Melanie stepped back quickly. The whiskey that had nestled in every corner of her system, warming and comforting her, seemed to evaporate like water on an overheated woodstove. Her hands trembled and her breath caught in her throat. She went to the kitchen and punched in 911, then realized there would not be time for the police to get there. She would have to deal with the black man herself, either by confronting or ignoring him.
But if she ignored him, he would assume no one was home and perhaps break in. She closed her eyes and thought she heard a gunshot, then realized the sound was not real, that the whiskey had betrayed her and was now re-creating and amplifying memories it was supposed to protect her from.
She heard the voice of a black woman speaking from the phone receiver: “What is the nature of your emergency?”
“What did you say?” Melanie asked.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“A man is at my door. Send someone out.”
“Is he breaking in?”
“He’s a black man. I don’t know who he is. He has no business here.”
“We’ll send someone out, ma’am. Is there someone else at your house?”
“No, you won’t send somebody out. You’ll give priority to auto accidents. I know you people.”
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“What do you mean by ‘you people,’ ma’am? Do you need medical assistance? You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
“No, I don’t need medical assistance, you ignorant thing,” Melanie said. She dropped the receiver on the table, rejecting the dispatcher but not breaking the connection.
She pulled a butcher knife from one of the slits in the wood block where she kept all her sharpest knives. Then she went back to the front door and flung it open, the butcher knife concealed behind her.
The black man stood in front of her, clutching a flattened brown paper towel in both hands, like someone who had come Christmas caroling.
“Are you miz Baylor?” he asked.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Is Miss Thelma or Mr. Baylor here?”
“I asked you what you want.”
“So I guess they ain’t here. Let me read this to you, ma’am, then I’m gone.”
He positioned himself so the overhead light fell on the paper towel.
“Are you crazy?” she said.
“‘To Miss Thelma and the family of Miss Thelma,’” he read. “‘I am sorry for what I have did to her. I wasn’t always that kind of person. Or maybe I was. I am not sure. But I want to make it right even though I know it is not going to ever be right with her or anybody who was hurt like she been hurt.
“‘Andre and my brother Eddy and me was the ones who attacked her by the Desire. We done the same thing to a young girl in the Lower Nine. I want to tell her I’m sorry, too, but I cain’t find her. So if you know who she is, please tell her what I said.
“‘The night of the storm I went in your garage and stole gas. We also stole what is called “blood stones” from a man who stole them from somebody else. I hid them where the map on the bottom shows. They are yours. They won’t make up for what we done. But Eddy is ruined and Andre is dead and I think I have already lost my soul. So that’s all I got to say, except I apologize for what we done.
“‘Thank you, Bertrand Melancon.’”
She stared at him, stupefied. “You raped Thelma?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You piece of shit, you come to our house offering us blood diamonds? You goddamn piece of shit.”
“I ain’t meant to upset you.”