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She sighed and realized she was trembling. Forcing herself to regain composure, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.” She opened the battered chifferobe that had come with the apartment and scooped out the dresses she rarely wore now that she spent most days in her nurse’s uniform. She didn’t bother to fold them neatly; she just dropped them into the case. Next went the jewelry box that held the few pieces that hadn’t disappeared over the past months. She’d pretended not to notice as one after the other went missing. It didn’t really matter whether he’d given her purloined baubles to his other women or hocked them for money. Either way they were lost to her. She tossed the box on top of the dresses and closed and secured the suitcase’s lid.
She reached under the table to pull out the shoes she’d kicked off beneath it, then sat on the edge of the bed to put them back on. She stood and tugged the case from the bed. It was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as her heart. “The rent is covered till the end of the week. You need to clear out by Friday, unless you’re prepared to pay for another.” She lifted the case and walked to the door, praying with each step he’d call out to stop her. But he didn’t. She reached out and turned the brass doorknob. She opened the door, but she paused for a moment at the threshold, staring at his broad shoulders.
He turned. “You take care of yourself,” he said.
She nodded and stepped into the hall. The damnedest thing, she realized, was that even after this, after everything he’d done, she’d go to her grave loving the man. She pulled the door closed behind her. “I’ll do that,” she said quietly. Her free hand slipped to her stomach. “I’ll take care of both of us.”
EIGHT
Jilo stood at the bus stop, forcing herself not to sob and make a scene like one of the fool women who used to wash up at her nana’s door—screaming, crying, begging Nana to help bring back the wrong man or make the right one love them. Nana would always try to talk the women out of going after a man whose heart lay elsewhere. The smart ones would return home with a bit of wisdom and with fuller pockets than the fools.
There had been two men in Jilo’s life now, and for a brief period of time with each of them, she had allowed herself to believe she was loved. Maybe they even had loved her in their own way, but they had only turned her away from her dreams and ambitions. They had only held her down. She could feel bitterness creep into her heart. What would it take to find a partner who would support her rather than belittle her and drag her down? Just once, she would like to find such a man. She shook her head. Frankly, she didn’t believe such an animal existed.
An electric sign on the storefront behind her short-circuited with a loud pop. She jumped and nearly dropped her suitcase as a spray of turquoise sparks showered down on her. She moved a couple of yards farther down the sidewalk, but she could see the bus drawing near the stop, so after casting a wary look at the now burned-out sign, she moved back to where she’d been.
She tried to shake it off, but something wasn’t right. The bus rolled to a far-too-slow stop before her, like the air around it had congealed, hindering its progress. Her own movements seemed impeded, like she was swimming in molasses. She heard another pop, but this one seemed to sound in her own head. The world returned to normal the next moment, and she found herself boarding the bus.
Jilo struggled down the bus’s narrow aisle, grasping the handle of her heavy suitcase in both hands, making sure that despite the movement of the bus, she wouldn’t jostle any of the other riders, especially the white folk near the front. A pleasant-looking man in army khakis hopped up from his seat and approached her. “Allow me to help you, ma’am.”
A part of Jilo wanted to take his head off for showing her kindness. She felt like her heart had been hollowed out with a wire brush. She was nauseated. She wanted to be left alone, and there wasn’t any place in her world for helpful hands and gracious smiles. The soldier beamed down at her as he placed one hand beneath the case, slipping the other over the hand that still clutched the handle. He tilted his head, a curious look coming to his eyes, when she didn’t release her grip.
“Thank you, I can manage.” The words came out with a sharper edge than she’d intended. At that very moment, the bus swung wide to avoid a careless pedestrian, and Jilo and her case toppled forward. The man caught hold of her shoulders and steadied her. She felt her jaw tighten and her tongue ready itself to lash out. Then she looked up into his warm eyes, so full of kindness. Unable to bear the sight of them, she lo
oked away. “Thank you,” she said again, blunting her ingratitude.
Though she did not release her hold on the case, he helped her into a seat. She set the case on the seat next to her, then—still feeling the weight of the man’s stare on her—glanced back up at him. “Thank you,” she said once again, doing her best to add a tone of finality to her words.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said, plopping down across the aisle from her. “I’m just here in Atlanta for the day,” he said, turning sideways to face her. “Just got decommissioned last week. Wanted to get out a bit while I was here to see your fair city,” he added. She stared straight forward, but it didn’t stop him from talking. “Took the train all the way from San Francisco. Got to see pretty near the whole country through the window.” He stretched the words “all the way” out. At first she thought it was an act to try and impress her, but then she cast a sideways glance at him. There was true wonder in his eyes; he wasn’t trying to impress her at all. “I thought for sure when they sent me overseas I’d end up in Korea, but one of the officers in Tokyo took a liking to me, kept me on there.” His voice lowered a bit. “Came back to the states by carrier. Not much to see between Tokyo and San Francisco, other than a bunch of water.” He leaned in toward her. “The rest, though, well, that was something to see.” His shoulders relaxed as he sat back. “This here’s the last leg of the trip. Grew up just a bit outside Darien. Catching the Greyhound home from the terminal in town tonight.”
She turned in her seat so that she could get a good look at him, and scanned his shirt for the name she knew she would find embroidered on his uniform. “Listen,” she said, “PFC Poole . . .”
“No. Not Private First Class anymore, just a regular old civilian now.”
“Mister,” her voice rose loud enough for the two elderly women sitting on the seat in front of her to turn and stare. She dropped it to a near whisper. “Poole. I do appreciate the assistance you were so kind to offer me, but I wish you would just let me finish my trip in peace.”
His face fell, and the light went out of his eyes. She felt as if she’d just kicked a puppy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be short with you, but I’m not having a very good day.”
“No,” he said, lowering his chin and his voice in the same moment. “I’m the one who’s sorry, ma’am. It’s only with your suitcase, I thought you might be heading to the bus station yourself. I’d only meant to say that I could help you there with your case if you’d like, but then my fool mouth got started going and . . .” A shy smile came to his lips. “Well, there I go again. I’ll just shut up and leave you be.” He underscored his promise by turning forward on his seat, then turning his head away and facing left out the side window.
Jilo stared at the back of his head, and while she knew she should just keep her trap shut if she wanted peace and quiet, there was something so kind and gentle about this fellow. And he’d just arrived home, maybe not from the front, but her nana would skin her alive if she knew she’d given a friendly veteran a bad time. She rolled her eyes. “The bus station is in the opposite direction. If you’re looking for the station, you’re heading the wrong way. And stop calling me ma’am.”
He turned back to look at her, his expression cautious at first, his lips pulled tight together. Then that spark returned to his eyes. “Yes, ma—” His smiled widened. “Miss.”
“And I know where Darien is. I grew up in Savannah myself.” In spite of her decision to remain aloof, she felt herself relaxing into her seat. “Came here for school,” she said, “and stayed on . . .” Her attention was drawn away as Five Points Baptist came up on the right. She turned and bent over the case that sat between her and the window. From a block away she could see that the side windows had been boarded over.
Behind her PFC—no, Mister—Poole had begun going on about something, but she held her palm out behind her to quiet him. As the bus pulled before Five Points Baptist, her heart sunk in her chest. The doors had been secured with a heavy chain and lock. She sensed someone hovering over her and glanced back to see Poole standing in the aisle, craning his neck to see what had so distracted her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to the window. “But that’s my church.” She felt a bit like she was lying. “Well it was.”
“Why they got it all shut up like that?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m on my way to the pastor’s house now.” She continued to turn in her seat so she could keep her eye on the house of worship’s receding steeple.
“You family?” Poole asked.
Jilo turned away from the window. “Family?”
“Yes, you and your pastor.”
