The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd Read Free Book Online Page B

inch-long gash across a puffy place high over her eyebrow. “Is it hurting bad?” I asked.
    â€œSome,” she said. She circled the cell two or three times before sinking down onto the bench.
    â€œT. Ray will get us out,” I said.
    â€œUh-huh.”
    She didn’t speak another word till Mr. Gaston opened the cell door about a half hour later. “Come on,” he said. Rosaleen looked hopeful for a moment. She actually started to lift herself up. He shook his head. “You ain’t going anywhere. Just the girl.”
    At the door I held on to a cell bar like it was the long bone in Rosaleen’s arm. “I’ll be back. All right?…All right, Rosaleen?”
    â€œYou go on, I’ll manage.”
    The caved-in look of her face nearly did me in.
    Â 
    The speedometer needle on T. Ray’s truck wiggled so badly I couldn’t make out whether it pointed to seventy or eighty. Leaning into the steering wheel, he jammed his foot onto the accelerator, let off, then jammed it again. The poor truck was rattling to the point I expected the hood to fly off and decapitate a couple of pine trees.
    I imagined that T. Ray was rushing home so he could start right away constructing pyramids of grits all through the house—a torture chamber of food staples, where I would go from one pile to the next, kneeling for hours on end with nothing but bathroom breaks. I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of anything but Rosaleen back there in jail.
    I squinted at him sideways. “What about Rosaleen? You have to get her out—”
    â€œYou’re lucky I got you out!” he yelled.
    â€œBut she can’t stay there—”
    â€œShe dumped snuff juice on three white men! What the hell was she thinking? And on Franklin Posey, for Christ’s sake. She couldn’t pick somebody normal? He’s the meanest nigger-hater in Sylvan. He’d as soon kill her as look at her.”
    â€œBut not really,” I said. “You don’t mean he would really kill her.”
    â€œWhat I mean is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flat-out killed her.”
    My arms felt weak in their sockets. Franklin Posey was the man with the flashlight, and he was gonna kill Rosaleen. But then, hadn’t I known this inside even before T. Ray ever said it?
    He followed me up the stairs. I moved with deliberate slowness, anger suddenly building in me. How could he leave Rosaleen in jail like that?
    As I stepped inside my room, he stopped at the doorway. “I have to go settle the payroll for the pickers,” he said. “Don’t you leave this room. You understand me? You sit here and think about me coming back and dealing with you. Think about it real hard.”
    â€œYou don’t scare me,” I said, mostly under my breath.
    He’d already turned to leave, but now he whirled back. “What did you say?”
    â€œYou don’t scare me,” I repeated, louder this time. A brazen feeling had broken loose in me, a daring some thing that had been locked up in my chest.
    He stepped toward me, raising the back of his hand like he might bring it down across my face. “You better watch your mouth.”
    â€œGo ahead, try and hit me!” I yelled.
    When he swung, I turned my face. It was a clean miss.
    I ran for the bed and scrambled onto the middle of it, breathing hard. “My mother will never let you touch me again!” I shouted.
    â€œ Your mother? ” His face was bright red. “You think that goddamn woman gave a shit about you?”
    â€œMy mother loved me!” I cried.
    He threw back his head and let out a forced, bitter laugh.
    â€œIt’s—it’s not funny,” I said.
    He lunged toward the bed then, pressing his fists into the mattress, bringing his face so close I could see the tiny holes where his whiskers grew. I slid backward, toward the pillows, shoving my back into the headboard.
    â€œNot funny?” he