If These Walls Could Talk

by Bettye Griffin

  “Gee, I can’t imagine what they’re talking about,” she said sweetly.

  Chapter 27

  The Currys

  August 2003

  As they were about to leave Arnelle’s Bronx apartment, Camille stopped to give Reuben’s niece one more affectionate hug. “I hope you had a nice summer, Tiffany. Reuben and I really enjoyed having you with us, and so did Mitchell and Shayla.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Camille. I had a lot of fun. I wish Mom and I could move out there. I like it out there a lot more than I do here.”

  “Well, you feel free to come and visit us anytime.” Camille meant what she said. Tiffany had been a joy. Not that her cousin Kierra wasn’t welcome, but Kierra had some habits Camille didn’t care for. For one, she was a slob. Second, she seemed to make a concerted effort to get into their business, asking inappropriate questions like how much their mortgage payment—she called it “rent”—was each month and hanging around when Camille and Reuben had candid conversations with each other. Camille didn’t feel that she and her husband should have to limit their semiprivate conversations to their bedroom.

  Tiffany, on the other hand, had as little interest in what she and Reuben said to each other as Mitchell and Shayla did. She made friends in the neighborhood including Destiny King, Denise and Lemuel King’s daughter who kept an eye on Zachary Young. The girls often brought their charges for afternoons at the community pool. When it came to Mitchell’s playmates, Camille much preferred Zach to Alex Cole, who lived around the corner. She had nothing against the kid, but something about his parents, Douglas and Tanisha, didn’t seem quite right.

  They weren’t particularly friendly, for one thing. Actually, their behavior bordered on rudeness. And after Veronica told Camille she’d seen the Coles leaving their barbeque without saying good-bye, their relationship with their new friends had gone downhill. Then the Coles had stopped taking the commuter bus in favor of a carpool that left from southern Jersey, and after that the two couples barely spoke.

  Tanisha and Douglas’s near animosity made Camille uncomfortable whenever Mitchell went over there to play with Alex. Reuben said she was overreacting, that it broke no laws for people not to make small talk.

  She wondered if someone had offended them at the barbecue, since that seemed to mark the beginning of their change of attitude. She considered her in-laws as prime suspects. Saul, Brenda, Arnelle . . . any one of them could have said something insulting. Reuben, however, said the Coles were just strange folks, and if they acted like they didn’t want to be bothered she should follow their lead. But Camille had had high hopes for a lasting alliance with the first black couple she and Reuben had met in Tobyhanna, and it disappointed her to see their fledgling friendship go the way of the Betamax. Fortunately, it didn’t matter so much anymore, not now that she had Veronica and Dawn as friends.

  Besides, now she had other things to worry about. Reuben’s job had ended in late July, but they chose not to say anything about it to the children until after Tiffany went home. Even though the chain that employed Reuben was in the Bronx, its location wasn’t near the apartments of his mother or siblings, so they had no reason to know the store had closed and he was out of a job. They merely told everyone, even their own children, that Reuben was taking some accrued vacation time. The timing worked well. He’d been home only one week when they returned Tiffany to Arnelle.

  Camille turned Tiffany over to Reuben while she said good-bye to Arnelle.

  “Thanks so much for letting my daughter stay with you guys this summer,” Arnelle said.

  “We loved having her. She was a big help. Uh . . . how’s Brenda?” Reuben’s other sister had been angry when Reuben told her that he felt that Arnelle’s daughter also deserved a summer in the country. Kierra, Brenda said, had been looking forward to spending another summer in Pennsylvania.

  Arnelle shook her head. “Still not speaking to me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Arnelle,” Camille said.

  “Don’t worry, sis,” Reuben urged. “She’ll come around. You want me to talk to her?”

  “No, Reuben. It’s between her and me. But thanks.”

  For a moment Arnelle seemed like her old self, the sister-in-law who had been more like a sister to Camille. She found herself hoping the two sisters would make up soon.

  As Camille and Reuben left the apartment and walked toward the elevator, rap music blared from several of the apartments. “God, that’s loud,” she remarked.

  “You’ve forgotten how noisy life is in these big buildings. Even when we lived in the city, we only had one neighbor across the hall. No one upstairs.”

  “But all that noise downstairs from the sheet metal shop and from the El,” she said with a smile. Then she wrinkled her nose as she breathed in a variety of food odors: frying chicken, sautéing onions, tomato sauce, and frying fish. Separately they would be pleasant. Together they were anything but, especially in an enclosed hallway that received virtually no ventilation.

  Her stomach did a little dance. To get her mind off the combined odors, she concentrated on the graffiti surrounding the three elevators, some in blue ink, some in black marker. She recognized dried paint strokes, sloppy attempts to cover previous markings. The paint splotches here and there gave the walls a spotty appearance. The elevator doors themselves were free of markings, but their windows had been covered with a metal plate in a crisscross pattern to guard against breaks.

  An elevator stopped, and they stepped inside. It held no other passengers. A sticky mess of purple liquid sat in one corner, with chewed pink bubble gum on top. Camille’s stomach already felt a little queasy after all those conflicting food odors in the hallway. Now she made a gurgling noise as she fought back a sudden rising of bile in her throat.

  “Camille, you okay?”

  “I’ll be all right. I just need some fresh air.” She forced herself to look away from the mess on the floor. Thank God her family didn’t live on top of each other in a twenty-story apartment building, riding this cage up and down. Thank God they didn’t have to listen to what everyone on the floor played on their CDs or smell what they were making for dinner.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “And I’m glad we don’t live in the city anymore, too. This environment is what both Brenda and Arnelle wanted to get their kids away from.”

  Camille had sat next to Reuben two months ago when he called Brenda to give her the bad news. In Brenda’s excitement her voice rose, allowing Camille to hear every word.

  “Reuben, Kierra is looking forward to spending the summer at your house. Why should my daughter be penalized just because I was quick enough on the draw to arrange for her to have some protection against being at home alone all day? It never even occurred to Arnelle to ask about Tiffany until after Kierra was out there.”

  “I’m sorry you feel Kierra is being penalized, but they’re both my nieces,” he replied evenly, “and I don’t play favorites. I’d like to help both of them. Kierra can come back next year.”

  At that Camille turned away and made a face. She hoped Kierra never came back. The girl was too nosy. She wouldn’t be surprised if Brenda put her up to trying to find out as much as she could about their personal business and report everything she saw or heard. Wasn’t it enough that Brenda had looked through their financial records last Thanksgiving?

  Besides, what would Brenda and Arnelle have done to occupy their daughters if she and Reuben hadn’t moved to Tobyhanna?

  Camille felt relieved when the elevator doors opened. She practically ran through the double sets of doors to get outside. She breathed deeply, then took Reuben’s arm. “There are many beautiful places in New York City,” she said, “but few of them are in the Bronx.”

  He chuckled. “In August it’s all ugly, except for the botanical gardens.” His good humor faded at the sight of two teenagers sitting on the hood of their car with a boom box between them. The youngsters promptly got up when they realized Reuben was the driver of
the car they sat on, moving to the hood of the car parked in front of their Malibu.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Camille teased, “but I guess you’ve forgotten how kids in the city sit on people’s cars.”

  “Damn punks.” He buckled his seat belt, then started the ignition. “Okay, so we’ll pick up the kids from Dawn and Milo. Now that Tiffany’s gone I think we ought to sit them down and explain to them about me losing my job.”

  “I don’t want to frighten them, Reuben. Maybe it should wait until we get back from our trip.” They planned to spend a few days at the Maryland shore, their first trip since moving to Pennsylvania. “Are you sure we should even go?”

  “Why not? I’m still getting paid. I think that telling the kids I’m out of a job and then going on vacation like we planned will be good for them. They probably won’t be concerned at all. It’ll seem like everything is normal, business as usual. And as soon as we get back I’ll start looking for a job locally.”

  She sat silently and let it sink in. Reuben’s commuting days were over.

  But hers would go on. Indefinitely.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lower lip protruded. It wasn’t fair.

  Chapter 28

  The Youngs

  September 2003

  “Hey, it looks nice in here,” Milo said approvingly, looking at the freshly painted master bedroom. “No wonder you wanted me to lay down in Zach’s room. These colors look great, Dawn.”

  “Mom did most of it, but I helped,” Zach said with pride.

  “Yes, Zach did all the edging, and he helped cover the baseboards with blue painter’s tape,” Dawn said in agreement. “As for the colors, they say that blue and green are the most soothing.” Hands in pockets, she took a deep breath of satisfaction, proud of her accomplishment. The four walls of their bedroom were now a deep blue, and the ceiling a sea green.

  She’d gotten the idea to paint the ceiling a different shade from a picture in a home-decorating magazine while browsing at a Barnes & Noble near her office. Having a house should mean more than just moving in your furniture and enjoying your yard. She wanted a real home, one they could decorate any way they pleased. The long list of rules at the apartment in Brooklyn included no painting walls colors other than those provided by the management: white, off-white, tan, pale blue, and mint green, all light and boring hues. Next weekend she and Zach would paint his room cranberry with an orange ceiling.

  It made her feel good that Milo complimented her work, but she would prefer it if he offered to help. It seemed like all he ever wanted to do on the weekends since they moved in was to sleep in and then later nap for several hours on the couch in the afternoons. She knew he worked hard, and so did she, but he never wanted to have fun anymore. She had to practically drag him out of the house to get him to bring her to the movies. Reuben Curry tried to get Milo to join him at tennis, but he had yet to pick up a racket.

  He reminded her of the father on an old TV commercial whose family took a vacation that he slept through. Wherever the setting—a deck chair on a cruise ship, a hammock at a secluded beach, stretched out on a towel under an umbrella on a busy beach—he sat snoring, oblivious to the sounds of his family frolicking nearby.

  When Dawn asked Milo about helping her to give the house more personality, more life, he’d simply shrugged and said, “We’re going to be here a long time, Dawn. We’ll make changes and improvements, sure, but we don’t have to do it all right away.”

  He had a point—this house was comfortable enough size-wise where she imagined them living here the rest of their lives, even after Zach left for college, but she couldn’t help being anxious to get started, especially after seeing what Veronica and Norman had done to their place. She and Milo had spent last Sunday afternoon at the Lee home, and Veronica had proudly shown them their newly remodeled master bathroom upstairs, with its rust-colored marble countertops and dual raised sinks in burnt orange. Milo commented that the sinks reminded him of mixing bowls, but Dawn found the look sleek. Even the faucets looked futuristic. And soon the Lees would begin work on their kitchen.

  That house she and Camille Curry had privately snickered about was turning into something quite attractive. The pink bathroom in the downstairs hall was a thing of the past, having been replaced months ago. Plus their house had come with a completely finished basement with insulation. The houses in Arlington Acres came with what they called an “English basement,” meaning it had climate control but unfinished walls and floors. The overall effect reminded her of a storm cellar, someplace where you stored unused belongings or hid in during violent weather.

  Dawn knew from conversations on the bus that some of her neighbors had put up paneling and laid down flooring or carpets in their basements, improvements that likely transformed it into more of a rec room.

  One thing for sure: she and Milo wouldn’t be finishing their basement any time soon. The only projects she could consider were the ones that she could handle alone, or with a little help from Zach.

  Still, the improvements the Lees made to their house made her want to do more to hers than just paint. She wondered where Norman and Veronica had gotten the money to pay for everything. Clearly they’d spared no expense, with their marble countertops and those great-looking twenty-first century sinks. Could buying an older house mean that much lower a mortgage payment every month?

  Dawn quickly realized there was more to it than that. The Lees didn’t live in a subdivision, which meant they had no association dues. Nor did they have the expense of paying for bus passes into the city. Lucky them.

  She had another reason for wanting to fix up their home a little. Their friends in the city had already begun asking if she and Milo would be giving another party. No one had been out since the large housewarming they threw last fall. She didn’t want to give the impression that they only entertained if it meant getting gifts. Everybody had a great time last year, and if they did it again she wanted to have made noticeable improvements to the house and grounds. She’d held off on asking Milo about it, but she believed he might go for it. After all, they had saved a small fortune on Zach’s care over the summer by paying Destiny King to look in on him instead of sending him to day camp. They wouldn’t have to buy a lot of liquor for their friends, just some beer and wine. No point serving mixed drinks to people who had a hundred-mile drive home.

  She liked it when they entertained. It reminded her of the old days back in Brooklyn. Even Milo perked up. He’d been a different person when they had the Currys and the Lees over for PO-KE-NO and that boxing match on pay-per-view. It sure beat listening to him grouse part of the time and snore the rest of the time.

  Milo stretched. “You and Zach worked hard today, Dawn. What say I reward you two by taking you both out to dinner?”

  She grinned. “I’m all for it, and Zach will be, too. Just give me an hour to get cleaned up.”

  “Sure. I’ll move the furniture back while you get ready. It’s dry now, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s wait until tomorrow morning to give it a chance to get completely dry. We’ll have to sleep with the bed in the middle of the floor tonight.” Already Dawn wished she’d gone ahead and done this months ago instead of waiting for him to help her. Her little initiative might have sparked a change in him. She couldn’t remember the last time he had suggested he take her and Zach to dinner, and as far as his offer to move the bedroom furniture back against the wall . . . that represented more activity than he usually did around the house in a month. Hmmm . . . This might be a good time to ask about giving another party for their friends.

  He winked at her. Leaning over and speaking in her ear so only she could hear, he said, “In that case, why don’t I help you get cleaned up?”

  She turned to their son. “Zach, go take a shower and change your clothes. We’ll go to Applebee’s for dinner in about an hour.”

  “All right! Barbecued ribs!” Zach high-fived Milo before running toward his room.

  She closed the
door behind Zach and turned to see her husband grinning at her in a way she hadn’t seen in far too long. As she walked into his arms she wondered, could something as simple as new colors on their bedroom walls bring about such a positive change in him? Hell, if that was all it took she’d cheerfully paint the whole damn house!

  They had an enjoyable, tasty meal and returned home and ordered a pay-per-view movie. Dawn didn’t like all the bad language in it, but she knew that she couldn’t protect her son forever. At eleven, he was growing up, and he had to know the way some people spoke.

  She snuggled on the sofa with Milo, her head resting on a pillow in his lap, while Zach sat on a floor pillow with Stormy at his side.

  After the movie Zach announced he was going to bed. He hugged Dawn good night, and then Milo. “Come on, Stormy,” he said. The dog dutifully followed him. She would spend the night at the foot of Zach’s bed, as usual.

  “Well, that was unusual,” Dawn remarked. “I don’t get hugs like I used to from Zach. I figure it’s because he’s growing up. Now he’s hugging both of us. I wonder what brought that on.”

  “He’s happy,” Milo said. “He had a good day, plus a pleasant evening. He hasn’t had too many days like this lately.” She had moved into a sitting position to embrace Zach and stayed there, and Milo reached for her hand. “Dawn, I know I haven’t been spending as much time as I should with both of you. My system is having real difficulty adjusting to that long ride every day, and by the weekend I’m worn out. But I’ll promise you I’ll try to do better.”

  “I guess I can’t ask for anything more than that,” she said softly, stroking his fingers.