C A T C H 22 |BWWM|

Ch. 17 • Family Secrets

Jackson, MS. November 1943
Next Monday, 4:00 pm

Deen

"Glad you could finally make it, Riveras. The pleasure is all mine."

The way our names slid off of Grace's dad's—Mr. Brooke's—tongue sounded so sickening. I watched as he opened the door further and excepted my dad and me who were on his doorstep. Not wanting to be here in the first place, I watched my surroundings carefully.

"Oh don't just stand there, Rivera, come in. You looking a bit jumpy huh? Like a fly on a hot stove." Mr. Brooke laughed.

We walked in, my dad first. It wasn't as if I was completely disabled. The swelling on my face had decreased, my arms and legs a little bruised, and my mid-section was just a tad sore. Though my mama was acting as if I was a newborn.

The house was empty and Grace's dad offered us a seat at the kitchen table. Fetching us a glass of water, he sat smiling like a lunatic.

"Let's cut the bullshit, Mr. Brooke," Dad said.

Grace's dad raised an eyebrow. "Let's?"

"It's come to my attention that you find it okay to lay hands on my son because he doesn't live by your rules. Let me tell–"

"No, let me tell you. You're son's been 'round here just disrespecting me and everyone else around him."

"If I had a problem with the way my son was living then I would confront him. That gives you no damn right to do what you did. And when I give you a piece of my mind I can promise you won't be able to even move. You son of a bit–"

I placed a hand of my dad's knee for him to calm down. I could obviously tell he was getting worked up. More than usual.

"Just because he didn't want your daughter," Dad continued. "Y'know everyone doesn't want her, you shouldn't even be wanting your daughter to have this kind of attention anyway."

Grace's dad smirked. The I-know-something-dangerous look.

"Did you know your little son has been hanging around some negroes?"

The word was bitter and made me clench my jaw tightly. The room felt tight and stuffy to the point that I had to tell myself to breathe. I didn't need to black out like last time. Everything was weird about that situation.

"Frankly, I don't care who my son is around as long as they're safe."

"Who cares about those negroes?"

"I care about my son more," Dad said.

"Well since your son wants to be a nigger-lover then I'll treat him like one."

My hands soon turned into tight, angry fist. "You have no right to come for my life just because your's is full of shit and nobody even cares about you. Your wife is out here cheating on you—don't ask me how I know, and your daughter doesn't look too happy either. Sad. Your life is sad and you don't deserve to be here, and to be hurting these people."

The room was quite quiet and I could feel the tension rise. My dad pushed back in his chair and I could tell he was about to stir something up. But before anything, I heard something. The stairs creaking quietly to the right of me. 

From behind the white painted wall, peeking out a tiny little girl—nobody saw her but me. I had to blink twice. She was so. . . Familiar. Her hair, to her eyes, and the smile. That smile. For some reason, the room that once felt tight slowly started releasing.