Protectors of the true-blue currency.
Who sent moving vans and carted away every piece of furniture, every china setting and lamp and couch and chair, beds, pillows, paintings, and even the linens I had folded time and again. Our diaries, our school yearbooks, letters and birthday cards we’d saved, poetry we’d written.
And Ella’s violin. And my piano.
Our music.
Our innocence. Our life.
As my shock over Gib’s past career settled into leaden acceptance, I walked a few feet away, took a deep breath, then demanded in a low voice, “Did you ever harass women and girls? Did you ever bully innocent people and confiscate everything they owned?”
“No,” he answered quietly. “I know you dealt with Treasury Department agents after your father died, and I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant, but the men and women I’ve worked with would die to protect your rights.”
“Then you didn’t work with the ones who came to see my sister and me.”
I’m sure he saw the disgust I felt. He had no nervousmannerisms except for subtle efforts to keep his disfigured hand out of sight, and now he planted the other broad, handsome hand on his left knee, as if showing me it was safely anchored there. “Be fair,” he said. “Don’t despise me on principle alone. At least let me give you good reason to despise me. Do you know what the first week in September is?”
“It’s my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary.” I watched him like an angry cat.
“That means it’s the inn’s anniversary, too. Thirty years ago your parents were our first guests.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t want to sentimentalize that history any more than you do. Your life’s been hard in the past ten years. I can see that. You’ve learned some ugly lessons. You’ve survived some bad treatment. You have a right to be suspicious of anyone who pokes around in your business. But there’s no excuse for your outright distrust when I haven’t given you any reason to distrust me.” He paused. “Unless you’re trying to prove you’re as paranoid as your father was.”
I leaned toward him furiously. He just couldn’t resist the subject of Pop. “I know your type. I don’t like you because you remind me of all the smug, patronizing, holier-than-thou minions of Uncle Sam who’ve deliberately made our lives miserable. You don’t give a damn about my wishes or my opinion. Go back to Tennessee and leave me alone.”
“I can’t fault you for defending your own daddy, but you could have honorably cooperated with the investigations, and you didn’t. You sacrificed any chance you had of going on with your classical career. You dragged your sister along on this odyssey to see how much punishment you could take while you thumbed your nose at the rest of the world.”
“How dare you judge me! You don’t know—”
“Isn’t it time to stop before your sister ends up back in a mental hospital for another round of treatment?” He paused, his eyes merciless on mine. “Yes. I’m talking about Detroit.”
I had a hard spine but a soft underside, and he kicked me where it hurt. I balled my hands into fists. He’d gotten Ella’s medical files.
“Go ahead. Hit me,” he urged in a soft tone. “You want to fight with the
Man?
The System? All right, I’ll take the rap. Let me have it. I won’t hit you back. I’m not the one who ruined your prospects. I’m not here to hurt you—or Ella.”
“Tell me what you want.”
He was silent for a few seconds, searching my eyes as if he needed to see my soul—to prove I had one. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “Your father left you a hundred thousand dollars. I’ve got it.”
I opened my mouth, shut it, tried to think, to absorb that unbelievable claim. Finally I simply pivoted and made my way to the concrete water fountain. I tracked the sluggish goldfish as if they were my own dizzy thoughts. Gib walked over and stood beside me, staring down into the algae-crusted water. “Surprise,”
Who sent moving vans and carted away every piece of furniture, every china setting and lamp and couch and chair, beds, pillows, paintings, and even the linens I had folded time and again. Our diaries, our school yearbooks, letters and birthday cards we’d saved, poetry we’d written.
And Ella’s violin. And my piano.
Our music.
Our innocence. Our life.
As my shock over Gib’s past career settled into leaden acceptance, I walked a few feet away, took a deep breath, then demanded in a low voice, “Did you ever harass women and girls? Did you ever bully innocent people and confiscate everything they owned?”
“No,” he answered quietly. “I know you dealt with Treasury Department agents after your father died, and I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant, but the men and women I’ve worked with would die to protect your rights.”
“Then you didn’t work with the ones who came to see my sister and me.”
I’m sure he saw the disgust I felt. He had no nervousmannerisms except for subtle efforts to keep his disfigured hand out of sight, and now he planted the other broad, handsome hand on his left knee, as if showing me it was safely anchored there. “Be fair,” he said. “Don’t despise me on principle alone. At least let me give you good reason to despise me. Do you know what the first week in September is?”
“It’s my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary.” I watched him like an angry cat.
“That means it’s the inn’s anniversary, too. Thirty years ago your parents were our first guests.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t want to sentimentalize that history any more than you do. Your life’s been hard in the past ten years. I can see that. You’ve learned some ugly lessons. You’ve survived some bad treatment. You have a right to be suspicious of anyone who pokes around in your business. But there’s no excuse for your outright distrust when I haven’t given you any reason to distrust me.” He paused. “Unless you’re trying to prove you’re as paranoid as your father was.”
I leaned toward him furiously. He just couldn’t resist the subject of Pop. “I know your type. I don’t like you because you remind me of all the smug, patronizing, holier-than-thou minions of Uncle Sam who’ve deliberately made our lives miserable. You don’t give a damn about my wishes or my opinion. Go back to Tennessee and leave me alone.”
“I can’t fault you for defending your own daddy, but you could have honorably cooperated with the investigations, and you didn’t. You sacrificed any chance you had of going on with your classical career. You dragged your sister along on this odyssey to see how much punishment you could take while you thumbed your nose at the rest of the world.”
“How dare you judge me! You don’t know—”
“Isn’t it time to stop before your sister ends up back in a mental hospital for another round of treatment?” He paused, his eyes merciless on mine. “Yes. I’m talking about Detroit.”
I had a hard spine but a soft underside, and he kicked me where it hurt. I balled my hands into fists. He’d gotten Ella’s medical files.
“Go ahead. Hit me,” he urged in a soft tone. “You want to fight with the
Man?
The System? All right, I’ll take the rap. Let me have it. I won’t hit you back. I’m not the one who ruined your prospects. I’m not here to hurt you—or Ella.”
“Tell me what you want.”
He was silent for a few seconds, searching my eyes as if he needed to see my soul—to prove I had one. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “Your father left you a hundred thousand dollars. I’ve got it.”
I opened my mouth, shut it, tried to think, to absorb that unbelievable claim. Finally I simply pivoted and made my way to the concrete water fountain. I tracked the sluggish goldfish as if they were my own dizzy thoughts. Gib walked over and stood beside me, staring down into the algae-crusted water. “Surprise,”
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