The Given Day (Coughlin 1)

But it didn't work --Jessie came crashing through, turning to Luther to say, "Kinda fun, huh?" and less than a second later pieces of his head went popping off and he fell to the floor. The Deacon, too, the Deacon of all people, surfaced in the wave that followed Jessie, and Luther saw him clutching at him, heard him saying, "Make this right," and his eyes bulged with the universal plea not to be extinguished, not today, as Luther shoved the gun under his chin, and those bulging eyes said I'm not ready to go. Wait.

But Luther hadn't waited. And now the Deacon was somewhere with Jessie and Luther was up here, aboveground. It took only a second for another to arrive on the same path as yours and change your life to a point it couldn't change back. One second.

"Why won't you write me, woman?" Luther whispered it to the starless sky. "You carrying my child, and I don't want him growing up without me. Don't want him knowing that feeling. No, no, girl," he whispered, "there's only you. Only you."

He lifted his brandy off the brick ledge and took a drink that singed his throat and warmed his chest and widened his eyes.

"Lila," he whispered and took another drink.

"Lila." He said it to the yellow slice of moon, to the black sky, to the smell of the night and the roofs covered in snow.

"Lila." He put it on the wind, like a fly he didn't have the heart to kill, and willed it to carry itself to Tulsa.

Luther Laurence, meet Helen Grady."

Luther shook the older woman's hand. Helen Grady had a grip as firm as Captain Coughlin's and a similar trim build, gunmetal hair, and a fearless gaze.

"She'll be working with you from here on out," the captain said. Luther nodded, noticing she wiped her hand on her pristine apron as soon as she took it back from his grip.

"Captain, sir, where's--?"

"Nora has left our employ, Luther. I noted a fondness between the two of you, and so I inform you of her dismissal with a measure of empathy for the bond you shared, but she is never to be spoken of in this home again." The captain placed a firm hand on Luther's shoulder and gave him a smile just as fi rm. "Clear?"

"Clear," Luther said.

Luther found Danny as Danny was returning to his rooming house one night. He stepped out from the building and said, "Fuck did you do?"

Danny's right hand drifted toward his coat, and then he recognized Luther. He dropped his hand.

"No 'Hi'?" Danny said. " 'Happy New Year'? Anything like that?" Luther said nothing.

"Okay." Danny shrugged. "First, this ain't the best neighborhood to be a colored in, or haven't you noticed?"

"I've been out here an hour. I noticed."

"Second," Danny said, "are you fucking crazy talking to a white man like that? A cop?"

Luther took a step back. "She was right."

"What? Who?"

"Nora. She said you were an act. You play the rebel. Play the man who says he don't believe in being called 'suh,' but now you tell me where it's okay for a nigger like me to go in this city, tell me how I's supposed to talk to your whiteness in public. Where's Nora?"

Danny held out his arms. "How do I know? Why don't you go see her at the shoe factory? You know where it is, don't you?"

" 'Cause our hours confl ict." Luther stepped to Danny, realizing people were starting to notice them. It would hardly be unreasonable for someone to whack him in the back of the head with a stick or just fl at out shoot him for stepping up to a white man like this in an Italian neighborhood. In any neighborhood.

"Why do you think I had anything to do with Nora leaving the house?"

"Because she loved you and you couldn't live with it."

"Luther, step back."

"You step back."

"Luther."

Luther cocked his head.

"I'm serious."

"You're serious? Anyone in the world looked close at that girl, they saw a whole country of pain had already paid its respects to her. And you, you--what?--you added to it? You and your whole family?"

"My family?"

"That's right."

"You don't like my family, Luther, take it up with my father." "Can't."

"Why not?"

" 'Cause I need the fucking job."

"Then I guess you should go home now. Hope you still have it in the morning."

Luther took another couple of steps back. "How's your union going?" "What?"

"Your dream of a workers brotherhood? How's that?"

Danny's face flattened, as if it had been run over. "Go home, Luther."

Luther nodded. He gulped some air. He turned and started walking.

"Hey!" Danny called.

Luther looked back at him standing by his building in the early evening cold.

"Why'd you come all the way out here? To dress down a white man in public?"

Luther shook his head. He turned to start walking again. "Hey! I asked you a question."

"Because she's better than your whole fucking family!" Luther took a bow in the middle of the sidewalk. "Got that, white boy? Go grab your noose, string me up, whatever the fuck you Yankees do up here. And you do? I'll know I died speaking truth to your fucking lie. She is better than your whole family." He pointed at Danny. "Better than you, especially."

Danny's lips moved.

Luther took a step toward him. "What? What's that?"

Danny put a hand on his doorknob. "I said you're probably right."

He turned the knob and entered his building and Luther stood alone on the steadily darkening street, raggedy Italians stabbing him with their almond eyes as they passed.

He chuckled. "Shit," he said. "I got him and his horseshit where it lived." He smiled at an angry old lady trying to slide past him. "Don't that beat all, ma'am?"

Yvette called to him soon as he entered the house. He came into the parlor with his coat still on because her voice sounded fearful.

But as he entered, he saw that she was smiling, as if she'd been touched by a divine joy.

"Luther!"

"Ma'am?" Luther used one hand to unbutton his topcoat.

She stood there, beaming. Isaiah came through the dining room and entered the parlor behind her. He said, "Evening, Luther." "Evening, Mr. Giddreaux, sir."

Isaiah wore a small private smile as he took a seat in the armchair by his teacup.

"What?" Luther said. "What?"

"Did you have a good 1918?" Isaiah said.

Luther looked away from Yvette's bursting smile and met Isaiah's tiny one. "Uh, sir, in point of fact, no, I did not have a good 1918. Bit troublesome if you need to know the truth, sir."