I Wish I Had a Red Dress (14 page)

“I THINK WE SHOULD
invite them,” Tee said the next day as we shared some lunch during the peaceful oasis that is naptime. She said it as if we were in the middle of a conversation. I knew her well enough to know that simply meant she had been engaged in a lively internal dialogue that had now opened up enough to consider any opinion I might like to offer.

I spent the morning poring over funding guidelines from every foundation in the Midwest, but nothing looked very promising. I was ready for a break. “Invite who?”

“We’re gonna show their movies, right? We’re gonna—how did you say it?”

“We’re going to place their work in context.”

“Right! And we’re gonna talk about it, so why not invite them to come and talk about it too?”

I briefly considered the effect the arrival of Halle Berry, Nia Long, Vivica A. Fox, and Jada Pinkett Smith would have on Idlewild, but I drew a blank. It had been a long time since any black stars ventured into the Great North Woods. They were rarer than winter mangoes around here.

“You mean invite the actresses?”

“Exactly,” she said. “We want to draw a crowd, right?”

“Well, sure,” I said, not wanting to discourage her, but figuring our chances of even getting them to respond to a request were between slim and none. “But I think we can do that on our own.”

She looked at me like I must not be listening. “You think on our best day, we can draw as big a crowd as any one of them can just by passin’ through?”

She was probably right, but before we could discuss it any further, Nikki appeared in the doorway looking miserable.

“What’s wrong?” Tee said.

Nik was immediately defensive. “Why you think somethin’ always gotta be wrong?”

Tee was unimpressed. “ ’cause I been knowin’ you since third grade and the only time you look like that is when there’s somethin’ wrong.”

Nikki looked at me, but we both knew Tee was right.

“So?”

She sat down in the chair next to my desk, but she didn’t look at either one of us and her voice was so low I could hardly hear her. “Junior puttin’ stuff in my mailbox.”

Nikki lived alone in a tiny trailer at the end of an ugly dirt road.

“What kind of stuff?”

The possibilities were unlimited and probably all unpleasant.

“Nasty stuff.”

Tee frowned. “What you mean
nasty stuff?
”

This kind of call-and-response was getting us noplace fast. “Be specific,” I said.

She looked at me and sighed, clearly hating having to have this conversation at all. “Condoms.”

“Condoms?” Tee and I sounded like the backup singers on a broken record.

“
Used
condoms,” she whispered, averting her eyes.

I didn’t know what to say to that, but Tee did. “How you know it’s Junior?”

Nik’s head shot up. “What you tryin’ to say?”

Tee didn’t blink. “I’m sayin’ the kind of job you got, it might be one of your fans.”

Nikki looked like Tee had slapped her, but she took a deep breath and her voice was calm. “You right, Tee. It might be any of them niggas, but I think it’s Junior. What you think?”

I was still trying to get my mind around what kind of man leaves used condoms in his ex-girlfriend’s mailbox. Even for a Lattimore, that was pretty gross. “I think it’s Junior too,” I said, before Tee could respond. “Did you clean out the mailbox?”

She shuddered. “Yeah. I poured bleach in it.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m worried about you being alone so far off the main road.”

She shook her head. “Tell me about it.”

“Can you move back in with your mother for a couple of more days?”

Nikki had taken temporary refuge with Jasmine after the face-off with Junior, but they saw too much of themselves in each other’s faces and they argued continually. It had be a bigger crisis than this one for Nik to consider voluntarily placing herself
in the path of her mother’s disappointment. A mailbox full of male madness was close, but she still hesitated.

“Your mama will kill you quicker than a house full of Lattimores,” Tee said with a sigh that meant she knew what she had to do. “You better come and stay with me.”

Gratitude and relief flooded Nikki’s face and I wondered if she’d hoped this would happen. Tee was more like her big sister, bailing Nik out of one scrape or another all their lives. The only thing that ever got in the way of their friendship was Nik’s willingness to pretend and Tee’s inability to do so.

“You serious?”

“I’m always serious,” Tee said. “But you gotta promise me somethin’.”

Nikki hesitated. “I can’t quit my job, Tee. I gotta eat.”

Tomika shook her head. “I’m talkin’ about Junior. I don’t want that mess around my daughter.”

“That’s all over,” Nikki said, sounding so confident I believed her. “If I’m lyin’, you can kick me out.”

“If you lyin’, I’ma kick your ass,” Tee said, grabbing her keys. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

“I’ll tell Mavis you’ll be right back,” I said.

Tee laughed. “That girl ain’t gonna be awake for another hour. She is the queen of naptime.”

“I’m not gonna forget this,” Nikki said, heading for the door.

“I’m not gonna let you.” Tee winked at me and laughed. “Believe that!”

Once they headed out, I realized this was the first quiet minute I’d had since I got here that morning. This is one of my favorite times of the day. Since Deena got the kids on a schedule, naptime is sacred. Some of the older ones, her girls included, don’t really take long naps anymore, but they are all required to
lie down for at least a half hour. After that, they’re allowed to get up and play quietly until the others wake up and rejoin them.

I peeked in on the nap room, where the only sound was the regular breathing of sleeping babies, then crossed the hall to the community room. In front of the far window, Deena’s twins sat on either side of their mother, quietly feeding their dolls like beautiful bookends while Marquis and Lil’ Sonny, who considered naps an unnecessary break in the business of their day, shared a coloring book. Deena’s nose was buried in a college catalog I’d been trying to get her to look at. Her daughters saw me watching and waved. I waved back and they rewarded me with identical smiles.

And you know what? Sometimes, at moments like this, when every single thing seems to be in transition at the exact same time, if it wasn’t for two little brown girls with pink ribbons in their hair feeding two little brown babydolls, I don’t know what I’d do.

I LEFT TEE TO
close up so I could meet Nate at the appointed hour and officially present him to the Smithermans. I had already decided that I’d be ready to go when he arrived. This visit was really about business and I didn’t want to confuse the issue by inviting him in for a glass of wine or anything.

At precisely five-thirty, Nate’s car rolled into my yard and stopped. The weather and the things we use to fight it up here are hard on our cars and most of us forgo style for reliability, but if an exhausted American car was the third thing necessary for citizenship in our town, Nate was out of luck. He drove a spotless Lincoln Town Car that was as big and black and graceful as he was. When he stepped out into the yard, the car, relieved of his weight, rose slightly.

I reached for my coat but couldn’t turn away from the window
as he walked around the car and came toward my front door. The sight of him simply walking up the front steps produced such a strong sexual shiver in me that I shocked myself. What was going on? I am no blushing virgin or desperate widow. I’ve been doing fine by myself, and there was no reason for my hormones to go adolescent on me now.

I remember this feeling well. Mitch and I started having sex the night he asked me to marry him and I said I would. We were both virgins, but once we figured out the basics, we found in each other not only a soul mate but an enthusiastic sexual partner with no expectations except tenderness and truth. Our intimacy enriched and delighted us in the good times, and in the bad ones, it helped us stay as close as we needed to stay if we were going to survive.

After he died, my body missed him as much as my mind did, and as specifically. I didn’t miss having sex. I missed having sex with Mitch. The idea that I could ever make love with another man had never occurred to me until now, all in a rush, and I didn’t know whether to lean into it and see what would happen or run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. One thing was for sure, I couldn’t keep fluttering like this every time I heard his voice or laid eyes on him. Fluttering is not my style.

I grabbed my coat and my purse and opened the door. Nate was standing so close to it that my forward motion literally bounced me off his chest. His arm shot out to steady me and I grabbed it.

“Careful!”

“Sorry!” I was off to a great start.

“I thought you saw me,” he said apologetically, stepping back to give me some staggering space.

Of course I saw you
, I thought.
How could I possibly miss you?

“No harm done,” I said. “I was trying to save you getting out in this cold.”

“Can’t save me there,” he said. “My dad would never forgive me if I didn’t offer you my arm on these steps.”

He crooked his elbow and offered me an arm that looked big enough to swing on. I resisted the temptation, pulled the door shut behind me and accepted that arm with what I hoped was enough ladylike grace to erase the memory of our bump at the door. Whether it did or not, he didn’t mention it on the short ride around the lake to the Smithermans’.

“They’re looking forward to meeting you,” I said, realizing he was wearing a suit and tie instead of his usual turtleneck. Probably his father’s advice.

“Good,” he said. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“They might invite us to stay for dinner, but you shouldn’t feel obligated.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he said, turning into the long driveway up to their house. “The evening is in your hands.”

An appealing notion, but unfortunately nowhere near the truth. When we rang their doorbell, Geneva opened the door looking so grief-stricken that I immediately thought the worst.
Where was Lynette?

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Oh, my dear,” she said. “We’ve just had some awful news.”

Thank god she said “we.” It wasn’t her sister.

Gen’s eye suddenly fell on Nate standing behind me, and she started just a little.

“It’s Nate Anderson,” I said quickly. Whatever happened, our visit was the last thing on her mind.

“Mr. Anderson,” she said, and her eyes were sparkling with tears. “Forgive me. I’m not myself. Come in, come in.”

We followed her into the small parlor where the photo albums they’d been working on the other day were still scattered around on the floor. She didn’t sit, or ask us to, so the three of us stood in the center of the room. From upstairs, I could hear the sound of breaking glass. Nate looked at me, but I was as confused as he was.

“Is that Nettie?” I whispered.

Geneva nodded miserably. “She’s beside herself. Absolutely mad with sorrow.”

“What happened?”

She looked at Nate and hesitated. He spoke up instantly, his voice a reservoir of reassurance and calm.

“If you need to speak privately, I can wait—”

She didn’t let him finish the sentence before she laid a delicate hand on that same tree-trunk arm I’d imagined swinging from and shook her head.

“No, no! What am I thinking? This is no time for secrets. That kind of thinking has already been the cause of enough suffering!”

Nate stayed where he was, and I put my arm around Geneva’s shoulders. From upstairs we could hear the sound of someone sobbing, then more shattered glass.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “Maybe we can help.”

She shook her head sadly at me like of all people I should know that there are situations where offers of help are completely beside the point.

“No one can help,” she said. “My Nettie’s heart is broken and there is nothing anyone can do.” She reached into her pocket, took out a tiny white lace handkerchief, blew her nose delicately, took a long, shuddering breath and turned to Nate.

“Mr. Anderson, you have walked into our lives on the day the
man my sister has loved from afar for fifty years died in the arms of his wife. His actions almost cost my Nettie her sanity and her spirit when she was twenty-five and now he is trying her resolve one more time by dying before she could stop loving him.”

There was another loud crash from upstairs, followed by silence. Geneva cocked her head, listening for her sister’s tears.

“I’ve known this day would come, but forewarned is not always forearmed.”

More breaking glass. Geneva shook her head sadly. “She’s breaking the crystal. He always sent . . . crystal. She doesn’t want it anymore.”

Nate and I looked at each other. Neither one of us knew what to say.

“Under the circumstances, Mr. Anderson,” Geneva said softly, “I think we might pick another evening to welcome you to our little town.”

“Of course,” said Nate as we headed for the door. “I’m very sorry for your sister’s loss.”

At the door, I hugged Geneva tightly. She looked at us standing there so concerned and managed a small smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Nobody ever dies of a broken heart. They just think they will.”

“I remember when you told me that,” I said.

She nodded. “And you didn’t believe me any more than she does, but I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” I said, hugging her again.

She patted Nate’s arm like he was a beloved nephew and looked at me again. “Do something for me, will you, dear?”

“Of course.”

“Light a candle for Nettie.” Then she was gone, headed
upstairs to sweep up the broken glass and patch up her sister’s broken heart.

I didn’t invite Nate in when he dropped me off. The passionate energy at the Smitherman house had stunned us into silence during the short ride home, and I knew we both needed to digest what we had just seen and heard. Nettie’s grief was almost too much for her to bear. As witnesses to it, I thought we owed her the respect our silence showed.

Nate walked me to the door. “Do you believe in signs?” he said.

It was a strange question, but it had been a strange evening. “Yes.”

“Do you think that was one?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Good or bad?”

I stepped back and looked up into his face. “Too soon to tell.”

“I think it was good,” he said so softly his voice sounded like a caress. “Because it makes you remember that life is short and the worst thing you can be left with at the end of it is regrets about what you didn’t do.”

And I believe that too, although I hadn’t had nerve enough to say it, so I did what I’d been wanting to do since I first saw him at Sister’s. I stepped up and put my arms around his neck and I kissed him. Softly at first, but when he started kissing me back, so gently, with such urgent sweetness, all my restraint flew out the window and what I intended to be a friendly sort of smooch became instead the restatement of a promise that had been made between us that first night at Sister’s when he saw me dancing. He wrapped those great big arms around me and I leaned into his mouth like he could drink me like a mango margarita
and it felt so good and it’s been so long and then I thought about Mitch. I opened my eyes and he might as well have been standing right there beside us. I dropped my arms immediately and slid down his chest back to my own two feet.

“What’s wrong?” he said, releasing me slowly until I was standing loosely in the circle of his arms, but no longer touching him.
Sweet Mitch. What was I doing?

I took a deep breath, but I didn’t know what to say. We weren’t kids, but I felt like one. Mitch is the only man I’ve ever had.

“Tell me, baby,” Nate crooned. “You can tell me.”

What is it about being called
baby
that makes you want to tell your secrets even when you didn’t know you had any?

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I’m just . . . I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“Thanks,” I said, stepping back, fumbling for my keys. I needed a minute to myself to sort some things out. I looked at him standing there, watching me, waiting for me to say something that made sense. “Why don’t you call me this weekend?”

He looked relieved. “All right.”

I smiled up at him, trying to collect myself. “All right. Good night.”

“Good night.” And he was gone.

I let myself in and sat down at the kitchen table without taking off my coat. In matters of the heart, Bill says haste makes waste, and I’m sure that’s especially true when you’re standing in the moonlight and a woman whose house you can see from yours thinks she’ll never survive until morning and why is it that the only real antidote to a broken heart is hair of the dog that bit you and more of the same and love love love love love. . . .

I took off my coat, lit a candle for Nettie and called Sister.