Ethan slipped on his shoes and hurried out the front door, making his way down the dusty road toward town. Trees towered on either side of him, branches swaying gently in a breeze Ethan couldn’t feel. When he reached the edge of town, he found the main street empty—everyone, he guessed, was at the church service. He felt the tension that always gathered on his shoulders when he was in town dissipate, and he was almost relaxed by the time he pushed open the door of the general store.
The bell tinkled brokenly as he pushed into the shop. Ethan crammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried to duck behind the ceiling-high shelves before he could be noticed, but he had hardly made it across the threshold before a voice called out, “I wondered when I would see you here.”
Ethan looked up meekly, swallowing the sudden urge to bolt from the store. Around a shelf of various snacks, he met eyes with a bearded man standing behind the counter. His dark eyes were wide and close set, and his brown hair stuck out in thick waves from the yarmulke pinned to the back of his head. “Sir?” Ethan mumbled.
The man scratched his beard, smiled tightly, and stared at Ethan with a cool gaze. “I’ve heard all about you,” he announced, setting his newspaper on the counter. “If people in this town are good at anything, it’s running their mouths. I certainly consider it a privilege to meet the boy who has singlehandedly sent them into an uproar.”
Sarcasm dripped from his words like molasses. Ethan nodded and said awkwardly, “I’m Ethan.”
“Oh, son—I know.” The man laughed. “My name’s Abrams, and I’m the only Jew around for miles. In case you were wondering. So we’re not so different, you and I, in a place like this.”
Ethan felt small under the man’s piercing stare, though he towered over Abrams by several inches. While Abrams’s gaze was intense, it was not unkind. He had none of the other townspeople’s disgust in his eyes—just something that seemed like confusion and perhaps, if Ethan was reading it right, a little bit of sadness. Unnerved, Ethan turned away.
“Well, I welcome you to my store,” Abrams said after a moment, sweeping his arm to encompass the small but tightly packed space. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
There was no discernible order to the store, so Ethan wound his way through the aisles, occasionally picking up a box of crackers or can of paint and staring at it for a moment with feigned interest before returning it to the shelf. He was flipping through one of the five outdated and off-brand comics the store had when the bell above the door dinged. Ethan froze, two fingers pinched around a page mid flip.
“—and it’s just real tragic,” a woman was saying. As she swept into the store, Ethan recognized her as the woman from the family he’d seen on his first day in town. She had a white hat on her head and was dressed in her Sunday best. Ethan dropped the comic and hunched his shoulders, wishing he could dive between the fishing poles and sewing kits and disappear before she could notice him. Thankfully, it seemed she was making a beeline for the other end of the store.
“It really is,” another woman agreed, her voice affected and nasal. “That boy shouldn’t be in this town.”
Horror sank deep into Ethan’s gut as he realized they were talking about him. Sweat collected on his upper lip as he glanced around in a panic, searching for a way out. He couldn’t let them see him here—he didn’t know what he’d do if they did. The door was blocked as more women filed inside.
“If only he wasn’t Cara’s nephew,” another woman inserted. “Then we could get him taken care of just like the last one.” She laughed, and though Ethan had ducked behind a row of beans and soup, he could read the smugness on her face. The others murmured their agreement. Ethan slouched down an aisle away from the women, catching a glimpse of Abrams from between the cans. The man was staring at the group of women with dark disdain.
Taking a deep breath, Ethan waited until the women’s voices had drifted to the other end of the store, then stepped away from the cans, ready to make a quick getaway. His heart was in his throat as he edged toward the door.
He made it halfway there. Then the first woman said, “Cara, you poor thing,” and the familiar voice that responded stopped Ethan in his tracks.
“Yes, well.” Aunt Cara laughed nervously, her voice growing closer as they turned into the next aisle over. When Ethan squatted a little bit and squinted through the cereal boxes, he could just see them walking in a colorful huddle. “Some things can’t be helped,” Aunt Cara continued, her voice artificially bright. Through the gap in the shelves, he saw her wring her hands in front of her stomach.
“Well, it could have,” the second woman soothed, wrapping her arm around Aunt Cara’s shoulders. “If your brother hadn’t”—she tilted her head with a knowing look—“you know.”
Another nervous laugh. “Oh, Elizabeth,” Aunt Cara murmured, “you know my brother. He was always the reckless one. Even when we were kids. Does it really surprise you?”
“Of course it surprises me,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “I knew your brother was a troublemaker, but to marry a Negro woman—to bring mixed-breed children into the world—no offense of course, but when he left Ellison, he must have lost his mind.”
Aunt Cara said nothing—she didn’t have to. Ethan had heard enough. Blood rushed hot through his head and pounded in his ears, turning the rest of their conversation to waves. He had just enough sense to hold his tongue against the anger, to wait until they had walked into another aisle before bolting out the door. He didn’t wait to see if the ringing bell had alerted them to his presence. He didn’t care. His feet hit the sidewalk and he kept running until his legs had carried him all the way home.
Ethan was red faced and panting by the time he made it back to the house. He burst through the front door with a force that shocked Uncle Robert, who was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand.
“Jesus, Ethan,” Uncle Robert said, jumping in his seat.
“Sorry,” Ethan muttered. He could barely hear his own voice.
His uncle frowned at him. “Didn’t realize you were out. Where did you go?”
“On a run,” Ethan snapped, and stalked into his room. Once there, he sat on the bed and tried to dissolve the wall with his gaze. The radio was on in the living room, playing the latest episode of Our Miss Brooks. Eve Arden’s voice grated today, so he tuned out the sound, sat still, and stared.
He didn’t know how long he sat there; it was as if time had stopped moving, becoming an indiscernible cloud. Ethan couldn’t think clearly. His eyes, his head, his heart—they pounded together in a painful symphony. He realized that he was still panting. His T-shirt and slacks clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin, and his hair, beginning to grow out in its tight curls, felt like a burning helmet on top of his head.