“No. That’s not what I meant.” Anton ran his fingers through his thick hair. “She means a lot to me, Dad. And I want you guys to like her. For y’all to be friends.”
Y’all? Had his son ever said that word before? First the long hair, now the diction, David thought. “Of course we’ll like her. We already do.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You need to relax. Okay?”
Anton nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
David passed Carine as he made his way toward the house. “Be back in a jiffy,” she said, jingling the car keys.
“Drive carefully,” he said automatically.
He watched as the two of them walked hand in hand toward the garage. Then he turned and went in the house to help his wife in the kitchen.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I’m sorry it’s just the five of us for dinner, my dear,” Pappy said to Carine as he refilled her wineglass. “Our neighbors the Carmichaels usually join us, but they’re in the Caribbean this year.” He looked out the windows to where a steady rain was falling. “They may have had the right idea.”
“That’s okay,” Carine said. She chewed on a piece of turkey and then asked, “Where in the Caribbean?”
The senator shrugged. “Damned if I know. Aruba, Belize, Antigua? All those places are the same, far as I can tell.”
Anton, who was sitting to Carine’s left, felt her stiffen. “Actually, they’re really quite different,” she said. “You should check out Jamaica Kincaid’s A Small Place. You’d change your mind.”
“No, not Jamaica,” Pappy replied. “Pretty sure that’s not where they are.”
Anton squeezed Carine’s hand before she could correct him. Just drop it, Carine, he silently willed her. “The Carmichaels are old friends,” he said hurriedly, his voice a little too loud. “Marc Carmichael was a congressman for many years. He is my dad’s godfather.”
Carine raised her eyebrow. “Do you folks have any friends who are not politicians?”
Pappy laughed. “Touché, my dear.” He turned to look at Anton. “You better keep an eye on this one here, son. She’s a sizzler.”
“Yeah, me and what army?” Anton said, and they all chuckled when Carine smacked his arm. Delores passed the platter of asparagus around. “Eat up, you kids,” she said. “This has gotta be better than college food.”
“No kidding,” they said in unison. “Everything is delicious, Ms. C.,” Carine added, forking more asparagus on her plate.
A look of satisfaction came over Delores’s face as they helped themselves to seconds. “So what’s the rush to get back? Can’t you just stay until Sunday?”
There was a pleading in Delores’s voice that Anton heard immediately. Mom is lonely, he thought. Being in the Governor’s Mansion, away from her old friends, had clearly taken its toll on her. He knew how much it would mean to her if they extended their visit by a couple of days. He looked over at Carine. “What do you think, hon?”
“I can’t.” Carine’s tone was regretful but resolute. “I’m sorry. I have a test on Monday that I have to get back to study for.”
“Oh, come on.” David’s tone was teasing. “Anton tells us you’re a straight-A student.” He reached for more of the mashed potatoes.
Carine’s smile was artificially bright. “Well, I got to be. You know what they say—folks who look like me, we gotta work twice as hard.”
There was a stunned silence as they all absorbed the meaning of her words. “Ah, well, my dear,” the senator said at last. “This isn’t 1962, you know.”
“Maybe not where you live, sir.”
Pappy looked puzzled. He half-turned to look at Anton to ask for an explanation. “I . . . What does she mean?”
“What Carine means, Pappy, is that there’s still a lot of racism out there,” Anton offered weakly. He fought the urge to stomp on Carine’s foot under the table.
“She’s right,” David said. “We have a case right now, working its way up the courts, asking the court to rule affirmative action illegal.” He chewed slowly for a moment and then looked at Carine. “What do you think? Do you believe affirmative action has outlived its usefulness?”
They all turned to look at her. Anton made his eyes beg: Please don’t make a scene. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s a complicated issue.”
Anton let out a sigh of relief. He racked his brain for a way to quickly change the subject.
But then Carine placed her right elbow on the table and turned sharply to look at him. “But let’s ask Anton,” she said. “After all, I’m not the only affirmative action baby at this table.”
This time there was no mistaking her tone or attitude. Delores sat up in her chair. “Excuse me,” she said pointedly. “I’m not sure what—”
“Honey,” David said, cutting his wife off. “It’s okay.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled pleasantly at Carine. “Actually, Anton is not an affirmative action case at all. He’s a legacy admission. Because, you see, both his father and grandfather went to Harvard.”
The senator thumped the table so hard, the wine leaped off his glass and spilled on the tablecloth. “Which, if you think about it, is just a different kind of affirmative action.”
To Anton’s great relief, Carine laughed. “Exactly.”
“There you go.” Pappy thumped the table again. Anton eyed his grandfather, suspecting that he was a little drunk. Pappy turned toward his son. “There’s another legal challenge coming up, you say?” He shook his head. “It never ends. I remember when Johnson signed the affirmative action executive order for federal contractors. A lot of people were not happy back then, either.”
“I’ll bet,” David said dryly, exchanging a look with Anton.
Carine rested her chin on her elbow as she spoke to the old man. “So who was the best president you worked with?” she asked, and Pappy was off, regaling them with stories about JFK’s inauguration and the civil rights movement. “That Bobby Kennedy was a ripe bastard when his brother was president,” he reminisced. “But I tell you, I never saw a man evolve as much as he did. He would’ve made a mighty fine president if we’d been so lucky.” Pappy’s eyes were wet. Anton discreetly moved the bottle of wine out of easy reach.
Though he had heard the stories a hundred times, Carine seemed enthralled. “Did you know Dr. King?” she asked.
The senator gave her a quick glance. “I only met him once,” he said quietly. “He was a man of uncommon dignity.” He looked around the table. “Do you know how old he was when he was shot?”
“Thirty-eight?” Carine said.
“Thirty-nine.” The senator pulled out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. “Imagine that. He was just a young man. But he had the wisdom and grace of men twice his age. And because of this, he changed our country forever.”
They were all silent for a moment, and when Carine spoke, her voice was deferential. “Do you really believe things have changed much, sir?”