The Inside Battle by Melanie Sumrow

Author:Melanie Sumrow [Sumrow, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: little bee books
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

As Dad nears, I can see the veins popping in his neck. Dwight isn’t far behind.

My heart slams against my chest.

“What’s going on here?” Dad shouts as he walks.

People turn to stare. Calliope’s mouth drops open in disbelief.

No, don’t embarrass me here. Not in front of her.

“Can I help you, sir?” Josiah asks, rolling to the front of the table, his chair creating a barrier in front of me.

“Get out of my way,” Dad orders, and then looks across Josiah’s wheelchair to Calliope. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, touching my son?”

Her bottom lip trembles.

My whole body flushes with heat. My eyes feel like they’re bulging out of my skull, willing him to stop.

“Sir,” Josiah says, his voice a little louder but still calm, “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. Your son was contributing to the scholarship money my church is collecting.”

“Your church?” Dwight says past the tobacco wad in his mouth.

“Yes, sir. I’m the pastor here at the AME Zion Church, and we’re selling honey and jam to raise money for the community scholarship fund.”

“Why was she touching you?” Dad snaps.

He makes it sound so dirty. I wish I could melt into the concrete floor and disappear.

“My granddaughter was putting a Band-Aid on your son’s arm, sir. The other one was falling off.”

“This is Calliope?” Dad says.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to awaken from this nightmare.

“That’s right,” she says. My eyelids snap open. She’s lifting her chin, while Dad looks at her with so much hate.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” Josiah says, obviously trying to draw Dad’s glare away from Calliope. “Of course, I don’t have any feet anymore,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Lost them in the war. Rebel tells me we have the same kind of background, you and I.”

The vein in Dad’s forehead throbs as he speaks through gritted teeth. “How dare you! We are nothing alike.”

I should probably say something. But my tongue feels too thick. The words won’t come.

“You’re not fit to lick the dirt from his boots,” Dwight says before spitting—a brown, slimy mass—straight at Josiah.

I cringe as tobacco juice slides down Josiah’s cheek and soils his crisp white collar.

Calliope tenses next to me. She edges toward Dwight, pointing. “How dare you.”

But Josiah puts a hand at her waist, shaking his head, stopping her.

“Is there a problem?” a police officer asks. Apparently, someone called the police. Thank goodness.

“No, sir,” Josiah says, wiping his face and neck with a handkerchief. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

The cop looks suspiciously between Calliope and Josiah. He turns to Dwight. “Are you alright, sir?”

Calliope’s hand clenches by her side.

The cop’s badge glints under the lights. “Did you not get the right change or something?”

Why is he assuming Josiah and Calliope did something wrong? Calliope’s staring at me, as if willing me to speak up for them, but I’m too shocked.

Dwight chews his tobacco and spits on the ground near their table, splattering the yellow tablecloth with brown juice. “Naw, we’re good.

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