out how to keep it from all falling out. That was number thirty-eight.
Zeely frowned. “I’m not even going there about the hair. You know what I think. I have to give you props for being different though. You are something else, Di—I mean, Grace. Sorry. That’s still weird sometimes.”
I looked up at the woman’s eyes in the picture over the couch. Peace. It’d been God’s gift to me. It was my job to keep it. “It doesn’t bother me. It might be a bit strange here. Joyce calls me both.”
“I’m not as flexible as Joyce. I liked Diana.” Zeely got up and poured herself a glass of water. I noticed for the first time that she’d unpacked the dishes too.
“I hated it. It always made me think of the princess. Peter always called me Grace. When Princess Di and Peter died, I started to go by it.”
“I still love Diana. I always will. Right now, though, it seems I need grace more than anything.”
I held the glass up to my cheek. “Don’t we all?”
We looked at each other, but neither of us spoke. The silence swirled around us, knocking off scabs neither of us wanted to acknowledge. Sometimes, the only way to clean a wound was to rip it open. Not today, though. I had enough to deal with just getting situated.
I got up and walked to the window. Sage and lemongrass seedlings lined the windowsill. I wiped my eye. That spoke more than anything Zeely could have said. I picked one up and sniffed it. All the tension rolled down my spine. “Thanks. For everything.”
Zeely headed for the door. “Forget it. Call me when you’re ready for orientation at the school. I’m doing the early part of the program and leaving, but you’re welcome to ride. There’s some teriyaki chicken in the fridge. Oh, and there’s some boxes in the attic. The stuff that couldn’t fit. I can help you go through it later if you want.”
I hesitated. “Sure. Later.” It should have occurred to me that some things wouldn’t fit. A house can’t fit into a condo no matter how much you toss out at the last minute. This move would probably squeeze a lot more out of me than those boxes upstairs.
What am I doing here ?
My answer wafted to the ground like a sleepy leaf. Number thirty-eight on my life list, a strand of hair I was struggling to keep. I’d come here for Joyce, there was some truth to that, but I’d come for myself too. I’d come to find the weed still growing in my heart, the thing that was eating me—from the roots up.
13
Daddy keeps asking me why I’m so quiet. Secrets don’t leave much room for words.
Diana Dixon
I drove my own car to orientation. It probably ticked Zeely off a little, but I wasn’t quite ready to carpool yet. At least not for this trip. Zeely mentioned that she’d probably leave early anyway, after the “Everything you want to know about Imani” session. There was no sense in her driving back to pick me up. Though I’d never been to Joyce’s school before, I knew that it was on South Side. I figured this was a ride I probably needed to take alone. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It was all still there. Mount Olive Missionary Baptist Church came first, where Zeely’s father still preached every Sunday. She still sang in the choir, probably wearing her robe from high school. The sight of Strong and Jones Market made me smile. Daddy’s favorite pork chops had come from there, right up until the week he died. Mom came back to town for church events and reunions but she never sets foot in there.
I slowed a little, checking the address Joyce had given me, following the numbers until I saw . . . the Charles C. They’d painted it and spruced it up, but there was no mistaking it. On the side of the building a blue and gold banner hung high.
Imani Academy. Where we believe in you!
No wonder Zeely hadn’t wanted to talk about school. I felt a little sick turning into the lot, but there was nothing to do now but my job. And if the packed parking lot was any indication, there’d
Zeely frowned. “I’m not even going there about the hair. You know what I think. I have to give you props for being different though. You are something else, Di—I mean, Grace. Sorry. That’s still weird sometimes.”
I looked up at the woman’s eyes in the picture over the couch. Peace. It’d been God’s gift to me. It was my job to keep it. “It doesn’t bother me. It might be a bit strange here. Joyce calls me both.”
“I’m not as flexible as Joyce. I liked Diana.” Zeely got up and poured herself a glass of water. I noticed for the first time that she’d unpacked the dishes too.
“I hated it. It always made me think of the princess. Peter always called me Grace. When Princess Di and Peter died, I started to go by it.”
“I still love Diana. I always will. Right now, though, it seems I need grace more than anything.”
I held the glass up to my cheek. “Don’t we all?”
We looked at each other, but neither of us spoke. The silence swirled around us, knocking off scabs neither of us wanted to acknowledge. Sometimes, the only way to clean a wound was to rip it open. Not today, though. I had enough to deal with just getting situated.
I got up and walked to the window. Sage and lemongrass seedlings lined the windowsill. I wiped my eye. That spoke more than anything Zeely could have said. I picked one up and sniffed it. All the tension rolled down my spine. “Thanks. For everything.”
Zeely headed for the door. “Forget it. Call me when you’re ready for orientation at the school. I’m doing the early part of the program and leaving, but you’re welcome to ride. There’s some teriyaki chicken in the fridge. Oh, and there’s some boxes in the attic. The stuff that couldn’t fit. I can help you go through it later if you want.”
I hesitated. “Sure. Later.” It should have occurred to me that some things wouldn’t fit. A house can’t fit into a condo no matter how much you toss out at the last minute. This move would probably squeeze a lot more out of me than those boxes upstairs.
What am I doing here ?
My answer wafted to the ground like a sleepy leaf. Number thirty-eight on my life list, a strand of hair I was struggling to keep. I’d come here for Joyce, there was some truth to that, but I’d come for myself too. I’d come to find the weed still growing in my heart, the thing that was eating me—from the roots up.
13
Daddy keeps asking me why I’m so quiet. Secrets don’t leave much room for words.
Diana Dixon
I drove my own car to orientation. It probably ticked Zeely off a little, but I wasn’t quite ready to carpool yet. At least not for this trip. Zeely mentioned that she’d probably leave early anyway, after the “Everything you want to know about Imani” session. There was no sense in her driving back to pick me up. Though I’d never been to Joyce’s school before, I knew that it was on South Side. I figured this was a ride I probably needed to take alone. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It was all still there. Mount Olive Missionary Baptist Church came first, where Zeely’s father still preached every Sunday. She still sang in the choir, probably wearing her robe from high school. The sight of Strong and Jones Market made me smile. Daddy’s favorite pork chops had come from there, right up until the week he died. Mom came back to town for church events and reunions but she never sets foot in there.
I slowed a little, checking the address Joyce had given me, following the numbers until I saw . . . the Charles C. They’d painted it and spruced it up, but there was no mistaking it. On the side of the building a blue and gold banner hung high.
Imani Academy. Where we believe in you!
No wonder Zeely hadn’t wanted to talk about school. I felt a little sick turning into the lot, but there was nothing to do now but my job. And if the packed parking lot was any indication, there’d
Similar Books
