Free Brambleman by Jonathan Grant Page A

Drive onto Thornbriar. He was running late; Susan would be
stressed. She had a meeting scheduled with bank attorneys to
discuss a class-action lawsuit filed by black employees. She’d been
nervous about the case for weeks. “What can I tell them?” she’d
asked Charlie in early December. “I don’t discriminate. All I know
is that a couple of blacks were passed over for promotions. This
started with a woman at the branch too busy polishing the chip on
her shoulder to do her job. Now attorneys are coaching branch
managers to cover their asses. I hope they’re not looking for a
scapegoat.”
    “Don’t tell them you’re from Forsyth County,”
Charlie had suggested.
    “I’m not. I mean, I won’t.”
    He’d given her the benefit of the doubt back
then, having always assumed she was a moderate like her father.
Bradley Roy Powell, while a Forsyth County native, was no varmint.
In fact, he was Charlie’s hero. But now Charlie could no longer
ignore the fact that Susan was half-varmint, and therefore capable
of poor behavior on issues of race. Not that she’d ever admit
it.
    When he pulled into the driveway, the garage
door was closed. He unlocked the front door. Inside, he was shocked
to see his mother-in-law sitting at the kitchen table sipping
coffee from his favorite blue cup. How did she know ?
Evangeline Powell, a stocky woman with a dyed brown mini-bouffant,
pulled her white cardigan close around her neck, as if he’d brought
in a draft. She set to the task of watching Charlie with bright,
beady eyes like mall security would a shoplifter. An impish grin
lit her round face as she blew her coffee to cool it. The instant
Susan’s dryer fell silent, Evangeline shouted, “Hon! You need to
change them locks!”
    “I’ve been thinking about it,” Susan yelled
back.
    Evangeline smirked. “Hey, Charles.”
    He sat down across from her. “Hey,
Evangeline. What are you doing here?”
    “Taking care of my grandbabies.”
    “Beg pardon?”
    “Didn’t Susan tell you? Bradley Roy won’t
pick me up until six. Lord, I don’t know what he’ll do with himself
now that he’s sold the auto parts store to Phil and retired.
Probably make a nuisance of himself.”
    “Bradley Roy’s a saint,” said Charlie,
intending to piss her off.
    It worked. Evangeline raised her voice to
say, “He’s a man, that’s what he is. But I’ll not get into it with
you.”
    Susan walked into the kitchen dressed for
work, looking ready to kill someone without caring who.
    “What’s going on?” Charlie asked.
    “Mom dropped in.”
    Like a bomb , Charlie thought.
    “Sheila drove me down,” Evangeline said.
    Charlie was confused. “I thought Bradley
Roy—”
    “He’s picking me up. People will do anything
for me ’cause I do right by ’em. Something you wouldn’t know a
thing about.”
    Charlie turned to his wife. “Didn’t you tell
Sheila that I was taking care—”
    “Sheila didn’t come in,” Susan snapped.
    “Everything just falls into place, doesn’t
it?” Charlie punctuated his remark with a derisive snort.
    “Don’t you worry none. Everything’s under
control,” Evangeline declared. “We’re not going to let what he did
hurt the children.”
    “ He ?” Charlie asked.
    “I didn’t know this was going to happen,”
Susan told Charlie semi-apologetically. When he gave her a look of
disbelief, she threw up her hands. “I called your cellphone and the
number you gave me to tell you not to come over, but you didn’t
answer, and the woman there said you’d already left.”
    “ The woman ,” Evangeline said.
    “Well, here I am,” Charlie said. “So there’s
no need—”
    “I was here first,” said Evangeline, making
it sound like a playground game.
    “But I’m taking care of the kids.”
    “They don’t need you to babysit ’em. They got
me.”
    “I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not a
babysitter. I’m their primary—”
    “Look,” Susan interjected. “I’m sorry it’s
working