Robinson hesitated, but Jilo gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, let Daddy see how nice you look.” She tried to sound confident. Reassuring. “They aren’t going alone,” she said, this time addressing Guy. “Mr. Poole, that nice fellow from the new church over on West Broad, he’s coming to pick them up. Any moment now.”
“That fool Tinker?” Guy asked, never taking his eyes off Robinson.
“He’s a good man, Guy,” Jilo said, an odd flutter in her heart as the truth of what she said hit her. Everybody around knew they weren’t churchgoing people, but two weeks back Tinker had sent one of his employees by with a note for her, asking if she’d agree to let him take her boys to services for the holiday. She couldn’t find the heart to turn him down. “He’s no fool. Just kind.” Jilo stood and smoothed down her dress, trying to make the movement seem natural, unhurried, but still wanting to be ready to put herself between Guy and their son if need be. It only amounted to horseplay, what she’d witnessed so far, but Guy had started getting a little too rough with Robinson. Guy said it’d toughen the boy up, but Jilo had drawn a line, and she, by God, was going to see to it that Guy stayed on the safe side of it.
Guy leaned forward, turning Robinson in a circle, then flopped back against the chair. “Done been Easter three times since he was born. You’ve never worried about getting him religion before. At least not since I’ve been around.”
“This is the first year he’s old enough to understand. To remember.” Jilo stepped forward and took Robinson’s hand, pulling them both beyond striking distance. “I just want him to learn a bit of what’s decent,” she said. He’s seen enough of our kind of living. These last words went unspoken.
Robinson began tugging on her hand, trying to get her attention. When she looked down, he held up his arms to her. “Naw, baby, you’re getting too big for Mama to carry around.” He wasn’t. Not yet. Not really. But that’s what Guy had decided. He didn’t want her coddling Robinson. Turning him soft. “And I don’t want to wrinkle your nice suit.”
She looked out the door at Willy, dressed very much the same as Robinson, hovering near the end of the hall, doing his best to remain out of Guy’s line of sight. The older boy looked handsome, too, but it seemed odd to see him done up in a coat and tie. Like he was some kind of actor in costume, preparing to play a role for which he was ill-suited. With a nod, she signaled Willy to turn back and head to the kitchen. She looked at Guy. “I’m going to take him to the kitchen for a glass of milk before Mr. Poole arrives for the boys.” Guy didn’t seem to care. He didn’t respond. He just closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair.
Robinson began jabbering about one thing or another, so she led him quickly down the hall before he managed to irritate his father. The second they were far enough for Guy not to witness the act, she swept her boy into her arms.
“You’re gonna be a good boy today for Uncle Tinker aren’t you?” she asked.
Robinson clasped his hands together and nodded, a big smile on his face. “I like Tinker.” Jilo knew Tinker was in the habit of treating the boys to candy or ice cream whenever he saw them together on West Broad Street, a habit that encouraged Willy to walk Robinson by Tinker’s business more often than he otherwise would.
A part of her felt she should set a clear boundary with Tinker, but she wanted both boys to see that there were kind, decent men out there. For Robinson to emulate, and Willy, well, she was beyond lying to herself anymore about that one, for Willy to love. She didn’t want either of them to leave her home thinking all men were like the ones she’d brought into their lives. Besides, treats had grown scarce around here now that she was supporting Guy’s habits—and those of his friends—with Mother Jilo’s earnings. And all this without a proper place to meet folk, now that she could no longer welcome them into the privacy of the haint-blue room. Deciding it was better to keep work and family apart, she’d followed in her nana’s footsteps, meeting folk in Colonial Cemetery rather than at home. She’d begun to understand what would have led her nana to setting up shop there toward the end of her life. She got fewer clients than she did before, but those willing to meet right where God and all the world could see tended also to be willing to pay a heck of a lot more for her services.
Yes, Mother Jilo earned plenty for the family. Plenty more than they should’ve needed. But Guy drank away a lot of it. And he spent a lot of it “entertaining.” She wondered how much of Mother Jilo’s hard-earned cash went up Guy’s nose, or into some whore’s veins.
“I like Tinker,” her boy repeated himself when she didn’t respond. Robinson was getting to be old enough that they could hold real conversations. Jilo felt proud to see him growing, but it worried her that he’d be able to pick up on the sharp words that passed between his father’s lips.
“I like him, too,” she said, whisking him into the kitchen. ?
?But you need to show respect to your elders. You should call him Mr. Poole.”
“And that goes for you, too,” she said to Willy as she entered the kitchen.
Willy stood leaning against the counter, his neck craned toward the window, searching, Jilo surmised, for the first sign of Tinker’s arrival. “But,” Willy said, “he told us we should call him Tinker.”
“Mr. Poole is a kind and generous man. He may have said to call him Tinker, but I don’t care. You call him Mr. Poole.”
She pulled out a chair from the table and deposited Robinson into it. She took the pitcher of milk from the refrigerator and crossed to the cupboard to find a glass. “You want some?” she asked Willy, but he didn’t answer, even though she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. She turned back to see his lips all puckered tight like he’d tasted something sour. “And just what’s wrong with you? We made a deal, you wear that suit to church today, and I’ll . . .”
“How come you do it?” he said, his voice coming out hushed, his eyes darting toward the hallway.
“How come I do what?” She made her way to the table and began filling the single glass for her son.
“How come you let that man stay on here?” Willy’s words caused her to stop cold and set the pitcher down. “How come you let him treat us like he does?” His voice grew louder, almost like his courage was growing with each word spoken. “You ain’t stupid. You must know by now you can’t change him.” She raised her hands, a signal for Willy to keep quiet lest Guy overhear what he was saying, but the boy wouldn’t be hushed. “I don’t care if he hears me,” Willy said, standing tall. “I ain’t afraid of him. You shouldn’t be either,” he said, though his gaze was fixed on the kitchen’s entrance, telling her that his words were only so much bravado. “Not if there are two of us and only one of him,” he quickly added. “We can make him leave. We can go back to like it was before. Back when it was good.”
She stood there for a moment, at a loss for words. Her heart pounded with the expectation that Guy’s heavy boots would come stomping down the hall. Much to her relief, the only sound was that of Guy snoring in his throne.
“Sit,” she commanded, watching as Willy dragged out a chair, turned it around, and then slumped over its top rail. She placed her hand on the back of Robinson’s head to reassure him, then realized she was actually doing it to comfort herself. “I’m not afraid of him,” she said. She only realized it was a lie when the last word left her lips. “I love him,” she said by rote, wondering if there were still even a shade of truth to that statement. Then finally she said the one thing she knew to be true. “Remember,” she said pulling Robinson’s cheek against her hip, “he’s my son’s father. I won’t have you showing disrespect for him in front of my boy.”
Willy forced his way up from the table, leaning over it toward her. “He done disrespects himself enough in front of him. Won’t look after him. Won’t work a lick. Won’t even get up out of that old chair ’cept to grab another bottle. He ain’t the kind of man a woman like you could love. No,” Willy said, his tone softening as his eyes lowered to Robinson’s face. “I don’t believe you do. Love him, that is. You want to love him. But I don’t know why. What has he ever done for you, really?”
The young man’s words knocked the wind out of her. She reached out to brace herself against the table, nearly upsetting the half-full glass of milk that her wide-eyed Robinson hadn’t yet touched. Her lips began working long before she found the words. “He came back . . .” she said, for the first time letting herself hear the truth of her heart. “The men in my life,” she said as the image of a photo of her father, Jesse, passed before her mind’s eye, giving way to the memory of Lionel’s golden glasses glinting in the overhead light as he held her pinned to his desk. The haunted expression on Pastor Jones’s face as he confessed his delusions to her. The look in Guy’s eyes as he read the letter inviting him to leave her behind. “All of them. They’ve all let me down somehow and left me. Even the good ones who never intended to.” She raised her gaze to meet Willy’s. “Guy, he’s the only one who ever came back.”
“We’d all been better off if he hadn’t,” Willy said, and she had to wonder if he was right. His head made a quick jerk, and he hastened to the window. “Here comes Mr. Poole now.” Willy’s voice grew excited. “He’s driving his new Impala.”
Jilo went to the window and leaned to the side so that she could see the bend of the road. A shiny new Chevrolet, a metallic shade of aqua not so very different from the familiar haint blue. She knew Tinker was doing real well for himself. He’d grown his business from the one shop on West Broad to include a small grocery over on Whitaker, some blocks south of his original shop, and a gas station in Garden City. These days everything the man touched seemed to turn to gold. And every black mother with a daughter anywhere near marrying age had taken to asking him over for Sunday dinner. Certainly on Easter, he’d be able to pick and choose from a wealth of invitations, but still it was her children he had wanted to spend it with.
Excited by Willy’s enthusiasm, Robinson slid off his seat and scampered to her side. She lifted him and placed a kiss on his forehead. She shifted Robinson into Willy’s embrace, then herded the two over to the back door. “Now get out there where he can see you, before he comes knocking and bothering Guy. And you treat his new car real gentle. You hear?” She pointed at Willy. “You make sure Robinson keeps his feet off the seats.” She opened the door for them and hurried them out. “You make sure to tell Mr. Poole I thank him for his kindness,” she said, but her words might have been lost on Willy’s ears, scurrying as he was to head off Tinker.
She thought of Tinker’s warm black eyes. The desperation in them the day she’d accepted that ride from him, then deserted him by the cemetery. The day she’d arrived home to find Guy and Edwin waiting on her front porch. It had all just seemed too foolish to consider. She didn’t even know the man, and he certainly didn’t know her. With Guy she had a history. She had a child. And though she knew the kind of man Guy was, she still believed in the kind of man she knew he might one day become, if he’d get out of his own way. Yes, a part of her still loved him. A part of her always would.