Dean looks away, a tear escapes, and he quickly wipes it away. I don’t want Dean to see that I think differently about his family. About him. But I can’t help feeling betrayed that they kept these boxes. I don’t understand the intent of keeping it. Why would Mr. Evans allow his wife to keep memorabilia and records if he didn’t agree with these beliefs? Last night my house was threatened. The same hate I see in these boxes put the cross on my lawn, lit a match, and threw a brick through my window.

I pull away from Dean and create some distance, my heart breaking all over again.

SKELETON IN THE CLOSET

I couldn’t think of where else to go, so I went to see Quincy. Quincy and I don’t say a word as he goes through the box of Klan artifacts. His face is stern, but his hands tremble.

“Unbelievable.” Quincy flips through the last few pages of what must be an attendance sheet or membership roster.

“Why do you think they kept all this stuff?” I ask. “Mr. Evans said he’d find out names, but he hasn’t followed up since. Do you think this is why?”

“Don’t try and figure it out,” Quincy says. “People get nostalgic about weird shit like this. Look at the Confederate flag. The South lost, representing slavery. And they still try to play it off like it’s just pride for the South. The Klan weren’t a threat to them. The Klan were just the people they knew, even walked their kids to school to keep them safe.”

“All I see is hate.”

“He could’ve been planning to talk with Dean first.”

“I’d bury it.”

“Maybe boxing everything up was his version of burying it,” Quincy says. “All you need to know is if the Klan knew you had this, it’s dangerous.”

When I first saw the box, I felt sick with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Quincy’s words got me terrified. Klan aren’t to be taken lightly. And for what? Daddy’s appeal? Because of Jamal?

“What do we do with it?”

“Let’s focus on keeping you away from any trouble.”

“Trouble already found me. You think you can stop me from looking for answers now?”

“I’m not qualified to do that.” Quincy lifts an eyebrow and laughs.

I chuckle.

“What’s this mean for you and Dean?” Quincy pauses. “You good still?”

“I think he was shaken, too,” I say. “And I for sure didn’t know how to process his family history. This is a lot.”

“You came here. If you were feeling him, you would’ve stayed.”

“How could I go on looking at this stuff, with him there?”