Twenty-four
Eddie was sent to the state corrections facility just outside of town. They took him that very day. Blanche and I returned home from the courthouse in complete silence; neither of us daring to speak a word. I directed the cab to Blanche’s house first, even though the day was barely half over.
She opened the car door, then asked without even a glance my way, “What about yo’ supper?”
“I can manage,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Girls’ll be there off the bus.”
“I’ll call the school.”
“What am I going to tell them about Eddie?”
I knew full well that was not a question that needed an answer, but I forged ahead anyway.
“Tell them Eddie loves them. More than they will ever know.”
She got out of the cab then, and hauled herself up the sidewalk and into the house. I could feel her weight as if it were cast upon my own frame. I had not known sadness to feel heavy before, not even when Walter died. That grief was weightless, almost buoyant, as if I could feel myself floating toward some enormous abyss. It was not a good feeling, mind you. It was more like having been tethered by a lifeline and being cut loose in a gentle, but persistent tide.
This grief pressed down like gravity amplified. The seat of the cab cut into the backs of my legs and my head would not rest squarely on my shoulders, but bobbed uncomfortably between the headrest and my collar bones. I could barely gather myself out of the vehicle when the driver pulled up to my house. I gave him a twenty and did not wait for change.
The first time I visited Eddie in prison, I went alone. I wasn’t sure who would be on his visitors’ list, so I didn’t risk having the children turned away. As it turned out, had I not brought a batch of Blanche’s oatmeal cookies, I might not have been received myself. Seems Eddie decided not to allow visitors at all. Negotiations were brief. The cookies came in with me or went home the same way. Never underestimate the power of baked goods. I was sitting across a table from him within five minutes.
Eddie looked drawn that first visit, but it was only a week after his arraignment. By the time I made my fourth weekly trip, Eddie had already filled out a bit and his eyes had lost their yellowish glaze. Blanche and I visited when we could. We still took treats every now and then and made sure he had books and magazines to read. I waited each time for him to tell me he wanted out of there, but he never did. He seemed happy and healthy and he even gained a bit of weight, which he swore was from Blanche's cookies.
Our visits became less frequent as we focused on Patrice's graduation and all it entailed. We had already measured her for cap and gown when I thought to ask her where she had applied to go to college.
“College?" She seemed almost indignant. “I didn't apply to any college at all, Miz Ora."
“Well, why in the world not?" I asked.
“Because we can't afford college."
“Well, what about scholarships? You made good grades; you're in the National Honor Society, for crying out loud."
“I don't think that's enough to get me the kind of scholarship I'd need. Mama doesn't make much money and...oh, sorry, Miz Ora, I didn't mean any disrespect. I just don't think we can afford it, that's all."
I don't know why I just assumed Patrice was preparing for college. When I was in school, I spent the better part of my junior and senior years researching, visiting and applying to schools I thought I might want to attend.
“Patrice Lowery! You mean to tell me you wrote off college that quickly, with no attempt whatsoever? Don't you want to go to college?"
“Well, yeah, of course I do. I just don't really know how to go about it, I guess."
“What did your guidance counselor say about applying?" I asked.
“She never said anything. She helped me choose courses at the beginning of each year, but we never talked about college."
I could feel the fury rise up in my throat. I wondered how many other promising students were falling through gaping holes in the school system. I wanted to lash out at someone and I almost picked up the phone that very minute. But then it occurred to me that I had done nothing to help her either. Besides, I knew what my meddling had done in the past. I was determined to be more deliberate in any future acts.
“Patrice...honey. Promise me one thing, would you?"
“I'll try," she answered wisely.
“Promise me that, from now on, if you ever want to do anything in your life - anything at all - you'll ask someone for help if you need it."
“Okay," she said vaguely, as if she thought I was a little off my rocker.
“What were you planning on doing after high school?"
“I was just going to work, I guess. Mama needs help with the girls and I want to buy a car. They said I could go full-time at the grocery store whenever I wanted."
“Okay, that's what you planned. Now, what do you want? If you could make your dreams come true just by dreaming them, what would you do?"
Patrice looked down then, as if she were embarrassed by her own thoughts.
“Promise you won't laugh?"
“Cross my heart and hope to die."
“I always wanted to be a lawyer."
Sweet Jesus, here we go again.