“Truck,” Curry said as a black pickup headed toward us.
I crouched down, thinking, This is the last time I’ll ever have to do this. Even that made me sad.
I stayed low in the seat as we drove through Round Hill. It was late Saturday morning and people were out and about downtown. It was best that Curry and I weren’t seen together.
Curry turned onto Hockley Street.
“That’s my house,” I said.
“I guessed that,” he said, “seein’ as it’s the only one.”
Both our car and Buddy’s truck were gone and I was relieved. Wherever Buddy was, I hoped he was repenting for his behavior last night. I still couldn’t believe his rage. I’d seen him angry before, yes, but brutal? Never.
I dared to give Curry a quick hug, then gathered my things out of the middle seat and headed for the house.
Inside, I breathed in the familiar scent. Our house always smelled like a mix of citrus and mildew to me. It wasn’t unpleasant at all. It was home. The house seemed so big and we were so wealthy. I hadn’t known how well we lived. How we wanted for nothing. How much of our comfort came from generations of having control over our lives? From being able to vote people who would help us into office? I dropped my things on the floor of my bedroom, flopped down on my bed, and looked up at the ceiling. I had to find a way to keep this part of me alive—the part that had been awakened to another side of America.
And then I thought of Win, waking up this morning in pain, his face swollen. How did he feel when Greg told him I was gone for good? I started to cry. I wept and wept and wept, giving myself permission to finally break down. Get it all out now, I thought. Once my family was home, I intended to be dry-eyed. I’d help out at the pharmacy. I’d help Mama with the house. I’d forgive my brother for stupidly trying to protect me when I’d needed no protection. If I had to be home, I was going to truly be home. But I’d hold on to the new part of myself, too. I would never lose the Ellie I’d become this summer.
I worried my father would make good on his threat to kick me out of the house, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. When he got home from the pharmacy late that afternoon, he wrapped me in his arms. He seemed close to tears. I’d never seen him like that. When he said “Welcome home,” his voice was husky.
My mother, though, stopped short when she walked in the kitchen and saw me there with my father, and what I saw in her face wasn’t surprise, or love, or even anger. It was disgust. “Go take a shower,” she said. “Then set the table for supper.”
“Yes, Mama.” I would do whatever she asked of me.
After I saw my brother. Through the kitchen window, I could see Buddy’s truck pull into the driveway. I watched him get out of the truck, pop the hood, and begin tinkering with one thing or another. I walked out the back door and through the porch. When the porch door slammed shut he looked up, one hand on his hip.
“Hey!” he called. “You home for good?”
A thousand emotions ran through me as I neared him. I loved him more than anyone in the world. Even more than Win. But my anger from the night before was still coursing through me, more so with every step, and by the time I reached him, I drew my hand back and slapped him hard across the face.
He was stunned. I thought we both were. But then he pulled me to him and we wrapped our arms around each other. I felt his breath catch. He was sorry. Whether he said it or not, I knew he was. “Please tell me you’re home for good,” he said, his breath against my ear.
“I am.”
He pulled back from me. “That’s what I prayed for last night,” he said. “That, and that I didn’t kill that boy. I hate him, but I don’t want to kill nobody.”
“You didn’t,” I said. “But you could have. And I love him, and if you love me you should’ve put your damn bigotry aside and let me have him. I’ve left him behind for his sake, not for mine.” I felt my voice start to crack. “I don’t want him in danger from people like you.”
* * *
I called Brenda that evening, but got no answer. I couldn’t forget that letter she sent me—the one where she sounded appalled by the work I was doing. I’d written back but hadn’t heard from her again and I was dying for a real heart-to-heart. She and Garner were probably having dinner at his family’s house. More like a mansion, that house. I guessed Brenda was getting what she always wanted: a man she loved, a baby on the way, and money. I just wanted one particular man. I didn’t care about the other things.