He sat up until the fire died, watching the last ember spark itself into oblivion. He tried his damnedest not to think that this was an apt metaphor for his life.
The senator stayed in bed the next morning and wouldn’t come downstairs to see them off when they left. Delores had roused herself to make them turkey sandwiches for the trip and pack a couple of apples. Carine said an awkward goodbye and received a stiff “You be good” in return. After Carine was in the car, David put his hand on Anton’s back and gently maneuvered him toward the garage for a brief talk.
“I’m really sorry for how last evening went, son,” he said.
“Dad. It’s not your fault. She was completely out of line.”
David nodded. “I’m sure we’re an overwhelming bunch to be around. But . . .” he hesitated, his eyes probing the young man’s face. “I’ve never quite seen such a display before.” He smiled weakly. “I thought the Black Panthers were defunct.”
“She’s not a Black Panther.” Anton’s defense of Carine was automatic.
“I know. But really, Anton . . .”
“I told you, Dad. I get it.”
“Okay. Well. We’ll talk soon, okay, sport?”
“Sure.”
“And drive safe.”
When they reached the car, Delores was leaning in and talking to Carine. Anton’s heart swelled with love. He put his arm around his mom, turned her around, and kissed her on the cheek. “Bye, Mom. See you soon.”
“Sweetheart. You take care, now.”
He pulled out of the driveway and fidgeted with the radio, looking for a station that got good reception. He gave up after a few seconds and reached under the sun visor for his CDs. At this time in the morning, there were few cars on the road, and he scanned his CD collection before settling on Nirvana because he knew the music would drive Carine crazy. She had made her opinion of Kurt Cobain quite clear—according to her, he was a spoiled, whiny white boy who wrote songs for other rich, whiny white boys. But Anton loved Cobain, and as the music filled the car, he relaxed, thankful that he wouldn’t have to talk to her.
They drove for a few miles before she turned the volume down and said, “So are you never going to talk to me again?” And when he didn’t respond: “Can I ask you something? What did I say that was so offensive that you all turned on me?”
He took the bait. “Let’s see. Maybe the part about Al Qaeda being justified in what they did?”
She tugged at her seat belt so that she could turn and look at him. “When did I say that, Anton? I just said that there was a reason—a political reason—why they attacked us. Not because they’re savages or—What was the word your mom used? Animals. Is that so wrong?”
“Carine,” he said as if talking to a child, “you were in the presence of a retired U.S. senator and a current governor. You were also my guest. Don’t you think you should have modulated your opinions a little bit?
“But that’s just it. These are the people who make policy decisions that the rest of us have to live with, Anton. These are precisely the people whose views we need to change.”
“But they are liberal Democrats,” he cried. “Pappy was one of the first senators to come out against Vietnam, for chrissake. My father has been one of the most progressive governors in the country. So whom do you want to change?”
“And yet they got so bent out of shape because I was stating an easily documentable fact? Just think on that, Anton.” Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t you see what’s going on? A year ago it was Afghanistan. Now it’s Iraq. Doesn’t it scare the shit out of you that we are getting ready to invade another country?”
“Of course I care. But my father doesn’t get a vote in the U.S. Senate.”
“But your mom said he’s going to attend the governor’s ball at the White House in December.”
“So what should he do? Boycott it? You think that will change Bush’s mind about Iraq?”
“Baby, listen,” she said urgently. “You’ve never been to a third world country. I have. The way those people live, Anton. They already have so little. Such hard, miserable lives. And we’re going to punish them some more? For what?”
He took his eyes off the road to look at her. “So who is disagreeing with you about Iraq? You’re preaching to the choir, don’t you get it? What I don’t get is why you had to disrupt Thanksgiving dinner with your little diatribe. Isn’t there a time and place for everything?”
She looked out the window for a moment, and he saw her brush away her tears. “So that’s what matters more? We’re on the verge of invading a sovereign nation, and you care about—table manners?”
He exhaled loudly. “You’re impossible to talk to when you get like this. Forget it.” He cranked the music up again. It was Brad who had introduced him to Nirvana. But by the time he had fallen in love with the group, Cobain was long dead.
A few hours later, he pulled in to Cambridge, his anger beginning to recede, replaced by a gnawing sense of loss. They had hardly talked on the way home, and although he had instigated the silence, he didn’t know what that meant. Were they still a couple? Had they broken up? Did he want to be with her still? He stole a sideways glance at Carine, and the flip that his heart did was the answer. Chemistry. How the hell did one battle chemistry? Besides, he was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t the only one who had behaved badly. Why had Mom sounded so shrill and hysterical? Why had Pappy been so dismissive when he spoke about the Caribbean? Dad had been okay, but he certainly hadn’t defended Carine. Neither had Anton. In fact, the four of them had closed ranks against her. And then suddenly, swiftly, he knew—if Carine had been a white girlfriend arguing exactly the same points, they would’ve indulged her, cast a bemused eye toward her politics, maybe even admired her sensitivity toward the earth’s poor. What’re you, a Commie? his father would’ve teased. It was Carine’s skin color, her blackness, that made her suspect, that made them feel there was an alien in their midst, a spy in their own country. Carine had posed the wrong question when she’d asked Pappy if he’d known King. The correct question would’ve been whether he’d known Malcolm. Anton would’ve been interested in that answer.
He opened his mouth and then shut it, unable or unwilling to share this revelation lest she think he was apologizing. In any case, they had reached her apartment building, and he double-parked near the front door. He left the engine running as he got out to get her bag from the trunk. He carried it to the stoop and set it there.
“Don’t suppose you want to come in?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay. See you around?”
“Definitely.”
They looked at each other, and he kissed her chastely on the forehead, ignoring the incredulous look on her face. “Wow, that’s cold,” she said softly enough that he could pretend not to have heard her as he walked toward the car.
“Anton,” she called, and he turned around, his left eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Yeah?”
She took a few steps to close the distance between them. “You know what confuses me?”
“What?”