If These Walls Could Talk by Bettye Griffin Page A

Of course, she and Reuben would be coming back to the city to work a week from Monday, but on a commuter bus, so they wouldn’t have to pay the toll themselves.

    To her pleasant surprise, their new neighbors welcomed them as they unloaded the truck, coming over to say hello and introducing themselves. Two of the men, the one next door and the one across the street, actually helped them move in the heavier pieces. One of them took over for her as she and Reuben attempted to place their entertainment center on a wheeled lift, telling her she had no business trying to lift anything so heavy. Imagine getting a complete stranger to help you move your furniture if you were in New York! If they offered, you could be sure they would make careful note of what they saw so they could come back and rip you off, she thought matter-of-factly.
    It amazed her that the help they received came from white folks. She’d never lived near white people before; the South Bronx was nearly exclusively black and Hispanic. Their new neighbors seemed like genuinely nice people. To show their gratitude, she and Reuben invited both men and their spouses over for dinner on Tuesday. She wanted a few days to get the house in shape, unpacking and hanging the new drapes and curtains they’d bought, before they entertained their first guests. Besides, the new dining room furniture they ordered wouldn’t be delivered until the weekend.
    Camille insisted they buy a formal dining room table because their white laminate-top table and Windsor chairs looked way too casual for a separate formal dining room. They placed the existing set in the corner of the eat-in kitchen. She wanted to get the matching china cabinet as well to go with their new table, but Reuben pointed out that they had no china and put his foot down about buying any, so she settled for a buffet server.

    Camille knew that as long as she lived she would never forget their first week in the new house. It had been heavenly, just perfect. The knowledge that they had a home of their own still hadn’t completely sunk in. Several times a day she walked through it, sniffing the walls, loving the way the fresh paint smelled. She walked barefoot over the beige wall-to-wall carpet they had chosen, loving its thick, lush feel. She’d lived in apartments where there’d been new paint, but never in her dreams did she ever believe she’d live in a house with a rug so light it was practically white.
    Finally, she walked up the staircase, letting her hand trail along the pecan-wood banister, telling herself over and over that this was their home, where they would live from now on. She’d never been a stay-at-home mom, except for a brief period after both Mitchell and Shayla’s births when she took off for two months. Now she played the housewife role with vigor, unpacking their belongings while Reuben got the children registered in school. Late April was awfully late in the semester to make a transfer, but they saw no point in paying rent in the city for another two months just so the kids could finish out the year. Besides, this way she could get an idea of how far ahead the Tobyhanna schools were compared to the Bronx—she had no doubt they were ahead—and maybe give the kids some tutoring to help them prepare. She wanted to limit any difficulty they might have to the last weeks of the current semester. By the time the fall semester rolled around Shayla would be ready for the third grade and Mitchell the sixth.
    As Camille lined the shelves with contact paper and helped Reuben paint, she wished she could be at home like this all the time.
    But she knew she had to work, and she wanted to. Money brought good things, and she wanted good things. Heading her wish list was more new furniture. Their stuff was far from ratty, but it did look a bit tired, and a little chintzy as well, in their brand-new home. She kept thinking of how nice that furnished model looked,