“No one special. Don’t change the subject, Thandi. I got you out of a demerit fah wearing dat stupid sweatshirt.”
“For a nobody, he’s surely keeping you out the house.” Thandi says this in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way that surprises Margot. She attributes such an innuendo to the older women in River Bank with knowing gleams in their eyes.
“It’s none ah yuh business,” Margot says, suppressing a laugh.
“Is it that Maxi guy? Yuh know he checks for you.”
“It’s not him. He’s jus’ ah taxi drivah. And ah Rasta.”
“What’s wrong with dat?” Thandi asks.
It’s the most they have ever spoken this way. It’s a side of Thandi that Margot rarely sees, if ever. The trees are barren this year because of the drought, but Thandi has blossomed.
“If yuh ever come home saying yuh deh wid a taxi man or a Rasta man, ah g’wan bruk yuh neck,” Margot jokes. This makes Thandi laugh, throwing her head so far back that Margot worries her neck might snap.
When Thandi sobers, she says, “Can people really choose who dey fall in love with? That’s ludicrous.”
“Ludicrous?”
“You know. Like foolish.”
“Yuh calling me foolish?”
“No, no!” Thandi gestures with her hands. “I was jus’ saying that the concept of choosing who yuh love is . . .” Her voice trails off. “Forget it.” The razor cuts across Margot’s belly when Thandi says this. Forget it. The way Thandi says it makes Margot more aware that they aren’t on the same level at all. But isn’t that what Margot wanted? At this very moment Margot’s ignorance seems like a fly her sister merely fans away.
“Yuh not thinking about boys, are you?” Margot asks her sister.
Thandi wraps her finger with a loose thread in her dress.
“No.”
“Yuh not lying?”
“Margot!”
“Margot, what?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, if it’s dat yuh asking.”
“Good. Yuh books should come first,” Margot says, sounding like Delores. And Thandi, as though she hears Delores’s voice too, shuts down completely like the mimosa plants in the cove that wilt when touched. The darkness Margot is used to seeing in her sister’s eyes as of late returns.
“Now is not di time for you to be thinking ’bout boys or nuh love. Yuh hear?”
“Yes.”
“Yuh promise me?” Margot asks, softening a bit.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
There is a ditch between them on the two-cushioned couch—the very first thing she ever bought with her salary from the hotel, an asset that Delores, brimming with excitement and the fussiness that comes with big purchases like this one, had Margot wrap in plastic. Between Margot and Thandi are holes in the plastic, and the fading of what used to be beautiful upholstery fabric underneath.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Verdene says to Margot. They had set the table together. Margot helped with the placement of the mats, plates, and silverware, and Verdene carried the serving bowls. A candle glows at the center of the table.
“Just thinking how I like being here,” Margot says. “With you.”
Verdene lowers her fork and reaches across the table, and Margot lets Verdene’s hand rest on hers. Margot recognizes in Verdene the older girl she fell in love with—the teenager she once knew, with a worldliness that used to make her blush. A girl who, to Margot, was as mysterious as the force that altered the weather. At ten years old she felt her stomach jump the first time Verdene called her pretty. Come to think of it now, Verdene Moore must have been called pretty all her life. She had that good hair that touched her back and that peanut-butter skin—some would call it golden—the shade that could get her a job in those days as a bank clerk or flight attendant, or a crown on her head as Miss Jamaica. Nevertheless, when Margot gave Verdene this compliment, she smiled as though Margot’s comment were a surprise. A generous gift.
If it had been up to Margot, she never would have let Verdene out of her sight. She clung to her like macca bush, which latches onto skin and fabric. When Verdene read books to her, Margot would inhale deeply the sweet air from her mouth. She would ask the older girl to read more stories about a sleeping beauty, children lost in the woods, and cursed princesses, just to buy more time curled up next to her. Margot could not bear being away from her. She rushed through chores on weekends just so she could see Verdene when she came home from university. The day Verdene left for England, a part of Margot left with her. Verdene has brought color back into her life. Before, everything was black-and-white: Make money or die trying. Feel pain or feel nothing at all.