Page 46 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin's Duet

“What?”

“One of your men— the big ugly redhead one—”

“Hiram.”

“He took my wallet. It’s got a picture of my son. Can I have it back, please?”

She sounded like she’d been practicing that line. Maybe that explained the square thing in Hiram’s jacket.

“I’ll look into it,” said Absalom, shelving it as a bottom priority. He shut the door, and locked it.

NINE

LORRIE

Far from sitting in a dusty old cabin and twiddling her toes, as soon as the sun came up Lorrie stepped out and followed the tire tracks of Absalom’s truck back to the road. Her breath came out in white clouds. When had a July morning ever been so cold? The mist skirting the trees reminded her of the other side of Florin where she’d been raised, where the shadow of the mountain blocked out the sun and every day felt like the first day of Fall. Except in winter, when the teeth of the wind sank into your flesh, straight down to the bone.

Wearing Absalom’s jacket inside-out to hide the bloodstains, Lorrie walked right out of the forest to the main road, where she then got her bearings. She hadn’t been back to Florin in years but you never really forgot your first home. Without any concrete plan or idea where she was headed, her feet pushed her forward step by step until two hours later she crossed into Black Florin.

The small area of town was just a shadow of its former self. It had been dying for years as folks sought better fortunes and more tolerant places elsewhere. Two years of relative peace between white and black folks was not enough to erase the past. The past ran too deep, like an old stain. After the civil war,there came a reckoning. Black Florin tried to get on its feet, but the enemy was powerful. Hatred always seemed more powerful than love. So Black Florin struggled. Its people endured. But the battle was fiercer than anything. Not always the drama of crosses burning and strange fruit, but sometimes it was simply not getting work, your daughters harassed, your sons beat up, your trash left out in the road, and having your social world confined to the refuge of church…sometimes those were enough. More than enough. Hatred hampered progress. It had done so to Black Florin.

Lorrie passed the candy store her Aunt Pearl used to own, where she’d first learn to make caramel and chocolate. The place was boarded up and had been for nearly a decade.

Is anyone left here at all? she had to wonder, as long minutes passed without seeing a soul. Well, the crazy man sitting on the corner petting a yellow dog with no tail seemed familiar; she thought he might be her cousin Jonah. But she didn’t call out to him because maybe it wasn’t. She just kept walking, step by step, until she reached Ned Street. Did Auntie Pearl still live here? She still had those Cosmos and Dahlias out front…

Lorrie rang the bell and waited. In short order the curtains at the window rustled and a face peeped out. And then somebody opened the door.

“Little Lorraine? It can’t be!”

“Hi Uncle Julius,” said Lorrie shyly.

“Baby girl! Come in, come in.” Owl-like eyes blinked up at her behind thick plastic glasses. Her Uncle Julius had seemed to Lorrie a giant once. Now she towered over him and his fine little afro was completely white.

“PEARL!” her Uncle bellowed over his shoulder. “PEARL! LOOK WHO’S HERE!”

They were conservative church folks but they were country, and so in spite of her disheveled appearance and their opinions about her Mama, they welcomed Lorrie with open arms.

Before she knew it Lorrie found herself sitting at a table with plates of eggs, sausage, bacon, cornbread, grits and biscuits piled before her, with her baby cousin Franklin Junior in her lap. His Mama Lakeisha was at work, so Auntie Pearl and Uncle Julius were watching him.

She ate slowly, picking at the meat so as not to be rude. It was warmer in the house than outside by a mile.

“Let me take your jacket, baby,” Auntie Pearl offered. “Why do you have it on backwards?”

“Um. I fell into some mud by accident.” Lorrie did not give her the jacket. Aunt Pearl’s hand dropped and she blinked at Lorrie.

“I can’t believe you walked here from– where did you say you walked here from?”

“Um— camping with a friend.”

“Camping? Was it amanfriend?” said her aunt, pursing her lips. “I do believe that is a man’s jacket.” She looked about to pass judgment but she restrained herself. “I can wash it for you. We just got a dryer put in,” was all her aunt said.

“I’ll do it,” Lorrie said, standing up fast and handing over the baby. “And I’ll wash the dishes, too.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I insist,” said Lorrie quickly, not wanting her aunt to see the bloodstains. “It’s an old jacket and you need to wash it with a special touch.”

Aunt Pearl leaned on her cane. “If you insist, but then you have to sit down and come talk to us old folks.”

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