“What do you want me to say?”
“Say you ain’t the guy.”
“I ain’t the guy.”
“I didn’t think so.”
David exhales. “Jesus Christ.”
He lets me out at my car.
Chapter 8
“Guess what?” Daddy said, slapping his hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Powell is coming back through Fayetteville.”
“Is he coming here?” I asked.
“Yep.” Daddy sat down with me at the kitchen table.
“He’s coming to dinner,” Ma said, placing a platter of hotcakes in front of us. “Dr. McCoy is coming, too.”
“Who?” I asked and I looked to see a puzzled expression on Daddy’s face.
“Your dentist,” Ma said.
“That man is coming here?” I asked.
“You are joking,” Daddy said.
“No,” Ma said, “I invited him and he accepted.”
“Jesus,” Daddy said.
“Ma, that guy is crazy,” I said. I turned to Daddy. “He prays before everything he does. He dresses all in white. His office is all white.”
“Kathy, I don’t believe you invited that McCoy here for dinner,” Daddy said, pulling a few hotcakes onto his plate.
“Where’s Martin?” Ma asked.
“Asleep,” I said.
Ma turned to face Daddy. “Why shouldn’t I invite him to dinner?”
Daddy didn’t say anything. He just pushed some food into his mouth and chewed quickly, leaning on one elbow. “The man’s a damn bigot.”
“He saw Craig as a patient,” Ma said.
“So what? He’s the worst kind of cracker.” Daddy punctuated his words by pointing his fork at Ma.
“Well, he saw our son as a patient.”
“I don’t know why he did. He probably got paid twice his usual fee. Who knows why this sick cracker took Craig as a patient. Jesus Christ, Kathy. Somebody would think that you—”
“He’s coming to dinner and that’s final.” Ma dumped the skillet into the sink and stormed out of the kitchen. Then she pushed her head back in. “It’s okay for you to invite somebody to dinner. A man who jumps into the river after a catfish.”
“Jesus,” Daddy muttered.
“Why don’t you invite Lou Ann Narramore to dinner, too!” Ma screamed.
Daddy ignored her.
“Did you hear me? Lou Ann Narramore!” Ma ducked back through the doorway. I could hear her in the other room. “From down at the drugstore.”
All the kids in the neighborhood gathered around and stared at the sight in our driveway. Parked behind Daddy’s Mercury was a white Cadillac convertible with white upholstery and white sidewall tires. Out of the big car climbed Dr. McCoy, wearing a white shirt, white shoes, a white tie. The late-afternoon sun was playing off his white hair. His socks were bright red. He walked across the yard toward the front door. I was beside Daddy at the front window, watching Dr. McCoy approach.
“Jesus,” Daddy muttered.
The doorbell rang and Daddy let Dr. McCoy into the house.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Suder,” said the dentist.
“Dr. McCoy,” Daddy greeted him.
“Isn’t this a beautiful day that God has presented us with?”
“Beautiful,” Daddy said.
Ma came into the room wearing her heavy coat and her high-top sneakers. She bounced over to the man in white. “Hello, Dr. McCoy.”
“Mrs. Suder, you’re looking wonderful. The Good Lord has blessed you with beauty.” Dr. McCoy looked down at me. “How are you, Greg?”
Martin came into the room and stopped, confused, as he caught sight of Dr. McCoy.
“Come on in, Martin,” Ma said. “This is Dr. McCoy.”
Martin nodded.
McCoy smiled.
Daddy was watching all of this without any expression. Then the doorbell sounded again. Daddy opened the door.
“Hey there, Doc,” said Mr. Powell.
“Bud.” Daddy stepped aside to let him in.
“New car, eh?” Mr. Powell said as he passed through the doorway. “Pretty fancy.”
“Not mine. Bud Powell, I’d like you to meet Dr. McCoy.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Powell,” said McCoy, extending his hand.
Mr. Powell’s hand closed firmly around McCoy’s rag of flesh. The contrast was striking. “I was just admiring your machine,” said Mr. Powell. I could tell he didn’t know what to make of McCoy. We sat at the table and McCoy closed his eyes and put his hands together.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for this meal…”
“Just fine,” said Mr. Powell, glancing at McCoy. “It was real hot there. People don’t come out when it’s hot.”
“And bless these peas and sweet potatoes…”
“Atlanta’s going to be even hotter,” Daddy said.
“Lord, help us through these trying …”
“Yeah, well, at least people down this way are used to the heat.”
“And Lord God, bless these good colored folks who I’m eating with.”
Daddy shook his head and smiled and Mr. Powell laughed out loud.
“Amen.” McCoy opened his eyes and looked sternly at Daddy and Mr. Powell. “If you folks believed more strongly in God, maybe you wouldn’t be colored.”
Daddy sat up very straight and his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward on his forearms. “What are you doing in my house?”
“What?” McCoy asked.
“I want to know why a peckerwood like you comes to a Negro house for dinner.”
Mr. Powell raised his napkin to his mouth to hide his smile.
“Ben?” Ma tried to call Daddy off.
“Well, Dr. Suder, I just wanted to see what colored folks was like. So, I could pray for you, like real people.”
“McCoy, you half-baked, Bible-headed redneck, just get out of my house.” Daddy stood up. “Get up and get out.”
Mr. Powell stood up, too.
McCoy looked at Daddy and Mr. Powell and slowly pushed himself up from the table. He looked at Ma, but she didn’t say anything. McCoy walked out of the house.
I’m sitting in the living room listening to the song and looking out the window when Thelma comes in.
“What time does the drugstore close?” she asks.
“Which drugstore?”
“The one on Maple.”
“Six o’clock.”
“Great. You’ve got ten minutes,” she says.
“What do you need?”
“Kotex.”
“Jesus, you know how I hate to buy those things. Especially there. I can’t stand that old lady.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there looking at me.
“Okay, I’ll go.” I hop into the car and drive over to the drugstore and all the while I’m trying to think of what else I should buy because the old lady seems to notice the Kotex pads less if they got company on the counter.
I’m in the drugstore and I pick up a couple of boxes of facial tissue with the Kotex and set them on the counter. The old lady comes out of the back room,
“Hello, Mr. Suder.”
“Mrs. Wilson.”
“Is that it?” She picks up the Kotex. “These ain’t going to help your leg much.” She laughs. “Sometimes I just crack myself up.”
I drive home and when I walk through the door I see ribbons strung all along the ceiling and a banner that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
“Surprise!” shouts Thelma. David Nicks, Lou Tyler, and my brother, Martin, also shout.
Thelma runs to me and kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday, honey.”
I look at each of their faces and then at the cake on the dining room table. The cake’s got a baseball diamond on it and the message HAPPY 33RD, CRAIG.
“It ain’t my birthday. My birthday ain’t for three days.”
Everyone is quiet.