The Last Road Home by Danny Johnson

school too. Maybe if he hadn’t been, he’d still be here.”
    Daddy had been a part-time mechanic, part-time dirt-track race car driver, and full-time bootlegger. I scooped the last of the pie. “Fancy’s going back; she likes school.”
    Grandma blew out a deep breath, letting her shoulders and the stern look on her face relax. “Good, I’m glad. She’s a smart girl. Hopefully, one of these days she’ll find a man to treat her kind and be a good husband.”
    I put my fork down and slid the empty plate forward. “Grandma, you don’t hate Roy or Clemmy, do you?”
    â€œWhy on earth would you think that?”
    â€œFancy asked me the other day why white folks hate black folks. I didn’t know how to answer something like that. Do you think people really feel that way?”
    She stacked the plates, and then rested her backside against the sink, folding her arms across her chest. “Junebug, you need to understand something. Cruelty and memory have been married together a long time in the South. My grandpa was sixteen when he went to the Civil War, and twenty-one when he came home with one leg and a belly full of bitterness. He died in 1915 when I was sixteen. All those years growing up I listened to his stories and watched his resentment. He was convinced the South fought and died for honor, and he blamed black folks for his suffering. It’s a way of thinking that’s been passed down since, like blue eyes or red hair or family land.” She turned back to the plates in the sink. “I know you don’t think things you see are right, and I’m proud of you for that.” Grandma’s words surprised me. I wanted to ask more, but could tell she was done talking about it.
    I went to lean on the counter beside her. “Oh, I didn’t tell you. Roy and me had a talk. He’s on the lookout for anybody sniffing around Fancy, said he thought Lightning had got urges around some of the migrant women and that’s why he run off. Wanted to give me advice like he thought Granddaddy would if he was here.” I got a case of the red-face repeating Roy’s words.
    Grandma smiled. “It’s good to have another man to learn from about growing-up matters. He just wants what’s best for Fancy.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “You ain’t give Roy a reason to worry, have you?”
    I headed for the porch. “I promised I’d keep an eye on her now that Lightning’s gone.”
    Grandma went back to drying and putting up dishes. “Why don’t you go get your evening chores done while I clean up?”
    * * *
    After Grandma went to bed, I got a pouch of smoking tobacco and rolling papers I’d found in Granddaddy’s old coat and headed out to meet Fancy. The night carried some clouds, but they were thin and let a lopsided moon make some light. I considered what Grandma said about school. After everybody in my life dying except her, I knew I might not live long enough to get old and unable to work, and I couldn’t get a picture of things ten years down the road. Besides, school bored me. I didn’t have big dreams of being a rich person or anything. A person with a place to call his own and make do for himself should be satisfied.
    Fancy was already waiting. “Hey, Junebug, thought maybe you won’t going to show up.”
    I took the tobacco pouch out, and tried to roll a cigarette without spilling more than I got on the paper. “Only ain’t coming if it’s raining.”
    Fancy watched me strike a kitchen match. “When did you start smoking?”
    I coughed from the harshness in my throat. “Lightning and me used to sneak a few times.”
    â€œGimme a puff. How do you do it?”
    â€œSuck on it a little so it goes down your throat, then blow it out.” My head was spinning some.
    She took a long pull and got to hacking and spitting. “That taste like