Until by Timmothy B. Mccann Page A

worst nightmare. A black man with an education.”
    â€œNo,” Peggy replied. “See, you already did that because he bought the program. What you should have done was to ask that redneck for ten references and sold plans to ten of his Klan friends. That’s what you should have done. Listen to me. Don’t get mad Drew; get everything. See, you’re talking to a child of the sixties. I graduated from old Lincoln High. I remember when they made us leave our school and sent the troops in and everything. I even remember my cousin Pam being brought home with her eyes swollen shut from the tear gas. But what a lot of us misunderstand in business today is that it’s not our job to be martyrs. Okay? Your job was accomplished today and we got the draft to prove it. Murphy, Renfro and Collins, done deal, case dosed. Next.”
    After finishing his conversation with Peggy, Drew noticed the time and put on his Topsiders and Knicks cap to do something he had done the previous weekend. He decided that he would do this on Friday nights because that was their date night. Each week they would alternate doing something special for each other. One time it had been as simple as when she’d made up words to “Song Bird,” by Kenny G; another time, as elaborate as the surprise trip Drew had arranged to Paradise Island for the weekend.
    As he got closer to his destination, rain started to fall, and Drew remembered he did not have a jacket or umbrella. Damn, I wonder if Momma’s okay tonight, he thought as he drove down the highway. Drew’s father had died four yearsearlier from plain old age. He’d been a good-natured gentleman who’d spent what little free time he’d had helping in his community with political campaigns. Drew could remember him pulling his red Chevy truck off the road and spending as much as an hour assisting a stranded driver. To Drew, his father was the definition of a man. His mother was in her late seventies and continued to chain-smoke, play cards every week, drink hard, and cry loudly about the death of her husband. They had been married more than fifty years and had lived in the same area in Gainesville for most of that time.
    Drew, who was an only child, thought back to when he would come home from school and see his mother in the yard with their next-door neighbor, Mr. Douglass. His father had been an auto parts salesman and would at times be on the road for over a month. Drew had never noticed Mr. Douglass at the house when his dad was home, only when he was away. Far away. Mr. Douglass never came over for cookouts, to watch baseball, or anything else. But as soon as the coast was clear, he would appear.
    One night after his father’s retirement party, Drew had asked his mom point-blank for the real story in regards to her neighbor. Her answer was, “Oscar Douglass and I are just friends. And even if that was not true, I would tell you that anyway.” Drew had never felt the need to ask her again.
    One day shortly after his father passed, Drew, who was at this point a well-respected businessman in the community, drove up to the house and noticed Mr. Douglass sitting on their front step alone. He looked at Drew with fear in his eyes since he knew Drew’s mother had in essence told her son of their bond. Drew glared at the slender dark man and wondered why he sat outside.
    â€œShe’s inside, son. She does this every day almost, nowadays. At lease three, fo’ times a week.”
    â€œDoes what?”
    â€œStarts talking foolishness. Listen at her.”
    Drew walked closer, turned the knob, and noticed she had locked the bottom and likely the top lock as well. But he could hear her grievous rants inside.
    â€œOh my God, Jerry. Why did you have to leave me like this? Why did you have to go? You know I can’t raise that boy on my own. How am I gonna send him to college, Jerry? How am I gonna pay for this big ole house? Jerry, you know