The Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner

by ANDREA SMITH

  The daughter stepped toward Bonnie. “Why?”

  “Hush up, Tammy,” the woman barked.

  “Are you Mrs. Justice?” Bonnie asked the woman.

  “Might be! But I ain’t got no time to be…” The woman’s eyes suddenly glinted like she had figured something out—like she had placed the last piece in an intricate puzzle. Slowly she drew on her cigarette, contemplating Bonnie from head to toe. There was no threat in her observation, just intense curiosity.

  “What is it, Mama?” Tammy asked.

  The woman shrugged casually. “Nothin’,” she said, sitting on the porch step again. “Go’n to Miss Caroline and git me that stew pot.”

  “You sho’?” Tammy asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  The girl slowly walked toward the bushes again. She looked back at the porch every so often until she disappeared into the woods. Meanwhile, the woman just kept pulling on her cigarette. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of Bonnie. And Bonnie allowed herself to look right back. Close up, the woman’s features were even sharper and more defined. She wore no makeup but had a large mole on her left cheek, just like Marilyn Monroe. What Bonnie found odd was that the roots of her black hair were flaming red.

  The woman blew a ribbon of smoke and it circled up toward the putty-patched roof. “So,” she said, “you finally got here.”

  Bonnie felt her body shaking. “What?”

  “Baby, we ain’t ’bout to play no games, are we?” the woman asked. “I’ve known ’bout you fo’ a long time. But I must say, I thought you’d a been here years ago.”

  “I don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout!”

  “You know damn well what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Are you Lucinda Justice, or are you not?” Bonnie asked.

  “I am.”

  “And…would you mind tellin’ me…who yo’ man is?”

  Lucinda flicked her cigarette butt into the dirt. The hem of her loose dress landed on her calves when she stood up. She grabbed the bucket from the top step and opened the screen door. “Come on in,” she said. “Guess we got some things to say.”

  It seemed the longer Bonnie stayed here, the more out of sorts she became. But there was such a woman named Lucinda Justice, and Bonnie had to find out more. Part of her wanted to get away from this woman and this house, but at the same time, Bonnie knew she was on the edge of some precipice. Like the way Ruby-Pearl had described the subtle change in the color of a day that signaled that her life was about to change. Lucinda stepped back and allowed Bonnie to enter. She took a breath and walked into this strange place.

  The Justice home was dim and cool. Even in the darkening room, she could see that the floors in the hall and living room were buffed to a shine. The air in the house smelled like a mixture of cleaning pine and potpourri, similar to Bonnie’s home. She cursed herself for the comparison. But all at once the idea, the thought of Naz coming to this place seemed possible. She couldn’t help but look for signs of his presence, and every testament to that presence brought nothing but pain. She saw a pair of large brown slippers by the entrance to the living room, just like Naz liked. And a coatrack draped by a man’s gray flannel shirt, the kind that Naz wore on a cool morning hunt.

  Bonnie longed to look into every room and closet, but resisted the urge. Instead she sat in a black vinyl easy chair and let her eyes roam. A checkered couch and end table with a crystal water glass filled with fake red petunias sat in the middle of the room. National Geographic magazines lay in a fan pattern across the end table. The furniture wasn’t as new or as expensive as Bonnie’s, but the rooms were neat and well cared for.

  Without excusing herself, Lucinda went into the kitchen. Bonnie could see the back of her and could hear the clinking of glasses and ice. She noticed just the edge of a tin-topped table, like her mama used to cook on. Bonnie’s eyes slowly scanned the living room, looking for anything else that might identify Naz. Baseball was his pride, but she saw none of it here. No pictures on the mantel or mitts, just rows of knickknacks. She saw no shed as she peered out of the living room window. No shed, she thought. And no baseball trophies. Naz could never live in a house without a shed and certainly he couldn’t exist without reminders of his own victories. Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn’t about Naz. This wasn’t about her man.

  Lucinda walked back in with two glasses of tea. She set one of the glasses in Bonnie’s hands, then took a seat in a solid red armchair. Lucinda seemed perfectly calm as she sipped, then lit another cigarette. Bonnie was just about to apologize for taking up the woman’s time. She was about to place her glass of tea on the coaster shaped like a South Carolina palm and go home, when Lucinda said, “I call my man Shoop. You call him Naz.”

  Bonnie shut her eyes. It felt like the world around her was beginning to cave. Lucinda Justice finally called him by name. “Shoop?” Bonnie said.

  “Somethin’ the kids made up,” Lucinda said.

  “Naz…got kids with you?”

  “No,” she answered. “Already had my share. And Shoop don’t want no kids. No way, no how!”

  Bonnie had to do something to center herself. She raised her glass to drink. The shaking in her hand caused the ice to clink repeatedly against the sides. The tea tasted sweet, but not overly sweet, and, like her own, had just a touch of lemon—never mint. This was all too much. Naz was here. He was in this house, with this woman.

  “Shoop like the freedom of bein’ wit’out kids,” Lucinda went on. Her tone was casual, as if talking to her man’s wife was an everyday occurrence. “Most of mine are already grown…Desmond is nineteen, he from my first marriage; Troy is eighteen, he from the second, and Tammy is fo’teen…her daddy live in No’th Carolina.”

  “Three children, three daddies?” Bonnie asked.

  “Babies are a blessing…however they git here.”

  Without much effort, Lucinda managed to put Bonnie’s haughty attitude in place.

  “No kids from my marriage with Shoop, though,” Lucinda went on.

  “Marriage?!”

  “It not like yo’s,” Lucinda acknowledged. “You got his real name. But ’bout a year ago, we stood up in front of each other in our Sunday clothes and everything. Shoop gave me a name. Justice. Mr. and Mrs. Justice are we,” she said, pulling on the cigarette.

  Bonnie thought back to the day that Naz wore a suit home from a weekend trip. He said he had worshipped with Jackie Robinson. So many lies.

  “I figure Justice was his mama’s basket name or something,” Lucinda said.

  “It’s what the baseball players called him,” Bonnie said.

  “Baseball players?”

  “You don’t know Naz used to play?” Bonnie asked in shock.

  “Shoop tell me what I need to know. The rest is his own business.”

  The tears ran silently down Bonnie’s cheeks. Lucinda didn’t react to them. It was as if she expected this scene…or worse.

  “How long?” Bonnie asked.

  “We got married just this year.”

  “I’m not talkin’ ’bout the damn marriage,” Bonnie snapped.

  “Need to slow yo’ roll there, honey,” Lucinda said. “Jes’ remember, you come to my house.”

  Bonnie looked down at her hands. She couldn’t believe she was actually being reprimanded by her husband’s second wife. But she knew she’d have to keep her cool if she wanted to learn the whole truth.

  “I met Shoop ’bout four years ago.”

  “Four years?” Bonnie whispered, more to herself.

  “That’s when I met him,” she explained. “I tended bar at a place called Lucky’s here in Taliliga. Shoop and some of his friends came through after a fishing trip.”

  Bonnie was humiliated at the thought that Horace Dean knew. Probably Scooter, Little Sr., maybe Jimmy-Earl Pine too. She wondered if they all laughed about it behind her back.

  “It wasn’t ’til a year later that he made Lucky’s one of his regular stops. I guess I became a regular st
op too.” Lucinda leaned forward in her chair and looked directly at Bonnie. “I’m surprised you didn’t come to this sooner.”

  “Where I’m from,” Bonnie explained, “a woman believes her husband. We assume them to be honorable and true.” Bonnie suddenly thought back to what Thora had told her about Horace and one of the Bell sisters. Also, Cal Monroe sitting in Mayweather’s Diner, with a woman that wasn’t Tilde. Naz was no better. In fact, her husband was worse. There seemed to be a whole other life for him here. She could smell him in this vinyl chair, set just the right distance from the TV. There were even slight circle stains in the wood where his sweaty tea glass sat on the end table. Bonnie always fussed with him and wiped the spot clean before it set. Obviously, Lucinda didn’t mind about such things, for one circle swirled into another, like an intricate pattern in the wood.

  “Why didn’t you stop?” Bonnie asked her. “Why didn’t you say, ‘You a married man, Naz’…or Shoop or whatever the hell—” Bonnie tried to stop and clear her throat but felt herself breaking down again. “Why didn’t you say, ‘Maybe we best not do this.’”

  “Long as I know the truth,” she said, “the way things really are, then I don’t get down ’bout it. ’Sides, I don’t need to have no man ’round me all the time. Shoop come ’round when I need him and leave when I’m done.”

  “I don’t wanna hear this,” Bonnie said, rising.

  “Then what you come here fo’? I ain’t out to hurt you no mo’ than you are already,” Lucinda said, “but the truth is the truth. And it ain’t jes’ ’bout me and Shoop layin’ up.”

  Bonnie fled to the door.

  “I love our life together,” Lucinda said, following her out onto the porch. “I like having the man wit’ me and I’d do anything to keep things jes’ the way they are.”

  “You mean…you plan to go on wit’ this?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “How ’bout you?”

  “How dare you,” Bonnie whispered. “How dare you…” She ran to her car.

  “I don’t see why we gotta change things,” Lucinda called.

  “’Cause now I know,” Bonnie yelled back.

  “You always knew!”

  Lucinda was wrong. Everything she assumed to be true was a lie. The life she thought she had was over. And she hated Lucinda Justice. She hated her redness, her strength…that damn Marilyn Monroe mole. She hated that Lucinda had three babies from three daddies. For a Christian woman like herself, that meant Lucinda was a whore. But it also meant she could probably do things for Naz that Bonnie couldn’t possibly imagine.

  Bonnie had to steady her hands to turn on the ignition, then she stepped on the gas and sped away from this house—the Justice house. She drove through the town of Taliliga. She drove in the dark with no idea of where she was going until somehow she found herself back at the entrance to the small covered bridge. Bonnie peered out of her window at the pond below. The bridge creaked in the wind. A half moon glistened against the water. Bonnie made it across and stopped where the water met with the dusty road. And she cried. She cried for her marriage…or what she thought was a marriage. She cried for the deceit, the betrayal and the lies. Lucinda was a whore, this was true. But Bonnie had to acknowledge that there was nothing that the woman could do to her marriage that Naz didn’t allow. Lucinda Justice alone didn’t wreck their marriage. It was Naz.

  Bonnie barely made it into the house when Thora Dean’s car sped through the gate. Thora threw open the car door and marched toward the house. Surely she had been calling the house all evening, worried.

  “I don’t know you, Bonnie Wilder!” she barked from the top of the walkway. “I don’t know who you are!”

  Bonnie didn’t respond.

  “Now that you got yo’ other lil’ buddies, them there Sisterhood gals,” she said with envy, “you think you can treat me like a stepchild?”

  Bonnie lowered herself into the rocker. She felt like someone was pressing down on her shoulders and leaning on the top of her head. She needed to sit very still or her body would crumble under the weight.

  “You gon’ sit there and ignore me like I ain’t even here?” Thora went on. “Well, I’m through with you!”

  Bonnie couldn’t quite believe that this house that held so many cherished memories—her mother, her father and each and every one of the precious babies—now reminded her that the man she adored had betrayed her. Bonnie held her head in her hands.

  “Honey?” Thora said, her expression softening.

  Bonnie’s body silently heaved.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Thora knelt in front of her. “I…ain’t mean to hurt yo’ feelin’s.”

  “Sorry fo’ hangin’ up on you,” Bonnie wept.

  “What is it?” Thora asked. “What happened?”

  Bonnie took a used tissue from her dress pocket. “Naz,” she said.

  “Naz is fine. He and Horace finished listenin’ to the game and then they went to the club.”

  “Prob’ly not,” Bonnie said. “Prob’ly ain’t at no damn club.”

  “No damn club,” Thora said, stunned.

  “He got another woman,” Bonnie said.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It’s true.”

  Thora sat in the other porch rocker. “Not Naz.”

  Bonnie nodded.

  Thora paused to take it in. Then she asked, “Is it one of them Bell sisters? Oh, I know it is! Prob’ly that same lil’ Bessie thang that had her hooks in Horace. You know she been fawnin’ after Naz fo’ years.”

  “It’s a woman live in Taliliga,” Bonnie explained.

  “Taliliga? Who in the world do Naz know in that godforsaken town?”

  “Her name is Lucinda Justice.” Bonnie felt she might cry forever. “They been carryin on fo’ three years.”

  “Three years!”

  “I went to see her and she say she won’t stop.”

  “You went to see her?! Oh, honey-chile!”

  Bonnie could feel knots tighten in her stomach. “He married her.”

  “What you talkin’ ’bout?”

  “He married me, then he married her!”

  Thora stared out into the dark yard like she was trying to make sense of it. “That ain’t possible, Bonnie.”

  “Maybe not…but he did.”

  “What kinda marriage? What kinda church—” Thora caught herself. “Wine,” she said, rising. “That’s what we need! Need us some wine and we need it now.” She dashed into the house.

  Bonnie held herself around the waist and rocked. She could feel the splinters of the chair against the hem of her skirt. Thora returned quickly with an open bottle and two cups. She threw a capful over the railing, poured two drinks and kicked off her shoes. “How you find out?”

  “The woman said it herself.” Then Bonnie told her best friend everything.

  “I really thought Naz was one of the good ones,” Thora said.

  “Maybe I expected too much from him.”

  “Expectin’ yo’ husband to be true? Bonnie…honey, baby, that ain’t too much.”

  “You should see her, Thora.”

  “A monster?”

  Bonnie shook her head no. “She’s…kinda like me.” Bonnie couldn’t quite figure if this was a good or bad thing. “Only she smokes.”

  “Hussy! Her three kids that you mentioned,” Thora said, “any of ’em belong to—”

  “No!”

  “Baby-chile.” Thora shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry. Such a shame when it’s over.”

  Bonnie looked at her friend. “Over?”

  “It’s always sad when a marriage reaches the end.”

  “But you forgave Horace. You didn’t leave him.”

  Thora stared at Bonnie like she had just lost her mind. “This is different, Bonnie.”

  “Is it?”

  “This is damn different,” Thora pounded. “Horace carried on with that Bell trollop fo’ maybe a month or two. I ain’t excusin’ him or nothin’, but when I said someth
ing ’bout it, he ended it right away. You say Naz been goin’ on fo’ three years and ain’t ’bout to quit.”

  “I don’t know that,” Bonnie defended. “I ain’t talked to Naz yet.”

  “He married this woman, Bonnie!”

  Bonnie sucked in an outburst of tears. “But he always had room enough fo’ me,” she cried.

  “You stop it,” Thora yelled. “You stop that talk!”

  “He always came home with lots of love. I never felt slighted.”

  “I’m ’bout to slap yo’ damn face in,” Thora said, her eyes filled with helpless anger.

  Bonnie sobbed out loud. Thora held her.

  “The one thing I’ve always admired about you,” Thora said, “is yo’ dignity. Don’t you dare lose it now!” Thora held her tighter. “You know what you gotta do, Bonnie. Gotta send that man on his way…he married another woman!”

  Thora’s words felt like lashes of fire against Bonnie’s skin. Maybe this was why she hadn’t told Thora her fears before. She knew her friend would shake her silly and tell her what a damn fool she was. And for the rest of the evening, Thora Dean did just that.

  For a moment he simply stared at his suitcase sitting on the porch. At first his expression was blank. But then Bonnie saw his predicament pass over his face: the question, the possibility, then the realization. He hurried up the porch steps and into the living room. Bonnie sat on the sofa in her bedclothes.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing outside.

  “Yo’ suitcase.”

  “I know it’s my damn suitcase,” he snapped, “but what the hell is it doin’—”

  “Three years?”

  Naz stood over her. “What are you talkin’ ’bout?”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” she yelled. “Don’t you dare do that, Naz Wilder!”

  He pressed his eyes closed, then paused before he said, “Ain’t as simple as that, Bonita.”

  “Don’t you call me that,” she yelled. “Don’t speak my name!”

  “Goddamn it, Bonnie,” he whined.

  This wasn’t the response she’d expected. As if his wife had brought up some sort of inconvenience. Bonnie’s growing rage gave her the confidence she needed to get her through this moment.