The Kindest Lie

by Nancy Johnson

  Twenty-Seven

  Midnight

  Midnight woke up Christmas morning at Drew’s apartment and he breathed in the usual smell of onions and armpits. Being there wasn’t so bad, and Bo and L-Boogie wouldn’t be likely to find him there, although maybe gang members took off work on Christmas like everybody else. He lay still on the couch under the coat Miss Ruth had covered him with at Granny’s. It still carried her flowery scent and he put it over his head to get a better whiff.

  “Ho, ho, ho.” Drew came through the front door carrying a case of beer in green packaging with red ribbon tied around it. This would be the only festive thing in the whole place. Other than that, it was just blank white walls, one beige leather couch, and a beanbag in front of the TV.

  Daddy stumbled in from the bedroom in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I thought you were staying the night with Nadine,” he said, turning on the TV.

  “I did, buddy. Nadine’s spending the day with her family. It’s now ten thirty in the morning. On Christmas.” Drew added that part in case Daddy had forgotten. “Oh yeah, month’s almost over, Boyd. Don’t forget you still owe me December rent.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I told you I’d pay you.” Daddy was still sleepy, barely opening his eyes or mouth.

  “I thought you and I could kick back and celebrate,” Drew said. Then he finally noticed Midnight. “I got some Hawaiian Punch, too. Pretend you’re on a warm beach somewhere. You like Hawaiian Punch?”

  Midnight nodded, imagining the Cunninghams sitting around their live Christmas tree opening presents in their pajamas, drinking cocoa with marshmallows. At least that’s the way Corey had described it to him last year, like something out of a TV commercial. He hated the way his friend bragged without really bragging, making extraordinary things sound routine.

  Daddy sat next to him on the couch and a news story came on about Christmas tree farms, blaming a tree shortage on the recession. And then a mention of the newly elected president who would be inaugurated next month.

  “They all think they’re better than us,” Daddy said, pointing to the screen, maybe meaning Obama or the woman and man anchoring the news, her in a red sweater and the guy in a black suit with a red tie. Or perhaps all of them. “Think we’re trash.”

  Midnight wanted to ask Daddy what the news anchors had against them, but he thought better of it since his father tendered beefs with all sorts of people, even ones he’d never met.

  The doorbell rang and Granny walked in with two gifts wrapped in gold foil, with a red ribbon stuck to the top gift. In her other hand she carried a sack of groceries. Even though she tried to hide it, he saw her glare at Daddy before setting eggs and a loaf of bread on Drew’s kitchen countertop.

  “Patrick, have you had breakfast yet?” Granny asked, slipping out of her boots.

  Midnight shook his head. “I’m hungry. Can we have French toast?” he said, thinking of the time he and Miss Ruth cooked breakfast food for dinner.

  Ignoring his specific menu request, Granny turned to Daddy. “He’s a growing boy. He needs three square meals.”

  “Damn holidays.” Daddy slid his hand over his face and wiped the sleep from the corners of his eyes. “Can’t find any decent restaurants open.”

  Within minutes, Midnight smelled butter heating in a skillet and then heard the crack of eggshells. Soon, they were all sitting on bar stools at Drew’s kitchen counter eating fried eggs and cinnamon raisin toast.

  After breakfast, Granny handed him the two packages wrapped in gold foil. Midnight took them and read the gift label: Merry Christmas! To Patrick, From Granny & Daddy. He glanced up at his father, who shrugged, obviously just as curious as Midnight to see what the unwrapping would reveal.

  He tore at the paper around the first box with frantic fingers and found two new Nintendo games he’d been wanting. Screaming in delight, he kissed Granny and Daddy and even Drew, whose face flushed.

  “Glad you like it. Merry Christmas,” Granny said, beaming. “Now open the other one.”

  In the second, larger box, he found a pair of brown snow boots. Holding them to his nose, he inhaled the smell of leather and some strange chemical they must put in new shoes.

  “Cool.”

  He knew money was tight and that she had likely delayed payment to a supplier for the shop just to buy the boots and those games. Even in his euphoria, he made a mental note not to forget what she’d done.

  “Okay, brush your teeth and wash up good before you start playing.”

  After Midnight finished in the bathroom, he rummaged through Daddy’s dresser drawer for a rechargeable battery he remembered seeing there. He heard Granny and Daddy talking in the hallway and swore they’d just mentioned a gang. When they got closer to the bedroom, he scrambled under the bed to hide.

  Daddy came in and plopped down on the mattress, which squeaked and dipped just above Midnight’s head. From his vantage point on the floor, he could see his father’s crusty white heels, his toes sinking into the carpet.

  “I don’t know about any gangs, but I do know he’s hanging out with the wrong people,” he heard Daddy say. “Christina from the diner told me he was in there the other night with some strange Black woman. She described her right down to her fancy coat and purse and boots. Bushy hair. Fit Eli Tuttle’s sister to a tee.”

  Midnight fidgeted in his hiding place. He heard Granny sigh. “You don’t need to be worried about Ruth. She’s like family. I know you and Eli don’t see eye to eye, but that should have nothing to do with her.”

  “Don’t want her around my kid. I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all.”

  Dust traveled up his nose and Midnight stifled a sneeze. The one person in this stupid town who looked at him like he was really somebody was Miss Ruth, and Daddy wanted to take her away from him, too.

  He heard the flick of a lighter and then smelled smoke from Granny’s Newport. “Keep your voice down before Patrick hears you. Besides, she’s just back in town to get to know her own son. Ernestine’s beside herself about it, but you can’t control your kids when they’re grown.”

  An ache shot through Midnight. He almost forgot to breathe.

  “Who the hell is her son?”

  After a long pause, Granny said, “Corey Cunningham.”

  That hit Midnight like a kick to his gut. He barely heard anything else. His brain froze. Miss Ruth was Corey’s mom. Corey was her son. It didn’t make any sense. Corey’s mom was Mrs. Cunningham. He forced himself to lie still, to not make any sound. His stomach was an elevator dropping twenty stories in two seconds.

  Only snatches of conversation filtered through the fog in his mind. Different versions of the same word kept coming up. Adoption. Adopted. Corey was adopted. What did that mean? In fourth grade, a girl named Jessica Seeley told everyone she was adopted and that it meant she had four parents to love her instead of just two. She said her new mom and dad picked her out of a whole nursery full of babies and chose to take her home. At the time he thought it sounded pretty cool, but now it just seemed greedy. Midnight barely had one parent, and he wasn’t sure that one even loved him sometimes.

  A bubble of happy that had been growing in Midnight’s heart popped. How had he been so stupid? He hadn’t even had time to decide exactly how he felt, whether he wished Miss Ruth were his mom or his girlfriend.

  The only thing he did know was that when Miss Ruth looked at him, only him, and asked him questions, he felt special. To her, if to nobody else. Nobody except Mom had treated him like that before. When she died, he had given up on hoping for much of anything.

  If Miss Ruth thought he mattered, maybe he really did. He couldn’t have been wrong about her, about everything. If this was true, though, that she was only around him to get to know Corey, it had all been a lie.

  Twenty-Eight

  Ruth

  Before the sun came up on Christmas morning, Ruth lay in bed with her eyes closed but her mind racing, fully awake with all the feelings she hadn’t had time to feel un
til now. The anticipation for meeting Corey one day soon skittered in her veins, and when she imagined it, she got scared. Then came the longing to be close to her grandmother and brother again. People said you could be lonely in a house full of people, and whoever said that spoke the truth.

  Her phone vibrated on the nightstand and right away Xavier’s name appeared. She picked it up, and in her haste, her fingers went limp and the phone fell to the floor. She scrambled to scoop it up and said hello loudly before realizing it was a text message, not an actual call.

  Merry Christmas, Ruth.

  She reread the text over and over and waited to see if he typed more. He didn’t. She analyzed every word, how he had called her by her first name instead of baby or honey or sweetheart like he usually did. The use of a period instead of an exclamation point. Did that mean Xavier greeted her on Christmas out of obligation instead of genuine affection?

  Matching his tenor and tone, she texted:

  Merry Christmas, Xavier.

  She had so much to tell him, but she couldn’t say over a text message that she’d found her son. In their four years of marriage, they’d never been apart before, and she missed his uneven breathing, the warmth of his rough thighs brushing against hers in bed at night. These stiff sheets didn’t carry his scent, and she struggled to conjure the exact smell of him. And that laugh of his that sounded more like a hiccup with its guttural stops and starts. His absence made the whole world unsteady, teetering on its axis, everything precarious.

  At times like this, she wanted to ask Mama how she and Papa had held their marriage together for so many years. Through losing their daughter to addiction, raising two grandchildren, a terrible illness, and probably a host of other things that had chipped away at their union, secrets they’d both take to their graves.

  She could easily call Xavier. After all, this was Christmas. She should call him, she was the one who’d left. But she was afraid. If this time apart had convinced him to end their marriage, she didn’t want to know. She couldn’t bear to know. If he couldn’t forgive her lie and make peace with it, how much of a marriage did they really have?

  She heard Mama banging pots and pans and knew how preoccupied she could get with her cooking. Nothing had changed to dissolve the tension in the house, but Mama believed in carrying on the act of living, no matter what. Ruth walked down the hall to the kitchen.

  Pecking her grandmother’s cheek, Ruth said, “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, baby.” Mama stood over the stove turning strips of bacon in popping hot oil.

  Ruth breathed in the rich, savory odor and stepped out on the front porch for some air, the cold stillness hitting her instantly. After a minute, she couldn’t take the chill and came back inside. “Everything seems more quiet out here than I remember.”

  “What do you expect? It’s Christmas,” Mama said, chuckling under her breath. “Nothing’s stirring this early but trouble.”

  Mama fussed with the knobs on the stove and then greased a pan for biscuits without turning around. When Ruth noticed the jar of blackberry preserves she’d bought sitting out on the table, she smiled to herself.

  The front door swung open and she heard the light thuds of little feet running through the foyer.

  “Merry Christmas, Mama!” “Merry Christmas, Mama!” “Merry Christmas, Mama!” In rapid succession, her niece and nephews echoed their greetings and hugged her grandmother. Then they looked up at Ruth and said hello shyly. They hadn’t seen her since her wedding, four years ago, and Teddy and Troy had been just four years old then, and Keisha just one. Four years was a long time for little kids. She might as well have been a stranger to them. She knew their limited relationship was her fault; there was more she could do as aunt, even with the distance.

  Eli filled the cooler in the garage with ice, and Cassie, who had planned to leave after saying hello, decided to stay. She gave Mama a smile and then took a spot next to Ruth at the sink, helping her coat catfish with cornmeal so it would be ready to go in the FryDaddy later in the day.

  Feeling protective of her brother, Ruth said in a soft voice, low enough for only Cassie to hear, “He’s been through a lot and he needs you by his side. He’ll never admit it, but it’s true.”

  Cassie nodded without saying anything, and when Eli joined them in the kitchen, the two shared a kiss. Obviously, the holiday spirit had had an effect on them. When Ruth looked from one to the other, they just shrugged, as if to say it was wintertime and estranged couples got cold and lonely, too. Would it be that simple for her and Xavier to patch up the tear in the fabric of their marriage and reclaim that kind of intimacy again?

  When the Tuttles gathered like this, you could usually count on interaction in extremes. Either everyone laughed until their bellies ached at memories and old stories that had been retold hundreds of times before or someone said something out of order that stopped the merriment cold. Eli’s children forced you to smile even if you didn’t want to, as they played with their new toys and ran through the house like it was the size of a football field instead of a matchbox.

  As everyone ate breakfast, Teddy, his mouth full of biscuit, declared, apropos of nothing, “Our new president is Black.” This simple statement of truth from an eight-year-old loosened the diaphragms of everyone at the table and their bodies erupted with laughter. She had no idea children that age processed race and its significance.

  For Mama, this, like most things, was a teachable moment. “All you kids, big ones, too, need to thank those young folks in Pike County, Mississippi. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have a Black president. When I was just a girl, SNCC did its first voter registration drive right there in McComb.”

  Ruth and Eli found each other’s eyes and silently telegraphed how aggrieved they were to have to hear this story again. Mama had told them this Black history fact many times over the years. While she didn’t live there long, Mama had been mothered by Mississippi as much as her own mother. “I see you two rolling your eyes,” she said, glancing from Ruth to Eli.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Ruth said, spooning scrambled eggs onto her grandmother’s plate.

  “My father and his sisters and brothers did some backbreaking work in McComb. You kids have it good today. So good you can think about turning down jobs even when you don’t have one,” Mama said.

  Eli stiffened, the muscles in his neck pulsing. He obviously knew what Mama would say next, while the rest of them looked confused.

  “Yes, I’m going to tell it. Eli got a call yesterday about a job they got open at the crime scene cleanup place. I know it’s not the easiest work, son. You’re likely to see some things you wish you could unsee, but at least it’s money coming in.”

  Everyone looked at Eli and Cassie wrapped her arms around his neck. “Praise God, baby. Yes!”

  A man’s dignity, his self-worth, was often tied to how he made his money. A rock that anchored him in the world. Eli needed this. Ruth knew Cassie had bought the kids’ Christmas gifts this year, and that had to make him feel like less of a man.

  “That job sounds promising, big brother.”

  He managed a half smile. “It pays pretty good, just like most jobs people don’t want to do. That’s why garbagemen make a lot of money.”

  Ruth could hear the defeat so deeply embedded in his voice that even the hint of good news couldn’t camouflage it. But she heard hope, too, or maybe that’s what she wanted to hear.

  Then Keisha pulled Eli by the hand, leading him into the living room, where a few wrapped gifts had the kids’ names on them. He sat in Papa’s recliner, the seat closest to the tree, and Keisha jumped on his lap.

  “Okay, go, Daddy.”

  Eli couldn’t be grumpy for long with his little girl smiling up at him. He played along with a befuddled expression on his face. “What? What you want me to do?”

  She sighed dramatically with the air of a grown woman. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s your job to play Santa since he’s stuck in traffic deliverin
g toys to other people’s houses?”

  Everyone laughed and watched Eli hand out presents one by one to his daughter and sons and then smile with satisfaction at their oohs and aahs. Mama and Cassie planted themselves on the couch patiently showing interest in Barbies and Pokémon action figures.

  Ruth thought back to seeing Corey romp in the snow. What was Christmas Day like at his house? How many gifts would he unwrap, and which one would be his favorite? She would never know his family traditions.

  There had been times over the years, especially after Papa’s death, that Ruth dreaded entering this house, hating everything from the slant to the smell of it. She had attached almost every grievance in her life to someone here. But on Christmas, everything came into focus more sharply and she saw them all with new eyes—their flaws and their beauty—and she chose to appreciate them because, in the end, they were family.

  Twenty-Nine

  Midnight

  Corey’s real mom. That was the thought that had been running through Midnight’s head on repeat after he heard what Granny said. His skull ached with a thousand tiny needles poking it. He had slipped out of Drew’s apartment without anyone noticing. Outside, he let the cold air wrap around his face and hush Granny’s words in his head. He tried to breathe deeply, but his throat closed as though a fuzzy tennis ball had lodged there. He had to get away, somewhere, anywhere, but he didn’t know where.

  When he made his way downtown and stumbled upon Bones, he didn’t rub his belly, and he had always rubbed his belly. He’d even rubbed his belly after Diane Romero beat him up after school last year, and when Rusty Flanagan stole his science homework and copied the answers. He pet Bones even after he realized he might never play Little League. But not this time.