“And you know you have to decide by—”
“I saw the deadline, Nia. I can read. Now, can you write?”
I bound back to the table. “It’s finished,” I say, reaching for the form to look at it again.
“The protest?” Mummy slides the application out of my reach. “Oh, forget it. Just print and go get the clothes on to wash so you can hang them up before night.”
I smack a kiss on her cheek and send the document to print. The old behemoth at the end of the hall whirs to life with a series of beeps and clicks. While it spits out this week’s issue, I sort our laundry and load it into the basket. There’s a perfectly good washer just across the yard—brand new and big enough to wash two full-sized bedspreads at once—but it’s Angel’s, so that’s out. Usually, I complain about having to tote a heavy hamper of clothes all the way down to the Armbrister house to use their regular old machine that groans when it spins and sometimes smells of mildew, but today, the load is light. Besides, I don’t want to irritate Mummy and make her take her word back. I swing the front door open and almost bump into a man in a suit.
“Oh—sorry!” I step back inside.
“Is your mother in, young lady?” he asks in a no-nonsense voice.
“Mummy!” I call over my shoulder. “Someone here to see you.”
Mummy appears beside me in the doorway faster than a genie from a rubbed lamp. “Can I help you?” she asks.
“Marvin Knowles.” He extends a hand, which Mummy shakes formally. “On behalf of our member of parliament for Eastern Heights.”
“I know you, Marv.” Mummy folds her arms. She holds the hand she offered to Mr. Knowles at an odd angle, as if she plans to wash it as soon as she closes the door. “Faith comes through here all the time. How’s Mrs. Knowles?”
Faith’s daddy, I think, as he chuckles, a tight, forced sound. “You have a good memory, Mrs.…”
Mummy’s lips are pursed, as if she’s found something bitter stored in her cheek. “Taylor. What brings you to my doorstep?”
“Just making some courtesy visits through the neighborhood.” Mr. Knowles fiddles with the collar of his suit. It fits him evenly, and the fabric looks smooth, not like Eve’s daddy’s suits, which are always a little rumpled and have an odd shine. “Introducing myself to our constituents.”
“Reintroducing. On a Sunday,” Mummy says.
“It’s always good to see old friends.” Faith’s father smiles widely. “Just taking a minute to chat with folks about the development up by the beach.”
“Proposed.” Mummy uses her reporter voice as she corrects him. “The sale hasn’t been officially approved yet, has it?”
He laughs like his mouth is full of candy, delighted but also restrained. “You’re sharp, Mrs.—”
“Ms.” Anything else, Mr. Knowles?” Mummy’s voice is stretched thin.
“Actually, yes. We had reports of some teenagers causing trouble down at the beach. I just want to make sure the parents are aware the property is private land.”
“What type of trouble?” Mummy asks.
“I can’t really go into the details, but we’ve heard that the property owner is concerned about the level of security on the premises. They mentioned there will have to be consequences if trespassing continues to be a problem.”
“What about the after-school group they have at the church?” I ask. “Don’t people have to go on the beach to get there?”
“Yes, and the Tuesday-morning seniors’ reading. I suppose you’re going to accuse those old ladies of trespassing too,” Mummy says dryly.
“I, uh—well, I can’t comment on what arrangements have been made for the tenants of the rental property on-site.” Mr. Knowles regains his composure quickly. “We want to look out for the interests of our constituents, of all ages.” He smiles slick. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Mummy holds his gaze, her chin slightly raised, and taps the card on her leg. “Was that it, Mr. Knowles?”
“That’s it.” The man bobs his head. “A pleasure.” He strides down the steps, then over toward KeeKee’s house, as though he’s too important to cut across the grass like everyone else. I carry on down the road to Eve’s house. I have no reason to be nervous, I tell myself. I didn’t do anything wrong at the beach, unless you count losing my glasses, and Mummy already knows about that. I have a bad feeling about what Mr. Knowles said, but I push it away. None of this will matter, so long as Mummy’s in a good mood when she decides if I go to camp. None of this will matter, once she says yes.
4
EVE
All six rows are full at church this week before the service even starts, with the regulars from the neighborhood, some we occasionally see, and a handful of brand-new faces. By the time hymns are over, we’ve had to set up another two rows of folding chairs at the back and add seats along the walls. It’s like people sense the building needs them and are here to fill it with singing, with the attention they give Daddy as he moves to the front of the room. He lowers his head in a brief, unspoken prayer. I glimpse a tiny shake in his hand as he grips the sides of the wooden lectern, looking out at the congregation.
“No doubt you’ve heard talk. Seen the protests. Felt the shift in the air.” His hands release the lectern. He spreads his palms. “Change is coming to Pinder Street.”
I brace, waiting for him to repeat what he told me. There’s an explanation for everything that’s been happening. There’s nothing to worry about.
“Developers plan to take over the land, including this entire beach area. Including the spot where we stand.”
Murmuring rumbles through the rows. I look over at Mummy. Her face is set in a stoic gaze. Am I hearing right? Daddy told me everything would be fine. Next, he’s going to say it won’t happen, say that our place here, in this building, on this land, is assured.
“I can’t promise to know the future, but I’ll tell you this: Now, more than ever, good people need to come together. Good voices need to be heard.”
Beach closed. It’s true.
He looks down at his notes, his pause a moment too long. His eyes are shut. Ruth leans over. “He okay?” Her whisper is a notch too loud. It feels like things are slowly sliding out of control. Did he know this when we spoke? Why didn’t he tell me then? If he found out later, how come he didn’t say something to me?
“Amen!” My voice cuts through the quiet, surprising even me. Daddy raises his head. He blinks, adjusting his collar.
“Turn with me to the Book of Luke,” he says. I glare at Ruth, then turn my attention back to the front. He was just feeling the spirit, I tell myself, pushing aside the questions that prick at me, pressing hard against the peace I want to feel.
* * *
After church, Daddy spends two hours shaking hands and patting shoulders while the younger three run up and down on the sand. Mummy hunkers down at the back, talking to one woman, then another. When everyone is gone, I straighten up the rows and put away the extra chairs while Daddy rolls the windows down against coastal gusts and the fine salt spray they bring. Questions bubble in my mind, threatening to boil over and burst out of my mouth, but something makes me hesitate. Somehow, even after what Daddy said during church, hearing him tell me one-on-one would make it true, would make me have to face that we could really lose our church.