to.”
“And you’ll get it soon enough. Sooner than you think. Shoot, at your age I was married with a kid on the way. Enjoy being single. Enjoy this time of development and growth.”
“So I take it all is good on your end—with your family, I mean?”
“Things are okay. I’ve been on the road a lot since I took this assignment to guard Reverend Stokes. We’re just trying to hold it together. Make it work. I love her—we’re in love with each other. That’s how I know we’ll be fine.”
“Wow, that is so totally awesome,” I declared, wishing I could relate.
“How about you? How are things with your family?” Ryan asked.
“Things are okay, I guess. My teen sister is going through one of many phases. Right now, she’s boy-shopping.” I laughed to myself, a half-worried laugh, remembering the day I walked in on her little escapade. “I’m worried about her. She seems to be running with the wrong crowd.”
“Oh, trust me, I know how that goes. I have two younger sisters myself. I worry about them just as much. I only want the best for them. We used to fight all the time as kids, and we even argue a bit now. But I still love them dearly.”
“My sister is close to my heart, too.” He nodded as he listened to me. “And my mother…” my voice trailed off. “She’s okay, I guess. I honestly haven’t talked to her since I first took this job.”
“Wow. Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. I’m sort of…angry.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Nothing really happened per se.”
“Then why are you upset?” he questioned.
I turned my head toward the corner of the room. What was I supposed to say? My personal life was bothering me more than I’d realized. Ryan was still waiting for my answer.
“Chris, talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, bringing my eyes back to meet his. “I just wish I could do more for my family. You know, I look at Mrs. Stokes, all dolled up and iced down, and I get kind of upset. I mean, why does my mom have to be the black version of trailer trash? Why did it have to work out this way for us? That’s all. I want to do so much more to help them.”
“Continue on your path. Keep working hard. One day you’ll be able to do all the things for your family that you want to do.”
“I sure hope so,” I said wishfully.
Reverend Stokes appeared at events attended by both blacks and whites. Since it wasn’t as necessary for the protectee to have an African-American around him, so that person could blend in with the crowd, my partner Agent Hold and I were transferred to posts in the van. But I didn’t mind. Switching with Agents Moss and Pitts gave us some time to relax. Ryan and I munched on BBQ Lay’s, listened to the radio, and kept encouraging each other. I really enjoyed his sense of fun, mixed with our work. He’d run the Agency excellently one day. We were brisk, but not burnt out.
After the second week’s campaign trail ended, it was time to head back home. On the way back to Georgia, I was in the front seat of the car the Stokeses were riding in. The candidate and his wife spoke in hushed tones. Suddenly, Mrs. Stokes’s voice rose in both pitch and volume.
“I can’t believe they’re having marital problems. Our son has got to learn how to compromise.”
Sebastian wasn’t married, and they only had two sons, so they had to have been talking about Steven Jr.
“He’s just being smart,” Reverend Stokes snapped back. “He can’t let his wife know everything he’s doing.”
“Of course you’d defend him,” Mrs. Stokes said, obviously feeling more than she was stating.
When we got back to the house, I inspected the premises. As I entered the kitchen, I unexpectedly found Sebastian sitting at the table eating a peanut butter sandwich. Having not seen or thought of him in over ten days, I was apprehensive about facing him. I turned to come back later.
“Well, hello there,” he said, getting up. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
I didn’t respond, but I didn’t head out of his presence, either.
He came in front of me, “Look, the first night I met you, you may have gotten the wrong impression.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Why do you care, anyway?”
He took my hand. “I’ve been asking myself that same question for days. All I can come up with is that there’s something about you.”
“Well, that’s nice and all, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
Without hesitation, he released my hand and stepped out of my way. Part of me didn’t want him to move, but I had to fight whatever it was I was feeling.
I heard laughter booming out of the kitchen—I recognized the loud voice as belonging to Agent Sawyer. His hillbilly laugh could be distinguished anywhere. What was all the fuss about? We only had a short window of time before the next detail unit took position. He should be gathering his things, not running his mouth.
As I made my way toward the kitchen, I stopped when I heard Agent Sawyer say, “I hated having to call attention to the man with the grenade. No colored boy needs to be running for president, anyway. Maybe he could have stopped some of this steam, heated up around here.”
“Hahaha!” laughed Regunfuss.
“Oh no, he didn’t!” I said to myself, not able to ignore it.
What a racist comment! And who says colored anymore? Where does he get off, thinking he can call that grown man a boy? And why does Regunfuss condone his comments with laughter? Oh, I was too through!
“And tell me something—how does a black man live in a house like this? He must be selling drugs on the side. What do the little hoodlums call it now? Trapping?” I heard Sawyer say from my place right outside the kitchen.
“Hahaha! Trapping!” Regunfuss echoed.
“And I tell you what: these are the funniest-talking black folk I ever seen! All the rest of ’em seem like they talk like they ain’t had no kinda schoolin’ at all. Just straight out the ghettos and on into our world.”
“What it do, my brother?” Regunfuss said as she leaned in to imitate black culture and slap hands with Sawyer.
The roaring laughter continued, echoing and bursting through the halls. I’m surprised they didn’t bring everyone into the kitchen, wondering what was so funny. Their laughter was incredibly loud! I couldn’t let this bashing continue. I had to stand up for my protectee and for my people.
Storming into the room, I said, “Sawyer, no more!”
“Excuse me, missy?”
“You heard me! No more! No more name-calling, no more bashing, no more laughter,
