The Kindest Lie

by Nancy Johnson

  Something about this scene in this kitchen fed a fantasy for Ruth. Finding Lena’s apron stuffed in a drawer, she put it on, tying it at the waist. She practiced moving around the small kitchen as if she belonged there, humming while she dipped half slices of bread in the mixture.

  In this moment, cooking with Midnight at her side, she felt like a mother. Comfortable. Sliding into it as if she’d been doing it forever. The pan sizzled when she dropped the bread slices in the hot oil, and she delighted in having this young boy at her hip while they watched each piece turn golden brown.

  “Do you know how to make heart-shaped pancakes?” Midnight asked the question when they sat down to eat.

  “You don’t like your French toast?” Had the edges come out too crisp or the center undercooked and squishy? Maybe she’d added too much milk or used too few eggs.

  “It’s good. I was just wondering about heart-shaped pancakes, though. Corey’s mom makes that for him all the time.”

  “Oh, your friend you do science experiments with. Well, I’ve never tried any fancy shapes. Maybe next time.”

  Midnight helped her clean the kitchen, mopping up gritty sugar and egg off the countertops. When they finished, she pointed to the clothes surrounding the open suitcase. “Put these away.”

  He picked up a turtleneck and sloppily folded it. “I’m going to Louisiana. Granny said so.”

  “Maybe it’s just for a short visit.”

  “No. To live. Forever.”

  Midnight’s words fell like stones.

  This kid exaggerated, stretching the truth until it ripped in two from the pulling. Believing him took extraordinary leaps of faith that he hadn’t earned with her yet. But he’d hinted at this during dinner the other night, and Lena hadn’t denied it or clarified her intentions.

  “Did your granny give you a reason?”

  “Not enough money to feed another mouth. That’s what she said. I guess we have cousins there I can live with. Nobody wants me here.” He gestured to the empty suitcase. “Might as well leave now if they don’t want me.”

  Everything Midnight said about the move seemed on the nose and intentional, as if he thought she might have influence with Lena. All kinds of businesses had grown sluggish in this bad economy. People like Eli and Butch lost jobs and struggled to find new ones. But were things bad enough for Lena to consider shipping Midnight south? Anything Ruth said would have sounded hollow, so she sat silently on the couch. She couldn’t promise him that his future didn’t involve a move south.

  He had a lost look about him, and she could tell he moved through life rudderless, without his mother to anchor him. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth caught Midnight staring at her. Of everyone he knew in Ganton, he’d called her, practically a stranger. But she understood it. Sometimes, when you met a nice person who showed you a little attention, that person became a placeholder for your mother.

  “You look a lot like your mom,” she told him, glancing at the mantel portrait, grasping for the right thing to say.

  He shrugged. “I was just a kid when we took that picture.” She had to laugh because Midnight spoke as if he were an old sage looking back from the other side of a long life.

  “I bet you miss her a lot.”

  “One time she went to McDonald’s every day for like a month so I could get all eight of the Transformer figures in the Happy Meal. She wouldn’t let me eat all the fries ’cause they’re bad for you, but I got to keep the toys.” His eyes lit up so bright when he told that story, but they burned out fast and he got quiet again.

  On impulse, she said, “Put your coat on. Let’s go get ice cream for dessert.”

  “Seriously?” Midnight launched himself from the couch, punched the air in delight, and bolted for the door. “Corner Diner has the best ice cream.”

  The light from the diner glowed in the night like a firecracker against the dark sky. Midnight swung the car door open before she could turn off the ignition. Ruth got out and followed him quickly to the front door, her childhood memories the wind at her back. After a BLT or an open-faced roast beef sandwich, they always ordered dessert, chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone for Eli and strawberry in a cake cone for Ruth.

  At the entrance to the diner, Midnight hung back, skittish like a horse that just got spooked. She held the door for him, and he dragged his feet going inside. She wasn’t sure why.

  There were very few customers that night so close to Christmas, and Ruth figured people were out doing last-minute shopping or having pre-holiday celebrations. Midnight chose a stool at the counter and Ruth sat down next to him. A middle-aged woman with a boxy body and a horizontal straight line where her lips should’ve been stood behind the counter looking as if she’d been expecting them even before the jingle of the door. Her green cat eyes got fat as egg yolks the minute they walked in.

  “Menus?” she asked, holding one out to each of them.

  “No, just ice cream for us, and I think we both know what we want,” Ruth said. On the drive over, they had reminisced about their favorite flavors and how they’d evolved over the years. The diner prided itself on serving throwback treats, like the Popsicles she and Eli used to get from the ice cream truck as kids.

  When Midnight gave his order for a peanut butter swirl sundae with chocolate syrup, the waitress began writing on her notepad, but her gaze stayed on them, as if telling Midnight to blink twice if he was in danger.

  “Is this your sitter?” she asked Midnight.

  “No,” he said in a small, fearful voice.

  “I was just wondering.” Her unsettling surveillance suggested they’d broken some unspoken rule by being there. Or being there together. They always went for the mammy caricature.

  Ruth forced a fake smile. “I was wondering, too, whether you’re serving ice cream today or an inquisition.” At that, Midnight smiled for the first time since they’d arrived.

  Color drained from the server’s face. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was born and raised right here in Ganton and didn’t recognize you. That’s all.”

  “Well, I guess we have something in common after all.” Ruth beckoned Midnight to leave the counter and follow her to a booth away from the woman’s prying eyes.

  A few tables away, an elderly couple ate cheeseburgers, laughing at some shared joke. A mom and dad tried to wrangle three little kids who were entertaining themselves by tossing tater tots at each other.

  She’d missed out on those parental rites of passage, but now she sat opposite Midnight, who dangled his chocolate-dipped cherry over his mouth and flicked his tongue at it, watching it swing from its stem. Ignoring her own melting Popsicle, she watched him, but didn’t correct his table manners. She wanted to ask if the server had given him trouble before, but she didn’t. He seemed relaxed and happy now.

  This time she had a taste for a raspberry Popsicle, since it reminded her of ones that she and Eli used to get from the ice cream truck. Once she finished, she held the stick between her thumb and index finger. “Watch this.”

  She blew on it hard as if she were extinguishing birthday candles. The stick disappeared and then came back when she blew into the air again.

  “What the heck?” he said.

  She laughed at his open mouth and wide eyes. “It’s magic. When I was a few years younger than you are now, the ice cream man did this trick for us every week and we’d watch his hands and mouth closely each time trying to figure out how he did it. But it happened so fast and he never shared his secret with us.”

  “So how did you figure it out?” Midnight looked under their table to see if the mechanics behind the magic hid there.

  “I tried everything I could think of for weeks, and finally I asked my fourth-grade science teacher and she showed me. If I let you in on the secret, you can’t tell anybody else.” She leaned in close to him across the table.

  “I won’t tell, I swear.”

  “It’s an illusion. The idea is to flip the stick with your thumb and middle finger. Put tens
ion on it like this, making sure it’s lined up perfectly with your hand and wrist.”

  She reached for his arm to demonstrate, and it sank limp and heavy in her hand. Quickly, with his other hand, Midnight pulled his sweatshirt sleeve down to cover it. Gently, she lifted the sleeve and exposed the deep red discoloration of his skin. Dry. Waxy. When she looked up at him, his head dropped. “You can tell me what happened. Who hurt you?”

  At first, he hesitated. She waited until he began to speak. “Some stupid boys. They were messing with Corey and fighting him. Just ’cause . . . he’s Black. But I helped him. And then they got mad at me and set my arm on fire.”

  She shuddered, picturing the flames lapping at his skin, alive and crackling, singeing it until it peeled from his bones. In a country enlightened enough to elect a Black president, its original sin still infected so many, even children. “I can’t imagine what you went through. Corey is lucky to have a friend like you.”

  “I guess. A lot of people blamed Corey even though it wasn’t his fault.” Midnight rotated in his seat, pointing his body in the direction of the woman behind the counter. She sprayed glass cleaner on the outside of the display case while shooting furtive glances in their direction.

  “Forget about her. You did the right thing and it cost you a lot.” She patted his arm. “Not many people have the courage to stand up to a crowd and defend someone who’s been treated unfairly.”

  “Your brother did.”

  “My brother, Eli? I don’t understand.”

  Midnight shrugged as he often did. “Lots of people picked sides and everything. Eli—I mean Mr. Eli—was the main one who took up for Corey and tried to make Daddy stop saying all those mean things about him. And the day of the fight, Mr. Eli stopped the whole thing when he shot that gun in the air.”

  Ruth fell back against her seat. It felt as though someone had vacuumed the air from her lungs. She struggled to breathe. Her mind raced faster than the rest of her body could catch up.

  Midnight’s friend Corey. Could he be? Could he be her son?

  Still rattled, she forced herself to think. Eli wouldn’t risk going back to jail for just anybody. But he would do it for his nephew.

  “Are you okay?” Midnight stared at her, likely confused by the rush of emotions playing on her face.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, looking beyond him.

  She scrambled to think of the few offhand references Midnight had made to his friend. It seemed Corey excelled in science just as she had, but she couldn’t remember much else. Was it really possible that all this time, her son had been right here in Ganton, as she’d suspected?

  “You don’t look fine,” Midnight said, waving his hand in her face.

  “I should get you home. It’s late,” she said quickly. “I don’t want your grandmother to worry.”

  Back at Lena’s house, no one was home yet. Midnight told her he slept on the couch sometimes and asked her to tuck him in. A strange request for a boy his age, but she recognized how needy he was, desperate for affection. Guilt consumed her, playing mother to this boy she barely knew while some other woman tucked her own son—Corey?—in at night.

  When she and Natasha were girls, they used to play house, lining their baby dolls up on the couch to do their hair and dress them for outings, baking their meals in play ovens, and then putting the dolls to bed at night. Back then, they were playing games with no consequences for missteps and misunderstood feelings. But this was no game, and Midnight wasn’t her baby doll.

  She sat next to him as he lay on the sofa, his head resting in the curve of her arm. That shock of hair against her elbow surprised her, slick and smooth against her skin. Soon, Midnight’s eyes closed, and she heard the slow, steady breathing of his sleep.

  The moon hung low outside the window. Heavy winds rattled the front door. Doubt crept into her mind. How could she be sure that Midnight’s friend was her son? Maybe this was a coincidence and she’d read too much into what he had told her. Still, she couldn’t reason herself out of the certainty she felt deep in her bones. She wanted to find Eli, beg him to confirm what she thought she knew. Would he acquiesce?

  Mama had worked so hard to keep her son’s identity from her. Yet now, she was impotent, stripped of her lies and secrets, everything that had emboldened her self-righteousness for years. Ruth would confront her grandmother, fling the truth in her face until she cowered for once.

  She ached to call Xavier and tell him what she’d just learned. That she was almost certain that she knew her son’s name. But would this draw them closer or create more distance between them? She couldn’t be sure.

  Ruth carefully lifted Midnight’s head, placed a couch pillow under him, and propped up his legs, covering him with the jacket he’d tossed over the back of the couch.

  Planting a soft kiss on his forehead, she whispered thank you and slipped out of the house without waking him.

  Twenty-Four

  Midnight

  The next day, Midnight and his friends, their toes sore and numb from kicking tires in an empty lot and playing at the rec center, weren’t ready to head home yet. It was Christmas Eve and they were hopped up on Ring Dings and grape soda. Their energy needed a place to unravel and run free.

  “Watch this,” Midnight said, holding a stale piece of leftover Halloween candy corn like a dart and releasing it with the snap of his wrist. What he’d lost in strength in one arm he made up for in the other. He watched the curve of the candy as it left his hand and then ducked behind an industrial garbage bin when it hit a woman limping along on a cane. She didn’t notice a thing.

  “Oh, snap. You hit that old lady,” Corey hissed over his shoulder.

  “Wait. Check this out,” Pancho said, as he grabbed the candy bag from Midnight. He aimed and missed the city worker salting the road.

  Sebastian laughed. “Man, your pitch needs work. For real.”

  And that’s how the game started. Targets weren’t created equal. As messed up as it was, tagging old people and little kids earned you bonus points.

  Old man for four points.

  Old lady for six.

  A baby stroller got you eight points.

  Anyone in a wheelchair for ten.

  Crouching behind the dumpster, they took turns aiming the candy corn and ducking for cover before their victims caught them. They stifled snorts when a pimply-faced kid in a Santa hat rotated in a complete circle trying to figure out what had poked him on his cheek.

  By the time they emptied the bag of candy corn, the streetlights had come on, and they moved across the alley’s edge and made shadow puppets with their hands. The boys’ laughter ricocheted off the walls of the old drugstore and they forgot their curfews.

  “I learned a new magic trick last night,” said Midnight. “I can make stuff disappear.”

  He remembered Ruth’s hands gliding across the Popsicle stick.

  And then he remembered the flash of her ring.

  A husband. Midnight hadn’t thought of Miss Ruth as someone’s wife, even though her diamond ring sparkled like the Wabash River under the glare of moonlight. If she had a husband, then she might also have kids. He thought that if she did, she’d have them with her, but as much as he wanted to know for sure, he hadn’t asked. In a state of ignorance, his fantasy about her as his own mother, a second mother, took root and blossomed.

  “Okay, are you just gonna stand there and stare into space or show us?” Sebastian said.

  “I can’t. It’s a secret.”

  Corey exhaled loudly. “Then why did you bring it up?”

  “’Cause I wanted to.”

  “Can you make yourself disappear?” Sebastian said, a stupid little grin spread across his face.

  “No, but your dad disappears all the time, and I bet he won’t be home for Christmas,” replied Midnight, agitated.

  Sebastian often complained that his father worked late hours at a food-processing plant a few towns over and got home long after everybody else in the house
went to bed.

  “At least my dad has a job and he lives with us.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  They stomped in the slush, splashing the dirty melting snow on each other’s pants legs, and hardly noticed two men at the entrance to the alley who had been in shadow, wearing red bandannas on their heads and loose-fitting jeans hugging the middle of their hips. In the grocery store or at the mall, Granny would tell boys and grown men both to pull up their pants. Have some respect for me if not for yourself, she’d say.

  “What’s going on, fellas?” asked the shorter, beefier one.

  “We’re on our way home,” Midnight said, backing up a few steps. The men looked familiar. These were the same guys from the gas station who had opened the door for them.

  “What’s the hurry? Let’s talk man to man,” said the taller one.

  The sky had completely dimmed, and Midnight thought about something Corey had said to him years ago about all of them being the same color in the night. But when he looked at these two men and his friends, everyone except him shared the same brown skin—some lighter, some darker, but all brown. He dropped his head and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, covering his whiteness as best he could. Something glowed in the shorter guy’s hand. Thinking it could be the blade of a knife, Midnight sucked in a quick breath.

  “I like these guys. We got the United Nations right here,” the short guy said, nudging his friend.

  “More like a bag of Skittles.”

  The smaller one seemed to be in charge. “Where are my manners? Have some. Chocolate’s good for you.”

  No one moved, and Midnight realized the silver in his hand was the foil wrapper on a Hershey bar.

  “Hey, little white boy.” The short one moved closer to Midnight, laughing.

  Sobs gathered in Midnight’s throat, and he swallowed hard to force them back down.

  “Leave him alone.” Corey stepped between him and the man.

  Midnight had long known his whiteness stood out next to his friends’ Blackness. One hot July afternoon, Midnight had joined the other boys on the stoop outside the payday loan store. His hair pasted itself to his face and neck. Sebastian scooted away from him. “Y’all white boys smell like wet dogs,” he said. Midnight had wanted to get up and walk away—no, run off—but he refused to let the others think Sebastian’s insult had bothered him. Later, when he told Granny, she had said it had nothing to do with being white. The problem, as she put it, was that Daddy let Midnight’s wet clothes sit in the washing machine until they stank like mildew.