Though Julia began to shake her head in gentle protest, he lay a hand to her arm and kept speaking. “I have been attracted to plenty of black women in the years since we graduated high school,” he said. “I have been out on dates with a half-dozen sisters over the past decade, and I’ve even made out with a few of them. But that’s it. The most serious, deep relationships I’ve had, the ones where the attraction was balanced and mutual, such that it led to a long-term arrangement that could have led to marriage? All with the fair-skinned sisters.”
A distracted look clouded Julia’s eyes, but she nodded patiently. “So I was technically right,” she said, cracking a weak smile.
“It’s just how things happened to go down,” Maxwell replied, rubbing her arm lightly again. “Julia, this may surprise you, as one who succumbed to my charms at seventeen, but, historically, I’ve not been thuggish enough to excite the interest of most black women.”
Julia pursed her lips, and a light entered her eyes for the first time, warming Maxwell’s insides. “You know what? A lot of my ‘sisters’ are idiots when it comes to what excites them. I really appreciate your candor, Maxwell, but, frankly, your history is beside the point.” She settled back farther into his couch. “Getting caught up in all that just takes my eye off what matters.”
She stammered a bit as she asked, “Can I just tell you about what’s going on with me, Cassie, and a couple of girls I think you’ll remember?”
“Sure,” he replied, preparing to listen. “My ears are wide open.”
“Do you remember Eddie Walker?” Clearly catching the fact that blood had begun to drain from his face, Julia continued. “Of course you do. I’ll bet all of us had nightmares about Eddie for years, wondering whether God ever answered our prayers.”
His voice sounding hollow to his own ears, Maxwell nodded as he spoke. “I think for those of us with relatively simple childhoods, it was our first time encountering a stubborn situation, one of those where prayers didn’t seem to work.” Unable to play at nonchalance as the sneering face of Pete Whitlock danced in his head, he asked, “But what does that have to do with you and Cassie, twenty years later?”
“I need you to let me talk,” Julia said, “and when I’m finished, I’ll answer any question you have.”
For nearly an hour, Maxwell sat rapt as Julia recounted the pivotal night’s events, from Eddie’s attack on Cassie, to the girls’ defiant defense of their classmate, up through her and Cassie’s decision to obtain legal counsel.
His ears ringing, brow filmy with sweat, Maxwell finally spoke his piece. As Julia sat wide-eyed, he recounted his decision months earlier to hire Edna Morrison, his daily observation of her faithful response to such tragedy, and his recent confrontation with Pete Whitlock.
Still seated on his couch, staring one another down, Maxwell and Julia exchanged silent, dazed expressions. With little background noise to fill the space, Maxwell found the wait agonizing, and wondered whether Julia felt the same way. He was so full —full of shock, fear, and fierce protectiveness —he was nearly overwhelmed. After another minute of silence, though, the protective impulse won out and he slipped his hands under Julia’s armpits, pulling her to him.
“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered. “How could I have ever told you what I knew about Edna and Pete?”
Julia buried her head into his right shoulder for a beat before pulling back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Maxwell,” she said. “You must think so little of us now, knowing that we hid our knowledge of what happened all these years, while Edna was nearly devastated.”
His hands rubbing Julia’s back, Maxwell felt himself swell with determination. “I’m not sugarcoating a thing, do you hear me? Julia, don’t forget, I was there. I know what the Christian Light culture was like back then. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you and Cassie had come out with the truth then. You wouldn’t have been lynched, but in legal terms it would have been nearly as dramatic.” He hugged her closer. “I doubt any of us would have done anything differently, given the situation.”
“I’m trusting that all the drama is finally about to end,” Julia whispered back, her lips poised inches from his now. “I just had to talk this out with someone else, and now I see that God meant for us to discuss this all along.”
“Understand this,” Maxwell said, taking her chin in one hand. “I have a loyalty to Edna, and if you weren’t confessing to what happened, I would encourage you to do so. But you’re doing the right thing already. All that matters now,” he said, “is making sure you’re protected legally. I know you have an attorney already, Julia, but will you let me make a few calls? Between Lyle’s connections and a couple of my cousins in Columbus, I want to make sure you have the best attorneys in the state.”
Julia rested her head against his shoulder again, but she said, “Cassie and I are fine. I don’t need you to worry about me, Maxwell. I just need a listening ear.”
“No offense,” Maxwell replied, pulling Julia’s face back up toward his, “but I’m not really worried about Cassie, and I intend to be more than a listening ear. Cassie has a husband to watch over her. Let me watch over you.”
She surprised him with a sudden laugh, though her grip on him did not loosen. “I just need a friend, Maxwell, please.”
Maxwell drew Julia closer, pecked a kiss onto her lips. “Sorry, no dice.” From the moment Pete Whitlock had hinted that some of his classmates were involved in his quest to avenge Eddie, Maxwell had felt a strange stirring within. With Julia in his arms now, he was fully in touch with his motivations.
In one way or another, Maxwell knew he had validated and played within the bounds of a Christian Light culture that left beautiful black girls, like Julia, Toya, Terry, and, in her own way, Cassie, feeling undervalued, invisible, and “less than.” Was it any wonder they had been too full of fear and cynicism to report their self-defensive acts the very night they took place?
No, Maxwell was convinced that God had brought him together with Julia for more than a few pleasant dates. This was his chance to make up so much to her —for having made her feel unattractive, for having a “go along to get along” mentality about a culture to which he’d never let Nia be subjected.
“Let me take some of the weight, Julia,” he whispered as he planted one kiss after another on her soft lips. “Let me protect you.”
Just under an hour later, Maxwell and Julia separated their flush, naked bodies. Sweat still dripping from his brow, he pulled her back to his side as she covered them both in his bedsheets. Her voice low, she had her eyes down as she quipped, “So you think you’ll find the old saying to be true —‘once you’ve had black, you never —’ ”
“Don’t do it,” Maxwell interrupted, placing a finger to her lips. “I think way too much of you to let you even finish that question.” He pulled her close, kissing her deeply. “If it helps, though, I’m sold on you, Julia Turner.”
She sniffed the air as if something had suddenly occurred to her. “Uh, when’s the last time you washed these linens, Doctor?”
“Well, what you’re looking at is proof that I’ve been celibate since moving in here,” Maxwell replied. “No one to impress.”
“Really?” Julia said, snapping her neck playfully. “Is that why you so conveniently had a box of Trojans in your nightstand?”
“In case of emergency,” he said. “Why do you think I needed help getting the darn thing on?”
They shared a laugh for a minute before Julia punched him in the shoulder. “What have we just done?” She shook her head, then raised her hands heavenward. “Father, please forgive me. I got carried away.”
“Hold on,” Maxwell said, grabbing her hand. “Let me in on this, okay? We both tripped up. Let’s be on one accord about how to avoid doing it again.” It’s not like it’ll be easy, he thought.
Once they had completed their prayer of confession, Julia wrapped a sheet around herself and skittered across the fl
oor, shutting the bathroom door behind her. Wiping his brow again, Maxwell teetered between exultation and shame until the ring of his phone jarred him back into reality. Oh, no —Nia. He was over an hour late, and now he had to shower and change before he could get going.
Grabbing his phone and cautiously watching the bathroom door, he grimaced at the sight of Tiffany’s phone number on caller ID. “Hey” was the best he could muster for a greeting.
“It’s going on two o’clock, Maxwell,” Tiffany said, her tone razor-sharp. “What happened to getting here at noon?”
“I’m on my way,” he replied, nearly falling out of bed as he searched in vain for his briefs. “Something came up. I’ll make it up to her, don’t worry.”
“My brothers told me to call my attorney once you were an hour late,” she replied. “You’ve never been late before, so I told them to shut up. You pull this again, though, and I will make life hell for you. Do you understand?”
“Tif,” he said, shrugging into his newly discovered briefs and still eyeing the bathroom door warily, “I’m on my way, so calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. “You don’t have the right.”
Grabbing a shirt with one hand, Maxwell sighed. Would she ever forgive him for not marrying her? “Tif, can we please treat each other like the grown-ups we are?”
“You’re not a grown-up,” Tiffany replied, her tone still scalding. “You’re a racist playboy with no interest in settling down. You may be Nia’s father, Maxwell Simon, but you are not a grown-up.”
28
You see, it’s all about equalizing,” Dante said to M.J. as they cooled their heels in the Mercedes. Dante pointed across the street, a finger crooked in the direction of the old woman’s porch. “I’ve followed that pig Whitlock to this address night after night this week, and the only other people going in and out are an old couple and a little boy who look twelve if he’s a day.”
M.J. smiled despite himself, despite his instinct that he and his cousin should not be here. “So Whitlock’s living with his parents, and what? His son or something?”
“That’s what my peeps say.” Dante retrieved another cigarette from his cup holder. Placing it between his lips and grabbing his lighter, he glanced toward M.J. “What’s up with you anyway? I’m doing this for your family, dog.”
“I know,” M.J. replied, shifting in his seat and taking another anxious stare toward the home’s porch. “I appreciate all this, Dante, I just don’t think this is the right place to step to Whitlock. Why do we need to put the man’s family in the middle of this?”
Dante cut his cousin with a glance that said it all. “You don’t slow down a man with a gun by pulling a butter knife on him, homes. Look, just follow the plan. When the man pulls into the driveway, we walk up to him as he’s getting out of the car. You just stand there lookin’ all imposing and whatnot. I’ll be the one to make it clear —without even pulling my piece —that he best leave your family alone, or our family will have to go to war with his. I guarantee you, he won’t want none of that.”
Nodding, M.J. punched Dante’s shoulder. “All right, I’m good as long as you restrain yourself. We handle the man with talk —all talk. I got scholarships to protect, Dante.”
M.J. cut himself short as the street lit up momentarily with the flash of car headlights, followed closely by the zoom of a silver Buick sedan as it cruised past, slowed suddenly, and turned into the home’s short driveway.
“Time to make the donuts,” Dante said, flashing a smile at M.J. as he popped his driver’s-side door open. “You can thank me later.”
29
As much as she believed God had put her on this earth to sell houses, Cassie rarely went a month without encountering a client who made her certainty waver. Isabel Rollins was just such a person.
“Price, price, price, that’s all I get from you,” Isabel said, her hands chopping the air defiantly as she stared across Cassie’s conference room table. “If the only way you can sell my home is to cut the price to a bone, Cassie, I’ll do that math myself and save the commission, thank you very much.”
“Mrs. Rollins,” Cassie replied, her hands clasped as a calming mechanism, “I have just walked you back through all of the marketing activities we’ve enacted to get your house in front of as many buyers as possible. And we have come close twice. Now that your home has been on the market for nearly six months, though, we have to get aggressive to ensure it gets consideration —”
“I am not lowering the price any more,” Isabel said, her tone icy. “It won’t help. Let’s just agree to dissolve the contract and walk away, please. I’ve had it with this agency.”
Nothing would make me happier. Cassie’s training told her to never let a dissatisfied client break the contract early —all that did was open you to lost revenue, since in real estate you never knew from one day to the next which house would actually sell. Let a client leave you early, and it’d be your luck that the next week someone who first saw the house on your listing chose to make an offer.
“Let’s do this,” Cassie said, “tell me three big ideas you think our agency should try. We’ll take a shot at all of them; maybe that will make the difference during this last month of the relationship.”
Isabel shook her head, her face contorting as if she’d whiffed a frightening smell. “Why would I give you ideas? I’m paying you, remember?”
Cassie gave a fake smile, then sighed under her breath when her intercom buzzed. “Excuse me,” she said, respectfully raising an index finger before picking up her phone’s receiver. “Yes, Lisa?”
“Boss, so sorry to interrupt,” Cassie’s secretary said, her voice a whisper. “I know you’re having a tense sit-down right now, but Marcus is out here with another gentleman.”
Cassie involuntarily stood, her eyes shifting away quickly from Isabel. “Is this an emergency?”
The cadence of Lisa’s words grew halting, uncertain. “Marcus would like to see you immediately, yes.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rollins,” Cassie said, hanging up her phone but still standing. “I need to excuse myself regarding a family issue. I —I’ll have one of my associates be right with you.”
Shutting the office door behind her, Cassie glanced first at Lisa, who pointed toward the couch where Marcus and Donald were seated. Moving briskly, she nodded toward her husband and her cousin. “I have another conference room free down here, come on,” she said.
When she had shut the door behind them, she nearly backed both men against the wall. “What’s going on? Are the kids okay?”
Cassie’s heartbeat faltered when Donald stepped to the side and turned away. His eyes grave, Marcus placed a hand to Donald’s back as he spoke. “Baby,” he said, “Donald and I agreed to just come see you in person. This —this isn’t something to discuss over the phone.”
“Oh, my God, Marcus,” Cassie said, grabbing her husband’s forearms. “What happened? Where’s M.J.?”
“The good news, I pray,” Marcus replied, pulling Cassie close, “is that we’re not sure. All we know for sure is that he drove Dante to the hospital, or at least a young man matching his description —including his C.J. football jacket —did. I’m confident I’ll find him eventually. Been calling all his friends for the past hour.”
“Dante’s in the hospital?” She was ashamed, but Cassie was flooded with momentary relief. It wasn’t as if this was a great surprise. Dante had plenty of people gunning for him; her abiding fear had always been that M.J. would be in his company when one of them finally caught their prey.
Cassie held her arms out for her cousin. “Donald, I’m so sorry. What’s Dante’s condition?”
Donald rebuffed Cassie by crossing his arms, though he let his shoulders slump. “He’s in critical condition. Doctor’s making no promises about his ability to come through this.”
Cassie exchanged wary glances with Marcus. “I —I don’t know what to say, except to suggest we all say a prayer right now and get
to the hospital.”
Marcus grimaced. “Cassie, we’ll definitely need to be in prayer, but there are a few details to sort out first.”
“What do you mean?”
Donald turned toward Cassie, and for the first time, she could sense the anger gurgling up to her cousin’s surface. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re thinking your son is some Good Samaritan, like Dante went to him after getting set up by another dealer or a pissed-off buyer.”
Cassie blinked in confusion. “I wasn’t sure what to think yet, Donald.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get more ideas when I tell you who else is in the hospital,” Marcus said, his eyes hooded and drained. “Peter Whitlock. And he may be in worse shape than Dante.”
30
Well, look who’s on time today!”
The ringing declaration met Maxwell’s ears as he climbed from his car and stepped onto Tiffany’s driveway. He took a weary look toward her open front door and nodded defensively toward Jerry, one of Tiffany’s five brothers. He had a feeling every last one of them was on the other side of that door; while the boys looked up to their older sister, they clearly saw themselves as protectors of her honor. His sin last week —showing up two hours late to pick up Nia —had certainly reignited their caustic, borderline-racist view of him.
Stepping across the threshold, Maxwell dutifully circled Tiffany’s great room to shake hands with not only Jerry but also Justin, Dustin, Tommy, and Tony. Penance paid, he stood in their midst as they looked him over like lions appraising a freshly discovered cut of prime rib.
Maxwell met their glares with a high-wattage smile. “What’s up, boys?”
“You’ll be the one who’s up, strung up, if you stand our little niece up again,” Justin said, spurring a wave of laughter, which filled the room. “You better be glad you made it over here on time today, Doc. We were gonna have to rough you up.”
God Only Knows Page 17