*
I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, car doors were slamming outside. I lay still, barely breathing, listening. Voices downstairs, first two or three, then many, until they formed a sea of sound that hummed in the walls of the bedroom. I got up from the bed and smoothed my white blouse and black skirt. At the dresser, I stared at my pale face. The skin beneath my eyes was purplish and baggy. The little sleep I’d had since the accident had been marred by dreams about Lucy. Dreams about drowning. I looked at my compact and rouge on the top of the dresser. I wouldn’t bother with them. Nothing was going to save my face today. Instead, I tried to run a comb through my tangled hair. I hadn’t styled it since the accident and I had to admit that Ruth had been right when she said I looked like a Gypsy. Today I truly did. I gathered my hair into my hands and twisted it into a bun at the nape of my neck. It was the best I could do for now.
Palms sweating, I made my way down the stairs. The first person I saw as I neared the foyer was Violet, and it wasn’t until I reached the bottom step that I realized she was speaking to Henry, her hand on his arm. Both of them looked in my direction at the same moment. Violet dropped her hand quickly and, with a last glance at Henry, moved away. Henry, his face unreadable, walked toward me.
“Are you sure you want to be down here?” he asked when he reached my side.
“I think I should be.”
He looked reluctant. “Avoid my mother,” he said. “I thought it would be all right, but…” He shook his head. “You can talk to her later, when the guests have gone, but now is not the time to try to speak to her.”
I nodded. “All right.”
Someone called to Henry and he left me standing there alone feeling awkward and vulnerable. I took a deep breath and stepped into the entrance to the living room. I spotted Honor Johnson passing a tray of food from one group of people to another and guessed she was helping Hattie in the kitchen. I saw some of the women from the Ladies of the Homefront, including Mrs. Wilding—who had never gotten back to me about her niece the nurse. I approached them, hoping to find a small circle to fit into.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, as they turned toward me.
Absolute silence greeted me. Each of them stared at me as though I were a stranger. Mrs. Wilding finally spoke.
“Do you think you should be down here, Tess?” she asked.
I straightened my spine. “I cared about Lucy,” I said.
“You weren’t supposed to use that car,” scolded one of the women—I couldn’t recall her name.
I could think of no response, my mind a miserable blank canvas.
“Whatever possessed you to drive a car with rundown old tires?” asked a third woman.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping away from them. I couldn’t face their coldness any longer, and yet where could I go? I saw many people I knew, however vaguely. Lucy’s girlfriends. Byron Dare and his blond wife, stunning in black. Mayor Finley and his wife, Marjorie. So many of Ruth’s friends. I felt their furtive glances in my direction. Where was Henry? If I was to be down here, I needed him by my side. I happened to glance through the window toward the backyard and spotted him crossing the lawn, moving away from the house.
I walked into the dining room and over to window for a better view of my husband. He’d reached Hattie’s cottage, where Zeke was pointing toward the eaves. Henry stood next to him, looking up, pointing toward the eaves himself, and I guessed they were talking about something that needed repair. Zeke suddenly reached toward Henry, resting his hand on Henry’s shoulder in what looked like a gesture of comfort over Lucy’s death. I felt a bit like a voyeur, witnessing the true nature of their friendship in that moment. It was a friendship that went way, way back and I was both touched by it and envious of it.
I stepped away from the window and saw the faces of the people in the dining room turn from me. I couldn’t stay down here any longer without Henry. I headed toward the foyer, but when I reached the stairs I felt a tug on my skirt and looked down to see Honor’s little girl standing next to me. She carried a good-sized doll in her arms.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” I smiled at her, then sat down on the next-to-the-bottom step so I was at her level. “What’s your name?” Her name was Jill, I knew, but I would let her tell me.
“Jilly,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Tess,” I said. “How old are you, Jilly?”
“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers. Her hair was smoothed back into two short thick braids that grazed her shoulders and she wore a little green pinafore over a white blouse.
“That’s a pretty doll,” I said, and Jilly held it in front of her to show me. The doll had eyes that opened and closed, pursed pink lips, and molded blond hair. I wondered what it was like for a colored child to have a white doll. Jilly was not as dark-skinned as her mother, but the doll’s pearly skin was pale in the little girl’s toffee-colored hands. I knew they made colored dolls. I remembered seeing one in a little toy shop in Baltimore when I’d been shopping with Gina sometime before Christmas. That felt like a lifetime ago.
“Does she have a name?” I asked.
Jilly sat down on the step next to me. I could feel her warmth and her wired little-girl energy.
“She don’t have a name,” she said.
“Oh my goodness,” I said. “She needs one, don’t you think? Everybody needs a name.”
Jilly studied the doll, which was almost too big for her to hold on her lap. “This baby don’t need one,” she said.
“Was she a present?”
“Miss Lucy gave her to me.”
I felt my heart contract. For all Lucy’s self-absorption, she’d cared about this family. Sometimes I felt like I’d misunderstood my sister-in-law the same way she’d misunderstood me.
“That was sweet of her,” I said. “I guess Miss Lucy and Mr. Hank grew up with your mama and your uncle Zeke, hmm?”
Jilly looked at me blankly as though she didn’t understand what I was saying. “Miss Lucy’s in heaven now,” she explained. “She’s with Butchie.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, she is. I’m sorry Butchie got so sick. I’m sure you miss him.”
To my surprise, she leaned against me, her little head resting on my arm. “I’ll see him again someday,” she said, “but not till I’m a old lady.”
“That’s right.” I freed my arm and put it around her shoulders. At that very moment, Honor walked through the foyer carrying a tray of pimento-cheese-stuffed celery. She did a double take when she saw me sitting next to her daughter.
“Jilly!” She stood in the middle of the foyer, the tray balanced in her hands. “Go in the kitchen with Nana ’Dora. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” I said.
Honor didn’t seem to hear me. “Go on now,” she said to her daughter. “Git!”
Jilly got to her feet and, without looking back at me, took off at a run for the kitchen.