When everyone was gone, me and Miss Ora got into our pajamas and robes and had decaf coffee together and pined after some a’ Mama’s good cakes and pies.
Miss Ora said, “I should have paid attention to what she did in my kitchen. She never wrote any of her recipes down. If I asked how she made something she said, oh just—”
“Summa this and summa that,” I finished with her. “Re’Netta got the cookin’ gene. Danita’s pretty good, too. I got to where I don’t care enough about food to cook it myself.”
It felt good to just sit with Miss Ora. I don’t tense up with her like I do with Patrice. When Miss Ora talks to me, she just talkin’, and I can take what she says at face value. With Sister, I think what she says is always loaded with somethin’ else. Makes it hard to know if I’m bein’ set up or not.
“So how’s it going with the prosecutor and all that?” I asked after a minute of peaceful silence.
Miss Ora looked surprised.
“It went as well as could be expected, I suppose. I think there are more questions than answers right now. The state attorney seems to think it may be hard to unravel, given the fact that most of the people who were impacted are dead now. Not many people left to testify.”
“Except me.” My voice felt small and insignificant, and I wasn’t even sure I said it out loud, until Miss Ora put her hand on my arm and squeezed a bit.
“That’s right, Gracie-love. Except you. And you’re why I’m doing this. Because it matters to you.”
I nodded and rubbed at my eyes. I was not going to cry in front of her.
“So,” I forced some sound into my voice and spoke without really even thinking, “I’m not sure what all you’re trying to do.”
“Well, there are a few factors to consider, but the main thing I want to do is clear Eddie’s name. I want the truth told, no matter what happens to me.”
“And what do you think will happen? Will you go to jail?”
She took a long, deep breath before she answered. “I hope not, Grace. I’m old. I doubt they’ll incarcerate me even if they do bring charges.”
“What would they charge you with? I mean, if they was gonna charge you.”
“You’ll have to ask Patrice that question. I’m not a lawyer. I covered up a crime is what I did. I packed Marcus up knowing he’d killed that boy. I believed it was self-defense, but I knew it was a crime to destroy evidence. Worse, I let an innocent man go to jail for life and I never spoke up.”
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Miss Ora, but I don’t know how you could do that. Mr. Pecan didn’t never hurt nobody. It makes me sad to think of him in jail all by hisself.”
She just nodded and looked at her coffee cup, her hands wrapped round it like parentheses. We sat quiet for a minute or two. Then she said, “That’s why I want to clear his name. It’s the least I can do for him.”
“What’ll that do to Marcus’s name then? He go’n be called a murderer now?”
“Not if I can help it. I told the story clear, just the way Marcus told me. Skipper admitted he raped you, and he laughed in Marcus’s face. Then he pulled out a knife and tried to kill Marcus, but your brother was stronger. Hard to imagine someone hearing the story and not understanding, although…”
She stopped abruptly and wrinkled her forehead.
“Although what?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I know the story and I’m going to tell it until everyone believes me.”
“Who don’t believe you?” I demanded.
She fidgeted in her chair. “It’s not that he doesn’t believe me, Grace. He just wants to see some evidence and I don’t have any.”
“Evidence of what? They got the evidence in the files, don’t they?”
“Well, yes…and no,” she said. “He wants…”
“What? What does he want?” I was gettin’ aggravated. She was hidin’ something.
“He wants evidence you were raped—says all this is just hearsay and not proven and he doesn’t understand why your mama never filed charges against Skipper. I tried to explain, but… I don’t know. Some things just never change, I guess.”
“I wanna talk to him. I’m the evidence. I’m the evidence, Miss Ora. You let me tell him.”
“I wish it were that simple, Grace.”
“You don’t think he’ll believe me.”
I hate feeling hopeless. Hopeless sets on you like a stone and the more you try to crawl out from under it, the heavier it gets. I looked up at Miss Ora and all I saw on her face was pity, and that just set one more stone on top of the other.
“I’m sorry, Gracie…” she said. “We’ve got to get you healthy first.”
I could feel my face pulling in on itself. Wasn’t no way I was gonna avoid it. Some things never change is right. My word ain’t never gonna be enough. I put my head down on the table and just let the tears come. Miss Ora let ’em come, too. She didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t say a word. She just sat and patted my arm ‘til I was done.
And when I was done, it was like all that cryin’ just loosed a flood of questions. I knew it was late and Miss Ora was tired, but I needed answers to all the things that didn’t make sense. I raised my head off the table and took a sip of my cold coffee.
“So Patrice really didn’t know.”
“She did not. Your mother forbade me to speak of it in front of anyone.”
“Why’d she do that?”
“We never discussed any of these details, Grace. If I had to guess, I’d bet she knew Patrice would never forgive herself for letting you walk here alone. She was determined to make you believe it simply never happened.”
“I’m never gonna understand why she did that.”
She paused then, stood up from the table, took our coffee cups into the kitchen and rinsed them out. When she came back to the table, she pulled her chair closer to me and sat down. She always so proper, her back straight as a lamppost, only her hands resting on the table, never her elbows. She drilled that into me so much I notice it right away, even if the teaching didn’t exactly stick with me.
“I’ve asked myself why a thousand times. And I asked your mama before she threatened to leave me if I ever asked again.”
“Mama did that?”
“She certainly did, and she meant it. There was a lot I decided to risk over the years, but your mama’s company was not one of them. I needed her, plain and simple. And she needed me, too. We were drawn together by more than this one secret, but it became both a magnet and a wedge as the years passed.” Miss Ora hesitated again, like she wanted to say something else.
“What?” I prodded. “Just say it, Miss Ora.”
“The last thing in the world I want to do is dishonor your mother’s memory. I feel a tremendous responsibility to tell the story right, to not misrepresent what she did, nor to speak for her when I’m not certain her intent. But I can tell you this: your mama was devastated by what happened to you. I came home from the grocery store and she was there in the living room, holding you in her arms and weeping. I begged her to call the police, but she would not do it. She was determined not to put you through more trauma, and that’s what she believed it would be. Not justice. Not care. Not compassion. Just more trauma.”
“Is that what you thought it’d be?”
Miss Ora got this kinda vacant stare on her face and started tearing tiny pieces from a coffee stained napkin. Her fingers was shakin’ like she was cold.
“I had no concept of being treated badly because of who I am, so I don’t have an answer for that question. But what I do know…what I saw in her face and heard in her voice was palpable fear. And your mama was not a fearful woman.”
“You right about that.” I laughed a little when I said this, and for a second, Miss Ora laughed, too, but then she got serious again.
“Blanche was strong in everything she did, including standing up to me. There was always a battle of wills in this kitchen, and I lost just as often as
I won. She kept me on my toes, and I liked that about her.” Miss Ora dropped the napkin she was butchering and laid both palms down on the table. “Here’s the thing, Grace. I didn’t believe you’d be treated badly if we called the police. It didn’t make sense to me at all. But, I knew she believed you would, and I had to defer to her. I had to, but…” She slapped the table and her bracelets jangled.
“But what?” I asked.
“But, I hate that it was so easy to let it go. If I’m honest, I remember feeling relieved almost. That’s a horrible thing to admit, isn’t it?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
“I wanted justice for you, Grace. I did. I knew Skipper Kornegay. I saw him around town and, every time, I just wanted to kill that little bastard myself.”
It wasn’t funny, but I laughed anyway. I ain’t never heard Miss Ora curse, and it just flowed outta her mouth slick as butter.
“Well, I did,” she said. “Bottom line is, your mama didn’t believe there’d be any justice served, not with Skipper’s daddy being the police chief. Not with you being…” She stopped herself from finishing that sentence, so I finished it for her.
“A black child accusing a white boy.”
“Exactly.”
“So why’d she tell me it was a dream? Why didn’t she just tell me the truth?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she thought it’d be easier to forget. I think she just wanted it to go away, but it never goes away, does it?”
“No ma’am, it don’t.”
Miss Ora gave a little whoop and clapped her hand over her chest.
“You okay?” I stood up and leaned toward her, but she waved me away.
“Flutters. They happen all the time now. Takes my breath away every once in a while.”
“You ask the doctor about that yesterday?”
She don’t take care of herself like she should. Too busy worryin’ about everybody else’s business if you ask me.
“I did. He says it’s generally harmless, but he gave me a new medication to take.”
“You takin’ it?” I’m onto her and she knows it.
“Yes, Miss Nosy, I’m taking it.” She sounded snappish, but she was smiling when she said it. She likes it when you worry over her, even if she pretends not to. Mama used to laugh about that all the time.
“One more question…” I began after we both got quiet a minute.
“Go easy on me. I’m feeling a little weary.”
“I remember waking up in your bed after…after it happened, and Mama tellin’ me I had a bad dream. But I don’t remember how I got here, and it gets a little confusing in my head ’cause I can’t remember which part actually was a dream. Does that make sense?”
“Eddie walked you here. He heard you crying and found you in the woods.”
“Mr. Pecan did?”
She nodded. “Yep. Delivered you to your mama’s arms.”
“What I can’t figure out is, if waking up in your bed is part of the dream, or if I really did wake up here.”
“You woke up here, Grace. It never was a dream.”
I get so frustrated trying to sort this out. Even worse trying to explain it.
“Okay, I know that, but I started having nightmares right after the real thing happened, so I’m never sure. I took a bath in your bathtub and you brought me new clothes. Is that a dream?”
“No, that’s real. I walked to Penney’s to buy you an outfit because your clothes were…”
She clapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes got wide as the buttons on my bathrobe.
“What? What is it?”
“I have proof, Gracie.”
“Proof of what?”
“Proof you were raped.” She stood and left the room, heading down the hall toward Mr. Walter’s old room. When she returned, she had a paper bag clutched to her chest. She picked up the phone and started dialing.
29 – Patrice
I had barely unwound from a stressful day when Miss Ora called me saying something about Grace’s clothes. I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about and I was not in the mood for more drama.
When I brought the kids home, I tried to explain to them what happened without oversharing - why I’d been so upset, how awful I felt, and how we are trying to get their mother the help she needs. But some things are just too much for them to know. I signed their homework for the next day and herded them toward bed. Shawn was happy to go. He cannot stand over-stimulation and, since his mother has returned, it seems like he’s had stimuli on steroids. And now I’m adding to it.
Rochelle was full of questions and, quite frankly, I’m still processing half of it myself, so it’s kind of hard to answer anything with confidence. With every new revelation there is some aspect of consideration required. How does this change what I thought I knew? What part did I play in this? Up until today, I thought I’d had very little role in what happened to Grace. Hell, I’m still not even clear what did happen. I haven’t read Miss Ora’s confession, yet, though I will now. But when will I have time? I’ve got work and children and Miss Ora’s situation and counseling and Grace. Always Grace.
It’s my fault. I was on the phone with a boy I had no business talking to in the first place. Mama would have killed me if she knew. He was way too old, and Miss Ora was right about him. She tried to warn me, but I thought I knew better. He had an agenda and as soon as it was accomplished, he disappeared.
I remember the day I let her go. She would not leave me alone. If I hadn’t been on the phone, I’d have walked her over myself. That was the day Mama didn’t come home. They stayed the night at Miss Ora’s, which I thought was unusual and I was worried, but I never thought… I never imagined anything so awful. And now it plays over and over in my head. That’s when Grace started acting weird. That’s what I called it. Acting weird. She got quiet. Not at all the happy, chatty little sister I’d always had. Oh, that part came back eventually, but for a while, she just wasn’t herself. When she hit her teens, it went downhill fast. I didn’t even see it coming. I graduated from law school and came home to an entirely different sister – sullen, smart-mouthed and mean. That’s what I thought.
And all these years of being angry, blaming Mama and blaming Grace, and it was my fault all along. The ringing of the phone jarred me from my self-recrimination.
Miss Ora didn’t even bother to identify herself. “I have something I want to take to the state attorney.”
“Okay,” I mumbled. “What is it?”
“Gracie’s clothes. The ones she was wearing when she was raped. They’ve been in a bag in Walter’s closet. I thought maybe Blanche had taken them…somehow in my mind she had, but then I remembered. They were hidden in a hatbox. I have them.”
She was breathless and her voice shook more than I’d ever noticed before.
“And why do we need those?” I asked. Maybe I was a little slow on my feet, but I blame the fog I was in.
“DNA, Patrice.” She sounded annoyed.
“Uh, you do realize, Miss Ora, that if we turn that over to them, it is evidence of your obstruction. I think we need to think about this before we rush into anything.”
“Well, of course it’s evidence of my obstruction. What do you think I’m confessing to?”
I put the heel of my hand against my forehead and pressed hard. I was too tired to think. Too tired to make decisions. Too tired.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can talk about this. I want to call Aunt Tressa before we do anything.”
“I thought you’d be excited.”
“I’m too close to this, Miss Ora. We may need to get another attorney involved. I want to ask her what she thinks about that.”
“Look, I’ve been clear, Patrice. I want this over with. I want everything out in the open, so I don’t have to lie anymore. The stress is killing me. I’d rather go to jail tomorrow than worry and wonder if and when I’ll be prosecuted. It’s too much.”
I took a deep breath before I blasted her. It sh
ould have calmed me, but I’m pretty sure it just brought oxygen to the flame.
“Have you ever once,” I asked, slapping my thigh in frustration, “stopped to consider what anyone else wants or needs? You think you have too much to handle? I think maybe my mama spoiled you rotten, Miss Ora. Either that or the privilege you have always taken for granted has simply blinded you to the very real possibility that the world is not at your beck and call. The world is not, and neither am I.”
There was a deathly silence on the line.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ora, but if you want to take those clothes to the D.A.’s office, you can call a cab. I’ll be in court tomorrow.”
I felt awful. I knew I would feel worse in the morning. But I hung up the phone without waiting for her to reply.
30 – Grace
I don’t know what Sister said to upset Miss Ora like that. She went back down the hallway and put that bag right back in Mr. Walter’s room. Then she turned back around and went upstairs without saying a word.
I hit the redial button on the phone and Patrice picked up after four or five rings. She didn’t even say hello, just started right in talking.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ora, but I just can’t deal with this right—”
“Sister, it’s me,” I said.
I heard a big sigh on the other end of the line and then her tight voice saying, “What do you need, Grace?” Like all I called for was to ask for something. Like all I ever did was need things from her.
“I don’t need nothin’, Sister.” My voice was so cold and hard, it didn’t even sound like me.
“Then why’d you call?”
“I wanted to talk to my sister. You remember her, don’t you? The one that was so sad ’cause she thought she hurt me? That one. I called to talk to that one.”
Another sigh. “That one’s tired, Grace. I am sorry I hurt you. But to be honest, knowing what I did only makes it worse for me. I wish I could make you understand…”
“Understand what?”
“That it’s a lot. It’s a real lot and I don’t think you get that.”
The Truth About Grace Page 10