Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(93)

Lillian and I hosted the shiva, which was an exhausting revolving door of community members. But as we accepted condolences for what felt like the nine hundredth time, I began to understand that this was for them as much as for us. I didn’t want them in Ada’s house. I wanted a quiet space to remember her. But there was comfort in the stories they shared with me.

A couple of hours in, the crowd began to buzz. I glanced up at the door to see Thomas standing uncertainly, a hat in his hands.

I excused myself from the conversation with one of Ada’s neighbors and went to greet him with a hug. He pulled me off him gently but firmly. “You don’t need more gossip,” he said. “I just wanted to pay my respects . . .”

“I’m glad you came. I have something for you. I was going to call you this week if you didn’t,” I said.

“For me?”

“Come on,” I said, taking his arm and leading him toward Ada’s study. I felt eyes on us, so I left the door open and offered him a seat on the sofa while I went to retrieve the parcel, still wrapped in a handkerchief and tied with a ribbon, from the desk.

“I don’t know how much your grandmother told you,” I said, suddenly realizing this might be an unwelcome surprise. “But I think—I think Ada would have wanted you to have these.”

He looked at me curiously and untied the ribbon, then opened the handkerchief. The picture on top was the one of Ada smiling up at John. Thomas examined it carefully for a moment, then moved on to the next picture, stopping and looking up at me in surprise when he got to the one of them kissing.

“You didn’t know, then?”

He shook his head. “I knew they met in Europe, before he married my grandmother. He said in a different life, he would have loved her.”

“According to her, he did. She said—she said the world loves to destroy things it doesn’t understand. That he knew that, but she had to learn it for herself.”

Thomas nodded. “She was a wise lady, that one.”

“How did you start doing odd jobs for her? She never explained that, but I know she adored you.” Like the grandson she never had, I thought.

A wry smile spread across his face, and I realized Ada was right. He did look like his grandfather. “It was two cars and eleven years ago. A 1946 Cadillac. It was making a noise, and she was convinced her mechanic was robbing her on account of her being a woman. So she called my grandfather and said she absolutely hated to bother him for something like this, but would he take a look. He brought me with him. I was twelve and didn’t understand why Granddaddy was helping this rich white lady. On the trolley ride over there, he explained. He said it didn’t matter if you were Black, white, green, or purple. If someone was a good person and needed your help, you helped them if you could.” He looked at me, and his grin was absolutely wicked. “Ask me what was wrong with the car.”

I couldn’t resist. “What was wrong with the car?”

He could barely respond for laughing. “She had a family of birds nesting under the hood.”

“Birds?”

“One of them flew at her when Granddaddy opened the hood. First, last, and only time you ever saw Miss Ada scream, I swear.”

The image was too delicious, and I laughed too. “I’d pay good money to have seen that.”

“She tried to give me a dollar for helping get them out of there, which she said was really to not let anyone know she’d screamed, but my grandfather handed it right back to her. He told her there was absolutely no need and that we were happy to help.” His smile turned wistful. “When Granddaddy was finishing up the car, she slipped me the dollar again and told me to come back and visit her sometime.”

“And you went?”

“Absolutely not. My grandfather caught me trying to spend that dollar on candy and marched me right back up to her house to give it back again. I don’t remember their whole conversation, but there was a lot of hand-waving and finger-pointing, and it ended with him saying I was going to earn that dollar.” He looked back down at the photographs in his hands. “She didn’t need me and tried to say I could just go home and tell my grandfather that I hung some pictures or some other nonsense. But he and I didn’t keep secrets—except this one, I suppose—so I told her I’d best actually hang some pictures, then. She looked at me like I was crazy but said, ‘Come on, then. Let’s find something honest for you to do.’” He looked back up at me. “I liked her. I know that’s such a strange thing to say but—”

“I get it.”

He nodded. “I suppose you do. I started coming by on Sunday afternoons after church, just to see if she needed help with anything. It was just her and Miss Lillian in this big house, and I—I wanted to be someone my grandfather would be proud of.”

I felt tears pricking at my eyes. “I know I never met him, but I know he’s proud of you. And Ada is too.”

Wiping at his eye with the back of his right hand, Thomas nodded. “I hope so.”

I put my hand on top of his left, which still held the photographs. “I know so.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. “Thank you for these,” Thomas said eventually, gesturing to the pictures.

“Of course.” I hesitated. “She said your grandfather was one of the two loves of her life. She wouldn’t tell me who the other was. I guess I’ll never know now.” Thomas shifted slightly. “Wait. Do you know?”