Trial, page 11
“The federal government practiced redlining—disqualifying Black neighborhoods for mortgages backed by the government. It would only ensure property covered by restrictive covenants. It cut off Black areas by building highways around them, which made it easier for white people to run away to the suburbs. The neighborhoods left behind have a fraction of white wealth and an oversupply of substandard housing, ill health, infant mortality, and lousy schools.
“I’m from Cade County, Georgia. I make no excuses for the South. But what people up here don’t get is, there’s always been different ways of killing people than hanging them from a tree, and all sorts of ways of killing their hope in the cradle. And too much of white America just zips by all that on the highway to somewhere nicer.”
Finishing, she noticed Dennis Burke grinning at Chase. “I’ll tell you this much, young Mr. Brevard. I don’t quite understand why Ms. Hill hangs out with you. But I sure understand why you hang out with her. You might actually learn something, like I just did.”
Fondly, Chase placed his hand on Allie’s. “No mystery why I like her, Dennis. I can never escape being edified.”
Later, Allie promised herself, she would tell him how much this annoyed her. It was never too late to be edified.
After dessert, Senator Burke asked Chase and Allie to stay for a while. As the others peeled off into the night, all but Warren Sparks told Allie how much they’d enjoyed meeting her. You don’t have to like me, she thought, and I don’t have to read your dumb book. That’s what makes America great.
Burke ushered them to a comfortable family room with pictures of his grown kids arranged on a bookshelf filled with biographies and books on politics and policy that also held a flat-screen TV. “This is where I watch the Yankees torture the Red Sox,” he told Chase. “Year after year. Sorry, but in my lifetime Goliath always wins.”
“Wait until next year,” Chase responded. “That’s what I’ve been living for since elementary school.”
The senator poured snifters of brandy for Chase and himself, more mineral water for Allie. Then he settled back in a comfortable leather chair, clearly his favorite, as they took their places on a couch. After some desultory conversation about Harvard, of which Burke was an alumnus, he told Allie, “My office really screwed up.”
“How’s that?” she responded, though she knew at once what was coming.
“We should’ve offered you a job last summer. It’s downright embarrassing.”
“It’s fine, Senator. I was a needle in a stack of résumés. I’m sure you hired someone great.”
“Frankly, I wouldn’t know. I don’t get to spend much time with summer interns.” He leaned forward. “But I do spend quite a lot of time with the smart people I’m lucky to have on staff. I’d like you to be one of them.”
Allie bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said. “Really, I’m way beyond flattered. But I’m planning to do social justice work in Georgia.”
Burke glanced at Chase. “I understand. I admire that. But Washington is where policy gets made. I’d like you to work in the part of my shop that deals with urban policy and racial equity. You can make a difference, and help me make a difference.”
Disconcerted, Allie gathered her thoughts. “I don’t know what to say. But I do know that people would kill for a job like that. I never expected this kind of offer.”
“Then just say you’ll consider it. You don’t have to tell me tomorrow. Let’s say in a month. I’ll spend that time hoping you sign on.”
Allie felt Chase watching her intently. “I’ll consider it,” she responded at last. “It’s a wonderful opportunity, after all.”
18
On the drive back, Allie was unusually quiet. Chase wondered if he had done something to offend her, or whether she feared the seduction of easy access, the temptation to stray from her mission in Georgia.
Arriving, they sat on the porch overlooking Edgartown Harbor, the lights from the yacht club shimmering on the dark, inky waters. Chase waited for her to say something.
Finally, she asked in tones of wonder, “Is this how it works? Is this really how it works?”
“What, exactly?”
She faced him in the semidarkness. “I just show up to dinner in the Magic Kingdom as your girlfriend, string a few sentences together, and job offers from senators start falling from trees. I don’t know whether I’m just stunned, or maybe even angry. I know I shouldn’t be, and the senator seems like a nice man. They were all pretty nice, even the guy who thinks he’s Malcolm X. Why wouldn’t they be? But it reminds me of how hard it is for ordinary people, let alone ordinary Black people, to get anywhere—and why. I wonder if it will ever be any different. “
Against his better judgment, Chase took a stab at humor. “They weren’t all billionaires, Allie—at least Warren isn’t. It’s good of Dennis to remember that the bottom one percent of the top one percent are people, too. Even if they’re all his donors.”
She turned away from him to gaze at the harbor, her face in shadows. “Oh, I’ll remember. Believe me, I learned something for myself tonight, and I’ll remember.” She spoke more softly. “It’s just that the concentration of money, credentials, and access was kind of overwhelming. You accept this is normal, but it feels totally dissociated from how I grew up and what I care about most. And yet I’m going to need these people, aren’t I? At least if I mean to accomplish everything I want to.
“You’re going to be one of those people. I just wish it weren’t another thing about us that makes me sad.”
Later on, in bed, neither could sleep. Finally, Chase said, “Talk to me, Allie.”
She rolled over on her back, and Chase heard her draw a breath. “It’s all a jumble.”
“Try me.”
She was quiet for a moment. “It’s just so hard to explain. At Harvard, Black women are two kinds of ‘other.’ We learn how to stand up for who we are, how not to look vulnerable. So there’s this whole strong-Black-woman trope, another way we become a stereotype. I never cry in front of other people, no matter what happens and how they may have hurt me. I only let myself cry when I’m alone.
“Tonight, for most of those people, I was a representative Black woman. I wasn’t their daughter, or one of their daughters’ friends. I wasn’t even sure whether you were my boyfriend or one of them. Sometimes it makes me so tired.”
Chase felt at sea, a failure. “How can I tell you how important you are to me? Not who I might want you to be, but who you are.”
“It’s not your fault, really.” Allie paused, continuing with what Chase heard as muted anguish. “There’s a kind of glamour to the way you live, the sense of escaping so much of what I deal with in the world, and inside myself. I don’t know whether caring for you is good for me or not, no matter how good you are or want us to be.
“What I got offered tonight is another way to work on things I care about. But it’s not the way I ever imagined. I know you’d like me to take it. I can even hear some Black woman friends telling me I’d be crazy not to. ‘Who’s going to be company for you in backwoods Georgia? Why not take the world Harvard gives you?’ I feel myself listening and suddenly losing who I’ve always been.”
Unsure of what to do, Chase restrained himself from reaching across the bed, doing or saying anything that might feel wrong to her. “I’m not sure of what to say.”
It was Allie who took his hand. “You listened,” she said after a time. “Right now that’s enough. Let’s try to get some sleep.”
19
After sleeping late, Allie and Chase sat on the porch, drinking coffee and gazing at the sunlight spreading across the harbor below. It was already ten o’clock, and the morning was bright and unseasonably warm. Though the residue of their discord lingered, Allie sensed that neither wanted to explore it.
“Any interest in sailing?” Chase asked.
“Never tried it.”
“There’s always a first time. My parents have this wonderful nineteen-foot daysailer, and it’s just been launched. If you like, we can take it out on a shakedown cruise for a couple of hours. I always did that when we got here for the summer.”
Sipping more coffee, Allie catalogued her reservations. “Where I come from,” she informed him, “the boats have outboard motors, and we use them for fishing. My dad would take me out on the lake, and then Mom cooked up whatever we caught. Don’t know I’d be that much use on a sailboat.”
“You wouldn’t need to. I’ve been out on the water since my parents dropped me off at sailing camp like a bag of dead cats. When I was thirteen I started crewing for a family friend in races off Long Island, and by the time I turned fifteen I’d started taking the Caroline out by myself. So I have seven prime years as Captain Brevard.”
Allie considered this. “I’m a strong enough swimmer,” she allowed. “But isn’t that water pretty cold?”
“You could say that. It’s still near fifty degrees, and if you got pitched overboard you’d die of hypothermia in less time than it takes to boil a pot of water. But it’s a beautiful day for sailing, with not much breeze.” Abruptly he stopped himself. “In weather like this we can do anything you want, including hike up a hill where you can see for miles. Just tell me what sounds good to you, and we’ll do it.”
Though he was feigning indifference, Allie could tell how deeply this sail connected with his memories of summer. “I can already put one foot in front of the other,” she answered. “Might as well learn something about sailing.”
When they got to the mooring below his parents’ house, the temperature had dropped, and Chase calculated that the wind had stiffened to thirteen knots. “Even when the land gets warmer,” he told her, “the water’s still cool. So you can get more wind and maybe some fog.”
“When do you start to worry?”
Chase glanced at her. “Over twenty knots of wind gets your attention. I’ve seen that plenty of times before, and it was always fine. But I don’t want to take you out if you’re uncomfortable.”
She already was, Allie acknowledged to herself. But Chase surely knew what he was doing, and it somehow felt important not to be disagreeable. “If you’re OK,” she answered, “I’m sure I’ll like it once we’re out.”
They clambered into the Caroline, a trim wooden boat that, while beautiful, struck Allie as none too big. When Chase started explaining its various parts, she observed and listened closely.
The tiller, which to Allie resembled a large wooden stick shift instead of the wheel she’d expected, steered the boat. The largest sheet of canvas was the mainsail; the forward sail was called the jib. Chase showed her the halyard, a cable he would use to raise the mainsail; the jib was controlled by the furler, a metal drum with cable wrapped around it that was attached to the deck. How much sail he let out, Chase concluded, would depend on the force and direction of the wind.
“Do you ever sail at night?” Allie asked.
“Not me, though I’ve been out after dark with some really experienced sailors. You can get incredibly disoriented—at least I did. You can’t see the land very easily, or figure out distances. It’s hard even to know whether a light is coming toward you or away from you. Fog makes it that much worse. But we’ll be back on the porch with a glass of wine long before the sun goes down. Want to start us off?”
At least, Allie thought, she’d seen an outboard motor before—even if you started this one by pushing a button. When she did that, the engine purred instantly to life. As they began moving away from the mooring, Allie felt a childish satisfaction, like she had actually accomplished something.
“The adventure begins,” Chase told her.
They motored out from the harbor past the Edgartown lighthouse, white and stubby, and out onto blue-green waters beneath a slowly graying sky that had begun to dim the sunlight. “Mind taking the tiller?” Chase asked. “Just hold it steady while I get the sails up.”
Feeling like an actor in someone else’s make-believe, Allie held the tiller as Chase pulled on the halyard, hoisting the mainsail aloft. He moved with grace and confidence, and Allie gave herself up to accepting that the water was his dominion.
Enjoying the mild breeze on her face, Allie noticed the first translucent mist of fog descending; though Chappaquiddick Island was quite near, it felt to her as if she were viewing it through smeared sunglasses. Then Chase hoisted the jib by uncleating the furling line, and the Caroline began cutting more swiftly through the water. “We’re heading into the wind,” he called over his shoulder. “That fills the sails so we can get going.”
Rising from the deck, Chase reclaimed the tiller. As they sliced through the water with the harbor behind them, Allie felt a sense of escape and adventure, and understood why Chase found sailing so appealing. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I can make sense of this. But our first reference point is Cape Poge, off in the distance to our right. At the moment you can barely see the lighthouse.”
Peering across the water, Allie spotted what looked like a tiny spike on a spit of land vanishing in the mist. “We’re heading out toward a red channel marker at the head of the harbor,” Chase continued. “It’s called R-2. When we get closer you’ll begin to hear its bell ringing, and feel us going faster as the wind picks up.”
They continued pushing forward through choppier waters, the wind quickening, the sailboat accelerating. Allie heard a bell clanging in the distance. “That’s R-2,” he told her. “We’ll reach open water, sail past Oak Bluffs, turn around, and head home. We should be back by four o’clock.”
Sitting near him, Allie heard the metallic ringing becoming louder, and saw the red metal marker bobbing in the water. Then Chase pulled on a line, and the mainsail came flying above Allie’s head. The Caroline changed direction and, for Allie, their experience changed with it.
The wind became much stiffer. Through the deepening fog, Allie saw whitecaps all around them. Spray hit her face, and it seemed like the edge of the sailboat as it tilted steeply toward the water might touch its surface.
They sailed like that for what, to Allie, seemed like endless minutes. Fighting gravity and the first traces of nausea, she hunkered down into what she thought of as the cockpit, and saw Chase smiling into the elements.
“How strong is this wind?” she asked.
Turning to look at her, he seemed to realize how conditions he took for granted might affect her. “Maybe twenty knots now—it’s picking up a little more than I thought, and the fog is thicker. We’ll be fine, but I’m wondering how you are.”
“A little sick,” she acknowledged.
“Sorry,” he said at once. “I’ll shorten sail and turn us back. It’s no fun for me if it isn’t for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. First thing to do is furl the jib sheet so we’re not catching so much wind. Can you hold the tiller for a moment?”
She looked around them into a world of gray, no longer afraid to seem afraid. “How will we know where we’re going?”
“I’ve done this a lot,” Chase assured her. “We’ll tack toward Cape Poge. That orients us toward R-2 and the mouth of the harbor. Once we get closer to shore, we can putt-putt to dry land.”
Knees bent for balance, Allie gripped the tiller. Amidst the roiling waters, she felt small, helpless but for Chase.
Swiftly moving to the furler, Chase began pulling on the furling line. Flapping in the wind, the jib made sharp cracking sounds as it eased. To her relief, Allie could feel the Caroline slowing. “It’ll be down in a moment,” Chase shouted over his shoulder.
Abruptly, the jib stopped descending.
The crackling and flapping became wilder, louder. The boat kept heeling. “What’s happening?” Allie called out.
“Furler’s stuck,” Chase snapped between gritted teeth as he strained against the handle. “Never happened before.”
Rising in a half crouch for more leverage, Chase tried to free the furling line, grunting at the effort. The furler did not move. Then the boat was jolted by a precipitous wave that frightened Allie beyond anything that had gone before. Blinded by sea spray, she clutched the tiller.
When she looked back toward Chase, he was gone.
She stared around her in disbelief, and then saw his head bobbing in the untamed water, calling out something she could not hear. For an awful moment she thought of the painting called The Scream. Then he vanished in the fog.
She bent forward, throwing up, water stinging her eyes. When she righted itself, she realized that the boat was moving away from where she had seen him. These could be the last moments of his life, she understood with sickening suddenness, spent losing consciousness before he died of hypothermia.
Desperate, she tried to remember something—anything—he had told her about the boat. The flapping jib increased her panic.
She willed herself to take a deep, shuddering breath, slowing down her thoughts.
What came to her was to push the button on the motor. It sputtered to life, giving her a spurt of hope that she could still find him in the fathomless waters.
Trying to steer the boat, she began fighting the mainsail. It was as though she were alone on a watery treadmill, suspended in her own horror.
Taut, she tried to think of what else to do.
When they got to the harbor, he had told her, he would release the halyard and take the mainsail down. Letting go of the tiller, she scrambled forward, jerking the halyard.
