“Back here, you’ll have room to spread out, get comfortable,” Miss Honey had said, waving Charley’s protest away. “I saw all those suitcases and bags you brought with you.”
But Charley had pushed. “I remember another room.” She’d pressed her finger to her lips. “Up front. It had a window that looked out onto the porch.”
Miss Honey had hesitated. “Ralph Angel’s room. Besides, there’s but one bed in there.”
That was the first time Charley had heard her half brother’s name in years. “Really, we’ll manage,” Charley had said.
Miss Honey shook her head. “Mighty silly to crowd two people into that little room.”
“I like that room,” Micah had said. “I like little rooms.”
“We’ll manage,” Charley said.
Miss Honey had sucked in her cheeks. “Big room like this going to waste, but if that’s the way y’all want it.” She gave the light cord another quick yank plunging the room into darkness.
Now, with Hollywood promising to finish the job, Charley imagined what might have nibbled through the stacked boxes, made nests in the piles of old clothes, given birth to litters of pink blind hairless babies the size of her thumbnail. She squeezed Micah’s hand. She looked at Miss Honey and thought, She may be the ringmaster, she may be the Grande Dame, but there was no way in hell they were staying in that back room.
• • •
Uncle Brother’s turtle soup and Miss Honey’s gumbo had been devoured. There was still a wedge of Violet’s lemon pound cake left, though it wouldn’t last long, and the last carton of Blue Belle ice cream was melting. But Charley’s crudités with garlic hummus sat untouched as the Impala cruised past Miss Honey’s and parked.
Charley looked up from the clutch of older women seated on the porch and watched the latecomer as he stepped through the gate. She nudged Violet. “Who’s that?”
And because it took Violet a long moment to answer, Charley thought she had forgotten the man’s name, thought that the long afternoon of laughter and old stories and a beer or two had made her aunt a little tipsy and forgetful. But Violet said, clearly, “Good Lord. What’s he doing here?” which made Charley and everyone else on the porch look again. Even Uncle Brother, who had planted himself at the bid whist table two hours ago and not gotten up once, put down his cards and stared in disbelief.
The man stood just inside the gate. A small boy called, “Pop, wait,” from the car.
“Well, come on, then,” the man said, and held the gate open as the boy climbed out, then broke into a gallop that was lighthearted and, Charley thought, a little desperate. They stood together in the grass, waiting.
“Pop?”
“Don’t worry.” The man threw his arm over the boy’s shoulders, pulled him close. “This is your family.” He cleared his throat and stepped forward, the child clinging to his wrist. “Well, hell. Somebody say something.” He gave his son’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “You all are making my boy here uncomfortable.”
The boy’s shirt, with a truck decal on the chest, was one long smear of chocolate fingerprints.
Uncle Brother balled his napkin and stood up. “What are you doing here, Ralph Angel?”
Charley was twelve the last time she saw Ralph Angel, and he was nineteen. He came to her parents’ house for Christmas dinner, his first visit since their father sent him home, and he’d surprised her with a chemistry set — the small metal cabinet with a black leather handle and real glass beakers, copper sulfate, aluminum bicarbonate, and citric acid in brightly labeled bottles. He was a college freshman, he said, planned to major in engineering then work for a big oil company after he graduated. But what Charley remembered most clearly was that he gave her ten dollars. And it wasn’t the money as much as the way he gave it: pulled a roll of bills from his pocket, licked his fingers, and peeled off a ten, which he folded in half and held between his fingers, flicking his wrist as if to suggest he had money to throw away.
The metal locker, Charley thought now. The roll of bills. Ralph Angel. Her big brother. Here he was.
A quiet had descended upon the yard.
Ralph Angel smiled at Uncle Brother, who had come down from the porch and stood on the walkway. “Now, c’mon, uncle. Is that any way to greet your favorite nephew?”
Ralph Angel took a toothpick from his jacket pocket and slid it into his mouth. He looked like a guy who wouldn’t fight fair; not at all like the boy she’d followed around or the young man who gave her ten dollars.
And just as Charley was thinking these things, she saw John rise from his chair and walk to his father’s side. His fingers grazed his hips, Charley noticed, though of course, there was no holster. He drew himself up to full height, spread his feet, squared his shoulders. “Is there a problem here?” His tone was respectful, but cautious.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ralph Angel said. “Look at you, man. All grown up.”
They stared at each other, then John bent to shake the boy’s hand. “Hey there, Blue. I need to talk to your daddy for a minute, okay?”
Blue. Charley wondered at the mother who would name her child something so sad. But his solemn expression, the way he looked up, pleadingly, at his dad — somehow, the name suited him.
Ralph Angel put his hand on Blue’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry about my boy, John. Blue is just fine.” But when Aunt Rose from Opelousas hurried down the step and took Blue’s hand, saying, “Let’s get you some lemonade,” Ralph Angel let him go.
Uncle Brother stepped closer to Ralph Angel. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
Ralph Angel put his hand over his heart. “What makes you think I wasn’t invited?”
In a fluid gesture, John put a firm hand on Ralph Angel’s arm. He was twenty years younger than Ralph Angel but stood a foot taller, and was, Charley guessed, at least thirty pounds heavier. “Why don’t we take this out to the street?”
Something flashed across Ralph Angel’s face. Charley saw it. Ralph Angel looked at John’s hand on his arm and pulled away slowly. “I don’t want to take this out to the street. I’d like to say hello to the rest of the family.” He stepped forward, but John blocked his path.
“I can’t let you do that, cousin. I’m sorry. Not before we straighten this out.”
Ralph Angel stared at John. After a long moment, he laughed. “Come on, man. Why you want to hassle me?” He brushed past John, quick as a running back, and made his way up the walk. He stopped at the bottom step and looked up at Charley. “Hello, sis.”
Charley recalled what Violet had said about Ralph Angel pushing Miss Honey. Something about the way he stood there with that toothpick in his mouth made her think he might be capable of it. Still, he’d held Blue’s hand with great tenderness. That counted for something. A lot, actually. How harmful could he be? Charley moved down the steps. “Hello, Ralph Angel. It’s good to see you.” She heard Violet gasp behind her. Unsure whether to hug him or shake his hand, she took a chance and opened her arms. Their embrace felt wooden.
Ralph Angel broke away first. “Yeah. It’s been a long time.”
The screen door creaked, and Miss Honey, wiping her hands on her apron, stepped out onto the porch. “Why is it so quiet?”
“Hello, ’Da,” Ralph Angel said.
“Hello, Ralph Angel,” Miss Honey said. She barely blinked.
Ralph Angel tipped his head toward the side yard, toward the tables and chairs, the last of the food on dishes covered with crumpled foil. “Looks like I missed the celebration.”
“Mother,” Violet said, standing up now, “did you call Ralph Angel?”
Miss Honey looked almost dreamily at Violet, then out into the street, where a car — a dark blue Monte Carlo, Charley saw — approached. Music pulsed and young, defiant voices rang out over heavy bass. The driver honked and waved. Everyone looked, out of habit, to see who was behind the wheel. “That’s sister Martin’s boy,” Miss Honey said, more to herself than anyone. “Where does he think he’s going?”