Queen Sugar: A Novel (21 page)

Charley had already told Violet about spraying her crops to kill the borers, about making a fool of herself at the auction, and agreeing to take Alison on as a partner, which was working out fine so far, as long as she didn’t take his daily rants too seriously.

“You said something before about Hollywood asking you out on a date?”

“He did,” Charley said. “Well, sort of. But Ralph Angel came home and started teasing him. It was terrible.”

“Poor Hollywood,” Violet said. “He’s so sweet. A little slow, but a real sweetheart; always has been.”

“He is,” Charley said. “I’m surprised how much I enjoy his company.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first. Mother adores him. Treats him like he’s one of her own. If you ask me, I think Ralph Angel is jealous.”

“Or maybe he thinks he’s being helpful,” Charley said. “Tough love or something. It’s the strangest thing.”

Outside, beyond Violet’s low picket fence, a golf cart rolled past and the driver, an older white man in a white polo shirt and baseball cap, waved. Violet waved back. She ran her spoon across her plate and licked at the last bit of icebox cake. “If Hollywood asks you out again, what will you say?”

Charley sighed. Hollywood had looked so nervous sitting there with his hair perfectly combed and his shirt ironed—like a schoolboy on picture day—and she’d been tempted to say yes, she’d go out with him, just to put him at ease. But that would have been a mistake. He’d have gotten the wrong impression and then what? The last thing she wanted was to hurt his feelings, but she’d been relieved, actually, when Ralph Angel walked in and interrupted. If only he hadn’t started in with the teasing. Why did he always take it too far? “If I had the money, I’d pay someone to break the news that I just think of him as a friend.” Charley said.

There were plenty of things for which Charley was prepared. She was prepared for the day Micah first kissed a boy (or a girl), and for the day she’d start her period. She was prepared for the day Micah got her learner’s permit and accidentally drove through a neighbor’s yard because she mistook the gas pedal for the brake; and though she hoped it would never happen, she was prepared for the day Micah got caught shoplifting strawberry lip gloss from the five-and-dime, and, God forbid, for the day she got busted for smoking cigarettes behind the high school gym. Charley had steeled herself for conversations with Micah about sex, and considered the advice she’d offer about colleges and careers, love, marriage, and parenthood. But Charley was not prepared when, after a long day at the farm and a quick stop at the Piggly Wiggly, she pulled in front of Miss Honey’s and saw Micah standing in the yard, her Polaroid camera pointed at the sky.

“What are you doing?” Charley asked.

“I’m taking pictures of the gates of heaven,” Micah said.

“The what?”

“The gates of heaven,” Micah said. She pressed the button and the camera spat a dark square into her hand.

“May I see?” Micah handed her the square on which a fuzzy pronged circle of gold and white light appeared against a backdrop of sky the color of bleached driftwood, and Charley was flushed with a sinking sensation. “Exactly where did you get the idea you could take pictures of heaven?”

“Miss Honey,” Micah said. “She always talks about God, how he washes us clean. How he always answers our prayers. She says after we die, God is waiting for us at the gates.”

“I think that’s Peter at the gates,” Charley said, grimly. “Or Samson. One or the other.”

“It’s what she says.”

Charley looked into Micah’s face, which was so open, so hopeful and filled with innocence it was all she could do not to turn away. “Sweetheart,” Charley said in her most patient voice, “I know you’re curious about God, but those aren’t the gates of heaven.”

“They are.” Micah pressed her finger to the photo. “You aren’t looking at it right.”

“I’m looking,” Charley said. She studied the photograph closely, then handed it back, but when Micah aimed her camera at the sky again, something within Charley flared. “That’s enough.”

“Just a few more,” Micah said, twirling away. She snapped another picture, quickly, and another. And another.

Ten pictures lay spread across the top porch step before Micah put down the camera.

“And you can really see the gates of heaven in all of them?” Charley asked, seated now and not reaching for the camera any longer, because the last time she tried to grab something from Micah, she wound up on her hands and knees, crawling through a cane field. She wanted to make sure she understood exactly what Micah believed she saw so that when she spoke to Miss Honey, she could thank her for exposing Micah to God, and could suggest, as delicately as possible, that a little faith was fine, Lord knew she could use some herself, but that religion was like vitamin A: a little bit every day was good, but too much left you sweaty and unable to see straight.

“Yeah,” Micah said. “That’s what I showed you.” She knelt on the step a few inches from where Charley sat, but didn’t look at her as she gathered the pictures into a stack, carefully aligning the corners like a deck of cards.

“What are you going to do with them now?” Charley asked, remembering how, as a kid, she was never good at cards or any other game for that matter, not Monopoly or Sorry or even Clue. She did play the Game of Life once, though, at her friend Carolyn’s house. Carolyn Brewster, with hair the color of corn silk and eyes blue as a baby doll’s. They spread the board on the shag carpet in the living room, and she’d especially loved the tiny pink and blue “people” pegs tucked into the little plastic cars, how the twisting roads promised as much misfortune as triumph, how a spin of fate’s wheel could set your make-believe grown-up life in motion, like a ship launched from a dock.

Micah responded to Charley’s question with a half shrug, a gesture Charley found off-putting and slightly disrespectful, but she decided to ignore it. One day, months or even years from now, she’d find the pictures under the couch or scattered along the bottom of an old shoe box with other artifacts of Micah’s youth, and she’d look back on these moments and wonder why she wasted so much time and energy worrying.

And so Charley decided to take a different approach. “Well then, let’s get sno-cones,” she said, even though she had just bought two boxes of Moon Pies at the market, and saw what they put on sno-cones: not just the usual assortment of artificially flavored syrups, but condensed milk, of all things.

“Can we?” Micah asked, unable to mask her surprise. “Right now?”

“Why not?” Charley said. “Take these groceries inside. We’ll unpack them when we get back.” She handed Micah a grocery bag. “And put some shoes on,” she called, as Micah disappeared into the house.

While Charley waited for Micah to change, she poked around Micah’s garden, where the first sprigs of carrots with leaves like the lace on baby’s bonnets were just poking through the soil, and pea blossoms, fragile as tiny fairy hats unfurled against the fence. And walking up and down the rows now, Charley’s heart broke even as it leaped, because Micah had done all the work without her help. Soon enough, Charley thought, even the garden would be forgotten as Micah’s interest turned to boys and dating, and college after that. Up and out and on her own. Time moved too fast. Charley stared at the garden again. Time moved too fast and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

•   •   •

The late-afternoon sun lingered as though it were enjoying, far too much, shining its golden light over rooftops and warming the country roads to give way to evening, and Charley wandered about the garden, gathering up Micah’s tools and empty seed packets, recoiling the hose, until she heard the screen door slam and walked to the corner of the house, thinking she’d meet Micah on the walkway. Only it was Ralph Angel and not Micah who’d stepped out onto the porch in his T-shirt and sweats, his hand raised against the afternoon sunlight, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Hello, Ralph Angel.” Charley spoke politely but cautiously. She hadn’t been in the mood for too much conversation since he teased Hollywood for asking her out.

“Hey.” Ralph Angel yawned and stretched. “Micah said you were out here. But it’s what—five thirty? You don’t normally roll in here till after six.”

“We finished early for once,” Charley said. Privately, she was glad when Alison said the preschool called, one of his grandsons was sick, he needed to leave by three, and Denton had suggested they call it a day. The fields were looking good. The cane had grown another notch, which meant that it was almost as high as it needed to be for this time of year, and they’d nearly finished making minor repairs to the equipment they bought at the auction. But since Ralph Angel seemed to be in a good mood, she let her guard down. “I would have been home sooner, but LeBlanc’s light was on, so I picked up a loaf,” Charley said. “I bought some ginger cakes, too, if you want one. I told Micah to put them on the counter.”

“Good to know,” Ralph Angel said. He leaned against the porch rail and surveyed the garden. “’Da had a garden when I was coming up, but I always hated yard work. Too hard.”

“Hard work builds character,” Charley said, picking up a shovel Micah had left facedown in the grass.

“Maybe, but this here is plain old manual labor, which doesn’t build anything but an aching back. Thanks, but no thanks. That’s why I was an engineering major.”

“What kind of work do you do, exactly?”

Ralph Angel seemed to hesitate. “Actually, I’m out of work at the moment, but my last gig was for the Department of Water and Power.”

“Like designing power grids and reclamation facilities?” Charley asked, thinking maybe she’d underestimated him.

“Reading meters,” Ralph Angel said. “But it’s more technical than you think. Have to be extremely precise or customers complain.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Sort of hoping you’d made a decision about me working on the farm.”

But for the cereal bowls he often left in the sink or his sweat jacket she noticed slung across the back of a kitchen chair, Charley had almost forgotten Ralph Angel was around.

“Here’s the thing—” Charley began, but then, thankfully, the screen door slammed again and Micah, and then Blue, holding a small action figure, stood on the top step. Micah took the camera from around her neck and slipped it over Blue’s, helped him point it at the sky. He pressed the button and smiled as the camera churned a dark square into his hand.

“Now blow on it,” Micah said.

“Micah, we need to go,” Charley said.

“Those aren’t the gates of heaven,” Blue said, disappointment leaking into his tone. “That’s a tiger’s eye.” And just like that, he and Micah were bickering like they’d known each other all their lives.

“Hey, now. Cool it, you two.” Ralph Angel’s voice was like a firm hand on the napes of their necks. “Here, let me see that thing.” He studied the photo, asked Blue what he saw, and when Blue said he saw the tiger’s whole body now, Ralph Angel laughed, and Charley laughed too, because wasn’t it just like a kid to let his imagination run wild? “Now, show me those gates of heaven.” He held the picture while Micah explained.

Charley tucked her keys back in her pocket as she watched Ralph Angel with the children. She thought he looked like a regular father playing with his kids on a Saturday afternoon, was impressed when he managed, somehow, to convince them the Polaroid could be both things, and no one cried or pouted or ran into the house.

“Uncle Ralph Angel has memorized the whole Bible,” Micah said. She yanked his arm. “Say that thing about clean hands.”

“What’s this?” Charley said.

“Your daughter’s overstating things,” Ralph Angel said, looking sheepish. “The other day I told her I used to memorize Bible verses for Sunday school.”

“Whatever,” Micah said. “Just say it again, so Mom can hear.”

“Okay. But one time and that’s it.” Ralph Angel took a breath, closed his eyes. “‘Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.’ Psalm twenty-four, verses three through five.”

Micah and Blue clapped, and Charley clapped too. “Impressive,” she said. “I didn’t make you out for the religious type.”

“Yeah, well. The Lord and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but some things are just hardwired, you know? ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.’ Ephesians, chapter two, verse eight.”

“Nice,” Charley said, and meant it.

“Say another one,” Blue demanded.

“That’s enough.” Ralph Angel handed Micah the stack of Polaroids. “Your mother’s ready to go.”

Micah turned to Charley. “Can Blue come with us?”

Charley hesitated. She had talked to Ralph Angel more in the last ten minutes than she had in the last three weeks. She looked at him. “It’s fine with me.”

Ralph Angel reached for his wallet. “Uh—well, buddy, let’s see.”

Charley didn’t want Blue to see his father fumble with his flimsy billfold. She didn’t want Blue to see his father finger the two measly singles and grab for the smeared scraps of paper that fell into the grass, not that there was anything wrong with being broke, but she didn’t want Blue to understand that Ralph Angel was broke in a particular and humiliating kind of way.

“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s my treat.”

•   •   •

The John Deere 3510 sugarcane harvester was designed for comfort and convenience with its forward-tilting cab and pressurized ClimaTrak temperature control that provided a dust-free environment, its air suspension driver’s seat and optional DVD player with surround sound speakers. Lying on her bed that evening, Charley stared at the machine’s picture featured in a two-page catalog spread with the same rush of desire as a high school boy staring at his first
Playboy
centerfold. All those hoses, gears, and bright green paint, Charley thought. Who knew a piece of farm equipment could be that sexy? She was reviewing the safety features for the second time when Ralph Angel knocked on her open door.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said when she startled. “You busy?” He stood awkwardly, just over the threshold.

“Just reading.” Charley invited him in, aware that she was sitting on the bed that should have been his.

Ralph Angel stepped into the room. He looked around, brushed dust off the lampshade, and drummed his fingers on the headboard. Charley expected him to say something about the way she’d maintained the room, but he didn’t.

Instead, he laughed nervously. “Weird, you know. Never thought I’d be back here again.” He drifted over to the dresser, lifted Micah’s T-shirt off
The Cane Cutter.
“Something tells me you didn’t get this at Walmart.”

“It belonged to Dad.”