“A person’s riches may ransom their life, but the poor cannot respond to threatening rebukes.” Granddaddy uses his finger to underline his place on the page for me to follow along, which I can do easy cause Proverbs don’t have so many big names, and most of the words I understand.
“The light of the righteous shines brightly,” Charlie reads, “but the lamp of the wicked is snuffed out.” Granddaddy nods, so I nod, too.
“Where there is strife, there is pride,” Granddaddy reads, “but wisdom is found in those who take advice.” The back-and-forth rhythm feels almost like a song, and I sway, just a little.
Then Charlie reads the last verse. “Dishonest money dwindles away, but whoever gathers money little by little makes it grow.” Before, when they read bout Job, they did all the humming and talking after. But this time after reading, Granddaddy closes his Bible right away, so I guess they gon’ talk bout this one next time. But I’m stuck thinking bout that last line. Whoever gathers money little by little makes it grow. . . . My thumb finds the folded list in my pocket, and suddenly I have an idea.
Charlie stands up and starts gathering his stuff, then Granddaddy stands up, slow, and joins him. They tilt their heads toward each other, and I perk up. I know this move. It’s the way grown folks act when they wanna talk bout something without the kids hearing. So I do like I always do and pretend to not be paying attention. I pick up Granddaddy’s Bible from the couch and open it to the middle, sticking my nose all the way in so the Bible covers my face. Then I pretend to read while they start to talk.
“Any word yet?” Charlie says.
I don’t hear nothin’， so Granddaddy must ain’t answer with words.
“How’s the treatment going?” Charlie asks next. I peek out from the top of the Bible and this time see Granddaddy shake his head.
“I don’t know,” he whispers, “she ain’t been talking to me much.”
“And the girls?” Charlie asks. I pick the Bible back up quick, scared one of them gon’ look my way. After a long silence, Granddaddy finally responds.
“She ain’t been talking to nobody much.” He pauses for a while. Then finishes with: “I just hope this works.”
My mind fills up with questions. Were they talking bout Momma? But what treatment was Charlie talking bout? And what does Granddaddy want to work?
“KB?” Granddaddy calls my name and I worry for a second that they caught me listening. But then he offers his hand out to me for prayer and I stand and take it, joining the circle with him and Charlie. My mind is spinning from what I heard, but I gotta pretend it ain’t. So I listen to Granddaddy pray. Bout halfway through, I notice my head ain’t spinning no more. Comfortable, I don’t let go of Granddaddy’s warm hand, even after the invocation fades.
* * *
Charlie says goodbye without ever closing his Bible, leaving his thumb stuck in the page instead. His red truck roars to life from the driveway and rumbles away. I think bout walking down the road a bit, just to see where he goes, which way he turns and how fast he drives, but I don’t cause I ain’t sure if Granddaddy gon’ let me. I stay in the house with Granddaddy instead and trail him like a shadow, watching. It’s one of my favorite things, watching, cause it’s how I learn the stuff people don’t want me to know. And since Granddaddy don’t wanna talk to me much, I figure this is my best chance to figure out what’s really going on with Momma. Granddaddy knows something that I don’t know, and I plan to figure it out.
I watch Granddaddy’s face, his hands, his feet. I watch the way he smooths the small pillow on the wicker chair where Charlie sat. I watch as he shuffles to the kitchen and fills water for tea in the heavy kettle that always sits on the stove. When I watch people, I’m looking at more than what they do. I look at how they do it, then try to figure out why. Ever since I can remember, it’s how I learn people, especially since most times, people don’t wanna tell me the truth bout stuff. I watch as Granddaddy puts the Bible back on the middle shelf of the large and leaning bookcase, still hovering in the corner like a secret. Granddaddy feels around for his house shoes. I see ’em peeking out from under the couch, but I don’t say nothing. Instead, I check the books from spine to spine. There is one book that stands out, cause it ain’t got no words on the spine, and it’s thick like a binder. I bet it’s a photo album. I stand up and walk over to the bookcase, trying not to look like I’m sneaking but also not tryna get Granddaddy’s attention focused on me. My hands creep toward the photo album, and I just bout got it, when Granddaddy stops me.
“Kenyatta,” he says, and I turn around quick. “Why don’t you go on back in the room with Nia now?”
“Why?” I frown, disappointed that I ain’t gon’ be able to keep watching Granddaddy.
Granddaddy sits forward in his chair, and unlike this morning, he looks real ready to discipline. “Don’t you talk back to me,” he says, and that’s all he says.
I keep frowning, but I don’t speak again. Neither of us speaks, like we both tryna test each other.
“Go back there with your sister,” Granddaddy finally says again, this time not a question. “You two need to figure out how to get along. And until you do”—Granddaddy pauses to kick back in his recliner—“you can use the time to get the place cleaned up.”
I try to think of a comeback, but the look on Granddaddy’s face tells me ain’t no point. Being sure to drag my feet the whole way, I walk back to the room to get ready for my next pointless conversation. The door is closed, and I stand outside it for a while tryna decide if I should knock or just walk in. At home, Nia always makes me knock on her door before I come in, and she yells at me when I don’t. We used to share a room, til Nia turned fourteen and decided she was “too mature” to share a room with a “little kid.” I snuck and listened when she whined and begged Momma, then pretended not to care when she moved all her stuff out of our perfect little room into Momma’s old office that was cleaned out and repainted for the occasion.
But here at Granddaddy’s house, this ain’t really Nia’s room. We’re back to sharing, just like I wanted. I smirk and walk in without knocking. Nia is laying on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the ceiling. At first, I think she’s listening to her Walkman, like usual. But as I get closer, I notice her headphones sprawled cross the dresser. And Nia just laying there, listening to nothin’。
“Granddaddy said we gotta clean up,” I announce as I plop down on the edge of the bed. Nia don’t say nothin’ yet, just keeps staring at the ceiling.
“Nia, you hear me?”
Finally, Nia turns her head toward me. I expect her to look annoyed, but really, she looks kinda sad. “Clean what?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow.
I shrug. “He ain’t say. I think he just mad cause we fighting.” I wait for Nia to say something, maybe offer to make up, but she don’t.
“Okay,” is all she says, before laying back down.
“Okay?”
Nia sighs. “Go ask him what we gotta clean, okay?”