After he left, Darius sat alone and played the middle passage again β slowly, the way Banks had taught him, unafraid of the pretty part. The notes rose through the old wood and the rattling windows, and for a little while, the rec room didn't feel drafty at all.
It felt like exactly where he belonged.
Chapter Three
Miles of Road
By six o'clock the little house on Alder Street smelled like ironing and rain. Tanya had come home from the hospital, pressing her good blouse at the kitchen table while rain ticked against the windows. She had worked a double β sixteen hours on her feet β and was about to turn around and work the gala's first-aid station till midnight.
Darius watched from the doorway. Her eyes were tired, but her hands were steady, and she hummed an old song Nana June used to sing while she cooked.
"You should rest," Darius said.
"Rest is for January," Tanya said. "Hand me that hanger, baby."
The old tablet on the counter lit up with a face they all knew: David Cole, forty, grinning from his truck cab, a paper cup of gas-station coffee in hand. Behind him, through the windshield, Darius could see sodium lights and falling rain. A truck stop, two states away.
"There's my people!" David said. "Look at this fancy family. Darius, is that a blazer?"
"It's Mr. Abernathy's blazer," Darius said, holding up the tablet so his dad could see the full effect.
David whistled. "Whew. You look like a young executive, son. One who borrowed his blazer from a refrigerator."
"That's what I said!" Caleb called from the living room. "The navy blue tent!"
"Don't listen to him," David said. "You look sharp. Sharp as a tack."
Tanya leaned into the frame, iron in hand. "David Cole, you better be eating something besides those gas station hot dogs."
"I had an apple," David said solemnly. "A red one. Practically a health nut over here."
"An apple you bought next to the beef jerky does not count as dinner."
"It counts as fruit." David's grin softened. "How was the shift, Tanya?"
"Busy. The usual Saturday." She didn't say more, and she didn't have to. They all knew what the ER on a Saturday meant. "How's the road?"
"Wet. I'm parked for the night β storm coming through the pass, and dispatch says wait it out." He looked at Darius. "So I get to see my boy all dressed up. Good trade."
Darius felt something loosen in his chest. His dad could do that β be two states away and still somehow in the room.
"Dad," he said, "there's going to be a Steinway there. A real one. Mr. Banks says the Harrington piano is the finest instrument in Fairview."
David nodded slowly. "Then get a good look at it, son. And remember what Mr. Banks taught you β music doesn't care about the price tag on the piano. It cares about the hands."
"That's what he always says," Darius said.
"He's a smart man. Smarter than me, and I drive a vehicle with eighteen wheels." David lifted his coffee cup. "Now, I want a full report tomorrow. Who wore what, who said what, whether the food was worth the fuss. Especially the food."
"Priorities," Tanya said dryly.
"A man's got to know."
They talked a few more minutes β Caleb's basketball game, the rain, nothing much, the way families do when talking is just holding hands across the distance. Then dispatch crackled in the background, and David had to go.
"Love you all," he said. "Darius β chin up, shoulders back. You're a Cole. That's better than any blazer."
"Love you, Dad."
The screen went dark. The kitchen was quiet except for the rain.
Tanya set down the iron and pulled Darius into a hug that smelled like steam and her lotion. "Your daddy wishes he could be here," she said. "You know that, right?"
"I know."
"He'll be at the spring concert. He already told dispatch." She held him at arm's length. "Now go get dressed. We leave in forty minutes."
Darius trudged upstairs, pulled on his good shirt and the borrowed blazer, and was wrestling with the cuffs when Caleb knocked.
Caleb stood there holding a rag and a tin of shoe polish.
"Sit," he said.
"What?"
"Sit. Feet." Caleb dropped to the floor without waiting. "Ma worked a double and she's still standing. The least we can do is not embarrass her."
His shoes were scuffed black thrift-store shoes, dull at the toes. He sat on the bed and watched his brother work β quick, practiced circles, the toes catching the lamplight.
"You learned that in ROTC?" Darius asked.
"Learned it from Dad," Caleb said. "He used to shine ours before church. Said a man can be broke but his shoes don't have to tell everybody."
They were quiet for a minute. The rain drummed on the roof. The polish smelled sharp and clean.
"Caleb," Darius said. "Were you scared? Your first time somewhere β somewhere like that?"
Caleb didn't look up. "Terrified. Eighth grade, I got invited to Tyler's birthday. His house had a pool inside. Inside, D." He buffed harder. "I spent the whole time trying to be invisible."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened. That's the thing. I went, I ate cake, I came home. The pool didn't bite me." He held up the shoe. "Other one."
Darius switched feet. "This feels bigger than a pool."
"Yeah," Caleb admitted. "Probably is." He worked the second shoe in silence, then said, quieter, "You know what Dad told me before I went to Tyler's? He said, 'Son, you don't have to be the richest kid in the room. You just have to be the kindest.' I still think about that."
Darius looked at his brother β sixteen, all elbows and attitude, shining his little brother's thrift-store shoes without being asked.
"Thanks," Darius said, his voice a little thick.
"Don't get soft on me." Caleb stood, tossed him the rag. "Wipe your face. You look like you're about to cry into Mr. Abernathy's blazer, and that thing has suffered enough."