Free Stand Your Ground: A Novel by Victoria Christopher Murray Page B

what you need. Sometimes violence is the only language that white folks understand.”
    I couldn’t believe this churchgoing, Bible-reading, scripture-quoting woman was saying this.
    “Really?” I said. “What about the violence that hurts and even kills innocent people? Six people died in that car accident when the Guardians killed Watson.”
    “That is sad,” she began. But then Delores had the nerve to shrug. “There are casualties in combat. Lots of good people die in war.”
    And that right there was the problem. Because smart people, people whom I respected, were buying the Guardians’ propaganda, and then trying to sell it to others.
    I glared at her, wanting her to take those words back. But she glared right back at me until she said, “I need to get to my house before people start coming by.”
    “Coming by?”
    She nodded. “You know, people want to keep us company, they want to make sure we’re okay.”
    “So they’re not coming over here today?” I said. For the first time since Monday night, there was a little glee in my voice.
    “No, we can all tell that it’s a bit too much for you,” Delores said. “With the way you keep going to bed early. It’s a little insulting when the hostess leaves.”
    Hostess? This wasn’t a party, though last night, it sounded like one.
    Our home had filled up with even more people than the day before. People sat around pontificating about how everybody, everywhere, was against every black person. The gathering had turned into a hatefest that had nothing to do with Marquis.
    “We really need to get going,” Delores said. “Someone from your job called a little while ago and I gave them my address. They were on their way, so let’s get a move on.”
    If I didn’t want to sit with all of those people in my house, why would I go to her house and do it?
    “Uh . . . there are some things I want to take care of here, so . . . you go on and I’ll come later.”
    Delores looked at me with a stop lying expression. “Tyrone doesn’t want you to be alone.”
    “I won’t be alone.”
    She tilted her head in question.
    I said, “I mean, I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to go out.” I had two seconds to come up with a good lie. That was why only a bad one came out of my mouth. “I need to go shopping. Get some groceries.”
    Delores looked at me. “If you want to stay here by yourself, that’s all you need to say.” She shook her head as if I’d annoyed her. “I’m gonna call Tyrone. He’s not gonna be happy.” She pivoted and marched out of my room.
    I stayed in place, sitting on my bed, and since Delores had left my bedroom door open, I sat until I heard the front door open then close. Only then did I push myself up and out of the bed.
    But once I stood, the silence hit me.
    I’d heard this silence before. Times when I’d found ways to get Tyrone and Marquis out of the house. Back then, I craved the peace that came from this quiet.
    But this didn’t feel like peace. The silence was so scary, so eerie, that I wanted to run after Delores and tell her to wait, that it would only take me three minutes to get dressed.
    But I didn’t do that. Instead, I walked from my bedroom, into the hall, then a few more feet, and I faced my greatest fear.
    Standing in front of Marquis’s closed bedroom door, I built up courage, and when I had enough, I rested my hand on his door, turned the knob, then pushed it open.
    I inhaled, thinking just how normal it all looked. First, there were the miniblinds that were drawn as they always were.
    “Marquis, open up those blinds. Open up those windows.”
    “Mama, what’s wrong? I like it like this.”
    “Your bedroom is like a cave. You’re not supposed to spend your life in the dark.”
    “Who says?”
    “God! It’s in the Bible. Look it up.”
    I heard Marquis’s laughter as I stood in the hallway, and my glance roamed through his room, from his bed, to his desk, to the golf clubs that were propped up