“See, you are lucky.” His once-smiling face had become expressionless. He looked at me with a longing gaze. “Wouldn’t you hate it if your mom was like that?”
He was right. I would hate it. Listening to William talk, watching him mourn the divide between him and his parents, made me realize I was more than lucky. I was rich. But that didn’t keep me from wishing I could take away his pain.
I can still see his tan corduroy trousers. And the way he nervously jiggled his leg. I reached over and softly patted his thigh. “Your mother does love you. She has a different way of showing it; that’s all.”
“Is it okay if your mom loves me, too?” Another tear seeped into his eye.
“Of course it is.” I patted him again.
“That… doesn’t make you mad? Or sad?”
I shook my head no. And I meant it.
Then he let his tears flow. I don’t know why he chose that day to vent; I guess he just needed to get it all off his chest. And I was a listening ear, someone he felt comfortable confiding in. William McKinney sat there on our sofa and cried like a little boy. I reached over, put my arm around him, and pulled him into my side. I needed to help him feel better, make him stop crying. He laid his head on my shoulder; his long hair covering my fingers. I stroked his head, because that’s what I do. I’m affectionate and I touch people who need comfort. I sat up to look at him and wiped his tears away with my fingers. He reached up and put his hand behind my neck. The next thing I knew, we were kissing.
I’ve blocked it out for ages, but now, as I clean the silver service he insisted my mama keep, it’s all coming back. The way he looked at me when our lips touched. How he stroked my cheeks, first one then the other, with the back of his hand. The way he held on to me like he never wanted to let go. How he stood up, took me by the hand, and led me into my bedroom. How we both sat down on my bed and fell back into the mattress. How he unbuttoned my shirt and told me I was beautiful. And how I knew by the sweet person he was, and probably still is, he was telling me the truth.
I had been at Ole Miss one month when I gave birth to our baby.
Bless Mama’s heart. It almost destroyed her when she had to give up her only grandchild. She wanted to raise Autumn herself. But Mr. and Mrs. McKinney wouldn’t hear of it. They learned of a family in Memphis who had been waiting five years on a baby, and she was gone two days after she was born. I didn’t hold her but one time. The McKinneys never laid eyes on her.
She had dark hair and William’s blue eyes. Mama said they might turn brown when she got older, but we never knew for sure. Her skin was light. Not perfectly white, just light, but she could pass for Caucasian. Looking like she did, everyone agreed it would be hard for us to raise her, especially in light of who her grandparents were and their place in the Oxford community.
William never once got to see her. When they learned I was pregnant, his parents quickly shipped him off to college—all the way up to Rhode Island. At least it got him out of going to Ole Miss; he never wanted to go there in the first place. He said his daddy finally gave up on him playing football and let him concentrate on his art. I think he gave up on William, period, once he learned he had a half-black grandchild.
Make no mistake about it. No one twisted my arm; I agreed to the adoption. The entire time I was carrying her I told myself I couldn’t be bothered with a baby; my chief concern was me. I wanted to be the first college graduate in our family. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Not yet.
I gave birth on a Sunday morning, missed school on Monday, and was back in class on Tuesday. I stayed in college the rest of that semester, and the one after that. But as the days went on, I became depressed. As much as I wanted to make a name for myself, I couldn’t find the strength to do it. I found myself falling deeper and deeper into despair. I regretted my decision. But it was too late. And I have spent almost every day since wondering where she is and howshe’s getting along. Who is treating her right, and who is breaking her heart. All the normal feelings a mother has for her child.
I hear William is doing well now. While he was in college, he met and married a nice girl and they still live outside New York City with a big family of kids. I read about him every once in a while in theOxford Eagle.He’s a landscape artist. Fairly famous, I believe. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have a thing to show for our time with the McKinney family. Except for Aunt Fee’s house, this silver service, and Autumn. But she’s not mine to show.
Now all six pieces look shiny and brand new. Especially the sugar jar. It catches my reflection. I pick it up and stare into it for a long while. Looking at myself, I can’t help but wonder if our baby girl holds any resemblance to me at all.
FIFTY-NINE
CALI
“Are y’all awake?” Jasmine and I are already in our beds when we hear Ellie knocking. “Open up. It’s me.”
I stumble off my mattress and head to the door. Although it’s only ten o’clock on a Thursday night we’re both exhausted from pulling study all-nighters twice this week.
Once I let her in, Ellie balls her hands into fists, swings them over her head, and glides inside.At least someone’s perky around this place,I think, watching her squat with her legs shoulder-length apart, feet angled outward. She puckers her lips and sways her body from side to side, jutting her chin with each move. Obviously not as tired as she thought, Jasmine jumps off her bed and mimics Ellie, only she puts her facial magic with it. I can’t sit still watching my two best friends dance so I squat, too, throw my arm in the air and whip with them.
“Cali?” Jasmine asks, rocking her body from side to side.
“Yeah?” Ellie whips a slightly bent arm above her head, then rocks to the same rhythm as Jasmine.
“Why are we whipping?” Jasmine asks. “With no jive?”
“Because I have something to tell y’all. And you might not hear me over the music.” By now, Ellie’s a little out of breath.
“Tell us already,” I say, swaying to the imaginary beat.
“Eli Manning’s people called my dad,” she says as casually as she might talk about the weather. Then a sly smile creeps onto her lips. “And Eli saidyessssss!” She screams and stands straight up, then throws her arms overhead, prancing in place.
Jasmine and I fall down on our butts.
“You’re lying,”I yell. “No freaking way.”
