Good Dirt

Henry

Henry

U ntil twenty minutes ago, Henry had been looking forward to this part of the trip. Leaving Paris and Versailles behind. Dialing things down for a while. Getting out his camera and wandering along the river. Having sex in the middle of the day. But then Ebby turned up. Or, rather, he and Avery showed up and found Ebby here.

Avery understood, instantly, who Ebby was. When Henry realized this, he turned to look at her. Avery’s mouth was tight around the corners, and her eyebrows were raised, but she was being her usual gracious self. She was good at that sort of thing, being diplomatic in her fury.

The worst part of that incredibly awkward moment was realizing that, even though he had backed out of his engagement to Ebby last year, on their wedding day, no less, with no explanation, none of the qualities that had drawn him to Ebby in the first place had gone away. Ebby appeared to be the same woman he’d wanted to marry from that very first night, only with really bright clothing and hair.

What was that color in her hair, anyway?

Bonfire curls aside, Ebby still looked like the woman who, nearly three years earlier, had responded to his attempt to introduce himself at a private mixer by saying, “Henry? What kind of name is that?”

It was something that others of Henry’s generation might have thought, but only a person saddled with a name like Ebony Freeman would have the audacity to ask. Though at the time Henry still didn’t know her name.

“It’s a rather common name, actually,” Henry said, grinning. “Not unheard-of in these parts.”

“I know,” Ebby said, laughing. “What I mean is, who names their child Henry anymore? That’s the kind of name I would expect someone’s grandfather to have. Or, maybe, a pirate from the olden days.”

Henry laughed. “And you are…?”

“Ebby.”

“Ebby?” Henry said. “Well, that’s a thoroughly contemporary-sounding name. Or is that, maybe, a nickname?”

He still didn’t know that Ebby stood for Ebony. Still didn’t know that for much of Ebby’s life, people had been taking note of her name, speculating about her, commenting on her most personal struggles. All he could think of was how drawn he was to the presence of this woman, this Ebby, reaching for her drink with one long, russet-colored arm.

In that moment, Henry was picking up on much of what continued to draw people to Ebby’s story. Beyond her unfortunate past was her appearance. She was attractive in a memorable way, which was to say Henry couldn’t stop looking at her.

“I asked you first,” Ebby said. “Aren’t you a little young to be a Henry?” she asked.

“Henry was my grandfather’s name.”

“So your grandfather was a pirate?”

Henry laughed. “Well, some people might say so, but no, not really.”

It was not uncommon for a man from a family like his to be named after his influential grandfather. Families of every generation, in every culture, had honored their ancestors or others of importance in this way, but it’s true Henry had been born at a time when his parents might have opted for a different sound, or when his formal name could have been replaced with a more stylish nickname. Something to suit the trends of the decade. Something more advantageous to chatting up a stunner like Ebby at a terrace bar overlooking the Sound.

There was a burst of laughter. Henry glanced in the direction of the noise. A mirthful clutch of people across the room. The place had filled up noticeably. Everyone here was a professional high achiever of some sort, or the financially secure offspring of one. They all dressed the same. Held their drinks up to their mouths in the same way. But not Ebby. Sure, she dressed in the same kind of clothes but she wore them differently. Henry admits it. He had approached Ebby because she’d stood out in the crowd. Who wouldn’t have? Just look at her.

It wasn’t only her beauty, though, that held his attention. It was that way she had of looking past everyone, as though she had something more interesting on her mind, as though she had no real need for this room full of twentysomethings who were all trying very hard to leave their mark on this flirty, increasingly tipsy gathering. The woman she’d arrived with was already off and mingling, fully keyed into the buzz of energy. Henry still did not know that, while many people liked to watch Ebby and talk about her, and some would aim for a hookup, very few people actually wanted to spend any time with her. Someone might say, Let’s go to that happy hour, or some other group event, then wander off. Rarely would they want to do lunch, or go walking, or see a play with Ebby alone. And it had become a vicious circle. If Ebby looked comfortable sitting there on her own, it was because she had grown accustomed to it.

But therein lay part of Ebby’s charm, the trait that soon pulled Henry fully into her world and led him to say marry me two years later. If you could, indeed, catch Ebby’s eye, strike up a conversation, and show genuine interest in her, if you could be one of those one-in-a-thousand who could look past the hometown tragedy that had burned itself into her family’s identity, or past that reserved exterior, then Ebby would turn her full attention to you. She would be considerate. Ask you questions. Listen to your answers. She would smile. And when she did, it would be like finding the sunny spot in a garden and leaning back in a lawn chair to soak up the light.

“So,” Ebby was saying, now, “you’re telling me that being called Henry is, like, name bling ?”

“I suppose you could look at it that way. Name bling.” Henry felt himself grinning.

“I get that,” she said. “We have one name that keeps getting repeated in our family, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Edward.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“No, not really. And my dad, for example, calls himself Ed.”

“So we’ve established that Henry, used full strength, is an awful name.”

“Not awful. Did I say awful?”

“You implied awful,” Henry said, but he was smiling.

“So what do you do when you’re not fending off attacks on your name?” Ebby asked.

“Banking.”

“Banking? You look familiar. Who are your people?” Ebby asked.

“Pepper.”

“Pepper! Not those Peppers?”

“No, not really,” he lied. “We’re a bit poorer.”

“But not so poor?”

Henry laughed. “No, not .”

Ebby smiled broadly, now, and Henry felt, what was the word? Happy? Yes, that was it. He rested one elbow on the counter of the bar and leaned in toward Ebby. He noted something both woody and floral, barely there, in the air around her.

“And you?” he asked.

“Freeman,” she said.

“Freeman?” Henry closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the ceiling. “Freeman, Freeman, Freeman. There are some Freemans up in…” He stopped. “They’re, um…” He straightened up. Started to speak again but, unsure of what to say, paused, lips slightly parted. He felt beads of moisture gathering along his hairline. Shit, it was all coming back to him, now. A black family. A terrible tragedy.

“That’s right,” said Ebby, nodding very slowly. Reading his thoughts. “We are the only Freemans in these parts. And, yes, we are those Freemans.” Her voice was cooler now, not unlike that bit of chilled air that slips out of a freezer just as the door is shut.

Oh, great, Henry, he thought. Well done.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Ebby said. “Or have you read all the news reports?”

“Whoa,” Henry said, touching Ebby’s arm. “Hold on a minute there. I didn’t realize. I really wasn’t thinking. I was only making conversation. Can we make conversation? Can we just talk? Would that be all right?”

Man, there was that smile again. Look at that. It didn’t matter who Ebby was, or what had happened to her family. She was standing right in front of Henry, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep her there. So he tried again.

“There are some seats out there on the lawn. Would you like to join me?”

She nodded, and all felt right with Henry’s world.

Henry should have guessed right away that a young woman who had been through what Ebony Freeman had experienced might be prone to sudden displays of defensiveness, as she’d shown that first night. He should have imagined that she might struggle to be around people at times, though she would conceal it well, poised as she was.

Later, when Henry was already too smitten to walk away, he would google Ebby and her family. He would read about the Freemans’ long history in Massachusetts and substantial real estate holdings and net worth. At the time of their son’s death, the mother was a whip-smart corporate attorney, and the father was a brilliant engineer and inventor who’d sold a couple of patents to the right companies at just the right time.

That the Freemans were African American was something that seemed to be mentioned in every news report, every article, and every social media post that Henry read about their personal tragedy. Nothing like the shooting had ever happened in their neighborhood before, each report would quote people as saying. It felt as though the writers were implying that the Freemans’ blackness had something to do with the violence that had been visited upon them, despite the fact that they lived in a wealthy enclave already brimming with temptation for anyone willing to hedge their bets against private security patrols.

But as Henry sat there, facing Ebby for the first time, he was not thinking about the Freemans. He was thinking only of the woman lowering herself into a lawn chair next to him, and of the feeling that a door was swinging open in his life. He wasn’t thinking that someone like Ebby might still suffer from trauma, years after a violent event. Might jump at sudden sounds or wake up in the middle of the night, her camisole soaked with perspiration. Might turn down dinners with his friends, more often than he liked, to avoid what Ebby called the viral curiosity that followed her around.

He couldn’t imagine then that as he approached their wedding day, he would wonder if life with Ebby would always be as thorny as it had become, and that he would be afraid to be honest with her about the doubts he’d been harboring.

Avery’s soft chatter pulls him back to the here and now. Avery, walking arm in arm with Henry along the river, tells Henry that they can still change their plans, find a new booking, continue their vacation elsewhere. Henry nods, makes an effort to keep listening. Avery is such an easy person to be around. There’s a lot to be said for that. But seeing Ebby has changed everything.