“They did,” Wes answers. “They do. Gampy and Meemaw weren’t poor, either. They did well for themselves. But unlike our father and his family, they always gave back. Always. Couldn’t stomach the idea of having so much when some people had nothing. Gampy would always quote Ronald Reagan and say, ‘We can’t help everyone, but we can help someone.’ So he spent most of his life helping someone, one person at a time. As did Meemaw.”
“Unfortunately, that gene never got passed on to Lydia,” Julia says.
“Who’s Lydia?”
“Our mother,” Wes explains quickly.
I wonder why Julia calls her by her first name, but I don’t have a chance to ask before he continues.
“Meemaw and Gampy were her parents.”
“What did they do for work?” I inquire, then clarify, “Your grandparents.”
“Meemaw volunteered at area hospitals as a cuddler,” Julia answers.
I wrinkle my brow. “A cuddler?”
“It’s exactly how it sounds.” Her eyes shine with nostalgia, a heartwarming smile pulling on her full, wine-stained lips. “Some parents can’t be at the hospital with their newborns, especially when they’re born with medical issues. As much as you want to be there twenty-four/seven, it’s not always possible, so cuddlers soothe and snuggle those babies. Sometimes feed them. That’s what Meemaw did.”
“Wow.” I’d never met the woman but can tell I would have liked her. “And your grandfather?”
“He was a lawyer,” Wes states.
“District attorney,” Julia clarifies. “Then a judge.”
“When he retired, he did some advocacy work for the Innocence Foundation, helping people believed to be wrongfully convicted. He even took on some pro bono defense work.”
“That’s actually what caused the rift between our grandparents and Lydia,” Julia adds.
“What? His advocacy work?” I shake my head, confused how anyone would find fault in that. Then again, based on the few things I’ve picked up, their mother isn’t the most sympathetic person.
“That was probably about twenty years ago now,” Wes jumps in. “You have to understand. Where we grew up in the Atlanta suburbs is a very affluent community.”
“Very…white,” Julia emphasizes. “I mean, it wasn’t completely white, but let’s just say, in our school, if you weren’t white and wealthy, you weren’t exactly welcome.”
“What happened?” I press.
“It’s been quite a while, so my memory’s a little foggy, but a girl a few years older than me ended up pregnant. At fourteen.” She gives me a pointed stare. “To make matters worse, her father was the headmaster of our uppity prep school, so you can imagine what a scandal this would be for her family, who were supposed to be nice, Christian people.” She rolls her eyes, her disdain obvious.
I swallow hard, knowing all too well what this poor girl must have gone through. After all, I faced this myself. Maybe not at fourteen, but I can sympathize.
“She was a junior debutante, so there was no way for her to participate in all the Southern society bullshit events in her ‘condition’.” She uses air quotes, her tone oozing with sarcasm.
“Next thing we hear, they arrested a seventeen-year-old from school,” Wes explains. “Elijah. Claimed he raped her. According to Gampy, the whole thing was suspicious. He was on the Ethics Board at the school.”
“Who?” I ask. “Gampy?”
He nods. “Yes. He’d attended when he was a boy. As did his father. And so on, and so on. Well, when the athletics department wanted to award a football scholarship to Elijah, the headmaster had a few things to say about him, which Gampy overheard, unbeknownst to him. Gampy figured the man saw an opportunity to…cleanse the school and took it.”
“Cleanse?”
“Eli was black.”
My heart instantly goes out to this poor boy. I never went to private school, but I’ve experienced my fair share of racism. It doesn’t matter where you live, how accepting your neighbors claim to be of people from different backgrounds and cultures. At some point, you’ll experience some sort of discrimination based on the color of your skin. It’s inevitable. Doesn’t make it right, but as my mama taught me, you need to rise above, not stoop to their level, although it’s sometimes difficult.
“Eli was a year ahead of me,” Wes continues. “I didn’t know him well, but I had a few classes with him. He was a good kid. Quiet. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless they were on the football field.” He chuckles to himself, remembering the past. “Like I said, the arrest didn’t sit right with Gampy, so he offered to defend Eli.”
“Which pissed off Lydia.” Julia takes a long sip of her wine before continuing. “After all, she was