Judith is leaning against the wall between the dining room and the living room with her bookbag's strap in her left hand. She watches her mother reminisce about the nineteen fifties with her professor on the couch.

"I can laugh at it now," Sheryl says. "But back then, I was scared out of my mind. A little black girl grabbing a white woman's hand? It's unheard of," she says through a smile. "Stacey probably doesn't even remember that day, but if Walter were here, he'd tell it better than me. He was very theatrical."

"I can imagine that." He takes a sip from the black mug in his hand, and Judith clenches the strap when she sees World's Best Dad on the side. "I remember that same year – nineteen fifty – I went to work at Stratman Inn as an elevator assistant, and I was on this bus filled with white women and men. A white man hops on, demands for me to move to the back."

"Did you," Sheryl asks, and the rotary phone rings.

"Yes, I did." Judith rolls her eyes. "Five years go by, I hear about Rosa Parks, and I wished I would've said no. Knowing she was arrested for something so foolish; it bothered me for years."

"Judy, go answer the phone." She drops her bag and strolls into the kitchen. Sheryl returns her attention to Judith's teacher as he takes another swig. "My Daddy would tell me stories about moments like that. I laugh it off, but it bothers me. It's how he died."

"They killed him?" With pursed lips, she nods, and he sits his hand on her back. Judith lifts the handset to her ear and clears her throat.

"Hello," she monotonously greets the caller and makes a confused face when she hears stifled laughter. "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm calling from the Palmetto Gas and Water's main office, and I'm looking for a man named Dick," the woman on the other end explains with a thick southern accent and high-pitched voice. "Is he available to parley?"

"Sorry, you have the wrong number." Judith draws the phone from her ear to hang up.

"Ma'am, are you sure?" She shuts her eyes and huffs, her cheeks briefly inflating, then she returns it to her ear. "I'm staring at the listing right now, and I assure you this is the number. Is he not available?"

"There isn't a Dick here," Judy whisper yells with her mouth closer to the mic, and the caller snickers. "Hello?"

"There isn't a Dick there? No wonder you're so cranky." The woman bursts into hyena-like laughter, but Judith stares at the numbers with a deadpan expression. She drops the handset onto the hook switch.

"Stupid kids," she says under her breath. As she turns away, the rotary drones again, and she shuts her eyes to calm herself. Judith returns to the counter, draws the phone to her ear, and sighs.

"Judy, it's me," the caller says through uncontrolled laughter, and her look of annoyance shifts to confusion. "It's Ja'liyah."

"You're so childish." Judith leans against the counter, her lips curved into a smile. Her heart flutters with ecstasy at the sound of her cousin's voice.

"Sounds like you're in a better mood," she says, then coughs three times. She sniffles and clears her throat. "Is Stevie there?"

"Most likely. I didn't hear him or Vera when I got in a while ago." Judith glances at the top of the staircase, seeing nothing but darkness. She looks forward. "They're probably in bed right now. Why?"

"That little man is the next Richard Pryor, that's why. Tell him I owe him a Lincoln for his help." Ja'liyah lets out another dry cough, and Judith draws a breath to question it, but she's interrupted. "Hey, what's the skinny on that Prince Charming of yours? You two make up yet?"

"Nope, and I'm done with him. He's an asshole," she says with a sigh. "Besides, I'm thinking about transferring to Morehead University after I get back from Alabama, and he'll just distract me."

"Morehead University?" Judith hums yes. "Where's that at?"

"It's in North Carolina. A friend of mine from campus told me that a man from the NAACP wanted me to go," she explains. "I think it's all black, but I'll find out more when I meet him."

"Looks like you've got it made," Ja'liyah strains her words as she suppresses her persistent cough, but it's futile. She retches, and Judith jerks back from the phone.

Slowly, she returns it to her ear and listens to her cousin heave desperate breaths.

She's okay. Don't ask; it'll make things weird.

"Are you okay," she forces out the question and shuts her eyes, only to reopen them when Ja'liyah chuckles.

"I'm fine. I mean, I probably got pneumonia from this Nazi skinhead next to me, but I've had worse things." She clears her throat. "But back to you, aren't you going to Alabama soon?"

"Yeah, tomorrow, I reckon." Judith sighs. "Road trips weren't fun with Vera and Stevie when they were little, but now they're damn near full-grown, and I fear only a tranquilizer will be enough to keep them asleep."

"If Aunt Sheryl hears your sailor's mouth, you'll be coughing suds come New Year," Ja'liyah teases with a short chuckle.

"If only she was listening." She peers through the arch. "She's too busy talking my professor's ear off."

"Your professor," she asks, then clears her throat.

"He brought me home and wanted to speak to my parents. Don't ask why." They scoff humorously, and Judith watches Sheryl step under the frame, her smile fading as her mother's arms cross her chest. "But let me catch you tomorrow morning. I gotta get ready for bed."

"That's cool. Hey, can you do me a solid, though," she asks, her voice wavering with another incoming cough. "If you see my brother Malcolm, could you keep an eye on him? That boy's trouble, but he's only thirteen."

"Wait, aren't you coming with?" Her question is proceeded with silence, so she elaborates, "You'll be out in time for the funeral, right?"

"I don't," Ja'liyah's cut off by another bout of vomiting, and Judith takes a shaky breath.

"What's going on with you?" Her labored breaths draw tears from her worried cousin's eyes.

"Judy, just look after Malcolm, you dig?" She doesn't respond, so Ja'liyah ends the call. Her shaky hands return the phone to the hook, and she veers around.

"Now, I would ask why you smell like reefer, but your teacher said it's from extra classwork; turning it into medicine, and if it's for a grade, I don't mind," Sheryl begins, ignoring her daughter's glossy eyes. "But from now on, you spray yourself before you come in this house. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. Goodnight." She sprints past her mother when she feels her lower lashes growing heavy, and Sheryl watches her dart up the stairs.

***

The Citroen rumbles with their luggage shaking in the trunk and Vera's hamster cage between them. Judith's resting her cheek in her palm and her elbow on the windowsill, staring idly at the red and orange sky.

I hope Ja'liyah's okay. I wish I could've called her a little later – maybe then she would've answered.

"Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks," Vera sings despite Stevie's vexation. He's glaring at the ceiling light above them, hoping she'll stop.

Did I pack my notebook?

"So, I talked to your teacher this morning." Sheryl glances between Judith and the road with a smile, waiting for a reaction, but Judy merely sighs.

If not, I guess it doesn't matter now.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what we talked about?" Vera repeats the song from the beginning, and Stevie's eyes widen. He sits up and looks at her.

Everything's always about her. Could she--

"Shut up," he yells, and Vera does. When she turns her head to the rearview, she meets her mother's black look aimed at her twin.

"Stevie Zion!" He whips his attention to her, and his angry expression softens. "Apologize!"

When you see him, apologize. Judith remembers Stacey's order before the protest. She lowers her arm to her side and straightens her posture.

"For what? She's the one singing the same song a hundred times," he defends himself, but Sheryl's stern look doesn't falter. With a heavy exhale, he turns to his sister. "I'm sorry, Vera."

"Vera, sing something else or sit quietly," she instructs. "Now, back to you in the passenger's seat."

"Mom, I really would like silence. I have a hurricane headache," she says, and Sheryl nods.

"No one wants to listen to what I gotta say but dare I ignore them and I'm everything but a woman of God," she mumbles, and Judith rolls her eyes onto her brother's reflection.

Vera's singing Candy Girl by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons under her breath and Stevie's banging his head against his head restraint. He clinches the thighs of his bell-bottoms and squeezes his eyes shut, his face growing red as if at any moment he would explode.

"Vera, could you sing in your head?" The twins meet Judith's gaze, then glance at each other.

"You know I don't know how to do that." Stevie rolls his eyes when she continues humming, and he returns to slamming his head forward and back.

"Leave her alone," Sheryl tells Judith. "She's not bothering anybody."

"She's bothering me," she responds with a snappy attitude before turning to the twins. "How's about after we settle in, we find a corner store and get some ice cream?"

"Judy, we're almost in winter. I don't even know if they got snow in Alabama, but it's too cold for that anyway." Judith draws in a breath to calm herself.

"Mom, I'm trying to get her to shut up so we can have peace in the car," she explains. "We hadn't even left South Carolina yet, and before you know it, they'll be fighting."

"She's mine. Mine," Vera erupts, causing Sheryl to swerve the car. Stevie and Judith lock eyes, and when she straightens the Citroen, she glares at Vera's reflection.

"Vera Zyah!" She stops, then looks at her mother, ignoring the scowls from her siblings. "Cut that racket out, or you'll know your dad's belt better than Stevie!"

He kisses his teeth and looks out of his window. Judith glances into her side mirror and watches Stacey and Robert behind them in their Monte Carlo. She nudges the bridge of her hexagon glasses up her nose and looks forward.

***

As they ride over the hump on the driveway, a little brown boy with the build of a preteen drops his arm at his side and stares at them. In his left hand is a dingy, tattered baseball and sprinting around him is a golden retriever barking impatiently for him to continue playing fetch.

The boy positions himself with his right foot forward, and with decent form, he draws his arm back and fires at the tall maple tree at the edge of the yard.

He sprints inside, his dog chases the ball, and Sheryl shuts the engine off as Robbie parks behind her.

"Now, when we get inside, you two don't speak unless you're spoken to," she instructs them, then locks eyes with Stevie. "Especially you."

The boy in the striped shirt and mocha khaki shorts returns outside, leaping over the three steps and racing for their cars before his Moroccan shoes can settle on the stone trail.

They exit their vehicles as he approaches, joining near the right of the Citroen with Vera hugging her cage to her chest.

"Good afternoon," he greets them, his voice wavering as he struggles to catch his breath.

"Good afternoon," Sheryl responds, furrowing her brows at him.

"Grandma Fiona said for me to help with the bags." He takes a deep breath, then straightens his posture. "Do you need me to unload yours first?"

Grandma Fiona?

"We can start with theirs and work on mine since I have less luggage," Robbie explains, shifting his gaze from the little boy and Sheryl. He looks down at Stevie. "Little man can help us while you ladies settle in."

"Okay, well, lock my car when you finish," Sheryl tells them, then walks down the path with Vera and Stacey in tow.

"Thank you." Judith forces a smile. Robbie and Stevie step behind the Citroen, leaving the boy with Judy. "What's your name?"

"Malcolm." Her smile falls, and she watches him meet them behind the car as Robbie lifts the trunk's lid.