One thing for sure: if Brent Colgate happened to get hit by a truck, Georgia would drink a toast to the truck driver.
Turning, tossing, she wished she’d taken one of the sleeping pills she’d given Little Mama. She pictured Brent now in the parsonage on Maple Street, dozing next to Daphne, congratulating himself on his ingenuity.
To Georgia, Brent Colgate seemed like a pretty good argument against the existence of God. A real God would take care of someone like Georgia, who had maybe a few moral blemishes but was basically a good person, never intentionally harmed a soul. A real God would not let a man use his good looks and God’s word and God’s pulpit to go around playing God in someone’s life.
Today, in the brightness of a Sunday morning, things didn’t seem quite as drastic as they had last night. She had drifted to sleep full of outrage, determined to find the strength to tell Brent Colgate where to stuff his list of instructions.
In the morning, she found herself slipping back into self-preservation mode.
Perhaps she could do what he demanded, after all.
If she did, Brent would let her carry on with her life. Her reputation would not be destroyed. She would not have to go around town hiding her face in shame. She would simply be adding one more layer of secrecy to all the other layers.
She heard Whizzy scratching at the door. Why didn’t he come in the doggy door? She pushed it open. “Come on in, Whiz.”
Very softly a voice said, “You alone?”
Georgia fell back with a little scream.
A thin man with close-cropped hair stood in the shadow of the deep freeze. “Georgie?”
“Brother?” Oh my God.
“Hey hey!” He shuffled into the light, trying to put his arms around her. He smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in a week.
“Don’t!” She pushed him away. “You scared the bejesus out of me! What are you doing here?”
“I got out,” Brother said.
“How in the hell…? Your parole hearing is not for six weeks.”
Whizzy charged out of the kitchen, barking and licking Brother’s ankles. Brother was bone thin, shaven-headed, so hard-looking and muscled that Georgia could have passed him on the street and not recognized him. The only thing familiar was that big gorgeous ear-to-ear grin, wide and shiny as an ear of sweet corn. He wore a fluorescent orange jumpsuit with a ripped-out square on the back.
He knelt down to pet Whizzy. “They put me in this work gang,” he said, “and yesterday they had us weed-eatin’ along I-65. By the Stuckey’s at the Letohatchee exit, you know where that is? All a sudden this eighteen-wheeler runs over this little car, I mean just totally creams this poor little Hyundai or whatever it was. Long smear down the shoulder. So while everybody was having a good look at that, I walked up to Stuckey’s. Met this girl who give me a ride to Montgomery. Cute girl. Then I called Sims Bailey to come get me. And here I am!”
“Glory hallelujah,” she said.
“You look good, Georgie. Do I smell coffee?”
Brother was the last thing Georgia needed right now, but what could she do? She let him in.
He towered over the kitchen table in his jumpsuit. “Sit down,” she said, pouring him a cup. “You’re making me nervous.”
He obeyed, with an eye on the stove. “Are you planning to bake them biscuits?”
“You’re not supposed to escape, Brother.”
“Well, duh,” he said. “Think I don’t know that?”
She started clattering pans. “You said you had a good shot at parole.”
“I was bullshitting. They were never gonna let me out.”
Georgia opened the oven to a faceful of heat. She ducked her head, slid in the biscuits, banged the door shut. Did Brother expect she’d be happy to see him? Did he think he could walk out of prison and come home and everything would be fine?
“Your timing is lousy,” she said. “As usual.”
“Sorry, Sis. When opportunity knocks… If you’d seen the way that car got demolished, you would never ride in a little car again. You got a cigarette by any chance?”
Georgia kept a pack of Marlboros in the seven-drawer highboy, but she was not about to tell him. “You can’t stay here, you know that. What about Mama and me? You want to get us arrested?”
“Yeah right,” he said. “ ’Cause I stopped by for a cup of coffee?”
“Well they could,” Georgia said. “We’d be accessories, or whatever. Aiding and abetting.”
They bickered awhile, their preferred method of communication since childhood. Brother said he planned to stay only a day or two, grab a shower, sleep, get some grub. Then hit the road for some quiet place he could wait out the heat. Georgia asked where that might be. He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t expected to escape, so he was taking it one day at a time. Probably somewhere out West.
The hall door swung open. Georgia was surprised to see Nathan not only awake and dressed, but all dressed up: white dress shirt, striped tie neatly knotted, navy slacks, shiny go-to-church shoes. All from one backpack? Georgia had assumed he’d brought only basketball clothes.
She had underrated Eugenia Jordan. Any young man who dresses for church without being asked has been very well raised.
Nathan and Brother eyed each other like members of different species. Brother said, “Who the hell are you?”
“That’s Nathan.” Georgia got bacon from the fridge. “Nathan, say hello to my brother the escaped convict.”
Brother put out his hand. Nathan shook, formally.
“Who the hell is he?” said Brother.
Georgia said, “He’s my son.” There. Now she had said it twice. It was a little easier the second time.
Brother laughed. “No shit? You got a son—and he’s black? That’s not just funny, that’s high-larious. What did Mama have to say?”
“I don’t think it’s really sunk in on her yet.”
“When the hell did you have a kid?”
“The summer after graduation.” Georgia draped the bacon in the skillet. “Remember I went to stay with that cousin in North Carolina?”
“No,” Brother said.
She shook her head. “You were always so oblivious.”
Brother turned and stuck out his hand, with a wall-to-wall grin. “Let me shake your hand again, Nathan. Welcome to the family. God help you.”
Right away Nathan liked Brother, Georgia could tell. Another good reason not to leave the boy home while she went to church. Brother had never been a positive influence on anybody.
While they ate breakfast, Georgia went to stand in front of her closet. She was trying to work up her nerve to wear the red summer dress from the big Belk’s in Mobile, with the scoop neck and sexy low back. It was a little red dress, bright red, far too revealing for church, which is why she wanted to wear it. She was thinking of the scene near the end when Rhett tells Scarlett that all her friends know she’s been shamelessly throwing herself at Ashley’s head. He forces her to wear the shocking red dress to Melly’s party, so everyone will see her for the whore she is.
And wear it she does. Defiantly, beautifully. In the end Scarlett gets the better of Rhett because she looks so damn great in that dress.
Georgia wanted Brent Colgate to see her. To see that she was not afraid of him. See his threats and call him, raise him… She should wear the red dress to show him he could never own her completely.
But standing at the closet, it occurred to her: What if he’s never seen Gone with the Wind? Seems impossible but you never know. If he hasn’t seen it, the red dress would be lost on him.
She twirled this way and that in the mirror.
It was the perfect shade of red with her coloration. Made her hair even blonder. It was not a dress for church but it made Georgia look fantastic.
She pulled off the red dress, and tried on the simple navy-striped twill dress from Belk’s.
She checked the mirror. Very attractive. She draped a string of pearls around her neck.
The red dres
s carried a message Brent might misunderstand. The navy stripe carried no message.
Perhaps it was better not to push her luck. Anyway, she looked damn good in the navy twill.
She went downstairs. “Okay, Brother, you can stay here while I go to church, but do not show your face outside this house, hear? Don’t call Sims Bailey, don’t call anybody. Just look after Mama till I get back. Promise me.”
He promised. She knew exactly how much his promise was worth. But hey, it was his hide on the line. If he got rearrested, so what? Georgia had other concerns. She would say she didn’t know he’d come home. They couldn’t charge her with being an accessory if she didn’t know he was there.
Nathan folded his napkin and stood. Georgia was touched that he woke up assuming she’d be going to church, and he’d be going with her. Walking to the car she said, “Nathan, it’s sweet of you to offer, but you don’t have to go to church with me. There’s a video arcade downtown. You want to hang out there and I’ll come pick you up when it’s over?”
He shook his head. “It’s ah-ight. I go with Mamaw every Sunday.”
She slid into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know if you’re going to be comfortable. You’d be the only black person in this church.”
He thought about it. “You don’t want me to go?”
“That’s not what I said,” she said—trapped! “You’re welcome to go. I just thought it might be more entertaining for you to play video games.”
Nathan fastened his seat belt. “I ain’t never play them things.”
“I’ve got plenty of quarters, if you want to try,” Georgia said hopefully.
“Nah, I’ll go to church with you.” What he said was “choich.” And though Georgia winced inside, she thought, yes, you may go to choich with me, Nathan. And if anyone asks about you—well, I’ll think of something.
“I knew what I was getting into,” Nathan said. “Mamaw say you the kind that never misses a Sunday.”
“Well isn’t that nice!” Georgia said. “I’m glad she thinks of me that way.”
Six Points people are nosy but maybe their Southern manners would kick in, maybe they would be too startled by the sight of a black boy at the First Baptist to ask any questions. That gave Georgia something to pray for, anyway.
She drove the long way around to keep from passing Krystal’s house. She couldn’t bear to see that For Sale sign again.
The First Baptist parking lot overflowed. Apparently every sinner in town had decided this was the day to renew his fellowship with the Lord. Or maybe it was the growing star power of Brent Colgate, Studly Pastor, that was filling the parking lot, packing the pews. Georgia drove to the far end of the lot thinking surely there would be one open space, but at last she gave up and went to park along Sycamore Street.
When Nathan got a look at all the white people flocking toward the church, he said, “Is it gonna embarrass you, if I go in there with you?”
There it was, the $64,000 question.
Georgia lied in her most cheerful voice. “Not at all. Thank you for asking, though. Let’s go in.”
For the first thirty years of her life Georgia always walked up these steps in the company of Little Mama. (Daddy, the unbeliever, slept in.) When Little Mama quit coming, Georgia came by herself. It felt distinctly strange to walk up the steps with this lanky black boy at her side.
She said hello to Steve and Mary Lou Osman. “Hey Georgia, oh my gosh what a pretty outfit!” said Mary Lou. “Love the pearls. And who have we here?”
Count on Mary Lou to just blurt out the question. She always said exactly what was on her mind.
“I’m Nathan.” He put out his hand. He shook Mary Lou’s hand, then Steve’s. They smiled at his formality.
Mary Lou said, “What a nice polite young man.”
“He’s my son,” Georgia said.
Mary Lou blinked. “Why, he looks just like you!”
Nathan burst out laughing, a little too loudly. Georgia said, “Thank you!” and kept moving. She was grateful to Mary Lou for setting a positive tone, now just get in the church with a minimum of fuss. She felt lots of eyes on her, mostly male—but weren’t there always eyes on her? She was attractive and took care with her appearance. Why wouldn’t they look? Especially since she’d brought an African American for show-and-tell!
She waved howdy to Jimmy Lee Newton, Sandie Winkler, George Thomas, Emma Day Pettigrew and her husband, Floyd—she couldn’t decide who among them did the biggest double take.
Veering in at a forty-five-degree angle was Myna Louise Myrick, who had left that unpleasant quilt message on Georgia’s answering machine. Georgia maneuvered Nathan to the left of the steps, deftly putting the crowd between Myna Louise and herself.
They stepped out of the bright hot dazzle of a south Alabama morning into the cave of the vestibule. It took a few blinks to see anything.
What Georgia saw was people sitting in her pew.
She counted pews to be sure she wasn’t imagining it. Fourth pew on the left. They must be strangers. Everyone in this church knew that had been Georgia’s spot her whole life.
From the back she didn’t recognize them—then she caught sight of the woman’s plump neck. She would have known those pink folds of skin anywhere: Brenda Hendrix.
And beside her—yes indeed, the man himself! Eugene!
He was thinner now, and pale. He had lost the front half of his hair.
And look! The four lovely daughters! Not so lovely anymore. The older two were getting fat, their hereditary tendency to piggishness overwhelming their former adorability. The younger two were still cute but headed for the same fate: you could see it in the snugness of their pinafores. This gave Georgia a kind of pleasure she knew was not right.
The Hendrixes were taking up all of Georgia’s pew except for a small space at the end. She was not about to sit with them.
Eugene and Brenda hadn’t shown their faces in this town in four years, and just by coincidence they showed up today, to plop down in Georgia’s spot?
Impossible. This did not happen by accident.
Georgia noticed that the pew behind them was open.
She put Nathan on the inside and took the aisle seat, just behind Brenda, Eugene, and the daughters. As she settled into her seat, the biggest daughter leaned over to her mother. “Can we go outside now? You said.”
Brenda Hendrix said, “Okay but just you and Kaitlyn.” The two fat ones got up and squeezed past their mother’s knees, into the aisle. The younger girls began whining, and kept it up until their mother gave in and let them go too.
Turning to follow their departure, Brenda came face-to-face with Georgia.
Brenda looked startled. Then she smiled, a satisfied little smile, and nudged her husband. Eugene turned.
When he saw Georgia, his face registered no expression—perhaps because his wife was watching him, ready to pounce.
Eugene stared at Georgia with nothing at all in his eyes. Then he tilted his head and whispered something to Brenda.
This was a setup. The Hendrixes had come to town today to sit in Georgia’s pew and show her who won. They were part of the lesson Brent Colgate had come to teach her.
Georgia’s heart sank. That hateful smile of victory on Brenda’s face told her everything. It didn’t matter whether Georgia followed the instructions in Brent’s letter or not. He wanted to humiliate her anyway.
Brent and Brenda. Cute names for brother and sister. Georgia didn’t remember Eugene mentioning a brother-in-law who was also a preacher, though she had known vaguely that Brenda came from a family of ministers. To look at Brent and Brenda, you would never guess they were related—the piggy pink woman and the handsome blond man—and here came Reverend Wonderful now, in a fancy new robe, trimmed with white racing stripes.
Brent embraced his way from the back of the sanctuary, handing out hugs to the adoring fans clustered along the center aisle. “Good morning!” he exclaimed. “Hello, Betty! Oh hey there, Cathy, how you, prai
se the Lord!”
A few rows away, he caught sight of Georgia. He smiled and gave a friendly eye squint, not quite a wink.
So handsome. Looking at him, it was hard to remember how evil he was.
Georgia turned to find Nathan already slumped in the pew, chin nearly resting on his chest. His eyes were open but he looked asleep. She nudged him.
“What,” he groaned.
“You awake?”
“Is it always this hot in here?”
Georgia liked him more every minute. “Yes. Can you believe it? Once they had a motion to get A/C but they voted it down! Have you ever heard anything so stupid?”
She made sure to be talking to him when the Reverend Colgate drew abreast of their row. She did not give him the satisfaction of turning her head. She could feel his eyes on her back.
“Hello Sister,” he boomed, reaching over with both hands to shake Brenda’s hand. “Hello Brother,” clapping Eugene on the shoulder. “So happy y’all could join us.”
He turned to Georgia. “Why Miss Georgia!” he exclaimed, as if he’d just noticed her. “Don’t you look lovely today.”
Brenda sniggered out loud.
Georgia returned his gaze without blinking. She didn’t speak. She didn’t smile.
Brent broke the stare first. He turned his back, and headed to the pulpit. Georgia had no doubt he had heard her silence.
She was thinking, I don’t know if I can do this. Not today’s ordeal—she could grit her teeth and get through it, church only lasted an hour—but the idea of week after month after year, sitting here in this pew enduring whatever silent torture Brent chose to hand out.
“Hello friends and good morning,” he said in that thrilling rumble, “is it not a wonderful morning to be alive on God’s earth? Let us raise up our voices in praise!” He motioned to Ava Jean McCall at the organ. “Everyone open your hymnals to page one ninety-seven, ‘Though Your Sins Be as Scarlet.’ ”
Georgia gave thanks she hadn’t worn the red dress.
Ava Jean played a brief introduction. A thin wavery howl arose from the congregation.
Though your sins be as scarlet,
They shall be as white as snow