“Cornell. Cornell!” she screamed again and again. Many people fell to the ground after being beaten back. As Lynette tried to see over the shoulders of the guys in front of her, something lunged at her shins from the ground.
Cornell crawled out from the forest of legs and collapsed on Lynette’s shoes. His head was bleeding. Red rivulets ran down his face and onto the ground.
“Oh my God!” Lynette yelped and bent over, nearly getting plowed down in the process. “Cornell, stand up! Get up. Come on, baby. Now!” Cornell was in a daze. He couldn’t make eye contact. Lynette was afraid he had a concussion or worse. She pulled on his shirt. He didn’t move, just wrapped his arms tighter around her legs while people trampled over his body.
“Help me!” Lynette said to the biggest guy nearby. “Help me get him up!”
The guy turned and looked down on Cornell. He sported a buzz cut and a skeptical look. “Whatcha ’spect me to do, ma’am?”
Oh shit, Lynette thought, a Southern Marine. “He’s my friend. Just a friend. But we gotta help him, right?”
The guy looked into Lynette’s eyes and smiled as he strong-armed a clear circle around Cornell. He hoisted him onto his shoulder and carried him through the crowd away from the Pentagon. He dumped Cornell on the outskirts of the mob and saluted Lynette. Then he disappeared.
Cornell seemed to be coming around. He touched his hand to his head and then looked at it. She thought he might pass out. Lynette almost smiled. Cornell was such a baby about blood. It was why his dad had settled for his son becoming a lawyer instead of a doctor. Lynette sat down behind Cornell to prop him up in her arms, and reached into his pants’ pocket for the handkerchief he always carried.
As she raised the cloth to his head, he caught her wrist. “You know why they hit me, right?”
Lynette looked into his eyes. They were perfectly clear now, shimmering like fireballs. “Shh, baby, rest a second and then we’re going to the hospital,” Lynette said, and pressed the cloth to his wound.
Cornell winced. Then he caught her eyes again. “They hit me because I’m colored.” A tear very slowly wound its way down Cornell’s bloody cheek. “I wasn’t trying to do nothing bad. They hit me because of my skin.”
Long before the tear reached his chin, two twin tears sprang up in Lynette’s sky-blue eyes. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know if it was true. She didn’t know what to say if it was true. What she did know was that her best friend, the man she loved, believed that it was. Lynette kissed Cornell three times along the trail of his tear. She tasted the blood on her lips, which made her tears run stronger. Sweat, blood and tears. We’re made of exactly the same stuff, Lynette thought. Why does it have to be this hard? She put her arms securely around Cornell’s shoulders and pulled him into her chest. His head rested on her collarbone and she put her chin on the back of his head, careful not to get too close to the wound.
“At least you always wear red,” Cornell said as he lifted his head up to show her the blood on her tunic.
“Yuck,” Lynette said, but she laughed gratefully. He put his head back on her chest and Lynette looked at the people and police milling about. Most of the protesters were crossing back over the bridge, retreating.
“I love you, Cornell. For the rest of my life. Summers, winters, chaos or calm. I’ll love you no matter what this crazy world thinks. Or does. I will love you no matter what’s ahead of us.”
CHAPTER
30
“I THINK I NEED TO HEAR THE HAPPILY-EVER-after part,” I said when we reconvened on the sand with tiki torches and Mai Tais.
“Okay,” Lynette said with a wry smile, “happily ever after started with an ugly divorce. No surprise the marriage to the doctor didn’t work out. And obviously I never quite achieved Hollywood stardom.”
“What was so bad about the guy?” Isabel said.
“He was a womanizer. And an asshole. I thought things would change once he had his own practice. Then I swore I’d leave him once I got famous. But after a time, I was stuck. All those years protesting for women’s rights, and I couldn’t imagine being on my own.” Lynette laughed painfully. “I started begging him for a child, but he insisted we wait. Luckily before I won that argument, I caught him with a woman in our bed, and it gave me the guts to leave him. I went back home to my folks in Virginia. I went to graduate school and worked as a waitress. My plan was to become a drama professor. Then one day I saw Cornell’s name on a flyer at my university. A panel discussion on the legacy of Pan-Africanism.” Lynette put both hands over her heart and smiled. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him the whole time. To hear his voice again—”
“Though I can’t imagine I said anything remotely intelligent. I recognized Lynette the second she walked into the auditorium,” Cornell said with a chuckle.
“Oh hush. He was eloquent and powerful. Poetic. And handsome, of course.”
“We went out for coffee,” Cornell said, putting an arm around Lynette’s shoulders.
“And got married four months later. We had Kendra within the year.”
“Hap—”
“Happily ever after,” Isabel and I finished in unison.
What a story. I loved it—the struggle, the fight for love. It was like Remy and I—two different worlds colliding, everyone against us, trying to stop our love
“Anyone want to play Pictionary?” Arshan blurted out. I tried to see his face in the dark. His voice sounded odd. Pinched.
“I don’t know why you want to play, Arshan. You know I’m going to kick your butt again. Embarrass you in front of all your friends,” Cornell shot back.
“Yeah right, Black Panther Man. You think you and your boys were tough. You should’ve seen Iran in those days.”
I held my breath. It was one thing for Cornell to critique the Black Panthers.
“Oh, you feelin’ feisty, huh? Draw your sword, little man!” Cornell said, getting to his feet. “Oh, sorry, that’s right. You can’t draw nothin’!”
I burst out laughing.
Cornell offered his hand to help Arshan up. Arshan made a gallant display of refusing. But as he rose to his feet, he put a hand to his back and groaned.
“Pride goeth before the fall, my friend,” Cornell said as he patted Arshan’s shoulder on the walk back to the porch.
The watchman made his nightly circle around the property. He walked silently over the stubby crab grass by the parked cars. He ran his fingers along the wood boards and walked to the fence running along the beach. He leaned against a palm tree and scanned the darkness like a comic-strip villain. He crept slowly through the palm grove, listening intently to the rise and fall of voices on the porch. He paused at the fence, where he had a clear view of the vacationers.
Ahari heard the black man’s rumbling laugh. The man grabbed the chubby woman’s cheeks and noisily kissed her lips. Next to them, the fire-haired girl clapped and cheered. Across the table, the loud woman, the old man and the pretty girl all booed in protest. They were fighting. But then they laughed, too.
Ahari sat down on an overturned fishing canoe, where he could still see them clearly. He folded his arms against his chest and settled in to watch the game. It was a game of moving on and moving forward, a game of getting old and growing up. It was a game Ahari knew like the progression of a sunset—the game of learning it’s okay to laugh again.
CHAPTER
31
I WOKE UP AND NEARLY BOUNCED OUT OF BED. A smile reached across my face so wide it made my jaw hurt. I felt like a balloon pumped full of helium. I gave a little Jesse cha-cha-cha wiggle of my butt that shook loose a giggle.
Isabel opened one eye and caught me smiling with my hands cupped to my cheeks. She promptly closed the eye.
I couldn’t get the Lynette-Cornell story out of my head. It had reignited all my Remy daydreams. I’m gonna marry that man, world be damned. The thought triggered an avalanche of giddiness. I wanted to call Remy and set the date right then and there. What was I waiting for? I p
ut a hand at my hip and got a flash of his strong hands sliding up my waist. I put a hand to my lips and was nearly knocked over by a vision of Remy leaning in to kiss me. Then I thought of the fifty other things I liked about him—his friends, his nice clothes, his smile—
“You’re in a good mood,” Isabel said in a tone like pickle brine. There was a smile waiting in the wings, though. I could tell.
“What was so bad about marrying Remy again?” I said, and laughed.
“Oh, come on.” The smile would not be making an appearance after all. I stopped smiling, too.
Isabel waited for a response. Then she understood. “Ah, you’ve been inspired by Lynette’s story of true love.”
“Well, it just goes to show that when two people are meant to be together, they can overcome anything.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“No, I think the story means you should avoid years of wasting your life with the wrong man—the rich guy who cheats on you—then having to divorce him and live with your parents till you find the right one,” Isabel said, and rolled away from me.
I stood and looked at Isabel’s back.
“What? Didn’t hear that part?” Isabel rolled back over. She propped her head up on one hand and looked at me. She must have seen the drop in my demeanor because now she looked sorry.
I sat down on a chair, utterly deflated. “Maybe Remy and I would be happy. He’s so stable. He could jump-start my photography. He’s famous—”
“Oh, sweet pea. I love you. I adore you. But you are the worst picker of men.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. You are the best at picking men as adventures, as lovers, as life lessons, and stories for when we’re old and gray. The professional skydiver? A Dutch DJ in Argentina? I admire your flair. I do businessmen and bankers, you do kite surfers and famous French directors. But hon, I know how you love to daydream. I suspect you think of marrying Remy as a ready-made adventure, as the answer to turning thirty.” Isabel paused to take a breath. “But I think you’re in over your head.”
“So, then it doesn’t work out. So what? It’s a fifty-fifty shot.”
“Yeah, so what, Sam, so then you’ll be divorced and forty.”
I looked at her in surprise. “I thought you were the one that didn’t care about getting older—”
“I do do a good job of putting on that show, don’t I?”
We looked at each other and said nothing.
Finally, I ventured a grin. “So, feminism dies at thirty? We’ll have to break the bad news to your mom and Lynette.”
“Ha!” Isabel snorted. “We’ll blame the hormones. Suddenly all babies start looking cute. Puppies and babies. We’re genetically programmed. It isn’t fair.”
“Isabel, whatamIgonnado?” I said quietly.
“Well, we are going to go swimming with the Garifuna princesses. And remember that everything’s going to be just fine and you’ll make the right decision. But either way, you’ll remember—” Isabel snapped her finger so I looked at her and stopped staring off into space “—you’ll remember that at least we’ll always have each other. Me, you, Kendra. And Mina.” She pointed at Mina’s journal on the nightstand.
Then she lumbered off to the bathroom.
I resumed staring off into space. Something she’d said…
“Puppies and babies,” Remy said, and tweaked my nose.
“Excuse me?” Remy and I were walking down the boulevard, licking ice-cream cones. We were the consummate couple in love, out for a stroll on a windy afternoon.
“Your friend. She can’t help it. All women think about are puppies and babies.”
I nearly spit out my mouthful of hazelnut ice cream. “That’s what you got out of my explanation of Kendra’s argument with Michael? Kendra is the VP of sales. She manages a dozen multimillion-dollar accounts. I tell you that she wishes her boyfriend would appreciate her more and make a little more effort at romance, and all you can say is puppies and babies?”
Remy chuckled and made a motion with his thumb.
“Tweak my nose one more time, mister—”
“Okay, oui. Yes. The boyfriend should be more romantic. Silly Americans with their work ethic. They should learn from the French man. Woo the woman and she will stop worrying about mistresses and babies. For a little while.”
I stopped strolling. “That is your view of relationships? After all the strong women in my life I’ve told you about? Lynette, Jesse, Isabel and Kendra. They all have successful careers and somehow still make time for their family and for love and romance. You can’t be serious—”
Remy had taken two steps without me. Now he looked back. And cocked his concealed weapon—that sexy, laughing smile of his. A weapon without a permit this time. But then he ceremoniously dropped his ice-cream cone into a trash bin and swept me up in his arms.
“I was teasing, ma chérie. Teasing. You shouldn’t be so cute when you’re mad if you don’t want men to tease you.”
He kissed me, but I resisted valiantly. It was so hard to stay mad, with the warmth of his body coursing into mine and his arms encircling me in a sepia-toned postcard of Parisian romance. With our foreheads touching, we heard a whimper. Around the corner bounded a golden retriever puppy with its female owner. The woman called after the scampering puppy but only laughed when the leash jerked her hand. On her hip, she bounced a rosy-cheeked toddler.
Remy turned back to meet my eyes and to his credit did nothing but raise one eyebrow.
I burst out laughing and kissed him hard on the lips.
The consummate couple in love on a windy afternoon.
Gulp. I reached for Mina’s journal and took out the leaf. As I lifted it, dried brown pieces flittered onto the pages. The leaf was no longer soft and velvety, just lifeless.
There was no magic in the leaf.
There was just a lost soul who had no idea what to do without the advice of her best friend.
December 5
Samantha
We’re losing you. Today you didn’t seem “there.” I know it’s the medication. I know it’s the pain. I’d be the biggest whiner, I bet, in your shoes. But not you. You’re too good, too patient. Your pain tolerance for life is admirable, my friend, but baffling. Why aren’t you angry? Mina, none of this makes any sense. Of all the people in the world, you’re in the top tier. These are the days that a just God seems like an absurd notion.
Dammit! I cannot cry anymore today.
Let’s keep on keeping on, shall we?
Locality: it means that if you want to communicate with or affect anybody or anything, you have to do something to the distance between you and it, whether by sound waves, by throwing something, by a laser of light, whatever. It’s based on the idea that “I” am separate from everything else.
Einstein treasured the idea of locality, and tried to prove it true. In the end, locality was proven wrong. Turns out “Spooky action at a distance” (Einstein’s words) does happen. Spirit mediums and Buddhists were right all along.
There is theoretically no reason why you can’t communicate with me from anywhere. But it might be up to you. Maybe we don’t hear from the deceased because they don’t want to hear from us. So get angry, Mina. Don’t disconnect. Don’t accept. Don’t go quietly. Don’t forget about me.
CHAPTER
32
THE GARIFUNA GIRLS WERE NOWHERE TO BE seen when Isabel and I walked onto the sand. But Jesse was there, set up in her chair with a magazine. Next to her Arshan pored over a science journal with a Hi-Liter. Cornell and Lynette stood by the edge of the water.
“Whoa, you guys are up early,” I said, and sat down in the shade of the umbrella.
“Well, it’s our last day, isn’t it? No breakfast yet, though, girls,” Jesse said without looking up from her Vogue.
“I’m not hungry.” Isabel threw her fuchsia towel on the blanket.
“The wonders never cease,” Jesse said.
“It’s probably
only because I’m still full of your famous Mai Tais, Mother. Ready, Sammy?”
I was looking back at the palm grove. Ahari was in his usual position. Watching me. This time he raised a hand. First he held it out toward us, like signaling to stop. Then he turned his hand around, almost as if beckoning me to him.
“Sam?”
I glanced at Isabel and when I looked back at the spot where Ahari stood, his hands hung motionless by his side. He continued to stare.
“It’s creepy the way he watches us,” Isabel whispered. “You ready to go in the water?”
I shook off the eerie feeling. “Ready, Freddy.”
“Dork,” Isabel said.
“Nerd.”
Jesse shook her head as we headed for the ocean. We passed Lynette and Cornell on their way back to the blanket.
“The waves are much bigger today. Don’t go out too far,” Lynette advised.
I looked past her. She was right. They looked like waves from a surf magazine. Hawaii Five-O. “Don’t worry, we’re just going to get wet enough to cool off.”
Isabel grabbed my elbow. “My feet are burning off. Let’s go!”
We took off running, my metallic gold swimsuit glittering in the sun.
I let out a loud laugh, happy to release the tension from my conversation with Isabel. She held tight to my hand as we charged into the water and dove in unison under a wave. We came up sputtering and laughing.
“Why don’t you move back to D.C.?” Isabel asked with a salty smile. “Everything is better when we live in the same city.”
I dipped my head backward into the water to smooth my hair out.
“Watch out,” Isabel said.
“Huh?” I couldn’t hear with my ears underwater and got pummeled. I came out of the whitewash coughing.
“Blech. I just swallowed a crap-load of water. That can not be good, considering the first night’s fiasco.”
The Summer We Came to Life Page 15