Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Chapter Fourteen

The restaurant was warm and inviting, scented by garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread. Sharing food together was a deep-rooted human tradition, and aside from a few high-tech flourishes, the business appeared much like every other eatery he'd visited. The lunchtime crowd filled most of the tables, and conversation filled the air.

Julian sat silently, shifting his legs as he waited for Ray to return with Edith, still a bit awestruck in the presence of a man Idabee said was internationally known. The nonagenarian leaned back in his chair, studying Julian intently but saying nothing. Reverend Shaver's scarred left temple was a reminder of the violence they'd both experienced at the reparations rally, and Julian cast about for a different topic to spark conversation. "How are you feeling after not eating for three days?"

The nonagenarian replied with an exhausted wheeze. "I'm tired, and I have a headache. Once I have some food, I'll feel better."

"Idabee—Ray's daughter—told me yesterday that she was feeling good after seventy-two hours. I hope you're not risking your health." Julian nudged the basket of breadsticks resting on the checkered tablecloth. "Please, eat something."

"When the Dr. Leetes arrive. A little longer won't hurt me." Shaver continued to study Julian.

"You said you were fasting for atonement?" Julian asked. He assumed it was a religious thing, but the reverend had told him three days earlier part of that is directed toward you. "I didn't quite understand why."

"I'm eternally grateful that you interfered at the rally. I believe God spared my life so I could press for reconciliation in the aftermath." Shaver's thin hands quivered slightly as they reached across the table and grasped Julian's warmly. "Thank you, thank you for what you did."

"Of course," he said, beaming with pride.

Shaver hesitated before continuing. "But I also believe the strife would have been avoided if I'd only listened to your message in the first place." Shaver began wringing his hands, pressing them tight to his chest, and his eyes filled with grief.

Julian nodded, but without understanding. He'd never spoken to the preacher until three days ago, so the only message he could think of was the sign he'd held at the reparations rally. Since Shaver had called out Edith's sign during his speech, it stood to reason that he'd noticed Julian's as well. Know justice, know peace, it had read. How would that have prevented anything?

He waited to see if Shaver would continue. The yeasty aroma of the breadsticks tempted him, but Julian was determined not to take food until the other man did. When the silence became uncomfortable, he confessed, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I refused to help you the first time we talked," Shaver said. At Julian's blank look, he gestured at the side of his own head. "Before you shaved off your locs."

Julian's heart began to race, and when he nodded, it was with the clear understanding that the old man was confused. Obviously, Shaver had mistaken him for someone else. "Ah," he replied vaguely.

"I was prideful," Shaver resumed, but Julian's attention shifted. Raymond Leete had walked through the restaurant door, and striding confidently behind him was an elderly black woman, silver-haired and professionally dressed.

Their eyes met. It was Edith.

She breezed over to their table with a regal air, placing a hand on Shaver's shoulder in greeting. "Hello, Alvin," Edith said without breaking her gaze from Julian.

"Edith?" Julian whispered as he stood to greet her. The decades had been kind, but as thinly sliced as the years were, the quantity weighed on her features.