Free Leaving: A Novel by Richard Dry

mean, not now that I’m here, now that we’re all here, you don’t have to wait up for me anymore. I’m just trying to say you don’t have to wait up for me anymore.”
    Ken patted Olaf on the back. “Thank you. We’re glad you made it. Don’t let Charles intimidate you. It’s good to have your leadership skills to help us build ties with the community.” Olaf smiled and nodded.
    There were twenty protesters and half got to carry signs. Ken took the lead and they marched down Center Street to Shattuck and over to Woolcrest’s. Charles was in the back, talking it up with some newer Black members. Easton walked near Sandra, with one young man between them, a blond student in a blue suit who kept smiling and nodding at him as if they were long-lost brothers. Just before they reached Woolcrest’s, the man gave him a thumbs-up—for what, Easton wasn’t sure.
    They made a circle in front of the store. The police were already waiting at the curb, but they stayed in their cars. Usually they let them protest for an hour and then cleared them off. Charles didn’t join the circle; he stood at the corner of the building, watching both the picketing and the police.
    “Please don’t shop here.” Sandra handed a flyer to a woman coming out of the store pushing a cart. “They have unfair hiring practices, here and in the South.” The woman walked off, holding the flyer away from her body like it might explode.
    Shoppers came and went and neither Easton nor Sandra had any luck giving more flyers away. Half an hour later, they still had full stacks of paper in their hands. Most customers looked straight ahead and pretended the protesters were invisible.
    Finally Sandra put a flyer in front of one woman and said, “Keep America free.” The lady took it. She turned to Easton and shrugged.
    To the next man coming out of the store Easton said, “Equal rights for all races.” The man put his hands in the air like he was being held up. Then Sandra said to the next man, “Be a good American; support democracy,” and he took it. He even smiled at her. Sandra stuck her tongue out at Easton.
    “Fight the Commies,” Easton said, and a woman stopped and waited for him to give her a flyer. They alternated with new ones:
    “Support Kennedy.”
    “Buy American.”
    “Feed the children.”
    “Love the U.S. of A.”
    “Free America.”
    Sandra held out a flyer to one man and said, “Free, live American girls,” and even then the man had his fingers on the paper before withdrawing his hand and backing away from her.
    Charles whistled and pointed to a man and his son skirting around the edge of the circle to get into the store.
    “You missed one,” he yelled to Easton, who ran after them, but they slipped inside. Easton was about to turn when he noticed a familiar face behind the glass. Mrs. Usher was moving a sign farther from the window, a sign that announced a 50 percent sale every weekend. She looked older, and her arms shook as she gripped the metal base of the stand.
    She had long since stopped selling Ruby’s line of dresses, not because of his involvement in the protests, but because the store bought exclusively from a national distributor now. Mrs. Usher placed the stand in the aisle and looked up at the doors. She noticed Easton, and as if he’d forgotten why he was there, he smiled and raised his hand in a half-wave. She walked directly toward him, her shoulders forward, her old legs slightly off balance in her high heels. He wanted to run away, as he had that day when he’d begged her for a job. But her intensity kept him frozen there, like she was commanding him to wait. She couldn’t have recognized him. It had been three years, and he’d met her only four or five times. And yet he hoped that she might remember, just as much as he hoped she didn’t. She pushed the door open a few inches and spoke to him through the opening.
    “You’re going to have to move, young man. You may be allowed to boycott, but