“I thought he would tire of the chase. I never assumed you’d give in to a man like that.”
“And just what type of man is he?” I shout, throwing my arms in the air. “A man who stands up for his friends when they need him? A man who would sacrifice his own happiness for the people he loves? Tell me, Uncle, just what kind of man do you think he is? Because right now, I don’t think you are in any position to question his honor and integrity when you have shown how lacking you are in that department.”
“Scarlett,” he rebukes, offended, acting as if I’ve just slapped him.
But I haven’t even started.
“Don’t ‘Scarlett’ me, Uncle Jack! Not when you are one of the reasons Easton and his momma fled from Asheville in the first place. Tell me, Uncle, just how Godly was it for you to tell Naomi Price not to come to church because she was making some of its members uncomfortable with her presence? Church members that have never once lifted a finger to help the community that you love, I might add. Where were they when you needed help delivering clothes and food to the underprivileged on the Southside? Or when you wanted to surprise the children in the orphanage with Christmas presents? Tell me, Uncle, who helped you with keeping the church afloat when times had gotten tough? Who made sure to support you in every philanthropic idea you came up with? Who?!”
The shame that coats my uncle’s face should be enough for me to stop, but the injustice of it all has me mad with rage.
“That woman gave more of herself in trying to make this world a better place than any person reciting your damned psalms every Sunday morning. Yet, you turned your back on her when she needed you most. When she was nothing but a victim of someone’s ill-conceived joke. Don’t stand there, acting all righteous that her son failed to follow your pathetic example. Easton and Naomi have more integrity and heart than you will ever be able to aspire to.”
I stare into his eyes until he can no longer bear my scathing glare for what he’s done. Instead of trying to console my uncle’s fallen state, I turn my back on him and go home.
He should feel ashamed.
They all should.
Because of their merciless contempt, they ended up destroying more lives than they will ever be aware of.
Chapter 28
Easton
“I can’t believe Thanksgiving is just a few days away. I was thinking we could go and see the parade. Maybe have some Chinese for dinner as we used to when you were a little kid. What do you think?” my mother asks hopefully as she fills her coffee mug.
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you want,” I reply with a fake smile.
She offers me her own fabricated version of a grin, making me bow my head to stare at my bowl of cereal instead of having to face the lie on her lips.
That’s how it’s been for the last couple of weeks since we arrived back in the city. We both put on a brave face to show each other we are okay when, in reality, we are far from it. It also doesn’t help the fact that we are living in a total dump. Sure, it might be a little better than the one-bedroom apartment in Queens we used to rent before Dick came into our lives, but not by much. Mom is adamant about not using her husband’s money any more than she absolutely needs to, so this shithole was the best she could find on such short notice and minimal funds.
“Have you talked with the boys?” she asks, taking another sip of her off-brand sludge.
I nod, incoherently mumbling while trying to swallow down as many godawful spoonfuls of this cardboard-tasting cereal as my stomach can handle.
“Are they okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. They’re all looking forward to Thanksgiving break.”
“Well, that’s nice,” she mutters, softly tapping her finger on the mug.
I curse at myself for adding that stupid remark about my friends looking forward to Thanksgiving back in Asheville. The holiday season was always one of my mom’s favorite times of the year. Not only would she be juggling a trillion charities around this time, but it was also when Dick and I tried our best to be more present at home. Thanksgiving and Christmas were always synonymous with quality family time. This year we’re a man short and stuck in an entirely different environment than the one we have been accustomed to.
“Oh, before I forget, you’ll never guess who called me yesterday,” she adds, a bit more cheerfully, gaining my full attention.
“Who?”
“Pastor Davis.”
With the mention of Scarlett’s uncle, my spoon hits the rim of the bowl a little too forcefully, chipping its side. I try to play it off by standing up from the kitchen stool to rinse my bowl in the sink, almost breaking the damn thing in the process.
“Oh, yeah? What did he want?”
“To apologize to me. He went on for almost an hour on the phone last night about how he should have never felt pressured into asking me to step down from my church duties. Least of all, request that I not attend Sunday service. He really did sound sincere in his remorse.”
“Easy to sound sincere when he doesn’t have to do anything about it anymore,” I snarl, upset that the good pastor only grew a conscience after my mom moved to another state.
“You’re right. I guess it is too little too late. But I have to admit, it felt nice. Even if it no longer matters.”
Shit.
I turn around and lean against the sink to look at my mother.
“No, Mom. You’re right. It’s never too late to admit when you’re wrong and try to make amends. If Pastor Davis reached out to you, it’s because he truly regrets his action.”
A small smile tugs at her lips, but it isn’t enough to bring the sparkle back into her eyes.
“Have you heard from Scarlett?”
I bite my tongue, drawing blood, as I pretend to look for my leather jacket just so I don’t have to lie to my mother’s face.
“Yeah, she’s all good, too.”
“Perhaps Pastor Davis’s change of heart might have been influenced by his niece. I’m sure she must miss you terribly.”
I don’t dare turn around to look at my mother, especially since I can hear the sadness in her voice.
“Easton—”
“I’m going to head out for a bit,” I interrupt before she tells me that it’s okay if I want to return back home. Like hell, I’m leaving her in the city all on her own. “I’m just going for a walk in the park and maybe check out the campus at NYU.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Be safe.”
“Love you,” I shout as I head to the door. Once I’m safely outside, I light up a cigarette and lean against the door.
“Hey, you can’t smoke in here!” our next-door neighbor reprimands when she sees the cigarette at the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumble, walking down the flight of stairs and into the busy streets of New York City.
Say what you will about the Northside, but none of those elitist assholes had the nerve to say one word about me smoking in closed spaces. If they did, they knew I’d make them swallow my lit cigarette whole. But as I walk through the hectic streets of the city I was born in, I realize I can’t pull that sort of shit here. For every short-fused motherfucker out there, there is always another with an even shorter one.