Till You Hear From Me: A Novel

by Pearl Cleage

  As far as further conversation with the Rev, none seemed to be forthcoming. We didn’t even have dinner together. He had been in his office all day working on his Founder’s Day sermon while I holed up in my bedroom working on my résumé. I figured this Obama fantasy had a shelf life of about another two weeks. If I didn’t get an offer by the end of February, I’d start Women’s Herstory Month on March 1 with an email blast to any and everyone on my list who might have some leads on job possibilities. At that point, whether it was me not making the cut on my own, or being edged out because of the Rev, it wouldn’t matter because sometimes I’ll turn on the TV or the radio and some journalist is talking about President Obama this and President Obama that and I know whatever happens next, I was a part of that moment, and that movement, and I have no regrets.

  It was after ten and I was curled up with Alice Walker’s The Temple of My Familiar, which is so wonderful and wise that you can’t possibly get it all the first time you read it. This is my third. I was so deep into its tale of love and rebirth and family and friendship that when my phone rang, I had to blink to remember where I was. I didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t mean anything. My professional tribe is highly mobile.

  “Hello?”

  “Ida? This is Lu. I’m sorry to call so late, but my mom and dad are already down at Tybee and I need to tell you something.”

  “It’s not too late,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Can we come over for a minute? Me and ShaRhonda are walking from the West End News.”

  I had no idea what Lu could need to tell me, but she sounded serious as hell. “My father’s working,” I said. “How about I meet you at your house?”

  “Great,” she said. “We’re on our way.”

  They were coming down the street when I turned the corner and threw up a hand. Lu waved back and they waited for me at the end of their front walk. ShaRhonda, who had been so bubbly at WEGA the other morning, looked like she’d been crying.

  “What’s going on?” I said when we got inside. “Has somebody been bothering you?”

  Lu looked at ShaRhonda. “Do you want me to tell her?”

  ShaRhonda’s response was barely audible. Lu squeezed her hand and took a deep breath.

  “Okay, here’s what happened. ShaRhonda and Cornell had a date tonight for Valentine’s Day. They were supposed to go out to dinner and then meet us at a party some of our friends are having, but he called at the last minute and said he couldn’t make it.”

  ShaRhonda stood up and started sort of pacing around behind the couch. She was really agitated, but I was no closer to the reason. Lu turned to her friend.

  “Do you want to tell it?”

  ShaRhonda looked at Lu helplessly. “I don’t even know if I want you to tell it. He made me promise, Lu.”

  “I know that,” Lu said, “but it’s not just about him. I told you that, remember? It’s bigger than him.”

  “He’s only doing it because his dad told him he won’t be able to stay in school if he doesn’t and what’s he supposed to do then?”

  “Calm down, sweetie,” I said. “Only doing what?”

  “He made me swear on the phone before he’d even tell me, but I told him if he stood me up on Valentine’s Day without a good reason, it was over.” She was pacing again. “I thought he had killed somebody or something.”

  “But it’s nothing like that,” Lu said quickly.

  “He wouldn’t have to do this,” ShaRhonda said, “but his father gambled away all his school money and didn’t even tell him because Cornell would have gotten a job. He would have figured out something better than this!”

  “Why don’t you sit down,” I said, “and tell me what he said.”

  ShaRhonda came back and sat down beside Lu, who moved closer and took her hand, either for support or to keep her from jumping up again, I couldn’t tell.

  “Tell her,” Lu said.

  ShaRhonda looked at me. “They’re going to rob your father’s house.”

  The hair stood up on the back of my neck. He was there now, alone. I tried to keep my voice calm.

  “They’re going to do what?”

  “Tomorrow when you’re all over at Rock of Faith for Founder’s Day, they’re going to rob your house.”

  “Who are they?”

  She shook her head miserably. “I don’t know.”

  Lu took up the story. “But they told Cornell he had to move a bunch of boxes out of your father’s house and they needed him to meet them tonight to go over the plans. I remembered what you were talking about with my dad, so when ShaRhonda told me that, I put two and two together.”

  “You did good,” I said. “Did he say anything else you can remember?”

  ShaRhonda wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Just that if anything happened, he loved me.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to Cornell,” I said, standing up and reaching for my coat. “I appreciate you telling me. Don’t say anything to anybody else about this, okay?”

  They nodded in unison, still holding hands. “We won’t.”

  “Do you know who it is?” ShaRhonda said as they walked me to the door.

  “Yes.”

  “Lu said they’re trying to do some stuff against the president. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know Cornell wouldn’t do anything like that if he had a choice,” ShaRhonda said. “He’s not like that.”

  “Everybody has a choice,” I said. “That’s the whole thing about it. You always have a choice.”

  “Can you stop them?” Lu said.

  There was only one answer and I gave it to her. “Absolutely.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Burglars and Betrayals

  AFTER I TOLD MISS IONA WHAT SHARHONDA’S BOYFRIEND HAD SAID, she picked up the phone and called Mr. Eddie without even asking me. Of course he was at home. The Rev was in his study and Wes was somewhere doing dirt. Where else would he be? Miss Iona, who seems to regard coffee as a universal cure-all, made a pot while we waited for him to walk the four blocks from his house to hers.

  “This is going to kill him,” she said, shaking her head, and then she quoted the bible. “How like a serpent’s tooth is a thankless child.”

  But she was wrong. It didn’t kill him. He sat right there, sipping his coffee, and listened while we spun our tale of lies and deceptions, burglars and betrayals. Miss Iona talked more than I did, but when I told him the part about Cornell breaking into the house tomorrow to steal the cards, he put his cup down and looked at me for a long time. I was waiting for him to offer some defense of his only son that we’d have to reluctantly refute, but he didn’t say a word.

  “You all right?” Miss Iona said finally, touching his arm gently.

  Mr. Eddie nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, Ida B. There are no better words to say it, or none I can come up with. I’m just truly sorry and I do apologize for my son.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “You don’t ever have to apologize to anybody for anything.”

  “Thank you for that,” Mr. Eddie said.

  “Should we call the police?” Miss Iona said.

  “They haven’t done anything yet,” Mr. Eddie said. “Police don’t care about you thinkin’ something. You gotta do it.”

  “When are we going to tell the Rev?” I said. “Me and Miss Iona can’t convince him, but he’ll believe you.”

  Mr. Eddie picked up his now cold coffee and put it back down. “The Rev has to come to things in his own time,” he said. “Let him bring the word tomorrow morning. Then we’ll tell him what we know.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to call the police, and we’re not going to call the Rev, what are we going to do?” Miss Iona said.

  Mr. Eddie looked at her.

  “I’m just saying,” she said. “We need a plan, don’t we?”

  “I’ve got one,” he said. “When you all go over to Rock of Faith tomorrow morning, I’ll tell Wes I’m no
t feeling good and stay at home.”

  “Are you sure Wes is going?”

  “He promised the Rev. He’ll have to go so it won’t look suspicious if he doesn’t.”

  “That’s why they got that man’s child all up in it,” Miss Iona said. “Little Miss Thing can’t do it all by herself and Wes has got to be over at the church cheesing at the Rev to make sure they got a cover story.”

  I hoped her description of Wes didn’t hurt Mr. Eddie’s feelings, but if it did, he didn’t register it on his face. You would have thought we were talking about plans for any other Sunday morning.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Once Wes is out, I’ll head over to the house and stand guard over those damn cards. Until we get it all sorted out, nobody’s takin’ them anywhere.”

  That made sense to me, but Miss Iona was still frowning. “You don’t think they’ll try to push past you and come on in anyway, do you?”

  Mr. Eddie stood up. “Now you hurtin’ my feelings.”

  “Oh, sit down,” Miss Iona said. “I just wish my Charlie was here.”

  “What’s he gonna do?” he said, sitting down as ordered and taking Miss Iona’s hand. “Iona?”

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me to look out for the Rev?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “How about you?” he said, turning to me.

  “Always.”

  “Then both of you get up in the morning and go to church and let me do my job.”

  I’m sure my mother would have pointed out that there was more than a whiff of patriarchy in his assumption of the leadership role of our little group, but at that moment I trusted Mr. Eddie to do the right thing. I think this is what politics always comes down to anyway, a willingness on the part of the good guys to stop the bad guys from going too far. Even when they’re family.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Blood on Those Ballots

  WHEN WES CAME DOWNSTAIRS FOR BREAKFAST ON SUNDAY MORNING, he had already spoken to Toni twice. She assured him that everything was ready to go. She and Estes’s son were parked in the van a few blocks away near West End Park, waiting for the appointed hour. Toni had even had a couple of T-shirts and baseball caps made over at the mall so that from a distance, they looked like two neatly dressed young deliverymen, out on a mission of mercy.

  Of course there would be some immediate fallout about who took the cards and why, but Wes already had his rap on that. Why do you think I wanted to get them moved someplace secure? I’m just sorry we got here too late, he’d say, outraged. He’d suggest to the Rev that he keep the theft on the down low to avoid spooking potential tour sponsors who hated any kind of political infighting and then give him the number of a discreet private investigator. That should keep him busy long enough to copy the cards, pass the disk on to Estes, tell the PI where he could find them in the Dumpster behind the offices of the Georgia Democratic Party, and get the hell back to New York. Plus, even if the Rev suspected something, Wes knew he’d never tell. It would break his best friend’s heart and at the Rev’s age, good friends are hard to find.

  He was surprised to find his father sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing his bathrobe and a pair of black leather house shoes Wes had given him last Christmas.

  “We better get a move on,” he said, not wanting to be late. They had to pass the Rev’s house on the way to Rock of Faith and he wasn’t going to take a chance on his father spotting the van in the driveway and stopping to investigate. “You know they’re holding seats for us down front, but after ten thirty, I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “I’m not going,” Mr. Eddie said. “You go ahead.”

  Oh, shit, Wes thought. Now what?

  He sat down across from his father. “Are you sick?”

  “No, son, I’m just tired.”

  “Too tired to be with the Rev on his big day?” Wes said, smiling encouragingly at his father like you would to cajole a reluctant toddler into potty training.

  “It’s not the first time I let him do one on his own.” Mr. Eddie smiled back and crossed his legs. “I might stop over there later just to share some fellowship.”

  Damn, Wes thought, what the hell does that mean? What kind of window of time was his father talking about? An hour? Two hours? Time for Toni and the kid to get in and get out with no complications? Why was everything so hard when he had to deal with these old muthafuckas, his father included. They change their minds on a whim but once they dig in their heels, that’s it. First, the Rev thinks one old lady can do a job that requires twenty or thirty young ones. Then his father flakes out on one of West End’s major Black History happenings and decides not to go see his best friend do his thing, which leaves him wandering around the neighborhood, poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

  “Come on, Pop,” Wes said. “I’ll drive.”

  Mr. Eddie was looking at him strangely. “Do you know who Fannie Lou Hamer was, son?”

  “What?” Wes wondered if his father was having a stroke.

  “Mrs. Hamer. From Mississippi.”

  “Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party, right?”

  His father nodded, then stood up and took his cup over to the sink slowly. He didn’t look so good. Wes wondered if his railroad pension would pay for long-term care if Mr. Eddie needed it. “She almost got beat to death just trying to register to vote.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? “I remember you talking about her when I was a kid, but what’s she got to do with getting ready for church, Pop?”

  There was that funny look again. “It hasn’t been that long ago, son, that we can take it for granted. There’s still blood on those ballots.”

  Jesus! There wasn’t time for all this. If he didn’t call Toni, she was going to head over to the Rev’s, thinking he was handling things on his end, but here he was getting a private black history tutorial. Maybe she was right. Maybe they ought to stick to barbeque pork rinds and leave the politics alone.

  “I understand, Pop, but we’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

  “You go, son,” Mr. Eddie said again. “I’m going to lie down for a while and rest my eyes. They’re taking the Rev for brunch at Paschal’s after service. I’ll catch up with you over there.”

  “You sure?” The Paschal’s gathering wasn’t even scheduled to start until two. There would be plenty of time to get everything done before his father ventured out.

  Mr. Eddie nodded. “Go on, now. The Rev will understand me not coming, but you’ll have some explaining to do.”

  “I’ll have my cell on vibrate, so call me if you need me, okay?” Wes picked up his keys.

  “Son?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  Something in his father’s voice made Wes wonder where the hell that question was coming from. “Not that I can think of.”

  His father’s expression never changed. “I love you, son.”

  “I love you, too, Pop.”

  After Wes left, Mr. Eddie went upstairs, took a shower, shaved, and picked out his suit. Then he stood in front of the mirror to tie his tie and wondered how he ever got so old.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Feet of Jesus

  “I THOUGHT ED WOULD TAKE IT HARDER,” MISS IONA SAID AS WE SAT in a front pew at Rock of Faith and watched the sanctuary fill up with the Rev’s other family. The usher who said his name was Julius promised to come back and get me when it was time for me to play my part so I could enjoy the rest of the service out front. The Rev was in the tiny pastor’s holding room where he always prayed alone before services.

  “Well, the Rev’s taking it hard enough for both of them,” I said. “He hardly said two words to me this morning. I kept waiting for him to tell me he’d asked somebody else to introduce him.”

  She shook her head. “He’d never do that. Your name is in the bulletin.”

  That was as good a reason as any, I guess. The truth was, I was half hoping he
would give me a way out. I didn’t relish the idea of standing in front of the Rev and singing his praises when we were hardly speaking to each other. Plus, I was worried about Mr. Eddie. He had called me right after Wes left, heading this way, and said he would give them fifteen minutes and head over to the house to catch them in the act. I kept imagining Toni and Cornell showing up, armed and dangerous, even though we had no reason to think they would be. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to Mr. Eddie.

  “Did you write something special?” Miss Iona said.

  “No,” I said. “I’m just going to read what’s on the back of the bulletin.”

  She looked surprised. “And waste this opportunity to tell him how you really feel?”

  Of all people, I thought Miss Iona would understand. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do ever since I got here?” And it was deeper than that. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do my whole life?”

  “Well, now’s your chance,” she said. “Take it!”

  “This is hardly the time or the place for true confessions,” I said.

  Miss Iona pointed at the altar, which was dominated by a huge painting of a beautifully brown Messiah. “You’re at the feet of Jesus, girl. This is where you are supposed to confess so you can be forgiven.”

  “I haven’t done anything to be forgiven for,” I said, but she wasn’t going for it.

  “We all are in need of forgiveness, Ida B, but the point is, your father is a man who is always at his best in front of a crowd. Especially a crowd that loves him. If you want to tell him how you feel before you leave here with all this mess between you, this is the place to do it!”

  Before I could argue the point, she leaned over and pinched my arm. “Don’t say anything! Here he comes!”