Chapter 127: Sharing Good Fortune

Friday, April 18, 1986

We hit the road after the end of classes. As had become a pattern, Cammie and Mel took Candice and Sherry. Jas and I dropped Angie and Paige off at Tony and Jean’s for a late dinner, then headed to Camille and Francis’s house for a late dinner of our own. Our neighbors were checking on Cleo and Tony, and we were sure they would be fine.

We had been to Houston much more this year than last year. I had no idea if that would continue, but it was nice. The parents were pretty much immune to empty-nest feelings at this point, but we still wanted to make regular visits for our own sake just as much as for theirs.

For tonight, we tabled the idea of telling Camille and Francis about Live Aid. Mom and Dad would hear about it first, and we would base what we told the other parents on how that went. That made sense partly because it was Angie’s story at least as much as it was mine, quite possibly more. It made much more sense for both of us to share it together, at least for the first time.

Once we went to bed, we took advantage of being at Camille and Francis’s house. Last night had been very late, after all. Tonight was a fairly early night, and we found some wonderful ways to amuse ourselves.

Saturday, April 19, 1986

Since we had church tonight, and so did many of our guests, birthdays were a lunch celebration, not an evening one.

We met at Brennerman’s around noon and were seated in their private room. It was highly amusing that these three birthdays (Cammie’s, Paige’s, and mine) were now a twenty-nine-person event.

Twenty was an odd birthday. It should be a big one — divisible-by-ten numbers almost always are — but eighteen and twenty-one both mean far more in the United States than twenty does. Still, we were officially no longer teenagers. Not that long ago, it had felt entirely odd to be a teenager. Now, it would be odd to not be one.

It also felt odd to have a twentieth birthday that mattered. There was every chance that my first-life twentieth had been celebrated in my dorm room with a few roommates. I had no real memory of it at all.

We exchanged presents, but they were little ones. Some CDs, a few books, and some nice trinkets.

The big present was the company. We talked to everyone, even the people we didn’t know well. I made a point of thanking Penelope and David for staying involved with Cammie. I think it embarrassed them just a touch, but I told them a bit about Aunt Helen and why it mattered to me that they were a good aunt and uncle. That made them happy. They, in turn, thanked me for continuing to support Cammie.

They also thanked me for supporting Mel. That was an evolution. Whether or not they still felt Cammie and Mel were sinning and should repent never entered the conversation. I suspected they did, though. Either way, they had taken ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ to include Mel. I think they had even decided that, if the two of them were going to sin, it was better for them to otherwise follow the tradition of marriage and cleave to each other. That wasn’t quite where Mom was — Mom had tossed out the notion of Angie and Paige being together being a sin — but it had similarities.

They would, very likely, be the only relatives of Cammie’s welcome at her wedding. I imagined they would be there, and they would be happy for Cammie and Mel, too.

These birthdays would fall on Easter Sunday next year, and I imagined we might do something very similar to this. How special for Cammie that the birthday when American kids finally become fully ‘adult’ in many ways would happen for her on Easter Sunday. For Paige, too, but it wasn’t nearly as big of a deal for her as it would be for Cammie.

We sang ‘Happy Birthday’ three times, and there were three cakes. Amusingly, vanilla for Cammie, chocolate for Paige, and cheesecake for me. Not exactly a cake cake, but it worked, and there was plenty for everyone to share.

After lunch, and after the many hugs we received as we were leaving, we made the twenty-minute drive to Social Climbers. It was located in a slightly run-down strip center about a mile from Booker T. Washington High School. The charity itself didn’t look run down, though — it was clean and orderly. On the other hand, the adjoining convenience store looked as if it had seen better days.

That could be deceptive, though. I’d seen convenience stores in worse shape in fairly upscale areas near where I lived, and many of them had been thriving businesses. This one might be, too.

We parked and headed in. From the back, we heard, “Hang on a minute! I’ll be right out.”

“We’ll wait!” Angie called.

Within a minute, a slightly heavyset middle-aged black woman came out of the back.

“Well, my goodness! White folk! Get lost?” she said, chuckling. “Oh, and I’m Celia Williams. Nice to meet you.”

“Nope,” Angie said. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

She offered her hand and said, “Angie Marshall.”

They shook, and then Angie said, “We have a few things to donate, and your charity came up as a good option.”

“We love donations!” she said. “Old dresses?”

“Nah,” Angie said. “Rings.”

“Rings!” she said. “My goodness!”

Angie took them out while the rest of us briefly introduced ourselves.

Celia looked at them and said, “These are nice! Cubic zirconia?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Angie said. “They were engagement rings for a bit. We had family heirlooms that needed to be reworked, and these stood in for those.”

“Much like we do!” she said, “You bought these?”

“We did,” Angie said. “But we always intended to donate them. Better than reselling them. They’ll get put to good use this way.”