The Calm Before the Storm (the sequel to "Save the Best for Last")

"Speaking truth to power means believing deeply in what you say and fighting every day to have that heard. It may not be popular; it means taking a risk, it means standing for something." (Shari Runner, Interim President & CEO, Chicago Urban League)

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DWAYNE: At the police station early the next morning, one of the subordinate officers came back to my desk. They saluted me; I saluted back and noticed that they looked a bit uncertain as they spoke to me: “Sir? There are two men outside the station who'd like to speak with you.”

“Did they identify themselves?” I asked.

The officer nodded. “Earl and Junior Drummond.”

My eyebrows rose. “There's hope for humanity yet. I'm guessing that they're turning themselves in?”

The officer shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Did they say why they wanted to talk with me?” I asked.

The officer shook her head again. “They want it to be strictly confidential. Just between the three of you.”

I sighed. “All right. Thank you for notifying me. Dismissed.”

---------

Outside the station, the two men were waiting, hands in their faded jeans pockets. They were sober today. A huge improvement over last night at the orchard.

I asked them, “What's on your minds, gentlemen?”

They didn't deserve the courtesy, but sometimes it's hard to avoid being courteous, even towards people like them. Besides, my parents had always said being courteous even with people you don't like often helps solve problems that might only get worse if you're just rude to them.

“It's about our older brother,” Earl said.

“Is there a reason why you'd rather discuss it out here?” I asked him.

Early nodded and glanced at Junior. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

“You tell 'im,” Junior said. “If Caleb or Granma asks, I can say I had nothing to do with it.”

Earl rolled his eyes and sighed. “Sir, we know that we shouldn't have broken probation yesterday like we did. We're hoping that maybe we can offer some help that will make up for it.”

“That entirely depends on what you have to offer,” I said. “This won't be off-the-record, however. I can't guarantee what Judge Haynes will decide to do about it after I tell him.”

Earl nodded. “First: we didn't know we'd be going to that orchard last night until we got there. If we'd known ahead of time that that was what Caleb had planned to do all along, we wouldn't have gone with him at all. But he assured us that everything would be all right. Even when he put a pistol on the floor of the car, in front of the driver's seat.”

“Go on,” I said.

“You see, the idea was to keep the two families separate,” Earl said.

“The Ngomas and the Jacksons, you mean,” I said.

Earl nodded again. “We knew that they were friends. Not how good, though. Maybe if we kept them apart, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.”

“Is this Caleb's reasoning or yours?” I asked.

“Caleb's, Granma's … and the Pruetts',” Earl said.

Judge Hayne's worries about Quentin's situation in Dandridge were beginning to make more sense now. Especially if you and/or your parents had to live in the time when “separate but equal” and “whites only” were commonly used phrases (not just verbally, but also on signs in windows). Haynes had said that the road forward might be a bit bumpy at times. A bit bumpy? More like an unpaved road in a busy construction site crossed with cobblestones.

“And you're willing to stick your necks out in defense of the Ngomas and Jacksons?” I asked. “That seems rather atypical for members of your family.”

“Not all of us are like Caleb and Granma,” Junior put in. “We might keep our mouths shut, but that doesn't mean we always agree with 'em.”

“Does any of this have to do with the fire at the Jacksons' house?” I asked. “Or was that simply old, faulty wiring, as the fire chief thought?”

“About that, sir,” Earl said. “Um … it wasn't supposed to happen the way that it did. You see, it was supposed to happen at the Ngomas' house, not at the Jacksons' house.”

“Oh?” I asked. “But why did it happen the way it did?”

“Because the person responsible changed their mind,” Earl said.

“And who, pray tell, might that be?” I asked.

“Solomon Jackson,” Earl said.

It had come from a direction I hadn't even remotely expected. Sol? Sol is involved in this? What in the world had that boy gotten himself involved in? And was there any way, legal or otherwise, to get him out of it?

“You aren't just choosing him so that you can make him a scapegoat, I hope,” I said.

“No, sir,” Earl said.

“And why did he agree to get involved, even if he didn't correctly follow the plan?” I asked.

Earl and Junior looked at each other for several moments, saying nothing.

“I'm sorry,” I said, “but unless you answer my question, I will just consider everything you've told me this morning as no more accurate or useful than gossip.”

“Sol was supposed to set fire to the Ngomas' house,” Earl said.

“And what would've happened next?” I asked. “If they survived the fire, they would've had to have moved somewhere until they had a new place to live in. If they didn't survive the fire, then Sol would've been arrested and charged with murder and arson, and you three would've been charged as accessories. Aiding and abetting.”

They said nothing again.

“You've already broken probation,” I said. “And that was for something far more minor than … than this. And you were willing to threaten the Ngomas' lives? Why? Because they're black and you thought that was wrong and they needed to be dealt with?” I stared at them. “Don't you understand what the consequences are yet? You can't be that ignorant. Or maybe you can be. The Drummond family hasn't exactly been known for using their brains for anything useful until today.” I tried not to laugh, though there really wasn't much to laugh about.

I shook my head and went on: “I knew your dad, by the way. He made me look like an angel in comparison, and, trust me, I wasn't the nicest kid in elementary school. Not by a long shot. The last time I checked, he's still in the state penitentiary. Multiple counts of armed robbery, attempted rape, and attempted murder. Drunk behind the wheel, he rammed his pickup truck into a gas station pump and the pump nearly exploded, destroying not just the island it was standing on but the pickup truck and your dad as well. Rather than trying to at least put out the fire, he fled the burning pickup truck and tried to rob the gas station's market building. There was a female clerk on duty. He pulled a gun on her. I guess I don't need to tell you what happened next; he tried to rape her. In self-defense, she managed to press the emergency button under the counter. Not so much because of the gun being pointed at her and almost being raped, but because of the fire at the gas station pump. She had more sense in her head and more backbone in her pinky than your dad had in his entire body. When the pump did explode, she had ducked down, and your dad was crouched next to her, his gun pressed into her belly. Even then, he could've fled and maybe saved himself. But instead, he stayed. Probably thought he'd get away with it all. Idiot. Complete idiot. Good thing the fire truck came when it did and put out the spreading fire or things might've gotten even worse. The police arrived next – my dad was one of them – and they arrested him. While he was cuffed, they tested his blood-alcohol level. It was four times the legal limit. He tried to get away then. Bad idea. He kicked my dad in the crotch. Despite the pain, my dad didn't lose his temper. He ordered the other officers to put your dad in the back of the police car, while my dad was leaning on the market counter, his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain.”

I sighed. “If that's what you want to grow up to be, then I have no sympathy for you. Or any pity. But if you'd rather make something positive of yourselves, I can give you some suggestions that might lead in the right direction.”

“Then you believe me?” Earl asked.

“Not until I speak with Solomon Jackson,” I replied. “If he corroborates what you told me this morning, then, yes, I'll believe you. But not until then.”

“Yes, sir,” Earl said and Junior echoed him.

“Is there anything else?” I asked them.

They shook their heads.

“Then either get out of here or you can join your brother in his jail cell here at the station,” I said. “The choice is yours.”

They stared at me. “You're letting us go?”

“Just for the time being,” I said. “But don't be surprised if you're subpoenaed and have to give an official statement in court. Which might happen sooner than you expect it to. In the meantime, keep your noses clean. Do anything even more stupid than you did yesterday, and you'll wish you were already in jail with your brother.”

They nodded, turned, and ran.

I sighed heavily, went back inside the police station, and sat down behind my desk.

One of the officers approached. “You didn't arrest them, sir?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Hopefully, I scared them enough to force them to decide which side they'd rather be on. The side of law and justice, or their brother's side.”

“You don't think that they're a flight risk?” the officer asked.

“With what money?” I replied. “Their family is one of the poorest in Dandridge. The only flying they could afford is if they stood on a roof, then leapt off, flapping their arms.”

“What should we do in the meantime, then?” the officer asked.

“Enjoy the calm before the storm,” I said. “I need to contact Sharon Jackson at the Ngomas' house.”

“Anything else?” the officer asked.

“And if you can get me a mug of decent coffee with cream and sugar in it, that would be great,” I said as I picked up a Dandridge phone directory, found the Ngomas' phone number, and dialed it. “Also, please call the high school and ask for someone to find Solomon Jackson and have him driven here as soon as possible.” Thankfully, the high school was about half a dozen blocks away from the police station.

I sighed. Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed. Why did today have to be one of those days?

I heard the ringing sound in the phone's speaker. Once, twice, three times, and then someone answered it.

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SUNNY: I was sitting at the kitchen table, talking with Cat. It had been a fairly quiet morning once my three kids had gotten on the school bus and headed off to school for the day. Cat and I were drinking coffee and chatting about relatively minor things. And then the phone in Quentin's home office rang. And rang. I got up, but Cat shook her head and ran to the home office. The ringing stopped. I heard Cat's voice, muffled, saw her nod a few times.

“Yes, I'll get her,” Cat said clearly. “She's right here, actually.” And handed the phone to me.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Ms. Jackson?” a male voice asked. “This is Officer Edmonds at the downtown police station.”

“What I can do for you, sir?” I asked. “And may I ask what this is in reference to?”

“You're not in trouble if that's what you were wondering,” Officer Edmonds said. “It's about your son Solomon.”

I just stood there like a statue, not seeing anything, not sure what to say.

“Ma'am?” the officer prompted. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “What about Sol?”

“I'm afraid he's in a bit of trouble,” the officer explained. “It has to do with that fire at your house.”

“He wouldn't set fire to his own home,” I said.

“It was apparently either that or setting fire to another house,” the officer said. “The one you're currently living in.”

I tried to sit down and almost missed the chair I meant to sit in. Cat caught both the chair and myself in time and guided me until I sat down safe and sound. I thanked her.

“I'm not sure I understand,” I said. “Why would he want to burn anyone's house? He's a good boy. Much like his father was.”

I heard the sound of a door opening in the background. I heard a familiar voice speaking to the officer, though I didn't know what was said.

“Perhaps he should explain it to you himself,” the officer said. “Sol? Your mother is on the phone. You need to speak to her. Tell her what really happened the day of the fire at your house.”

“Mom?” Sol said.

“Yes, Sol,” I said.

“I'm really sorry,” he said. “But it was the lesser of two evils.”

“Just tell me who put you up to it and why you let them,” I said.

“Caleb Drummond,” Sol said simply.

That should've come as no great surprise. “Anyone else?”

“His grandmother,” he said. “And the Pruetts. They really don't like people like the Ngomas. They never really have.”

“And they decided that this was the way of dealing with the issue?” I asked.

Sol said nothing.

“Why in the world did you agree to help them?” I asked, half-puzzled, half-angry. “What insanity made you think it was a good idea? Care to tell me that? And, yes, you're grounded. Absolutely! Grounded for a year, if possible. That is, if you aren't arrested first.”

“I didn't want them to hurt you or my sisters,” he said.

“They threatened to, if you didn't do what they told you to do?” I asked.

“Yes, Mom,” Sol said. “Please forgive me.”

I could understand his reasoning, but he should've gone to the police first. Yet … what would the police have done with a threat? Said that it was nothing to worry about, they'd look into it, but for the time being, just go on with your normal life? How would that have solved anything? Answer: it wouldn't have.

“Do I need to be there, too?” I asked.

“I don't think so,” he replied. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Are they going to keep you there overnight?” I asked.

“I think so,” Sol said. “At least I won't be in the same cell as Caleb.”

Thank God for small mercies.

“Just do what the police tell you to do,” I advised. “Especially if it's Dwayne Edmonds.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said. “And I'm really sorry.”

“If you were still little, I would've paddled you until you couldn't sit down,” I said. “But you're too old for that now. You're learning what the adult world is like. A place where you can't hide from consequences even if you try to.”

“Mom?” Sol said. “The officer wants to speak with you again.”

The phone was handed back to Dwayne.

“We'll interview him and then get him something to eat before we put him in his cell,” Dwayne said. “He'll be safe here.”

“But then what?” I asked. “Will he have to go to court?”

“I don't know yet,” Dwayne said. “I hope that won't be necessary. From what he's already said, he was trying to minimize the damage that he was being forced to cause. Even if it only meant switching it from the Ngomas' house to your house. Considering that he was forced to do it, I think his sentence is likely to be very light, especially since he's cooperating fully. Maybe only a few months at the juvenile detention center over in Ellington County.”

I didn't say anything. What could I have said, with my thoughts swirling chaotically in my head?

“Ms. Jackson?” Dwayne asked.

“I'm still here,” I replied.

“It could've been much much worse,” he said.

“That's not much comfort,” I said. “But I guess, like any shelter in a storm, it's better than nothing.” I sighed. “Should I tell Quentin and his daughter about all this?”

“It might be best if you did,” Dwayne said.

“Would I be able to visit Sol tomorrow?” I asked.

“Visiting hours are from 9 am to 5 pm,” he replied. “There's a room where prisoners can meet with family members.”

Prisoners. This wasn't getting any easier to deal with.

“I'll be there at 9 am sharp,” I said.

“Yes, Ms. Jackson,” Dwayne said. “I'll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Dwayne,” I said, “for keeping this from getting any worse.”

“I'm doing what I can, Sharon,” he said. “But there are limits to what I, as a police officer, can do.”

“I know,” I said. “Until tomorrow morning, then.”

We both hung up.

I covered my face and started crying, my shoulders shaking as I did so.

“It's going to be okay, Sunny,” Cat said as she hugged me. “It's going to be okay. If anyone can make it all right, Pa can.”