The room is large and smells like fresh pine trees. Dean O'Connell's sitting across from Judy at the end of his long desk, her back to the doors. The walls are dark green with black borders, and the floor is mahogany wood.
"What were you doing in a male dormitory, Miss. Jefferson," he asks, and she narrows her eyes in thought.
I just told him that two male students tried to assault me and another in a dark suit grabbed me, yet, that's what caught his attention? No wonder Mary was crying.
"It was raining, my mom told me that my dad died, and I needed a friend; that's all," she says, and her voice gradually shifts from meek to assertive. "I'm sorry that I was basically left with no other option when the sorority housemother told me I couldn't stay in her building for the night to wait out the storm."
"Ms. Roberts told you to go to the Psi Phi building. Is that what you're telling me?" Judith does not respond, and they exchange a silent stare for a second. Dean O'Connell scoffs and shakes his head incredulously. "She would never say that because for her to encourage moral turpitude would mean that she no longer wants her job."
"Moral turpitude? What's so morally questionable about me going to a friend for consolation? If anything, what was done as soon as I stepped in would be," she says, her voice trembling and high-pitched with surprise. "But who cares why I was in there? Are you going to do something or not?"
"Nothing can be done." He crosses his arms as she stares at him with her lips agape. "It's their word against yours. 'Negro girl sneaks into a fraternity and after engaging in - a rendezvous with five to ten male residents, she claims assault.' Does that sound like the story you want over your head for the rest of your life?"
"No," Judith mumbles. The silence in the room is broken by the clock's ticking above the doors, and she can feel her throat contracting.
"I didn't think so. As for David Cambridge, he was dealt with, and at this point, there's nothing more he can do to you; the boy is crippled," he reminds her. "Is there anything else that you'd like to tell me?"
"Just to be clear," she begins, her tongue and throat dry. "You're not gonna do anything?"
"Would you like me to expel you for trespassing and moral turpitude," he asks sarcastically, and she quietly stares at him. He shrugs nonchalantly, and she stands to her feet to look down at him.
Dean O'Connell watches Judith walk between the two chairs in front of his desk on her way to the exit.
Her heart is racing, and her hands are trembling. She shoves the door to her left open, and her gaze falls on where Jerome was sitting; he's gone. She continues down the hall, her breathing becoming ragged and her eyes welling up with tears.
Judith rushes down the flight of stairs and past the crowd polluting the first floor. She reaches the exit just as Jerome thrusts it open with her bookbag over his shoulders.
She pants and gasps in front of him, causing him to look at her with confusion and worry. He takes her hands in his and leads her outside, but when the doors close behind her, she yanks her arms away.
"Judy, what's wrong," he softly asks as she looks around. She's hyperventilating, and her face is turning red.
"He accused me of moral turpitude," she tells him, and Jerome knits his brows inward.
"Moral turpitude," he repeats questioningly.
"He basically called me a whore," Judith yells, echoing down the quads. As a blond couple dressed in autumn colors approaches from behind her, he takes Judith's right hand and leads her away from the door. "My life fucking sucks. I'm dropping out, and I'm done with everything."
"Judith, you're not dropping out because of this," he tells her as the white couple enters the building. Judith's eyes grow wide, and her tears slip down her cheeks.
"What else can I do? I did what you told me; I went to that asshole for help, and what good did that do? I was better off pretending it never happened instead of being accused of indecency," she yells, and a vein forms on the side of her neck that catches his attention.
Jerome sighs in frustration and opens his mouth to speak, but she wails. He notices her covering her face with her hands and pulls her in for a hug. She rests her palms on his chest and her right cheek between them, her eyes closed and tears streaming down her flushed face.
"It'll be okay." He gently strokes the back of her head over her soiled and damaged bandage. "If you want, we can protest when you get back. Just say the word, and I'll rally a few other people for you."
"I'm not a hippie," she tells him through her cries, and he chuckles dryly.
"You don't have to be one to want change. Dr. King marched, and he wasn't one," he informs her though his tone is full of uncertainty.
"Yeah, and what good did it do?" She leans back and gazes at him. "A decade later, and shit hasn't changed."
"Uh, we don't have to sit at the back of the bus or go around the back of buildings. I could take you to a restaurant and not have to worry about rednecks or signs saying we're not allowed," he reminds her. She gradually stops crying as he speaks. "Maybe he didn't get a chance to fully change America, but in my opinion, that's a big deal."
"I suppose you're right. Do you really think I could be like him," she asks, and he nods. To calm down, Judith takes a deep, shaky breath. Jerome caresses her back.
"I think you could be whatever you wanted to be in this life, and if a civil rights activist is on the list, I'm supporting you ten thousand percent." Judith hugs him with her arms around his torso and her right cheek under his chest. He wraps his arms around her and places his chin on top of her head.
"Hey, Judy!" They look to Jerome's left and see Robert and Mary climbing the hill. He's dressed casually in blue jeans and a red and orange striped shirt. "I've been waiting for what feels like an hour. You coming or not?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry," she says. Judith and Jerome exchange glances. "Um, I'll see you in the student lounge next week. Can we do it on Tuesday?"
"Not really. I have to help my Mom with something, but how's Wednesday," he asks, and she shakes her head. Mary tosses hers back from annoyance. "Friday?"
"For fuck sake, just get his number, Judy," she chimes in and earns a glance from the trio. Judith and Jerome look at each other again, and she gives him a nervous smile.
"Get your bag, and I'll write it down for you," he tells her as he lifts the straps off of his shoulders. He hoists it into his hands between them when she takes a step back, and the zipper is half-closed.
She takes it into her trembling hands, and it slips between her arms onto the ground. Judith's pencils trickle out of the hole along with her bottle of Ipecac, and they look at her with concern after they notice it.
***
In Robert's Volkswagen, the only sound is the rumble of the wheels and motor. He's got his hands on the brown wheel, periodically looking at her. Her bag is on her lap, and her gaze is fixed on the windshield.
"Do you want to talk about it," he asks, and she closes her eyes and exhales deeply. "I won't judge you."
"I get sick easily, Robbie, so it helps me vomit when I can't on my own," she lies, her gaze locked on him, and he nods, his eyes on the road. "Shouldn't you be worrying about Stacey? Mom told me what happened; I know she's pregnant."
"Stacey's fine. Thank you for asking," he sarcastically says, and she rolls her eyes. "So are Cynthia and Charles. They've been asking about their auntie Judith all day."
"Do they know - about - you know?" He takes his lower lip between his teeth and takes a deep breath.
"I told them that Grandpa Walter's in heaven with their sister Diana. They're only five, so I don't know how to explain what happened," he claims. Diana is his stillborn child, and he hasn't fully recovered from her loss. Because The Wiz caused Stacey to go into labor, she was named after Diana Ross. "I don't even understand what happened. I mean, I was just there, just talking to him and you and Sheryl."
"I know. It feels like it happened so suddenly," Judy says in a low voice. "We were talking yesterday morning, and he was gonna take me to Dairy Queen, I think he said. He wanted to talk to me about everything and actually listen to me. It's like - God takes those that actually care about you, and he leaves you with the ones who would let you starve to death if the time came. It's not fair."
"I'm sorry, Jude." She shakes her head and looks through her window. "If it helps, I haven't gotten much sleep last night. Your sister's been as distressed as me, and I'm worried her melancholy will attach onto the baby."
"She can't be that far along," Judith says. "She'd have to be maybe four or five months in before the baby can feed on her emotions."
"Yeah, I know. She's due toward the end of the month." She narrows her eyes in thought then widens them when she realizes.
***
Judith thunders through her front door, her bookbag swishing behind her, and upon entering the house, she's greeted with jovial laughter and the smell of barbecue chicken. Stacey is sitting on the sofa, bare feet up, back to the door, holding a cup of Folgers. She has a well-manicured afro and a sky-blue summer dress.
She rushes over to her laughing sister, and when Stacey sees her, her laughter fades to a smile that isn't reciprocated. Judith's fists are balled at her sides, and her face is scrunched.
"Hey, Judy," she says hesitantly. Judith hears her mother laughing and talking to someone in the kitchen, but she remains focused on her older sister.
"Why didn't you tell me," she asks, and Stacey lifts a brow. "You know what your doctor said. You know how dangerous it is to have another baby, yet, you're ignoring everything and everyone! You're so fucking selfish!"
"Stop all that cussing in my house," Sheryl yells. Stacey and Judith stare at each other, ignoring the footsteps approaching. Robbie steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind himself.
"I've been mourning Dad's parents, and before I can get over them, I lost him," she informs her, and Stacey's gaze softens. "I hate you. You're always doing what you want instead of thinking about everyone else. Mom just lost her husband, for Christ's sake!"
"Don't take your anger out on me, Judith." When Stacey notices her husband standing behind the television, she faces him. "Robbie, say something."
Under the arch, a grey-haired man with a beer belly stands and watches them. He's dressed casually, with a lime-colored button-up tucked into dark brown slacks and a golf cap on his head.
"Nuh-uh! I'm not getting involved. She chewed me out the whole ride, so now," he cuts himself off to walk toward the kitchen, but he focuses his eyes on them. "It's your turn."
"What's happenin', young blood," the old man asks, extending his left hand, and Robert chuckles awkwardly as he tentatively places his hand in his. They shake hands, but Robert's body tenses as if he's about to be punched in the stomach, and the older man looks at their hands with contempt. "Now, why in hell are you shaking my hand like that? Do I have to show you how men do it, Michael?"
Judith and Stacey's gazes are drawn to the two beneath the arch, their stomachs sinking at the mention of their brother's name.