“Thyme—”
“No.” Tears formed in her eyes and she willed them back. “Sydney was right when she told you that you should have married a white woman. Maybe she would have accepted her man having a mistress and children and kids outside the home. But not me, Cy. Not me.”
“Baby,” Cy pleaded, getting up off his knees, trying to touch her.
Thyme pulled away. “You know what? Sydney did me a favor. I’m tired of looking at white folks and feeling inferior. I’m tired of feeling that I’m not good-looking enough, not skilled enough. I’ve had to put up with your lies, your cheating. Hell, Cy, you’re not good enough for me.”
“Thyme?”
“No, it’s time that you knew how I felt all these years. I’m sick of the racism. I’m sick of black people talking about me behind my back. And I’m fed up with white people talking about me behind my back.”
“It’s not like that. . . .” Cy reached out to touch her and Thyme pulled back again.
“And I’m tired of trying to prove myself good enough for folks like Sydney to accept me, when I’m ninety-nine percent better than them anyway.”
“You don’t have to go, baby. Let me take your bags back inside. We can talk about this in the morning.”
“Oh no. Hell no. If there’s one thing we can’t talk about, it’s my black skin. Sure you love to feel it. You love to fuck it. But when it came time to respect and honor it, you turned your back.”
Cy couldn’t speak.
“Now I see that I’ve been acting white for over twenty years when my skin is as black as tar. I’m proud of who I am, Cy. And I’m ashamed that it took this fucking long for me to see it.”
Cy was speechless.
“You’ve only seen me cry that one time, and you won’t see me cry again.” Her smile felt so fine to her now. It was like she held a special secret. “Did you know that fish are the only backboned animals with two-chambered hearts?”
Still he was silent, his moist eyes pleading forgiveness.
“One day you’ll understand.” Thyme got in her car and backed out of the garage. Then and only then did she let the tears fall. It would be the last time she’d cry over Cy. When she stopped at the gate, she pressed the code and watched the bar lift. And she knew then that she would never live behind closed gates again.
Two hours later, Thyme parked outside Khan’s condo. She’d heard that her friend had been hurt in the rioting, but she also knew Khan would not welcome a visit from her. Now, though, she felt it was time to try to bridge the gap between them.
When she knocked at the door, Khan opened it, her face showing surprise. Her left shoulder was fitted with a cumbersome cast, and there was a bruised welt the size of an apple on her forehead. She held a copy of Solidarity News, a colorful thirty-page periodical, in her right hand.
“Can we please talk for a few minutes?” Thyme tried again. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Thyme thought maybe part of Khan’s surprise had to do with Thyme’s ghetto look.
“Sure. Have a seat.”
Thyme didn’t know where to start. There was so much to say, so many things that needed explaining. Finally she started by reiterating that she’d had no idea about Troy Trim being closed. She explained that she knew, like Ron had suspected, that jobs were being moved to Mexico, but not the full extent of Champion’s plan. “Believe me or not, it’s the truth. I didn’t want to believe that Cy had been lying to me all along. Now I have no choice but to face facts.” Then Thyme admitted that she should have known and that it was stupid of her not to follow up and check with her sources about Mexico. Instead, she’d put her energies into trying to get new business at the plant. Now she knew why she couldn’t get any new business: Champion hadn’t wanted her to develop new business. “Please understand. If I had known, I would have tried to do something—anything.”
Khan looked at Thyme flatly and said, “Okay, but that doesn’t solve our problems completely. What about the layoffs? The violence? For God’s sake, Thyme, someone was killed because of all the tension and stress at the plant!”
“I know, I know. I wish more than anyone that I could have done more about the overtime issue. But please, Khan, I am only one person and the problems at Troy Trim were caused by many people. Not just me. You’ve got to understand that.”
Khan nodded her head slowly.
Thyme was as still as a glass cat. Even her forced smile froze on her face. “The real reason I stopped by is more personal, Khan. I’ve found out that Cy has a mistress and two children in Mexico. In fact, Sydney brought the Mexican woman into my house with her two kids.”
Khan slammed her magazine on her lap. “What? You’ve got to be joking! I’ll be damned. I knew it. I was willing to bet that if that ol’ boy wasn’t servicing you regularly, he had to be taking care of somebody else.” Sensing that she was out of line, Khan softened her words. “I’m sorry, Thyme. I know you must be hurting now. What are you planning to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m still dealing with the fact that I’ve been living a lie.”
“Hmm.”
“I was saying that Cy lied to me—”
“So what, Thyme? So what? You’re not the first woman this has happened to and you certainly won’t be the last. You would have known to expect shit like this if you had any common sense. I know that sounds harsh, but I think the sooner you get to the baseline truth the better off you’ll be. Cy was not the man you thought you married. Your best friend should be your husband, and he turned his back on you. Now you’ve got to go to yourself. You’ve got a healthy bankbook and a lot of you.”
“Still and all, Khan, I’m trying to persevere. I’ve sent out résumés hoping I’ll get hired somewhere. Anywhere but Champion Motors.”
“But honey child, I read in the papers about your lawsuit. You were already rich. Now you’re richer, bitch. It appears the last thing you need right now is a job. A friend would be more beneficial. You should try and find a friend like yourself, Thyme. Somebody who thinks white. Maybe they’ll sympathize with you. I don’t have much sympathy left for people like you. I’m struggling just to make ends meet. You have no idea what that’s like. But what’s sad is that you are still struggling with which side to take, white or black, new collar or blue collar. Until you make a decision where your loyalty lies, you won’t know what you are really about.”
“I know I’m black, Khan. I have always known what color I am. I just gave my love to a dog and he hurt me. You’ve helped me to see that clearer than anyone.”
“No, I think you’re confused. Real black people don’t act like you do. They stick together. Especially during tough times. When Valentino was accused of murder, you could have shown your support to his wife and family. You didn’t even call Ron, did you?” She threw her hands in the air and brought them back down, then slapped her thighs in frustration. “All you did was show up at the festivities—make a grand appearance.”
“You’re right,” Thyme said in a low voice. “Lately my life has been about as organized as goat shit.”
“Black folks like you have Grey Poupon holders in the backseat of their car”—Khan cut her a snide smile—“and live up in the Bloomies with those white folks, behind big gates to keep out the undesirables. If you weren’t married to that white man they wouldn’t have never let your black ass get up in there. Sure, it’s a gorgeous house. Remember how I couldn’t get over how pretty the birds sounded the first time I went to your house? I hadn’t heard a bird sing like that since I left Mama Pearl’s house.”
Thyme couldn’t help but smile.
“Still, I like how the birds sound where I live—the pigeons and crows.”
Thyme couldn’t come back with a decent rebuttal. Momentarily, there seemed to be a slight chill in the room. Thyme hugged herself and still said nothing. It seemed like an eternity until she finally spoke. “I can’t offer any more excuses. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I only know that you are a true friend.” Thyme leaned over and k
issed Khan’s cheek, holding her close. “I love you, Khan.”
We say things with our mouths when our hearts feel something different. Thyme could still feel Khan’s loving arms around her long after the door had closed behind her.
37
__________
Nothing was the same for Khan after the riot. She’d been hospitalized for almost a week, during which time her uncle told her that after the second round of negotiations, the union members finally agreed to go back to work. Khan’s shoulder had healed, and the bump on her forehead from the horse kicking her was barely visible now. But with the union gaining so little ground, the wound penetrated into her heart, the source of her courage.
One fight the union had managed to win was for the mounted police to be outlawed during union strikes. Eighty-three people had been injured in the scab fight. Five people had been hospitalized, primarily suffering from injuries caused by the policemen’s horses.
She missed Thyme. Where had she gone? No one knew. Cy wouldn’t return any calls and had not been seen since Thyme had left.
Thyme seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Maybe Khan had been too hard on her. After all, they’d been friends for years. Khan felt she was to blame. No one had been as hurtful to her as she had.
The silver lining surrounding the strike nightmare was how much closer she and Buddy had become. They were now inseparable.
Ordinarily, Sunday was the day Khan rested. In spite of her promise to Mama Pearl, she had never attended church. One night after they’d left the movies, Khan asked Buddy his thoughts about going to church.
“I don’t go every Sunday. But I try to make it at least twice a month. On those Sundays I don’t attend I send in an offering.”
“Maybe I’d feel less guilty if I did that,” Khan muttered. “Working five and six days a week, I use Sunday as a day to rest.”
“Wait, let me rephrase that. What church does for people is this: It teaches people to learn more about the spirit of God that’s inside all of us. The church teaches us to become better husbands, wives, and children. We’ll work and get along better with other people, be more straight-up businesspeople, interested more in people than in profits. But I don’t think this requires going to church every Sunday.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Khan said. She was in awe of this man’s maturity. How had he achieved such wisdom at such a young age?
The following weekend, Buddy asked her out for a “special time,” as he put it. “It won’t be a traditional date.” Buddy hesitated. “Anyway, it’s special to me, Khan. I hope you can understand.”
Khan was certainly surprised when they pulled into William Beaumont Hospital. With little conversation or preamble, Buddy took her hand and led Khan to the third floor, where his aunt Viola was recovering from surgery.
“Aunt Viola,” Buddy said. “Do you remember Khan?”
Aunt Viola looked up at Khan through rheumy eyes. Khan could see that the medication may have taken away the old woman’s immediate pain but not all of her suffering.
“Yes, I remember.”
“Aunt Viola, your nephew has told me so many wonderful things about you. You mean so much to him,” Khan said, barely able to contain her emotion.
“He was a good boy, and now a good man.”
“Yes, he is,” Khan said, looking at Buddy with pride.
“He knows how to treat his people. I think he’s a godsend.”
After they left the hospital, Khan couldn’t help thinking about Mama Pearl. She vowed to send her a plane ticket as soon as she was able.
The weekend was a blur. Buddy ran back and forth to the hospital, and they snatched moments to be together. By Sunday night they found time to talk. They discussed his aunt’s declining health and talked about their childhoods and how it felt growing up without the benefit of parents. There was no self-pity, just gratefulness that another person came along to love them just as much. Khan couldn’t remember having such a personal conversation with R.C. Buddy was filling more and more of her heart. He wasn’t pushy. Their relationship wasn’t sexual. They hadn’t even exchanged more than a kiss. But what a kiss.
And Buddy seemed to understand how important her job was. Because R.C. was so wealthy, he had always considered Khan’s job a joke. Buddy, struggling to make his family business work, knew better. He also seemed to understand that for Khan, her job wasn’t just about money, and he implicitly respected her need for independence. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t love a man who supported her independence? The simplicity of that fact was completely seductive. And her emotions grew.
Khan continued visiting Tino in jail at least once a week. Last week when she’d visited, Uncle Ron was already there. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the conversation she’d witnessed between father and son.
“Tino, you are my son and I will always love you.”
“Dad, we are different. But that doesn’t make either of us less of a man.”
“I think I understand that now.”
“And Dad, thank you for standing by my family.”
“Thank you for standing by yours. That’s the true test of any man.”
* * *
On the day of Tino’s sentencing, without even being asked, Buddy had taken a day off work to accompany Khan to the courtroom.
They arrived before Ron, Ida, and Sarah. Tino looked tired, but he still had fight left in his face. When the judge read the verdict, “Guilty as charged,” and then sentenced him to ten to twenty years, everyone cried. But they were tears of relief. The psychiatrist had discounted Valentino’s original plea of temporary insanity. When his attorney entered a plea of guilty, the prosecuting attorney was ready to deal. Valentino would be out in three and a half years. He was led away by the bailiff but not before mouthing “I love you” to the bench where his family sat.
Later, everyone congratulated Sarah when she told them she was three months pregnant. Her future, her son’s future, and now her new baby’s future were with her husband. And all four would wait patiently, with prayer, until he was released.
As Khan and Buddy prepared to leave, Khan turned to Ida. “Do you two want to meet for dinner later?”
Ida cuddled against Ron. She couldn’t answer; her smile was wide.
“We’ve got a date three aisles over. We’re going to make it legal, Khan.” Ron took Ida’s hand in his and nodded. Khan knew she would remember this beautiful moment between them no matter what valleys her aunt and uncle might have to cross.
“Wish us luck,” Ida said finally, laughing. “Our honeymoon might be on America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
Ron slapped Ida on her rump. “Shut up, Ida.” It was good that they had chosen this day to make joy happen. It was fitting in some way.
Tragedy had turned into triumph.
On their way back to her condo Buddy asked her a question that caught Khan off guard. “Did you read about R.C. in the papers?”
“No.” Khan felt her face flush.
“He filed for bankruptcy. It appears the IRS has confiscated all his assets. In short, he’s broke.”
Khan knew that Buddy was gauging her response. It was a test she knew she would pass. Her conviction that she would always care for R.C. was now a part of her past. “That’s interesting, Buddy.” She snuggled against him and wove her fingers through his.
But later that evening Khan hesitantly called R.C.’s home. Tomiko answered.
“Hello, this is Khan.”
“I recognize your voice,” Tomiko said. “R.C. isn’t home. Can I help you?”
Khan gulped hard. She was a bit apprehensive, but certain that she was doing the right thing. “I’ve never sent you two a wedding gift. Could you tell R.C. that a present from Khan is in the mail?”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
She took a deep breath and counted on her decency to continue the conversation. “I wish you all the luck in the world, Tomiko. I truly mean it.” Khan’s voice
began to break just as she hung up. Sorrow filled her and she cupped her hands over her mouth, trying to keep it inside. Old love was hard; new love was, too—you never knew where the truth ended and deception began. How could she trust her flowering feelings for Buddy?
After calling Tomiko, Khan sent R.C. all the jewelry he’d given her. With the strike resolved so quickly, she’d never needed to sell it. He needed those things more now.
She was still crying minutes later when Buddy phoned. His aunt’s condition had worsened. She desperately needed a kidney transplant. She was losing the window of time for a successful transplant operation.
The following four days were hell. Khan was finally back at work, but production was slow. The union was still waiting to hear about the fate of Troy Trim. Now with Aunt Viola near death, Khan found it even more difficult to concentrate on work. She turned down overtime and hurried home, waiting for Buddy’s call. Even though she hadn’t known Viola that long, her allegiance to her was strong. The older woman was Buddy’s closest link to his family.
By week’s end, Viola’s health had deteriorated even more. In the interim, Buddy learned that his kidney was a match with his aunt’s.
“Khan, I’ve agreed to donate one of my kidneys to my aunt.”
But what about us? “Where does that leave you if something were to happen in your life? I’m worried about you.”
Buddy was calm before he spoke. “My life means nothing to me without the love of my family. My aunt Viola is the only family member I have left on this earth.”
What about me?
“People live with one kidney all the time. Try to understand how I feel. I never told you before, Khan, that I love you. But I do. If your life was at stake I’d do the same thing.”
This didn’t seem the time to tell him that she loved him. The only thing left for her to do was pray. “I understand, Buddy.” She held back tears. “Do what you have to do.” Her mouth was trembling.
When Khan went to work Monday morning, she moved through the plant like a zombie. At lunchtime she stopped by the Bible study group. She asked for them to pray for Viola Robbins. Even though she’d never sat in on one of their meetings before, they greeted her eagerly. They wouldn’t let her go until she joined hands with them and they could pray for her as well. Khan was genuinely touched.
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