I squinted at him. This white man still believed in the goodness of the world. I was younger than he was, but I had lost my faith the day I walked into that hospital room and found those two little girls wailing like babies. I longed to believe again. Maybe this optimism was a powerful thing to have in the girls’ corner—somebody crazy enough to stay in the ring even when his head was about to get bashed.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Montgomery
2016
I know what you’re thinking: This is just another white savior story. The white person drops in from the sky, saves all the Black folks, and by doing so, redeems themselves. We’re the channel through which they save their own souls, but we cannot save our own. I grew up reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I know the story. And I can’t say I blame your skepticism. Right now, I’m just trying to tell you the truth. If this story shakes out into something all too familiar, I apologize.
What I can say to you is this: We are at the center of our own destiny. Always have been. Yes, there have been times this country has tried to destroy us. But we have not been doormats. No, ma’am. We have fought and used every resource. Lou Feldman was a resource. And I grew to love him. But this story was and always will be about those sisters. I’m talking to you right now because of them. And the idea that Lou or I or any of us were redeemed by this whole thing ignores all the contradictions, the baggage we came in with, and the baggage we left carrying.
When I arrive in Montgomery it is late, and I’m bone tired. I have just enough energy to check into my hotel. I’ve never stayed at a hotel in Montgomery before. When the woman at the registration desk asks me if I’m traveling for business or pleasure, I respond by saying “Neither” and leave it at that.
The next day, I phone his office and they put me through to his wife. She asks how I am doing and gives me his cell phone number. I text him and he responds by saying he will be out of court by noon. He agrees to meet me on the south side of the courthouse. I know a lot of years have passed, but when I see him I’m surprised at how different he looks. In fact, I don’t think I would have recognized him if I had run into him on the street. All the youthful boyish looks that once caused me to distrust him are gone. And so is his hair. What is left of it is combed thinly over his forehead. It is the first thing he jokes about.
“I know, I know. I had a lot more hair when you saw me last.”
I laugh. “How you doing, Lou?”
“I’m good. Come on. There’s a little vegetarian place near here.”
“Vegetarian?”
He pats his stomach. “My wife is trying to keep me around for a few more years. But it’s got the best hash browns in town.”
When Lou and I sit across from each other at a table near the window, he studies the menu as if he has never been here before. But I know he is a regular because the server shows up with a cup of coffee, one sugar, and a single package of creamer, and he asks about her husband by name. Lou’s eyeglasses are rimless, unlike the thick black frames he used to wear. The current pair sits on his nose, and you can clearly see the lines on his face. After we order, he laces his hands and rests his chin on top of them. He launches right into his cases, and I know he is still just as driven as he always was. He tells me he now has a team of lawyers working for him, but he still loves the thrill of the courtroom. He recently worked on a trial to get a man off death row and won.
I ask him about his family. Both of his children became lawyers, though he laughingly says they went for the money. One is in-house counsel at a tech company in Silicon Valley, and the other practices tax law in Montgomery. He asks about my medical practice, and I tell him about life as an obstetrician-gynecologist, the study I have been working on about reducing the high rate of maternal morbidity among Black women.
He nods. “But right now you’re back in Montgomery. You said over the phone you’re going to see about India.”
“Yes,” I say. “She’s sick. Have you heard anything?”
“I haven’t heard anything about that family in decades. I just got too busy, I guess.”
“Me, too.”
We both nod, two professionals who can always rely on our work as an excuse.
“I hear about the family through Alicia. She keeps up,” I say.
“Alicia?”
“She was the nurse I worked with.” He doesn’t remember her. It surprises me; but then again, it has been over forty years. “She tells me India has cancer.”
“Oh no. That’s terrible news.”
“Do you remember them, Lou? The Williams family?”
“Of course I do, Civil. I remember Senator Kennedy, his graciousness with them. I remember their grandmother’s hot-water corn bread. I remember their daddy. The hurt in that man’s eyes kept me up at night.”
I’m surprised to hear him say that, and Mace’s face rises behind my eyes. “The sisters. What do you remember about them?”
“To be honest, I regret that I did not get to know the girls better. I tried to keep a respectful distance because they were just children. I was sensitive about that. I suppose I left that part up to you.”
“I understand.”
“I remember you,” he whispers. “Your determination. Your toughness. You were nobody to mess with, even back then.”
“You thought I was tough, huh? I thought you were crazy.”
He laughs. “Back then I thought justice was a moral right.”
“And now?”
“I still believe in right and wrong or else I wouldn’t be practicing law after all these years. It’s just that now I know justice is as complicated as everything else in life.”
His eyes grow distant. I can see that his memories of that time are different than mine. “Listen, Civil. I’ve tried a lot of cases over the years. But I’ve never forgotten that one. Never. You hear me? We did something back then. It may not have all worked out the way we thought it would, but we did something. You hear me?”
My eyes sting. The grain of the table is etched with scratches. I can see the waitress approaching with our food, but I want the moment to linger a little longer before we return to our bodies and the mundane act of nourishment. Lou and I are not so dissimilar. I have done some important surgeries, saved some lives I thought were lost. He has also had ups and downs. But I could not save those girls, and that has left its indelible mark. I just wish I could pull snatches of memories like him. But I remember everything. Every single little thing.
TWENTY-NINE
Montgomery
1973
Ty, Alicia, and I were sitting in the den with all the lights on. We had picked up some food from Church’s Chicken, and the room smelled like gravy. I knew my parents wouldn’t like us eating back there, but I wanted to use Daddy’s eight-track player. I never tired of listening to Otis Redding.
“My mama told me Lou’s trying to see how many other victims there were.” Ty wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Have other patients from the Montgomery clinic come forward?” Alicia asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “Actually, I was thinking the nurses could help.”
“Help? You mean like talk to our patients? Ain’t that against the rules?”