If You Come Softly (4 page)

“Mama? You ever planning on writing another book?”

It seemed a long time ago when he would come home to find her writing in her study. She had written three novels and had always said she wanted to write ten in her lifetime. And for a while, Jeremiah thought she’d do it. But after his father left, she had stopped writing and Jeremiah rarely found her in her study anymore.

She sat down across from him and frowned. “What makes you ask that?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“Well, eat instead of wondering.” After a moment, she said, “It takes time, you know.”

“But you have lots of time and I ... I just never see you in the study anymore.”

“I haven’t felt much in the mood for writing anything lately.” She glanced at him then back down at her plate, drumming her fingers on the table the way she did when she was annoyed. “When you have so much real drama in your life, it’s hard to think about fiction. I’m taking some me time now. Figure with what I have saved and this house being paid for and Norman paying for your school, we’ll be okay.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “Okay, honey?”

Jeremiah nodded but didn’t say anything.

Some mornings he woke up remembering little things-like the way his father’s arm looked when it was draped across his mama’s shoulder or his father and mother hugging by the kitchen sink, the water still running from the dishes one of them had been washing.

He wondered where that stuff went to, where love went to, how a person could just love somebody one day and boom-the next day love somebody else.

“Tell me about Percy, Miah.”

“It’s okay. You know. It’s a school. Uniform’s really the only thing makes it much different from Tech. It’s whiter. Much whiter. But I figured that.”

“They think you’re on scholarship?”

Jeremiah shrugged and stared down at his plate. “Nobody said anything stupid.”

“Some people going to think that, you know. Don’t let them get to you.”

“I won‘t—I mean, I know. But I kind of rather have them think that than know the truth, right?”

His mother nodded. “Yeah, honey-but it’s okay if they know the truth. I’m not saying you have to strut it. But you don’t have to be ashamed of it either.”

The truth was he was Norman Roselind’s son. And anyone who had ever stepped foot inside a movie theater or picked up a paper knew who Norman Roselind was. Yeah, he was proud of his father and the movies he’d made. But sometimes he just wanted to be Miah. And the truth was, his mother had gotten a lot of attention for her three books-you said her name, Nelia Roselind, and people knew it. Norman and Nelia—they had even been on the cover of a couple of magazines. One magazine had called them “most romantic.” Jeremiah twirled the spaghetti around on his fork. He wondered what the magazines would say now-or what they had already said. A long time ago, he had stopped reading them, too afraid to find some nasty gossip about his family somewhere between their pages.

“I walk into Percy and it’s like I can reinvent myself or something, you know? Without Daddy’s movies and your books. Just me.”

“Well, don’t go reinventing yourself too much. It’s okay to be our son. Remember Brooklyn Tech—people knew who you were there and you got along fine.”

“Yeah, I remember.” At Tech, some people treated him strange and some people treated him okay. His homeboys, the guys he’d grown up with, they were cool, had always been cool. But new kids, well, sometimes they just acted
weird,
like he was some untouchable
god
or something. He hated that.

If things had turned out different, he would have stayed at Tech. If this. If that. Would his life always be filled with “ifs?” If his parents were still together. If Lois Ann had never been born. If that girl had told him her name.

Percy Academy was one of the most expensive schools in New York City. Nobody knew if that meant it was one of the best. Jeremiah didn’t think so. It had been his father’s idea. Jeremiah would have been fine staying at Brooklyn Tech, which was right in the hood and where he’d gone to ninth grade. Or even Stuyvesant. He knew some brothers there. But his father had insisted on a private school, talking about Jeremiah being his only son and all and wanting the best for him. Jeremiah had finished his first year at Tech, had made the varsity team and gotten straight A’s. Then summer came and his father moved across the street and started talking about better schools. Jeremiah knew it was his guilt talking. But he wanted to make his daddy happy too.

One Friday afternoon, his father showed up at the door talking about taking Jeremiah on a tour of Percy, a school he’d read about in the
Times.
Jeremiah looked down at his plate of spaghetti now, remembering how quickly he climbed into his daddy’s car. That afternoon, when he looked up at his window, his mama was standing there, looking down at them. It was the beginning of choosing between them. He’d gone to Percy for his daddy-but everything else, not eating meat, coming to her house first after school, not cursing or acting the fool (too much)-that was for Mama.

The guy who showed them around had gone on and on about the small classes and how Jeremiah would “blossom” in such an environment. Like he was some sort of flower or something.
A rose is a rose is a rose is a Jeremiah Roselind.
That’s what his mother used to say to him when he was little. That was a long time ago. Now he was fifteen. Fifteen. Sixteen was probably something, but fifteen—fifteen was a place between here and nowhere.

“Earth calling Miah.” His mama was snapping her fingers in front of his face. Jeremiah smiled and took a big forkful of spaghetti.

“Coach there used to play for the Knicks. Way back in the day. Said even before he saw me play he’d heard about my game from Coach Thomas.”

His mother raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Thomas called him?”

Jeremiah nodded. Thomas had coached him at Tech, but he went further back than that. He and Jeremiah’s mama had dated in high school.

“Coach said they’ve been waiting for a point guard to get to Percy for years.” He smiled. “You think Thomas laid it on kind of thick?”

“Thomas knows a good point guard when he sees one. And besides that, I don’t think he’d be lying for me—not after all these years.”

“And after you broke his heart.”

His mother waved her hand at him. “We were just a couple of years older than you are now. Shoot! We’ve both had our hearts broken dozens of times since then. You’ll see.”

What was her name? That girl in the hallway with the thick black hair. And those pretty eyes. The way she’d looked at him. Then she looked back—over her shoulder. He was looking too, waiting to see if she’d tell him her name. He liked the way she looked at him. It was different. She didn’t seem scared or anything.

“This is good.” Jeremiah pointed his fork at the pasta.

His mama eyed him. “Listen to your good mood talking. You never say anything’s good.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“That leaf must be some kind of pretty. What’s her name?”

Jeremiah shook his head. Sometimes he felt like glass in front of his mama-like something she could look right through and see straight to the other side of.

“Nobody,
Ma. I’m for real. I just like the spaghetti tonight.”

“Well then-thank you. I’m glad you like it.” They laughed and ate silently for a few moments. It felt good tonight, sitting across from her. Easy. Later maybe, if the rain stopped, he’d go shoot some hoops with Carlton—find out what was happening at Tech. But right now, sitting in the kitchen like this was enough.

“They’ll probably have you hitting those books pretty hard at Percy.”

“I guess.”

“You should give your daddy a call later on.”

Jeremiah nodded, feeling the easiness leave him. “I will.”

He hated this. Had hated it from day one. What kind of family lived across the street from each other? And this apartment—all nine rooms of it. His homeboys had always called it a little mansion. It seemed too big with just the two of them in it now, the guests’ rooms and his daddy’s empty study collecting dust. When he was still living here, his daddy had company all the time-people coming in from out of town for film shoots, friends from college who had moved to the West Coast, actors and directors. Somebody was always showing up and staying a night or two. There were pictures all over the house of Jeremiah with this actor or that director. His daddy was well known in the movie industry-his last movie had earned him two Oscar nominations. Jeremiah remembered how beautiful his mama looked in her gown and how handsome and happy his daddy was that night. His daddy had even taken him shopping for a tuxedo, and even though it felt stiff and strange, he felt grown-up walking along the red carpet in front of his parents.

“You talk to him lately?” Jeremiah asked now.

His mama looked annoyed. “I don’t have boo to say to that man. And he doesn’t have boo to say to me.”

“Boo!” Jeremiah said. He was teasing but maybe not too. They were his parents and he was stuck with them in all of their ridiculousness. Almost a year now since his daddy moved across the street. And it wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t moved in with Lois Ann King, who Jeremiah had known almost all his life. For twelve years they’d been living on this block. And for twelve years Lois Ann had been living across the street. And now his daddy was living with her. He would never go over there if it wasn’t for the stupid courts saying he had to spend equal time in both places.

“Soon as this slow-moving divorce is final—I’m sure he’ll be moving out west anyway. He can take his Lois Ann and move to kingdom come for all I care.”

“He’s not gonna move out west,” Jeremiah said softly.

His mother looked at him. “Don’t be so sure, honey.”

“He wouldn’t leave me here and I wouldn’t go with him.” He pushed his plate of spaghetti away. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Just tired. Tired of everything. Sometimes he wanted to scream—just stand in the middle of the street and holler. Three years and he’d be so far away from here, it was gonna leave everybody’s head spinning.

But that was a whole three years away. Tomorrow, if he saw that girl, he was going to ask her name.

THE PHONE RANG EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, A WEEK after school had started. I was lying in bed, my history book propped against my legs.

“Is anyone going to get it?” I called from my room. When no one answered, I swallowed, scared suddenly. Then I remembered Marion had said she was going shopping and my father was playing golf. I took the stairs two at a time and picked up the phone in the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby-sis, it’s Anne.”

I leaned against the wall and exhaled. “Anne,” I said softly.

“Is she not home?”

“Yeah.” I lowered myself down against the wall until I was sitting. Anne knew. She always knew when I was afraid. Like she could look right through me—across all the miles-and see that place right there in the center of me where all the scared was. Maybe she felt it sometimes too-that Marion would take off again. Disappear.

“I don’t think she’s going to leave again, Ellie. I mean—it’s been a long time.”

I nodded then said, “Yeah,” hoping Anne was right.

“Guess who came for dinner last night?”

“The Rubik cube,” I said, smiling. We had called Ruben by this name for as long as I could remember.

“How’d you know?” Anne asked. I could hear the surprise and exasperation in her voice.

“He called Marion late last night.”

“Did he tell her about the ceremony?”

“What ceremony?”

“Good, he didn’t.”

“What
ceremony?” I asked again. In the background, I could hear dishes rattling and imagined Anne in her kitchen in San Francisco making tea. For a while she only drank coffee, black and sugarless, the way Marion drank it. Then one day, she gave it up and moved on to herbal teas.

Now Anne took a sip of something. “Did I tell you I cut my hair? It kind of looks like Daddy’s.”

“Marion’s gonna have a fit. Who’s having a ceremony?”

“I think I’ll dye it brown like yours. Maybe I’ll perm it.”

I smiled and shook my head. She was teasing me the way she always did. And I was taking the bait, the way
I
always did.

“I started Percy this week,” I said casually.

“Don’t you want to hear about the ceremony?”

I laughed. “No. Lost interest. Anyway, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Me and Stacey are having a commitment ceremony.”

Stacey was Anne’s girlfriend. They had been together almost four years. When Anne first came out, Marion hit the roof. But by then, Anne was already living in San Francisco, so there wasn’t a whole lot Marion could do. Anne had told me stories about parents who threw their kids out of the house or snatched them out of college.

“What are you guys committing to?”

“Not
what,
silly. Whom. We’re committing to each other.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been together four years. Isn’t that kind of
obvious?”

I heard Anne exhale.

“It’s obvious to me and Stacey, but we want the rest of the world to know too. You know-like a wedding but not with all that ‘honor thy husband /protect thy wife’ stuff.”

“Are you guys wearing gowns or tuxedos—”

“No, Ellie,” Anne said, sounding a bit too patient. “We’re wearing regular clothes. Nice regular clothes. Anyway, I want you to come out to San Francisco for it. We haven’t set a date yet. Maybe late January or early March. We’re going to have a bunch of friends over and say some vows to each other. Ruben wasn’t very keen on the idea. I figured he blabbed to Mom already.”

“Nah. Marion would have said something. Just like she’s going to say no about me coming out there in the middle of school.”