7

“Marcus,” I called out to my brother, knocking softly on his door. There was no answer. It was hard to believe that it had

been less than a week since I’d gotten the call that they’d found Marcus, and now he was home. We’d met him at the bus station

two days ago, and even though he seemed happy to see us, he hadn’t said much on the drive home or since. Mostly he stayed

in the room he shared with Aaron, who was still missing in action.

Neither Mama nor I had asked him about Aaron. Marcus’s state of mind seemed so fragile that we didn’t want to upset him. I

knew Mama had many questions, and I did too, but we agreed that we’d give him more time. Marcus seemed barely able to handle

the most basic questions. Whenever I asked him how he was doing, he’d look at me blankly, and then if I repeated the question,

he’d say in a monotone voice, “I’m okay.”

Yesterday when I’d called Seth about starting the remodeling job at the group home, I mentioned that Marcus was unusually

quiet.

“Give him time, Kat. Coming out of those jungles back to civilian life is difficult even under the best of circumstances. I can’t imagine what your brother is going through after all he has seen, knowing his twin is still there. Time will be the best healer,” Seth said.

I thanked him, and after I hung up the phone, I felt a bit better. I was determined to give Marcus the time he needed.

Meanwhile, Mama was determined to feed him back into good health. Thanksgiving was two days away, yet Mama had been cooking

for Marcus almost relentlessly. Marcus’s first night home she made fried chicken, collard greens, potato salad, baked yams,

and coconut cream pie. Marcus didn’t eat one morsel. Instead, he sat at the table, tears rolling down his face as Mama held

a forkful of food in front of his mouth like she used to when he was a toddler. We had tons of leftovers, but the next day

Mama fried fish and made coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, and sweet potato pie. This time Marcus took a few bites, but he still

ended the meal crying—loud, wracking sobs that shook his frail body. Mama and I both held him tightly, but it was like a faucet

of emotions had been turned on and he didn’t know how to turn them off. But now Mama had a mission. Though her attempts at

conversation with Marcus were failing, she seemed to think food was the key. So she kept cooking.

Marcus’s favorite food had always been Mama’s chitlins, and even though their smell makes me gag, I’d gladly helped her clean them yesterday when I got home from work, praying his appetite would be triggered. But when she placed them in front of him for supper tonight, he pushed them around on his plate and eventually excused himself. I wondered if the chitlins made him think about Aaron, who also loved the stinky delicacy.

Marcus’s body was back in the safety of our home, but his mind and soul were clearly still in Vietnam, roaming the jungles

in search of his twin, whose whereabouts remained unknown.

I had talked to Lieutenant Rogers this morning, and he didn’t sound encouraging about Aaron being found. He didn’t say it

was impossible, but he also didn’t say anything that made me think I’d ever again see my little brother’s face. He mentioned

that over six hundred men were reported missing in action. I’d seen the same number in the newspaper. For that reason alone,

I had to fight for Marcus and his sanity. The jungles of Vietnam had swallowed up one of my twin brothers—I wouldn’t allow

them to take the remaining one. The idea of losing one brother was overwhelming enough. The thought of losing them both was

enough to make me almost lose my sanity.

“Marcus, it’s sissy,” I said, knocking again. “Please answer me.” I didn’t want to barge in on him. But I was afraid for him

to be alone. I had dealt with suicidal boys at the group home before. The thought of Marcus doing something to end his life

nearly had me in a choke hold.

Mama was in her room, reading her Bible. I was glad the Word still brought her comfort. I couldn’t manage dealing with them

both melting down at the same time.

“Yes,” I finally heard Marcus reply. His voice sounded soft and weak, like a baby bird crying out from its nest.

“Thank you, Jesus,” I whispered and opened the door. The room was dark, and I could barely make out his shape on his bed. I went over and sat down, stroking his head the way I used to do when he was a boy. I heard him mumbling, but I couldn’t understand it. “What did you say, Bubby?” I used my old nickname for him. He just kept mumbling. I lay down in the bed and wrapped my arms around him. He was sweating in spite of the room’s cool temperature. I leaned in closer and then heard what he was singing:

If I die in a combat zone,

Box me up and ship me home.

Pin my medals upon my chest.

Tell my mama I did my best.

Mama, Mama don’t you cry,

Marine Corps motto is “do or die.”

“Oh, baby,” I said, the tears streaming down my face. I pulled my brother closer, trying to ward away the crazy attacking

his mind. “Sissy isn’t going to let you go. Do you hear me? So, I need you to fight. I need you to fight harder than you have

ever fought before.”

But he didn’t hear me. He kept singing that cadence over and over. I didn’t know what to do. If we didn’t figure out something

soon, even if Aaron came back, there’d be nothing left of his twin when he arrived home. Then I remembered Seth. He had said

to call him if I needed to talk. Well, I needed more than a talk—I needed a miracle.

I got up from the bed, leaving my brother, who continued singing underneath his breath, curled into a fetal ball. It was close to nine at night. I hated bothering Seth so late in the evening, but we were running out of options. Before I changed my mind, I walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and dialed Seth’s number. After a couple of rings, he picked up.

“Hello?” he said. I almost sobbed with relief just hearing his voice.

“Hello. It’s Katia.” I rubbed my hand on the leather couch, trying to calm myself.

“Kat? Is everything alright?” I could hear the concern in his voice. How, after all these years of not speaking to each other,

could he have such concern for me?

I shook my head and took a huge breath. “No. Everything isn’t alright.” I then began explaining Marcus’s behavior. “And now,

he’s in there repeating that cadence he learned at boot camp. I don’t even know if my brother is still in there. Seth, I’m

scared.”

“Your brother is in shock,” he said. “What do you know about your other brother and how he went missing? What did Marcus witness?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “He won’t say. He barely eats and when we try to talk to him, he just cries.”

“Do you mind if I come by tomorrow after work?” Seth asked. “Maybe Marcus will talk to me.”

“You would do that?” I really felt like crying now.

“Of course I will do that, Kat,” he said. “If you wanted me to come now, I would.”

“No,” I said. I could only imagine Mama’s reaction if a strange man showed up at our house after nine in the evening. I was an adult, but over the years Mama’s rules hadn’t changed much as they pertained to gentlemen callers. “Tomorrow is good. Thank you, Seth.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I wish I could say that everything is going to be alright, but I can’t. But I can promise you

that I’ll do everything I can to encourage your brother and let him know he isn’t alone.”

“Thank you,” I said. I gave Seth our address and told him I’d be home early tomorrow.

“I have one job to finish tomorrow, so I should be able to drop by around four,” he said. “Does that work for you?”

“I should have no problem getting here by then,” I said. The last of the boys would be leaving in the morning to spend the

rest of the week and the weekend with their families. Once they left, the staff and I would straighten up and Chad, Pee Wee,

and I would come home. I’d told Pee Wee and Chad yesterday about coming to my house for the holidays. I hadn’t planned on

telling them until the last minute, just in case something changed, but they’d both been so sad watching the other boys pack

their things to leave with moms, dads, grandparents, aunties, and uncles for the week. I wanted to give them something to

look forward to as well. I almost second-guessed bringing them home with Marcus being the way he was, but when I shared my

concerns with Mama, she insisted they still come.

“Having youngins around might help,” she had said. She didn’t say it might help Marcus, but I knew that was what she meant, so I pushed my reservations away and

didn’t change the plans.

After Seth and I hung up, I found myself praying that Marcus could hang in there until Seth came over. I wasn’t sure if Seth could do anything, but I hoped that maybe a fellow veteran could reach him in ways Mama and I couldn’t. At the group home, we sometimes allowed the residents to have free time with just each other or we’d be there but stay silent while they talked through their issues minus our voices. We found that they’d sometimes heed each other better than they would us. With this knowledge at the forefront of my mind, I checked on Marcus and Mama one more time, and then I was able to go to my room, say my prayers, and drift off to sleep.

***

“Are we st-st-still going to y-y-your h-h-house, Miss K-K-Katia?” Pee Wee asked me for what seemed like the one hundredth

time today. Jason and I were in my office, finalizing paperwork for the last of the residents going home with relatives. School

was out, so we weren’t on our usual morning schedule. The boys who were still here, including Chad, were sleeping when I’d

arrived, but Pee Wee was sitting on the front steps, and he hadn’t left my side once. I knew he was fearful that I might change

my mind. Pee Wee was used to the adults in his life disappointing him. Because of that, I tried not to get aggravated with

his constant questioning.

“Yes, Pee Wee,” I said. “You and Chad are still coming to my house for Thanksgiving. Nothing has changed. Now run upstairs

and make sure you have everything you need inside your suitcase.”

“I forgot a-a-about my su-su-suitcase!” he yelled and took off running. Jason and I looked at each other and laughed.

The joy on Pee Wee’s face told me I’d made the right decision.

“So glad Mrs. Hendricks bought suitcases for all of the boys,” Jason said as he filed a folder into one of the cabinets. “I’ve

always hated having to send the boys away with their things in hand-me-down bags from the thrift store or worse.”

Once in a while, a boy would come to the group home with a suitcase, but usually the boys were ripped away from their homes

with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They’d often show up with a plastic bag filled with a couple changes of clothes

and some toiletries provided to them by the police or social services—if they were lucky. When Pee Wee moved in a few months

ago, he didn’t even come with a toothbrush.

“I agree,” I said. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Hendricks, one of the board members, had called and asked me what the boys needed

that she could gift them since she was leaving the board soon. I told her they could use suitcases, and last week she’d dropped

off fifteen brand-new suitcases, one for each boy. She also left me with a word of caution.

“Katia, they are coming for you,” she said after we were alone in my office. Mrs. Hendricks was a beautiful, stately woman, a few years shy of eighty but still spry and one of the smartest women I knew. She wore her nearly all-white hair in a tight chignon and she dressed in all black with a single strand of pearls around her neck—a look she’d adopted after the recent passing of her husband, Mr. Gordon Hendricks. His death was the main reason she was stepping away from the board. She wanted to move to Florida to be near her sister, her last surviving sibling. She didn’t have any children. She’d told me they’d been too busy making money to slow down enough to make babies. They owned fifteen supermarkets, five funeral homes, and a chain of diners across Alabama. Her sister’s son was taking over the day-to-day operations of Hendricks Enterprises while she got to enjoy her “last chapter,” as she referred to it.

I offered her a seat and a cup of tea. She delicately sipped the beverage while looking at me pointedly. “I’ve kept these

menfolk off your back as long as I could, but my time is coming to a close, Katia. You need to be on the lookout for an ally

or two who can replace me.”

I didn’t have to ask her what she meant. The last board meeting was proof enough.

We talked a little while longer, and right before she left my office, she said, “Arrington has it out for you, and he wants

to replace you with a man. Any man at this point, but he’s leaning toward somebody white. The only thing keeping him from

making a move is that those other knuckleheads at least agree that this group home needs a Negro at the head. Up until now,

I have convinced them that you are the someone this group home needs. Get you some people on that board you can trust, Katia,

before it’s too late.”

With all that had been going on with my brothers, I hadn’t had much time to think about new people for the board. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to fight anymore. I felt overwhelmed by it all. And now I had Marcus to contend with, and Chad and Pee Wee. I figured I’d worry about all of that after the holidays. If Sam Arrington IV decided to replace me before the new year, then I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to put up a fight.

I hadn’t told anyone about the conversation I had with Mrs. Hendricks. I didn’t want them panicking. So, as Jason and I finished

the paperwork, I kept the conversation light. He asked how Marcus was doing, and I quickly said, “Okay,” using Marcus’s own

go-to response. I wasn’t up for any heavy discussions, and talking about Marcus and his state of mind was more than I could

manage.

A few minutes later, Pee Wee was back at the door.

“I’m r-r-ready, Miss K-K-Katia,” he said, gripping his suitcase in both hands.

“We have one more resident waiting to be picked up, Pee Wee,” I said. “Once Larry’s father gets here and I send him off safely,

we’ll head out soon after. Let’s plan to leave here at noon. Put your suitcase by the front door, and then go see if Mrs.

Kennedy needs any help making sandwiches for Chad, Mr. Jason, you, and me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said in a glum voice, walking ever so slowly out of my office.

“How much you want to bet he takes that suitcase with him to the kitchen?” Jason chuckled as he continued to file papers.

“That would be a bet I’d surely lose. Hopefully Larry’s father comes by for him soon. Otherwise, Pee Wee might leave without me or Chad.” We both laughed. I was sorting through the paperwork and Jason was filing it. Every boy who left, whether it was permanently or temporarily, had a mountain of paperwork associated with his departure. Between the caseworkers’ documents and the group home’s documents, it was nothing for my entire desk, floor, and conference table to be covered in mounds and mounds of papers.

Fortunately, Larry got picked up before long. Larry Holten was one of the boys who wasn’t coming back. His father had landed

a good job working as a janitor at the school, so he was now in a financial position to take care of Larry. Larry’s mother

had lost custody of him a year ago after a run-in with the police over selling narcotics. It had taken Larry Sr. this long

to get his own life straightened out to take over raising Larry Jr.

“I’m going to miss you, Larry Jr.,” I said to the eleven-year-old who, for the first time since I’d known him, was smiling

ear to ear. When Larry Jr. had first arrived at the group home, a few weeks before Chad, he would rarely talk to anyone, and

if he did, it would be one or two sentences at most. Many nights, he cried himself to sleep. It was only in the last few weeks,

when he learned he’d be going to live with his father, that he started perking up and talking more.

“I’m going to miss you too, Miss Katia,” he said. “And thank you for helping my daddy get me back.” He gave me a brief hug.

I wiped away a tear. His words and affection meant the world to me because of how difficult it was for him to express both. This was why I did what I did—for experiences like this. And no matter how many times I said goodbye to one of our boys, whether he had been here for days, weeks, months, or years, it wasn’t easy. I missed them all and fretted over them until I could check in and make sure they were thriving away from the group home.

“Take care of Larry Jr.,” I said, looking at his daddy. “He’s a good boy.”

“I appreciate everything you did for me and this boy,” Larry Sr. said, tears streaming down his face too. “I never would have

got this boy back without you. May I give you a hug?”

I nodded, and then we embraced. “You are not alone. If you ever need anything, you call me,” I whispered for his ears only.

He stepped back and smiled.

“You ain’t gone get rid of us this easy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll check in and let you know how we doing.

You ready, boy?”

The two of them walked out the door arm in arm. This was what success looked like and it felt pretty good, especially after

the last few weeks.

***

After Larry and his father left, Jason and I went upstairs, removed all of the bedding from the beds, and began washing it

in the industrial-size washing machine. Then we got Chad to help us sweep and mop the floors. Mrs. Kennedy’s husband usually

came over to help with the cleanup, but he was down with back troubles, so Jason, Chad, and I tidied up before leaving.

“I’ll make sure Pee Wee don’t get on your brother’s nerves, Miss Katia,” Chad said, sounding far older than his years. “I

don’t want nothing messing up this weekend.”

Yesterday afternoon I sat down Chad and Pee Wee and explained to them that my brother was, for the most part, physically well, but he was struggling emotionally.

“He m-m-miss his br-br-brother,” Pee Wee had said with a nod of his head, as if he were speaking from experience. Pee Wee

had siblings, but based on what he’d told me and what his files said, he’d only met them once or twice. They had different

mothers, and Pee Wee’s father and paternal grandmother hadn’t made an effort to keep the siblings in touch with each other.

Pee Wee didn’t even know their names or ages. I wondered if he was thinking about them now.

“That’s right. He misses Aaron, so he might not be very talkative,” I said. “I just didn’t want either of you to take his

behavior personally.”

Today I saw that Chad had been worrying about the weekend but for different reasons. Once again I tried to reassure him.

“You don’t have to worry about Pee Wee getting on anyone’s nerves,” I said. “He’ll be fine. In fact, my mother said the two

of you might very well be exactly what my brother needs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chad said, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“Chad, no matter what, this weekend is going to be good. Do you know why?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Because we are

going to make it good.”

“Good things don’t just happen. We make things good by being intentional,” Chad said slowly, enunciating his words like Mr. Jason had been teaching him. Sometimes Chad would slip into dialect, but we were working on it. I didn’t mind if he was a bit more relaxed with his speech as long as he wasn’t using profanity. If nothing else, Chad’s ability to recite my many mantras showed me that he was listening, even when he didn’t follow through the way I’d like him to.

Once we were done cleaning and straightening the upstairs, we went to the kitchen, where Pee Wee was helping Mrs. Kennedy

dry the breakfast dishes. He was wearing an apron that hung down to the floor and talking a mile a minute. Interestingly,

he was barely stuttering.

“And Miss K-K-Katia’s mama is gone stuff a turkey. And I’m gone help her l-l-like I help you. Miss Katia say I’m gone b-b-be

a...” He turned around and smiled broadly when he saw us enter the kitchen. “What did you say I w-w-would be, Miss Katia?”

“A sous chef. That means you will be the assistant to my mama,” I said.

“I know Miss Heloise is looking forward to having you be her helper. Cooking a Thanksgiving dinner is not easy,” Mrs. Kennedy

said.

“It’s not a helper, Mama K-K-K. It’s a... Say it a-a-again, Miss Katia.”

“Sous chef. S-o-u-s c-h-e-f.” I repeated the words and letters slowly.

“It’s a sous chef, Mama K-K-K.” He beamed at all of us.

“Well, y’all better go on and have your lunch so you can be on your way.” Mrs. Kennedy looked at me and winked.

“Absolutely. We have a lot to do to get ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” I said, guiding the boys over to the table, where Mrs. Kennedy had laid out a platter of ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a bowl of leftover macaroni salad, and more of her delicious peach iced tea. Jason said grace and we all dug in. The boys had a lot of questions about Thanksgiving at my house and what it would be like.

“As we speak, Miss Heloise, my mama, is busy baking cakes and pies.” I put another ham sandwich on my plate. For whatever

reason, I was starving. Then I remembered that I’d skipped breakfast. “Once we get there, Mama will have us washing collard

greens and peeling potatoes—both sweet and Irish—and I imagine she’ll have me outside washing chitlins.”

“Wh-wh-what’s chitlins?” Pee Wee asked.

Everybody but Pee Wee laughed. He looked around the table and Chad finally answered him.

“They the nastiest, smelliest part of the pig. I tried ’em once, and they taste pretty good,” Chad said with a grin. “You

just have to remember to put some hot sauce on ’em.”

“Gross,” Pee Wee said, squinching up his nose.

“I hear you, Pee Wee,” I said, taking the last bite of my sandwich. “I had them once in my lifetime, and that was enough for

me. Pee Wee, you and I can stick with the baked ham. I promise you, between all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins, plenty

of people will be eating the chitlins.” I stood up, and immediately Pee Wee stood up too.

“Time to g-g-go?” he asked, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Yes,” I said. “Time to go.”

Pee Wee started clapping and while Chad was trying to act all cool, he came over and hugged me.

“Thank you,” he whispered in my ear.

I hugged him back. “You’re welcome. And thank you. I’m excited about having you boys over as well.”

We all wished Jason and Mrs. Kennedy a happy Thanksgiving. Mrs. Kennedy promised to lock up the house before she left. The

boys and I made our way outside to my truck.

I looked over at them. “Ready?”

“Ready,” they said.

“Next stop, home.” They both cheered as we took off down the road.

Even though I didn’t know how the rest of the week would turn out, I was thankful that right now things were looking pretty

good. After all that these boys and my family had endured, that was definitely a blessing.