It wasn’t until a day later, after she’d told her friend Monica that her mama had made her go to a funeral even though she had a test, and Monica had asked, “Well, who’s Odell Dibb to you?” that Coral had wondered. Monica hadn’t said anything more, but Coral had the feeling that she was going to and then thought better of it, and that had made her suspicious more than anything.
She’d known for a long time that she probably didn’t have the same dad as Althea and Ray Junior and Ada. There were photos of Ray Senior all over the house, and her mom talked plenty about him, always telling them how hard he worked, what good care he took of his family, how he’d grown up in Vegas—one of the only African American men in town back then. She’d met him after she’d come from Tennessee, and they’d fallen in love at a dance at Carver Park when Augusta was only fourteen. Coral knew all that, and everyone could see that Ray Junior looked like him, and Althea too, but what nobody said, not even Ada, who loved to tease, was that Ray Senior was just as dark as Augusta, and just as dark as all the kids, except her. This wasn’t talked about in her family. How Coral was born after he died, how Augusta must have known another man, how it would have been when Ada was a baby; how else could Coral exist?
She couldn’t really remember the first time someone had said to her that she was a halfie, a zebra, salt and pepper, or that her skin was cafe au lait, caramel, high yellow. By first grade at least. And not long after that, the faster kids, the rougher ones, they made it more explicit. “Your mama’s black, so who’s your daddy, Coral?” “Who gave you that white girl name, Coral?” And of course, she’d come home crying, and Augusta had told her to stop crying, to be proud of who she was, and to ignore an ignorant child who didn’t know what he was saying. Ada had punched a boy in her class—she could punch hard—and Ray Junior had told every kid in the lunchroom that Coral Jackson was his full 100 percent sister, and anyone who didn’t believe it could talk to him about it after school. She was a full 100 percent Jackson, and her skin, well, her skin just didn’t make any sense, and nobody ever explained anything about it.
One thing Coral never told anyone was that she had overheard a conversation between Althea and Mama when she was only seven. She hadn’t really understood what Althea was asking, but it had worried her, and for a long time, she had jumped out of bed and checked the locks on the doors before she fell asleep.
“Mama,” Althea had said, “Ray Junior and Ada are too young, but I was seven years old. I knew where babies came from.”
“Well, maybe, you don’t know everything about where babies come from.” Mama’s voice held a warning note. “But you’d better stop talking like this. You want to lose Coral? You want someone to take Coral from us? If I ever hear you talk about this—if I ever hear you say one word about it, to your friends, to your brother—I will take a switch to you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mama. I’m sorry.”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry too.”
Augusta had wrapped Althea, so thin and awkward then, in her arms. “Honey, this is a harsh world. And there’s plenty of mysteries in it. But Coral is our baby girl. And it’s just gotta be something we don’t talk about. I ain’t never talked about it, not to anyone, not to Reverend Cole, not to anyone. It’s better this way, Althea. People accept something if you just don’t give them anything else to think.”
But what had her mother meant? That they could lose Coral? That someone could take her away?
A few weeks after Odell Dibb’s funeral, Coral finally asked her mama about him. They were alone at home. Ada was in Reno, visiting the university. Althea was already married. Ray Junior had decided to enlist, and he was at the gym, getting ready for boot camp.
“Did you love Odell Dibb?”
Her voice cracked like thunder out of her mouth, even though she’d meant to say it quietly, and after, the room was still and silent, like a stone.
“What?”
Coral could not repeat the question. She had meant to ask if Odell Dibb was her father, but in the seconds when she was trying to say it, trying to spit out the words, so many possibilities flashed through her mind—that Augusta had been forced, that Augusta had loved him, that Augusta had cheated on Ray Senior—and somehow, this other question had just come out of her mouth.
Mama moved about the kitchen, sliding the broiler pan into the drawer under the oven, and setting some glasses to dry on a towel.
“Child, that is quite a question.”
Coral did not look at her.
“I had to take you to that funeral. God knows I would rather not have done it. But there’s things that are right to do. They just are.”
She was going to tell her. Augusta was going to tell her.
“Come on in to the living room. Let’s sit here together, and talk about some things.”
So they sat down on the sofa, and Coral put her head on her mother’s shoulder, and Augusta stroked the side of her head for a bit.
“I didn’t love Del Dibb.” Her mother’s hand rested on the side of her head. “I loved Ray Senior, and I never loved anyone else.”
Then it was going to be bad, what came next. Coral wished she hadn’t asked, didn’t know why she had.
“Coral, you’re my child, you’re my daughter, I love you exactly the same as Ada and Althea and Ray, do you understand?”
It was going to be really bad. Because why would Augusta need to say that? The air left her chest like someone had pounced on it. She couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” she choked out. “I don’t want to know.”
Augusta spoke anyway.
“Coral, I didn’t birth you. I’m not your mother that way.”
What?
This couldn’t be. Of course she was Augusta’s daughter. Of course Augusta had given birth to her. What did she mean? Nobody had ever said she wasn’t Augusta’s daughter.
Coral bucked her head, jamming it sharply into her mother’s chin, and for a second, they looked at each other stunned. Coral’s hand flew to touch Augusta’s face, and then she drew back, looked down. Tears were spurting now.
Her mother wrapped her arms around Coral and settled her back onto her body. Coral kept her eyes down. She would ever after remember the heave of Augusta’s chest and a small yellow button that jiggled there, when she thought of this conversation. Mama spoke softly.
“Del Dibb and Ray Senior were good friends. Real good friends. From childhood. And after Ray Senior died, it was a terrible time. I was distraught. I didn’t know how I could live with what had happened.”
Augusta paused.
“Mr. Dibb helped me out. He gave me money. Ada was just a baby. He put down the payment on this house.”
Coral wanted to move. She wanted Mama to stop talking. She wanted to be somewhere else. But her body was solid, like a plank, and she sat perfectly still.
“He came over and visited us too. He showed Ray Junior how to ride a bike. He bought a dress in Los Angeles for Althea to wear to her first day of school. He told the principal that Althea was like a daughter to him. That all the Jackson kids meant the world to him, that he would be watching out for them.”
Augusta wanted Coral to understand. She wanted her to believe something.