, sitting going through her husband’s pockets with his full knowledge, she knew he had nothing to hide. And before he left to go out to Aaron’s, he said what he always said when he saw her going through his pockets—“If you find a million dollars, it’s mine.”

  Before Antonia got to the last suit in the pile, she gathered up all the others and put them in a sack. The pickup man from the dry cleaners would be coming any minute, and she wanted to have everything collected and in the sack for him when the doorbell rang. When she went through the pants of the last suit she found only a spent tissue and a dime. But when she picked up the jacket, something metal tinkled. She shook it again, just to make certain, then stuck her hand into one pocket. Nothing. When she went to the other pocket she felt it. So she pulled it out and studied it—two gold pieces of what seemed to be a broken locket. She studied the first piece; it was well worn, but definitely pure gold. Antonia would have held on to the immediate thought she had of the broken locket, that it was obviously an antique piece Junior had picked up in New Orleans as a surprise for her once he’d gotten it fixed, until she picked up the other piece and looked at the inside of the locket that held the picture of a boy. But it wasn’t until she turned it over that she saw the sight that could have stopped her heart had it been weaker, and completely let pass the thought of it being a gift for her—To Cora, with love from JJJ is what the inscription read.

  Suddenly, the yellow glow of the lamp on the nightstand had cast a dimness in the room for her. And nothing within these walls was as it had been just seconds before. Everything had taken on another nature—Junior’s chair that sat in the corner was merely a chair, Junior’s chest of drawers was nothing but a bulky mystifying place of compartments that only kept secrets, and Junior’s side of the bed was just a space. What had this room been to him, where they had created two lives from the intimacy in which they pleasured in the private moments of their own life?

  Antonia made certain there was nothing in any of the other pockets, then slid the jacket hastily into the sack. She got up and paced around to the other side of the bed and back, wondering just how she’d let him know that he’s a cheating low-life bayou rogue fool. However she’d do it, though, she knew this much—she’d take that broken locket and throw it right in his face before she’d say one word to him. But what was the standard after forty-two years of marriage? This is what she didn’t know. After all those years put into one man, she wondered, would it be reasonable to tell him to pack all that he called his own and go back to Cora, whoever the hell Cora might be? And then, as if it were a physical entity with breath and spirit, the truth tapped her on the shoulder. “Cora Calliup,” she said softly. That crazy Cora Calliup from next door down in New Orleans who grew up to have a different daddy for each child and named each one of those four children after herbs. Sage, Basil, Rosemary, and Thyme; and oh God, she screamed in her mind while putting her hand to her forehead like a fainting belle as she looked at that picture once more. If this boy, one of those herb children, belonged to Junior, it would be enough to make her curl up and die, she believed. What could Junior want with her? she wondered. One thing she knew for certain, that locket told her that it was definitely something. She and Cora had gone their separate ways years ago, but would Cora’s loyalty have gone with it? There should be no statute of limitations on friendship, particularly when it comes to laying with another friend’s husband. “What kind of trash have you become, Cora?” Antonia said into the locket that had become the inorganic incarnation of a long-ago friend.

  Thank God for the ringing doorbell, she thought as the chiming reached her all the way up in the bedroom, otherwise her runaway mind would conjure images of Cora and Junior, which she’d be stuck with forever. Antonia grabbed up the bag of Junior’s suits, then went into her closet, took down the three dresses, stuffed them into the bag, cinched it up, and went quickly into the hallway and down the stairs.

  By the time she got to the door and opened it, the man looked as if he had just about had his fill of standing there in the cold. “I’m sorry it took me so long, Mickey,” she said.

  “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Jackson,” Mickey said, holding out his hand for the sack. “How many do you have here today?”

  “Five of Junior’s suits, and three dresses.”

  “All right, Mrs. Jackson. When do you need them?”

  “Oh, I guess by Friday.”

  “Friday it is,” he said as he handed her the slip onto which he had just scribbled something. Then he turned to leave with the sack. “You have a good evening, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “You too. And thanks for the late pickup.”

  “No problem.”

  Closing the door on him and the cold, she paced the hallway, clutching tighter to the locket she knew was digging its impression into her palm. So when she opened her hand to look on it, that’s when she knew what she had to do. Antonia grabbed up her furry coat from where it lay across the settee, took her purse and keys from the side table and headed to the door. She closed it behind her and crossed the porch. Still clutching that locket, she went down the path that was covered with a thin layer of ice, and she was so mad she didn’t even care that she marched like fury going off to war, nor did she care that her feet could slide out from under her with any one of those steps she took to bring her crashing down with a broken something or other. How could any of that matter when she had to get to Aaron’s to make a scene? It was only when she descended the three steps at the end of the path that she was aware that that locket she clutched with such a vengeance was actually hurting her hand, but she would not release her grip. Poor Antonia was so beside herself with her anger at Junior, then at Cora, then at Junior and Cora, that she couldn’t remember where she’d parked. As she searched first up the street then down, she heard Jackie call to her.

  “Oh, hello, Jackie, honey,” Antonia said, distractedly. She watched Jackie tip across the ice to her, doing her best, it seemed, to balance on heels too high and too thin.

  “Miss Antonia, I must have called your name three times. You all right?”

  “No, Jackie dear, I am anything but all right. Look at this,” and she opened her hand for Jackie to see the
broken locket.

  Jackie looked quizzically at it, then asked, “You broke your locket, Miss Antonia?”

  “This is not my locket, honey. This is the broken up locket of Junior’s mistress. That’s right. Junior’s having an affair, and I’m going out to Aaron’s where he is and send him right back to Jesus, the only one who could ever love him with what he’s done.”

  “Now, Miss Antonia, I just can’t believe this. Are you sure? Sometimes things aren’t always the way they seem. Sometimes we can jump to all kinds of conclusions that don’t have nothin’ to do with what’s real, you know.”

  “I know that this locket says ‘To Cora, from JJJ with love.’ I think that makes things pretty doggone real.”

  Jackie glanced quickly at the locket, then said, “Well all I’m saying is that you just never know, and you don’t wanna go accusin’ him of somethin’ he may not be guilty of.”

  Antonia blew out a breath that she seemed to be holding since she first took that locket into her sight. “Jackie, so what are you saying I should do?”

  “I’m saying that you should calm yourself down before you go out there throwin’ that locket in his face.”

  Antonia let out a small chuckle, then asked, “How did you know I was going to throw this in his face?”

  “’Cause that’s sure enough what I would do,” and she laughed with Antonia.

  So while the anger was still with her, Antonia had just been gently shaken from the red-hot intensity of its core. She looked down at the locket, then back into the compassion in Jackie’s eyes and asked, “So what am I supposed to do now?”

  “I guess you’re supposed to work on how to approach him with this, and then work on forgiving him.”

  Antonia let out a laugh, its undertone steeped in sadness. “Well now,” she said, “forgiveness. That’s something altogether different. That’s going to take some time, if it ever happens at all.”

  “Naw, Miss Antonia, it’s gonna happen. I don’t have no doubt about that. I see the way Dr. Jackson looks at you, and I know he loves you bigger than anything he’s ever felt or done in his life.” Jackie looked off across the street, and when she turned back, it was as if she had collected a bit of sorrow in her glance away. “And I’ll tell you something else, Miss Antonia. I’m out here because I know I’m never gonna have somebody love me that big, or look at me with that kind of love. So just don’t throw it away. Please.”