Betty Before X: Chapters 24–34

Uncle Clyde has TB—tuberculosis—and has been quarantined at the hospital.

Uncle Clyde has TB—tuberculosis—and has been quarantined at the hospital.

We’ve been here for only five minutes when the manager of the store comes out and says, “You Negroes stop harassing my customers.”

He steps toward Mother. Yells at her so full of fury that spit flies out of his mouth as he enunciates every single word.

This feels hostile, sounds like he’s upset about so much more than just these flyers.

I’ve never seen anyone disrespect Mother.

The caption reads, “The Nicest Things Happen to Girls with Light, Bright Complexions!”

“I’m just asking if you’ve ever thought about it,” Suesetta says.
Suesetta licks a dollop of peanut butter and waits for my answer.

I think how there really are just some things that have nothing good, nothing worthy of praise.

As we walk inside the sanctuary, Mother tells me, “Now do it discreetly, okay? Call her over to the car and give your gifts to her in private.”

“Well, there was always work to do somewhere else on the farm. Depending on the time of the year, something is always being planted, or taking root, or being watered, or sprouting. And then there was the prepping for winter and recovering from seasons when there was a bad crop—so, yes, we got frustrated a lot. Sometimes my mom would cry, she’d be so devastated. We had done the best we could and, all because of a drought or too much rain, we’d lose everything,” Kay says.

“Well, there was always work to do somewhere else on the farm. Depending on the time of the year, something is always being planted, or taking root, or being watered, or sprouting. And then there was the prepping for winter and recovering from seasons when there was a bad crop—so, yes, we got frustrated a lot. Sometimes my mom would cry, she’d be so devastated. We had done the best we could and, all because of a drought or too much rain, we’d lose everything,” Kay says.

We swing, propelling ourselves into the sky.

I feel like I’m spying on something sacred, something not meant for people outside of their family to see, but then Aunt Nina calls over to me, says, “Go get your mother. Come on over and join us for lunch.”

She is fidgeting with her clothes, her hair, her purse.

She stammers, “Hi, I, uh, I am Rebecca Olsen. My husband and I just opened a little bakery not too far from here. I’ve heard about your Housewives’ League campaign, and I, uh, I’m hoping we can talk about ways I can support your efforts.”

The next time we’re in church, Pastor Dames asks, “Are there any testimonies in the house?”

And then, Ollie Mae walks to the microphone. “Church, I’ll be brief,” she says. “I am thanking God today for His grace and mercy.”

Being a Delsprite means red will be one of my favorite colors, second to purple. I’ll get to go to debutante balls and dinner parties, but the best part will be volunteering for local organizations that work with children.

I think I’d be good at that since Mother is always saying that I have lots of compassion.

We’re walking home from the park plotting out what we want our first year of high school to be like.

Porches fill up with curious neighbors who’ve come outside to see what all the commotion is about.

Father gets up and turns the knob slow enough that we hear the voice say there are conflicting eyewitness stories about what happened before the officer shot Leon—some say they beat the boy and he broke free, was running away, and then they shot him.

We haven’t talked in a while, except for a casual hello at church.

The whole time we clean, I whisper a prayer for the family of the fifteen-year-old boy with a bullet in his back lying somewhere in a morgue.

The white flowers in the centerpieces rise high and perfume the room.

Tall, heavy white drapes cover the backdrop of the entire stage, which is ready with microphones, three music stands, and a black baby-grand piano.

I take in all the dresses glittering with sequins, the bow ties and matching handkerchiefs.

Pastor Dames continues, “Now, for the welcome you’re waiting for—ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I introduce to you our musical guests for the evening, Billy Eckstine and Miss Sarah Vaughan!”

The banquet room erupts in cheers.