A Long Time Gone

by Karen White

Before I could say anything, Mr. Berlini interjected, “That’s because it’s a surprise for you, Miss Heathman.” Turning to me, he said, “Do you have a few moments now? I’m staying at the Main Street Hotel on the square. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”

  I could feel Sarah Beth’s curiosity and wrath almost pulsate in the air between us. “I’m afraid we’re already late for an appointment for Adelaide. She’s shopping for her wedding gown. Perhaps another time . . .”

  Mr. Berlini looked genuinely disappointed. “That’s a shame, because I’m leaving very early in the morning and I’ve appointments for the rest of the day. I’m afraid this is the only opportunity I have, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Sure,” I said, surprising myself. I’d been lying to Sarah Beth about her coat for months, constantly forgetting to return it, and then saying it had been sent away to be professionally cleaned. I’d begun to wonder how I was going to find the money to buy a new one. I turned to my friend. “Please tell Mrs. Hamlin that I’ll be there in no more than twenty minutes, all right?”

  “But, Adelaide, it’s not proper. I should go, too.”

  I knew she cared about propriety as much as she cared that there was a law against drinking. “But that will spoil your surprise. If it makes you feel better, I’ll take Mathilda.”

  I looked at the young girl and her eyes were wide with alarm. But she nodded her head, and I knew she was remembering the night of the party and us racing across the moonlit lawn. The chauffeur opened the doors on the other side of the car. “You get in the front,” Mr. Berlini said, indicating Mathilda. “I’ll sit in the back with Miss Bodine.”

  “What about me?” Sarah Beth said, a whine in her throat.

  Mr. Berlini took his hand in hers. “You are getting a personal invitation to come to my restaurant in New Orleans. You can bring your parents, or your friends.” He paused. “Or you can come alone. Either way, I promise you will have a grand time.” He slid a small white card into her hand, then kissed her knuckles again. “I hope to see you soon.”

  Sarah Beth’s nostrils flared, her lips parting slightly and reminding me of the actress Mary Pickford right before she got kissed by the hero. I slid into the car, pushing aside my misgivings. I wanted the stupid coat back in Sarah Beth’s closet and out of my conscience. Besides, as Mr. Berlini had said, it would only take a few moments, and I had Mathilda to chaperone.

  Mathilda sat in the front seat, glancing back at me when Mr. Berlini got into the car. We drove around the block once and stopped in front of his hotel. Leaning forward, he said to the chauffeur, “I want you and the maid to get out here. Miss Bodine and I are going for a little drive.”

  “I don’t understand . . .” I said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Stop,” he said, his voice low. “I have a matter of much urgency that I need to discuss with you in private. It involves your fiancé.”

  “About John?” I asked, letting go of the door handle.

  “Yes. I promise you that I will not take up too much of your time, and I will have you at your appointment in twenty minutes, just as you told Miss Heathman—with her fur coat. You have my word.”

  He exited the car and held my door open. “Come on and sit up front with me.”

  I glanced at Mathilda, then slid into the recently vacated front seat. “You go run your errands. I’ll be fine.”

  The car lurched to a start and I wondered if it was because Mr. Berlini was eager to get away or because he was unused to driving his own car. We’d driven a good bit before he spoke to me.

  “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Adelaide. May I call you Adelaide? You may call me Angelo.”

  “Sure,” I said. I wanted to ask him what business he had with John, but I didn’t want to appear naive. Sarah Beth told me it was my biggest flaw and that I needed to try to be more sophisticated.

  He pulled off the road and I realized with a start that we were on the road leading to the Ellis plantation. He stopped the engine on the drive in front of the ruins of the old house and I found myself listening to the sound of my own breathing and the pulsing of the cicadas in the trees.

  He didn’t look at me at first, but stared out the windshield, his lips moving as if he were chewing on an invisible cigar. “Your fiancé is a lucky man.”

  I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to respond, so I didn’t say anything.

  Mr. Berlini turned to me, and my palms began to sweat. It wasn’t that he was so handsome, or even so intimidating. It was his aura of power and confidence that rolled off of him like sweat, and I wasn’t entirely sure that it was a bad thing. He continued. “I admire him. Very ambitious. Smart, too. He wants to set himself up as a respectable man, with a nice home and his own business, so he can be a worthy husband.”

  I nodded, wishing I understood why he was telling me all this.

  He returned to staring out the windshield and moving his lips. “There’s something you should know about me, that might help you to help your husband. I came from Italy with twelve cents in my pocket and a loaf of bread, and when I’d earned enough money I sent for my mother and sister. I worked delivering groceries all day and working in a button factory at night to keep us off the streets of New Orleans. We lived in a slum, but things were still better than where we came from, because at least here we had the opportunity to make something of ourselves.” He glanced briefly across the seat to me. “Your fiancé understands this well, I believe.” His teeth worked his lower lip for a moment as he returned to staring out the windshield. “And then one day there’s a fire in our tenement and we lose everything—including all the money I’d been saving. My beautiful little sister and my own mother started selling themselves on the streets just to eat. I got a job on a lumber barge, and when I came back I found out that they were both dead from whatever sickness takes those with nothing left to fight.”

  He turned to me. “My sister was sweet and kind and beautiful. You remind me of her, just like John reminds me of me, with all of his ambition and plans. That’s why I’m trying to help you.” His dark eyes studied me intently. “I’m having a hard time reaching him lately, so I need you to pass on a message from me. I’m hoping he’s better at listening to you than he has been at listening to me.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a packet of Wrigley’s chewing gum and offered me a stick. I shook my head and he shrugged before unwrapping a stick for himself and shoving it into his mouth.

  He chewed in silence for a moment. “I think John keeps forgetting that I’m not the boss. And the guy who is isn’t as nice and understanding as I am. He doesn’t have the affection that I have for you and your fiancé.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out another stick of gum and shoved it into his mouth, chewing in agitation, and I wondered if he’d normally calm his nerves with a cigar but was being a gentleman since I was in the car. “I’m hoping to appeal to your female mind’s ability to recognize the right thing to do. See, John and I have been business associates for a few years in what has been a very profitable venture for everyone concerned. He knows the people down here and they respect him and trust him. That’s worth a million bucks to any businessman trying to make a living in a place where he’s considered an outsider. You understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded, only because I knew we didn’t have the time for him to explain it to me.

  He continued. “So when John tells me that he wants to end our business relationship so that he can get married and settle down, it worried me. I understand his reasons, but my boss won’t. And no, I haven’t told him yet—I’ve been hoping to convince John otherwise so I don’t have to.” He smacked his gum, the smell of peppermint filling the space between us.

  “Mr. Berlini . . .”

  “Angelo.”

  “Yes, sorry. Angelo. I’m sure John hasn’t meant to hurt you in any way. I know he plans to continue
working at the jewelry store, and I don’t see how that would affect your relationship. . . .”

  The strangest look came over his face, and his skin turned a mottled purple color as a sound that could have been laughter erupted from his mouth. “The jewelry store?” he finally managed to spit out.

  I could only stare at him, having no idea what was so funny.

  His expression became serious suddenly. “Look, I need your help here. For John’s sake. He needs to be straight with you about things, but you can help him by letting him know that he could be in a lot of trouble if he ends our business relationship. A lot of trouble. He’ll know what that means.”

  “All right,” I said, recalling the story of his sister and his mother. There was a deep hurt in his eyes that I recognized and understood. Maybe that was why I’d stopped being afraid of him.

  He sat back, chewing on his gum. “I only want the best for both of you. Tell John that, too.” He grinned. “And make sure I get an invitation to the wedding.”

  He put the car in gear again, driving out onto the road and back into town without another word. He pulled up at the curb in front of Hamlin’s just as Mathilda was crossing the street from the grocer’s. She stopped when she spotted the car and pulled back into the shadow of an awning.

  “Can I have the fur coat now?” I asked, trying to make my voice sound calm and mature, even though my mind was spinning with everything he’d said and everything I didn’t know.

  He chuckled softly. “You are more charming than you know, Miss Bodine. But it’s mixed with an innocence that’s oddly alluring. I find it very attractive. Too bad John found you first.”

  I opened my door and jumped out of the car before he could say another word. Of all the things I was supposed to tell John, that last part wouldn’t be one of them.

  Mr. Berlini opened his door and slowly stood, then sauntered to the rear of the car before opening the trunk. Inside was Sarah Beth’s fur coat, huddled carelessly in the corner like a sleeping fox.

  I reached inside and grabbed it before he could say another word, then walked quickly down the sidewalk to where Mathilda stood, watching and waiting. I suddenly understood why he’d taken the coat, and how patient he’d been for five months. Like a spider in a web, I thought.

  “It was a pleasure getting to know you better, Adelaide,” he called after me. “Please give my regards to your fiancé.”

  I turned, with a tight smile and a nod, then hurried past Mathilda, my stomach roiling with uneasiness, and my arms heavy with the weight of the dead thing in my arms.

  Chapter 25

  Vivien Walker Moise

  INDIAN MOUND, MISSISSIPPI

  MAY 2013

  I was having the same nightmare again, the one I’d been having since I stopped medicating myself. I wondered how long it would be until the bad dreams stopped or I didn’t reach for the pill bottle every time I awoke with a scream in the back of my throat.

  In the dream, I was in the backyard standing at the edge of the hole, looking down at the skeleton. While I watched, the skull smiled, and then a bony hand reached up toward me. Before I could pull away, I found myself lying among the roots of the old tree, and somebody was shoveling dirt over my body.

  My desire not to be terrified each night was a strong deterrent to falling asleep. Once again, I found myself throwing off my covers and then walking through the sleeping house, my bare feet padding along familiar corridors and avoiding the creaks I remembered from my childhood.

  Slowly, I walked down the front staircase, watching the moonlight through the fan window over the doors etch patterns on the wall. I sat down on the steps in front of the watermark, somehow drawn to this place during each of my midnight wanderings, regardless of where I started or ended.

  I placed my hand on the spot on the wall that had become a monument to our past, the plaster cool to my touch, and heard Bootsie telling me about her mother, who’d been lost in the flood, and how she’d saved Bootsie’s life by leaving her behind. But the unanswered question of why she’d been left had haunted my grandmother her entire life. I dropped my hand and clenched my eyes, trying to block out the strength of the feelings coursing through me. Or maybe they weren’t really that strong at all, but felt without filters for the first time in more years than I cared to count. I hadn’t yet decided if that was a good thing or not.

  I began to cry, not really sure why. But I felt Bootsie’s absence like a physical thing, like a gaping wound in my chest where I couldn’t make it stop bleeding. Maybe I was crying for her, like a child wanting her blanket. Or maybe I was crying for the little girls we’d all once been, sobbing for our mothers who were no longer there.

  The central air-conditioning—installed after my mother’s return—clicked off, and I imagined I could hear the house breathing around me, the slow inhale and exhale of all the years that had settled inside its walls. I leaned against the stair railings and was considering falling asleep sitting upright when the clinking sound of silverware came from the direction of the kitchen. Thinking it was Tommy finally home from the fields, I moved through the foyer toward the back of the house and opened the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

  The only lights on were the under-cabinet light beneath the giant 1980s microwave and the small china lamp that sat on the telephone table where a collection of Yellow Pages books lay gathering dust. Sitting absolutely still at the laminate table, her face showing the same surprise I felt, was Chloe. She wore an old nightgown that had once belonged to Bootsie, with lots of lace and flounces and that was way too long. I had no idea where she’d found it, but assumed Carol Lynne had something to do with it. I was just happy to see Chloe in something that wasn’t black.

  My fingers fumbled for the wall switch before flicking on the overhead fluorescents, leaving Chloe and me blinking in the sudden light like moles emerging from their holes. When my vision had recovered, I was able to see what was on the table in front of her. A collection of mismatched Tupperware containers and one Cool Whip bucket, all containing leftovers carefully stored by Cora Smith, sat on the table like an audience waiting for the big show. A clean fork and spoon lay on top of an empty plate, untouched, as a despondent-looking Chloe frowned at me from one of the orange vinyl chairs.

  “Go away,” she said, putting her face in her hands, but not before I’d seen her beautiful blue eyes devoid of black eyeliner.

  Pretending I hadn’t heard her, I pulled back another chair and sat down. “I thought you might be Tommy,” I said. “He’s been working all sorts of weird hours. It’s real nice of you to make him a plate.” As I spoke, I slid the plate and silverware toward me, and then began popping open the Tupperware lids, hearing the satisfying burp of air.

  She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest, and continued scowling at me. I decided to use Tripp’s trick and not speak at all, hoping I could wait her out. I began scooping out multicolored Jell-O salad, sweet potato casserole, a couple of pork chops, and fried okra, taking my time arranging everything so that the plate looked like a gastronomical work of art.

  I played with the food so long, waiting for her to speak, that the Jell-O began to get runny and form a little river through the potatoes. I knew Tommy would never touch it, remembering how when we were younger Bootsie would have to serve each food item on a separate plate for Tommy, who would actually gag if two items should dare spread into each other’s territory. I assumed that his being nearly forty hadn’t meant that his culinary peculiarities had improved any.

  “I was hungry,” she said finally. “And I didn’t know what was in all these container things so I had to take them all out.”

  I began to form tall peaks with the potatoes, sticking a fried okra on top for a final flourish. “That’s fine. But you know you probably wouldn’t be so hungry if you’d eat more at supper.”

  “But it’s all bad stuff—all those carbs and non
organic vegetables. My dad would kill me if he knew I was eating all that crap.”

  My eyes scanned the smorgasbord on the table as if to remind her of what she hadn’t eaten, but I didn’t comment on her flawed logic. Nor did I correct her on her language. I knew this was one of those times when I had to pick my battle.

  “Chloe, you should never eat or not eat something because somebody tells you to. You’re almost thirteen. You’re old enough to make your own food choices.”

  She continued to scowl but didn’t interrupt me.

  “My grandmother had very simple rules when it came to eating—eat when you’re hungry, don’t eat until you’re stuffed, eat a variety of foods, and never say no to dessert. And she was right. Once I told myself I could eat the yummy stuff, I stopped wanting it just because I wasn’t supposed to have it.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, because you’re skinny and beautiful. I’m fat and ugly.”

  There was a sob behind her words, and I knew I had to tread very carefully. I remembered having similar thoughts about myself when I was twelve, but I’d had Bootsie and Mathilda to help me navigate the quicksand otherwise known as adolescence. Chloe had no one except me. And that thought alone scared the hell out of me. Especially now, when I had no other recourse but to tap into my remembered pain and see if I could steer her away from it.

  “In sixth grade at a dance mixer, a boy I had a crush on paid his best friend to dance with me so he wouldn’t have to. I wasn’t one of those pretty girls who knew how to dress or flirt. It was humiliating.” I didn’t mention how Tripp had punched the boy in the face and made his nose bleed in the parking lot to defend my honor.

  “And when I got home crying so hard that the front of my bedazzled Hello Kitty T-shirt was soaking wet, Mathilda told me what she told you—that not starting out pretty meant that I’d been given a chance to work on my personality, something those other girls never had to bother with.”

  I flattened out a piece of cold corn bread with the back of my spoon, then stuck okra tips in it to make a smiley face. I turned it around so she could see it, relieved to notice the corner of her cheek lift slightly. “Chloe, you’re funny, clever, and curious. Don’t push all of that good stuff away to try to make yourself fit into somebody else’s idea of what a beautiful person is.”