Dancing at The Royal Jade

At five o’clock, Uncle Dennis’s Camaro turns into the parking lot. The driver’s side window is rolled down and his arm is hanging out even though it’s sprinkling rain. I run to the car, but Mama takes her time. Usually, I sit in the front seat between them. Instead I open the back door, fling my book bag in the floorboard, and climb in. When Mama slides in the front seat, wet spots have dotted the shoulders of her outfit. Drops sparkle in her hair like glitter, pretty, if I w

Usually, Libby and Denny would chatter on about some animal or a new star the scientists had found. Not today. Together, they followed Gwen up the sidewalk, Libby sulking and still angry at her, and Denny, resolute about making this trip to Washington for the Poor People’s Campaign march. The week-long bantering to convince her little brother to go back to school instead had worn Gwen down. She had hoped he’d just drop her and Libby off at their apartment then leave.

Grant arrived with sweet and sour chicken, plenty for all four of them. Gwen ate quickly, quietly, allowing Libby to dominate the conversation then cajole Grant and Dennis into playing a game of LIFE. The two men sat with Libby cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table, the board in the middle. Gwen watched, her legs curled under her on the of the couch. She examined Grant’s handsome profile and couldn’t help but smile at the easy laughter between him and Libby.

The phone in the foyer rings, but I doubt Mama can hear it in the kitchen. I raise up on my knees and twist the volume button down on my Saturday cartoons. Then there’s a loud knock on the door. Mrs. Cosgrove yells from the other side, “It’s a man.” When Mama hears, she hurries through the living room. “Yes,” she says. “This is Gwen Billings.” A pause. “Wednesday?” Mama asks the person on the phone. She glances up and cocks her head sideways at me. “Yes . . . she was there.”

While Mama drops in her dime and dials, I stand in the open doorway of the glass phone booth caddy-cornered to Antonio’s Deli. “It’s a long story,” she tells Nate. “Libby and I are going to grab a bite downtown with Cheryl. I’ll fill you in later. . . . Okay.” She tucks her chin then cups a hand over her mouth and the receiver, but I can still hear. “Tomorrow? . . . It’s Easter. We go to Ma’s after church. . . . Okay. What time?” She turns away from me.

During the Easter sermon, Gwen’s mind kept drifting toward the afternoon with Nate. First, the family would have lunch at her parents’ house as always on a holiday. The girls would hunt eggs. Then June and her gang would be off to Nelson’s parents in Asheville, Katie and Barry would head to heaven knows where, and her father would drive Libby to the old family farm at East Fork to spend her Easter school break with Silvia, Gwen’s oldest sister. Sivvy, the gentlest and quietes

Gwen opened Ma’s refrigerator and grabbed the plate of leftovers she’d made for herself. “I’m heading out,” she called to no one in particular as she glanced at her watch. Only two-thirty. She was eager to get back to her apartment even though Nate wouldn’t get there until four. He said his grandmother Harriett wouldn’t allow a soul to leave their family Easter lunch until everyone’s bellies were filled, food put away, kitchen cleaned, and Easter eggs hidden and found.

The next morning, Gwen’s head throbbed. She wasn’t accustomed to drinking and clearly had made those two gin and tonics too strong. Before getting on the bus for work, she downed two Bayers. Only an hour later, as she settled at her desk, she considered taking two more. She rubbed her temples to ease the pain, but more to soothe her dread. If Grant made his usual Monday morning appearance, she’d need her wits about her.