Finding Bluefield by Elan Branehama Page B

inside. Fats Domino sang out from the radio. Nicky let her eyes adjust. The man behind the counter put down his cigar and turned off the radio. He hurried toward her. The crowd of only black men stopped their games and their chatter. All eyes turned toward her. Nicky considered turning to leave.
    “Can I help you, ma’am?” He blocked the stairs leading down to the pool tables.
    Nicky swallowed hard. “I’m looking for Leroy Ellison. He works over at the Bluefield Diner.”
    “Did you try there?”
    “Yes. He didn’t show up at work.”
    “Sorry, I don’t know him.” He turned toward the first table where two men rested on their cues and watched. “Johnny, you know anyone named Leroy? He works over at…” He turned back to Nicky. “What’s that place?”
    “Bluefield Diner. He’s a dishwasher.”
    “I don’t know no dishwashers,” Johnny said.
    “You don’t know no one who works,” someone called from the back, and several men laughed hard.
    “Sorry we can’t help you,” the man in front of Nicky said, and opened the door for Nicky who didn’t move. “Watch out for those steps,” he said, still holding the door open, still trying to usher Nicky out. “They can be tricky. Can I give you a hand?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Okay. But you be careful.”
    Back in her car, Nicky caught her breath. What the hell am I doing, she thought. Driving calmed her, made her feel safe again as she continued to explore the North End. She spotted a small store and pulled in.
    “Are you okay, ma’am?” the white man behind the counter asked, getting up quickly and putting down his newspaper.
    “Sure.” Nicky picked out some gum, some pretzels and some licorice, and a bottle of pop.
    “I’m not used to white folks shopping here,” he said.
    “Could I have a pack of Winstons?” she said at the counter. After Nicky took the cigarettes and lit one, she said, “You know a man named Leroy Ellison?”
    “What did he do?” The man packed her purchase.
    “Nothing. I used to work with him and I need to return something to him.”
    “This is no place for a fine woman like yourself to be hanging about. If I were you, Mrs.…” he paused for Nicky to answer. When she didn’t, he continued. “If I were you, I’d let that boy pick up his stuff at work.”
    “Thank you, sir. That’s a good idea.”
    “You go on home now. I doubt your husband wants you driving around here.”
    Nicky picked up her bag and headed for the door. “Thanks again,” she said. Once outside, Nicky grabbed hold of the banister and made her way down the stairs.
    “Can I help you carry your bag, ma’am?”
    Nicky turned to find the child’s voice. She hadn’t noticed the girl sitting on the porch bench. “Sure,” Nicky said. She handed the girl her snacks.
    The girl followed her down the steps to her car where she opened the door for Nicky. “Why you want Leroy?” she whispered.
    “You know Leroy?”
    “Maybe.”
    “I heard he got hurt.” Nicky closed the door.
    “You that woman who got him in trouble?”
    “No.”
    “Is that his baby?”
    “No.”
    “You a doctor?”
    “No.”
    “Then how you going to help him?”
    “Do you know where he lives?” Nicky said.
    “No.”
    Nicky took a slow, deep breath. Getting in and out of the car so often was tiring her.
    “Would you like those snacks?”
    “Why?” the girl said.
    “Give me a second.” Nicky looked through her bag and found a twenty-dollar bill. She found a used envelope on the floor mat and stuck the twenty in it. She wrote Leroy Ellison on the outside and handed it to the girl. “This envelope is for Leroy,” Nicky said. “You make sure he gets it. You keep those snacks and pop for your trouble.” The baby kicked and Nicky winced.
    “You all right? You’re not having that baby now are you? I’ve seen that look on my sister.”
    “I’m fine. Please make sure Leroy gets this.”
    “I will,” she said. Then she ran off through the adjacent lot, turned