How could anyone think I’d mention another pregnancy so casually, given everything Tully and I have been through?
“If that’s not the news, what is?” my father asks sharply.
I don’t look at him. I just dive in. “Tully and I are leaving at midnight on the 20th Century Limited for Grand Central Station. Then, on Thursday, we’ll board the SSTalamancafor Jamaica.” I then turn to Katherine. “We’re joining the Dunham expedition to the Caribbean to conduct fieldwork on African dance in the Maroon village of Accompong.”
“That’s outrageous.” The alarm in my father’s voice feels like a slap. “You aren’t qualified to assist her. Moreover, how can you afford it?”
“My trust fund,” I reply, striving to maintain a calm tone.
“You’re not the administrator of that fund—your late husband and my federal loan are the trustees.”
“Before he died, he put the trust fund in my name.”
“Jesus Christ,” my father mutters. “That makes no sense.”
Tully clears his throat and steps forward. “You can check all you want, sir. It’s Vivian Jean’s money to do with as she chooses. And everything for Jamaica has been arranged—our travel plans, and accommodations in Accompong.”
I appreciate Tully’s vocal support, but I can tell it’s primarily to egg on my father, who he enjoys provoking.
“Are you telling me the transfer wasn’t handled through the Bronzeville Federal Savings and Loan?” my father grumbles, referring to his company, which originally managed the trust fund. “And you knew about this?” My father glares at Tully. “And didn’t think to inform me?”
Tully smirks. “Vivian Jean is perfectly capable of handling her own affairs.”
“Christ almighty,” my father scoffs. “So, you received access to your trust fund this morning and already made arrangements for your trip? How did you move so fast? You had to have help.”
Katherine raises a delicate hand. “I helped.”
“Of course you did,” my father sneers at Katherine.
“Leonard, it appears your concerns are unnecessary,” Dr. Hartfield interjects, his higher-pitched tone distinctive among the other male voices. “The best choice here is to wish them well.”
The major grits his teeth at Dr. Hartfield’s words and immediately dismisses them. “Who assisted you with the arrangements?” he fires at me, but then turns to Maxi. “Or do I need to ask?”
Maxi holds her head high but doesn’t make eye contact with him.
“And you’re leaving tonight,” the major mumbles.
“Yes, sir,” Katherine replies in an unrestrained tone. “She and Tully begin our journey this evening after Mr. Abbott’s reception.”
“Maybe we should continue this conversation another time,” Dr. Hartfield makes a second attempt to quell the tension.
My father walks over to where my mother is seated and extends his hand, which she quickly takes. “We’re leaving.”
I stare in disbelief, while also feeling a sense of satisfaction. With his departure, I can set aside my worries. It is done. My father knows everything about my plans—well, almost. He doesn’t know my secret. Only Maxi knows my true intentions once I reach Accompong and the sacred silk cotton tree. “Father, please don’t behave this way. I thought you were coming to Robert Abbott’s reception.”
My mother doesn’t appear rattled by my exchange with Father or his rudeness—which isn’t a surprise. It’s something I am used to.
“It’s the Palmer House Hotel, Vivi,” she says, using the deplorable nickname. “I love that hotel, and your father arranged for us to have a suite.”
I sometimes wonder if there’s anything my mother truly cares about besides hotels, fashion, and her women’s groups—that and, of course, not contradicting the major.
“Don’t worry, Katherine,” Father adds. “I won’t miss this evening’s celebration. Besides, I must spend time with my daughter before she heads to Jamaica.”
Major Thomas tucks his wife’s hand into the crook of his arm as they leave the parlor, and I let out a long sigh.
“How about we all have another drink?” Tully says, alleviating the awkwardness in the room. He pops the cork of another bottle of champagne. “What do you say, everyone?” He holds the uncorked bottle high in the air.
I lift an empty glass. “I’d love another champagne.”
