The senator’s eyes grew large and his face flushed red. “Young lady, did I hear Anton say earlier that your people are from Georgia? Yes? And you still dare to ask me that silly question?”
Carine wasn’t chastised. “I know some things have changed for the better for sure,” she began. “But I mean, income disparity has not changed. Housing segregation is still terrible. If you look at average wages for blacks versus—”
Pappy suddenly looked tired. He waved his hand as if to brush away her words. “My generation did what it could,” he said. “We got the laws on the books. Now you young folks have to finish the job.”
“Carine—” Anton began, but she ignored him. She stuck out her hand across the table toward the senator and said, “Agreed.”
Startled, the old man took her hand and held it. “How’d you get your skin to be this smooth?” he said, stroking it with his other hand.
“Oh, Pappy.” Delores was embarrassed. “Give the poor girl her hand back.” She looked around the table. “Well? Shall we make a fire and have dessert in the living room?”
While Delores warmed the pies in the oven, Carine and Anton cleared the table. By the time they entered the living room, David had built a fire and he and Pappy were sipping on their sherry. Anton dimmed the lights and watched the glow of the fire on the faces of the four people he loved most in this world. Outside, flashes of lightning lit up the sky. For the longest time, the only sound was forks clicking against dessert plates. Anton felt relaxed for the first time since he had pulled up here yesterday with Carine. Despite a few bumps, dinner had gone well. Pappy seemed genuinely amused by Carine, and his old war stories had clearly won her over. As for Dad and Mom—he knew they were hurt by the fact that he hadn’t disclosed his relationship to them, but he wasn’t worried. Their unconditional love for him was his North Star, one of the few things he never had to doubt.
Maybe it was the wine at dinner, maybe it was the glow of the fire or simply the contentment he felt, but he was drowsy. A log sizzled and fell into the large fireplace, and just then he heard Carine say, as though continuing an earlier conversation, “Even if, as you say, things have improved here, they certainly haven’t in foreign policy. Maybe now that we don’t have Jim Crow here, we oppress people overseas.”
She was at it again. Anton startled awake, prodded by a red-hot anger. What was wrong with this girl? Did she really not know how to be a guest in someone’s home? “Huh?” he said. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Really.” It was Delores, seconding him, and in that moment, Anton knew the truth—his mom didn’t like his girlfriend.
Carine chose to ignore Delores, focusing her attention on Anton. “What doesn’t make sense? Or are you so high on your turkey and mashed potatoes that you can’t put yourself in the shoes of those poor Afghans who are being bombed back to the Stone Age? Or those wretched Iraqis who are about to be?”
They all spoke at once.
David: “There’s no need to use that tone.”
Pappy: “Just what are you talking about, my dear?”
Delores: “Anton? What is going on?”
Anton was rigid with embarrassment, unable to believe that she had humiliated him like this in front of his family. He remembered how he had come to her rescue on September 11, when she had provoked the crowd of students watching the horrific events on TV, how he had somehow diffused the situation by making light of her insensitive words. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—bail her out this time. She had not wanted to come with him to the Cape, and this was her revenge, this unnecessary provocation, this acting out.
His father was speaking now, and Anton forced himself to listen. “I agree with you about the Iraq situation,” David was saying. “And I hope to God our president isn’t rash enough to take us into war. But I believe that in Afghanistan, we had no choice. We didn’t attack them. They attacked us.”
“But who attacked us? A ragtag army of crazies? That’s reason enough to destroy an entire country? To kill civilians? And isn’t it important to find out why they attacked us?”
“Because they are animals,” Delores spat out. “Evil.” Anton could barely believe that this was his polite, well-spoken mother.
“Oh, come on,” Carine said. “That’s so reductive, it doesn’t deserve a response.”
“Reductive?” Delores said in the same thick, ugly voice Anton had never heard before. “I’ll tell you what’s reductive. You and your—”
“Delores.” David stepped in, a warning in his voice. “She’s right. The reasons are more complicated than that.”
“I’ll tell you why they attacked us,” Carine continued. “It’s because they wanted us to get our military bases out of Saudi Arabia. That was Al Qaeda’s one and only demand—”
“Young lady,” David said firmly. “You’re crossing a line here. I’ve been governor for many years now. I think I understand politics a little more than you do.”
“Please don’t patronize me, Mr. Coleman.”
“That’s Governor Coleman to you,” Pappy roared, making Anton jump. “What you’re saying—where I come from, we call it aiding and abetting the enemy. Treason. I won’t have it in my house. I won’t have a guest insulting the U.S. government by cavorting with the enemy.”
“Pappy,” Anton said desperately. “She didn’t mean that. You don’t know Carine, she just likes to—”
But she was having none of it. “That’s funny,” she said, addressing the senator directly. “In my house, we discuss everything. No subjects are off limits. My immigrant father encourages debate.” She turned her head, looking at each one of them before she delivered the final insult. “That’s what he thinks it means to be an American.”
Nobody said a word. The crackle of the fire sounded deafening, as if it were enough to burn the whole house down. Then Delores stood up. “I can’t take any more of this,” she announced. “I’m going upstairs to bed.” She looked at her husband. “You coming?”
David rose heavily to his feet. “Yup.”
Delores crossed the room to where Anton was sitting and kissed his forehead. “Good night, sweetheart,” she said in a flat, resigned voice. “You better get some rest. You have a long ride ahead of you tomorrow.”
He was too embarrassed to respond.
David turned to his father. “Come on, Pappy,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
After the three of them had left, Anton sat staring at the fire. Later, much later, he felt rather than heard Carine move. “Anton,” she began, but he put up his hand as if to shield himself from her. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say a word.”
She sat mutely for a few seconds and then rose. “I’m going to bed, too. Good night.” She looked at him uncertainly, as if she wanted to say more, but he remained still, staring ahead at the fire, and she left.