kind of romantic..."
"So what is it you'd like me to do, Rachel?"
"I want you to tell me the truth. I don't want to worry my daughter is dating her black half brother. I don't want to be humiliated in front of my friends!"
My mom slams the door so hard the latch pops the door in and out again, leaving it wide open. I hear the swish of her robe and the angry flap of her slippers on the stepping stones.
My father watches her go. He leans on the workbench and rests his head in his hands. Then he follows my mother into the house, gently closing the door behind him.
I'm shaking so hard it's like I'm freezing, but I'm not cold. Is this why they've been fighting so viciously the last few months? Because my mother found out my father had a son? This can't be true. I must be dreaming. I must be.
Forty
Walk
Monday morning, when Sylvia drops Walk at school, Kirsten jumps out at him like she's a big old jungle cat. "I—I—" Her eyes are shiny like she's on something. She grabs his arm.
"What?" Walk asks.
"You never say much about your dad. Does he live with you?"
"He's dead."
"Your dad? How do you
know
?" she asks.
Walk juts his chin out. "How do I
know?
"
Her cheeks get all red. "I mean, when did he die?"
"He was a pilot in the Air Force. He died before I was born."
"You never met him?"
"Nope."
She bites her lip. "Do you have a picture?"
"Why?" Walk asks.
"I'd just like to, you know, um, see it sometime? Does he look like you?"
They're in Balderis's class now. Walk stops. "I don't know."
She looks at the room like she doesn't know where she is.
"When's your birthday?"
"My birthday?" Walk glances around for Matteo, but he's not here yet. "Why? You gonna bake me a cake?"
"I have to know." She follows Walk to his seat.
"August eighth," Walk tells her.
"Mine is June second," Kirsten whispers, her eyes all lit up shiny again.
"Kirsten, I'm glad we're having this little bonding moment, but..." He motions with his head to her desk where she's supposed to be sitting now.
The second bell rings.
Balderis is still in the hall. He doesn't see her. "Go, Kirsten," Walk hisses. She seems to wake up and scuttle on over to her desk.
What is that girl's problem today?
Forty-One
Kirsten
In my sock drawer are photos of my dad when he was Walk's age. For the last three days I've been obsessively comparing them with a picture of Walk I Googled. My father has blond hair. Walk has black curly hair, or so it seems. He shaves his head so it's hard to totally know. My father has blue eyes. Walk has brown eyes. And of course Walk's skin is dark. But not that dark. If I take away the idea that my dad and Walk are different races, there is a strong resemblance. Their noses and jawlines are similar, as is something else about their faces.
But Walk and I are both twelve ... we're only two months apart. How could my father have...
And then there's the fact that I now have a brother who is black. What does that mean? What have I thought about black people? Nothing, really. I haven't even known anyone who is black. The guy at the post office. Some kids in my preschool. Everybody in my neighborhood is white.
I guess I thought different. Poor? Did I think poor? Oprah isn't poor, but she's a celebrity.
I don't think I ever thought much about Walk being black, because I know him and he's just Walk. What does he think about being black? What does it feel like?
I wonder if this makes me part black, too? Maybe it does. Is this a weird thing to think?
What does it mean to have a different skin color? I don't even know.
Forty-Two
Walk
Matteo has never missed school before. He never missed tutoring last summer, either. Once he told Walk he didn't miss a single day all last year. Not one.
As soon as Walk gets home, he grabs the phone and settles into the sofa with his legs kicked over the arm. "Hey, where were you?" Walk asks when Matteo answers.
"My cousin had a baby. I had to watch her other kids while she was in the
"So what is it you'd like me to do, Rachel?"
"I want you to tell me the truth. I don't want to worry my daughter is dating her black half brother. I don't want to be humiliated in front of my friends!"
My mom slams the door so hard the latch pops the door in and out again, leaving it wide open. I hear the swish of her robe and the angry flap of her slippers on the stepping stones.
My father watches her go. He leans on the workbench and rests his head in his hands. Then he follows my mother into the house, gently closing the door behind him.
I'm shaking so hard it's like I'm freezing, but I'm not cold. Is this why they've been fighting so viciously the last few months? Because my mother found out my father had a son? This can't be true. I must be dreaming. I must be.
Forty
Walk
Monday morning, when Sylvia drops Walk at school, Kirsten jumps out at him like she's a big old jungle cat. "I—I—" Her eyes are shiny like she's on something. She grabs his arm.
"What?" Walk asks.
"You never say much about your dad. Does he live with you?"
"He's dead."
"Your dad? How do you
know
?" she asks.
Walk juts his chin out. "How do I
know?
"
Her cheeks get all red. "I mean, when did he die?"
"He was a pilot in the Air Force. He died before I was born."
"You never met him?"
"Nope."
She bites her lip. "Do you have a picture?"
"Why?" Walk asks.
"I'd just like to, you know, um, see it sometime? Does he look like you?"
They're in Balderis's class now. Walk stops. "I don't know."
She looks at the room like she doesn't know where she is.
"When's your birthday?"
"My birthday?" Walk glances around for Matteo, but he's not here yet. "Why? You gonna bake me a cake?"
"I have to know." She follows Walk to his seat.
"August eighth," Walk tells her.
"Mine is June second," Kirsten whispers, her eyes all lit up shiny again.
"Kirsten, I'm glad we're having this little bonding moment, but..." He motions with his head to her desk where she's supposed to be sitting now.
The second bell rings.
Balderis is still in the hall. He doesn't see her. "Go, Kirsten," Walk hisses. She seems to wake up and scuttle on over to her desk.
What is that girl's problem today?
Forty-One
Kirsten
In my sock drawer are photos of my dad when he was Walk's age. For the last three days I've been obsessively comparing them with a picture of Walk I Googled. My father has blond hair. Walk has black curly hair, or so it seems. He shaves his head so it's hard to totally know. My father has blue eyes. Walk has brown eyes. And of course Walk's skin is dark. But not that dark. If I take away the idea that my dad and Walk are different races, there is a strong resemblance. Their noses and jawlines are similar, as is something else about their faces.
But Walk and I are both twelve ... we're only two months apart. How could my father have...
And then there's the fact that I now have a brother who is black. What does that mean? What have I thought about black people? Nothing, really. I haven't even known anyone who is black. The guy at the post office. Some kids in my preschool. Everybody in my neighborhood is white.
I guess I thought different. Poor? Did I think poor? Oprah isn't poor, but she's a celebrity.
I don't think I ever thought much about Walk being black, because I know him and he's just Walk. What does he think about being black? What does it feel like?
I wonder if this makes me part black, too? Maybe it does. Is this a weird thing to think?
What does it mean to have a different skin color? I don't even know.
Forty-Two
Walk
Matteo has never missed school before. He never missed tutoring last summer, either. Once he told Walk he didn't miss a single day all last year. Not one.
As soon as Walk gets home, he grabs the phone and settles into the sofa with his legs kicked over the arm. "Hey, where were you?" Walk asks when Matteo answers.
"My cousin had a baby. I had to watch her other kids while she was in the
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