Read Online The Turner House by Angela Flournoy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Angela Flournoy
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one eighty in fives, and whateverâs left in ones again.â
Jim obliged, and Lelah slid a cobalt $5 chip back to him for his assistance.
She had enough for a hotel room now. She knew she should leave. Slide her chips into her purse like that generous woman did earlier and make a beeline for the cashier. But her watch said 11 P.M. Just another half hour and she could be up $600. With $600 she could find a place to stay for a week, maybe two weeks if she settled for a shitty motel. She could flip the money into something worth leaving with. Not could, she
would.
She just had to try. She put $60 on black, $10 on 00 because it hadnât hit yet, $40 on the third 12 of the board, and $20 on 27.
No matter how still Lelahâs mind became as she played, she was never careless; her purse stayed in her lap, her cell phone tucked in her front pocket. Vernon was the one to tell her that over two decades ago, back when theyâd taken trips off base in Missouri to the riverboat casinos. âThe same guy sitting next to you shooting the shit all night will steal your wallet in a heartbeat,â heâd said, and sheâd nodded. This was toward the end of their marriage, and the riverboats, newly opened, were one of the few places where the two of them still had fun. Neither of them was interested in winning money, but Vernon had an engineerâs knack for figuring things out, breaking systems down into their parts. They conceived Brianne after one of these trips, and although they werenât exactly in love anymore, Lelah believed they had created their daughter in hope.
âNo more bets.â
The ball landed on 14. She had no chips on 14, which meant $120 was gone. The remaining $180 was still more than she had in the bank, but what could you get with that? Not much. If you walked out with $180 when you could have had $600, you didnât walk away the victor. She put money on the same spots again, just half as much.
It wasnât Vernonâs fault sheâd ended up a gambler; she would never say it was. A few years after the divorce and her return home Lelah started going to Caesars in Windsor on her own, and thatâs when the feeling found her. The stillness she hadnât even realized sheâd needed up until then. When she felt like she was flailing, back on Yarrow not doing anything worth anything with her life and tired of being alone, she could sit right here, put her hand on the chalky surface of the chips, and be still for a moment in the middle of all the commotion of the casino floor.
âNo more bets.â
Lelah looked down. Her twenties were gone, gone before she even thought to admire the shiny redness of them. Cobalt and persimmon were leftâit felt like forty dollars. Her watch said 11:27. Forty dollars was like no money at all, so she might as well let it play. Straight up on 27 twice and it was gone, and with it, the stillness. She heard the slot bells first, then noticed the stink of cigarette smoke in the air. Lelah found herself part of a loud and bright Friday night in Motor City once again.
One North
SUMMER 1944
A city had its own time and cruelty. There was cruelty in the country too, but it was plain. Not veiled beneath promises of progress, nor subtle when it manifested itself. Francis took in the high-domed roof, the glittering marble floors, and the multitude of corridors as he walked. One stepped into a place like thisâa palace like the kinds that Abraham and his wife, Sarah, turned up in, he thoughtâand felt impossibly small. Just a dim light, easily blown out. Francis arrived at Michigan Central Station with a small bag, his only pair of shoes on his feet, $15 in one pocket, and a letter for a pastor in the other.
Heâd hoped for a different letter from the one he carried. It did not introduce him as a clever young man worthy of apprenticeship in the Lordâs work. That letter and any chances of a preacherâs life were
Jim obliged, and Lelah slid a cobalt $5 chip back to him for his assistance.
She had enough for a hotel room now. She knew she should leave. Slide her chips into her purse like that generous woman did earlier and make a beeline for the cashier. But her watch said 11 P.M. Just another half hour and she could be up $600. With $600 she could find a place to stay for a week, maybe two weeks if she settled for a shitty motel. She could flip the money into something worth leaving with. Not could, she
would.
She just had to try. She put $60 on black, $10 on 00 because it hadnât hit yet, $40 on the third 12 of the board, and $20 on 27.
No matter how still Lelahâs mind became as she played, she was never careless; her purse stayed in her lap, her cell phone tucked in her front pocket. Vernon was the one to tell her that over two decades ago, back when theyâd taken trips off base in Missouri to the riverboat casinos. âThe same guy sitting next to you shooting the shit all night will steal your wallet in a heartbeat,â heâd said, and sheâd nodded. This was toward the end of their marriage, and the riverboats, newly opened, were one of the few places where the two of them still had fun. Neither of them was interested in winning money, but Vernon had an engineerâs knack for figuring things out, breaking systems down into their parts. They conceived Brianne after one of these trips, and although they werenât exactly in love anymore, Lelah believed they had created their daughter in hope.
âNo more bets.â
The ball landed on 14. She had no chips on 14, which meant $120 was gone. The remaining $180 was still more than she had in the bank, but what could you get with that? Not much. If you walked out with $180 when you could have had $600, you didnât walk away the victor. She put money on the same spots again, just half as much.
It wasnât Vernonâs fault sheâd ended up a gambler; she would never say it was. A few years after the divorce and her return home Lelah started going to Caesars in Windsor on her own, and thatâs when the feeling found her. The stillness she hadnât even realized sheâd needed up until then. When she felt like she was flailing, back on Yarrow not doing anything worth anything with her life and tired of being alone, she could sit right here, put her hand on the chalky surface of the chips, and be still for a moment in the middle of all the commotion of the casino floor.
âNo more bets.â
Lelah looked down. Her twenties were gone, gone before she even thought to admire the shiny redness of them. Cobalt and persimmon were leftâit felt like forty dollars. Her watch said 11:27. Forty dollars was like no money at all, so she might as well let it play. Straight up on 27 twice and it was gone, and with it, the stillness. She heard the slot bells first, then noticed the stink of cigarette smoke in the air. Lelah found herself part of a loud and bright Friday night in Motor City once again.
One North
SUMMER 1944
A city had its own time and cruelty. There was cruelty in the country too, but it was plain. Not veiled beneath promises of progress, nor subtle when it manifested itself. Francis took in the high-domed roof, the glittering marble floors, and the multitude of corridors as he walked. One stepped into a place like thisâa palace like the kinds that Abraham and his wife, Sarah, turned up in, he thoughtâand felt impossibly small. Just a dim light, easily blown out. Francis arrived at Michigan Central Station with a small bag, his only pair of shoes on his feet, $15 in one pocket, and a letter for a pastor in the other.
Heâd hoped for a different letter from the one he carried. It did not introduce him as a clever young man worthy of apprenticeship in the Lordâs work. That letter and any chances of a preacherâs life were
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