Page 77 of Justice for Samara

Poke the bear, he told himself. “Do something like what? Like fall in love and want to spend the rest of his life with that person? Why is that so unusual?” Samara gave his foot a tap under the table, and he knew what that meant, but it frosted him to hear his mother say things like that about Gray. The man was happy, and it didn’t matter if that happiness was a result of something she could understand or not.

“Well, why couldn’t he find a nice girl? I just don’t get some people.”

“No, and you never will.” Michael took another bite of casserole. Poppy seed chicken. If he and Samara got married and someone gave her casserole dishes, he was going to chuck them into the dumpster behind the station.

If he and Samara got married. Michael stopped chewing. It was the first time that had occurred to him, even though he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Was that what he wanted, marriage and kids and all that went with that commitment? Yes. He absolutely did. One glance at the beautiful woman sitting there beside him and he was overwhelmed by the feelings he had for her. If she didn’t feel the same way, he was going to get his heart torn out of his chest and stomped on, because he’d already given it away to her and he knew it.

A voice cut into his thoughts. “Michael? Did you hear me?”

“Uh, no. What?”

Samara gave him a funny look. “You were a million miles away.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Kinda zoned out there.” If she had any idea what he’d been thinking about, she’d freak out.

“It’s okay. Mrs.Edwards, this casserole is delicious. Could you give me the recipe? I’d love to try it.”

“I can just make it for you and Michael can pick it up. Right, son?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”Oh, shit. I won’t be living here and I’llstillbe eating her casseroles. That’s depressing as hell.

“That would be very nice. Thank you.”

Michael just sat there and let the two of them chat. The evening had been his idea, and he regretted it, even though everything seemed fine.

They’d been gone for about five minutes when his phone rang. Without thinking, he just hit the button on his steering column and said, “Hello?”

“Michael, we need to talk.”

He could feel Samara watching him. “About what?”

“About that woman you brought here.”

“What about her?”

“She’s black.”

“Seriously? I hadn’t noticed,” he said as calmly as he could.

“Michael Wilson Edwards! Don’t be a smart aleck with me!”

He was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard. “Mom, what is your point?”

“I mean, if you had kids with her, what would become of them?”

“I’m hoping one would become a doctor and the other a lawyer so they could buy me a vacation home,” he said and didn’t dare turn to Samara. He was sure she was laughing.

“I don’t mean that, Michael. You know what happens to half-breed kids. They’re not accepted by either their white or?”

“Uh-uh. No You’re not going there. I’m saying goodnight. Thank you for dinner, but this conversation is over.”

“But Michael?”

“No. Over. Bye.” And he pressed the disconnect button. “I swear to god, I can’t believe she said all of that.”

“Why not? That’s how a lot of white people feel. And she trotted out all the conventional stereotypes. No surprise there.”

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

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