Suzanne tried not to show her shock.  “What did your father do?”

“He got the manager’s name, noted the day and time on the notepad he kept with him and we left.  The next day, he called a friend at the NAACP and they did a boycott of the restaurant that made local news in Philadelphia.  My father made people pay the price for mistreatment.  He told me, always get them where it hurts the most, Bette.  Get them in the wallet or purse.”

“And your mother?  What was her reaction to the bigotry?”

“Mother used to be there beside my father, but it became too much.  There was far more unhappiness than joy between them.  I think she got tired.  You shouldn’t have to fight strangers and explain your choices to people you don’t know.  There are enough problems.  Who needs that extra burden?  She got to the point where she just wanted it to go away.”  Bette was far away, looking beyond Suzanne, beyond the room, far back into the past.  “When it didn’t go away, she decided she would.”

“Your mother divorced your father?”

“Divorced my father, Kit, and me, moved away.  Kit was just leaving home and I desperately wanted to stay with Daddy.  It was my choice.  She asked me where I wanted to be.  I knew it was with him.  She understood.”

“How old were you, Bette?”

“I think about ten then.”

“And you got to decide with whom you’d live?”

“Yes, of course.” Bette said as if that couldn’t be a problem.

Suzanne nodded, knowing that this would be a topic they’d discuss later.  Right now, she wanted to be able to send Bette home with some closure regarding her father and if not closure, at least not feeling more abandoned than she did. 

There was no need to direct Bette back to the discussion as she recalled another story.  “We moved into this neighborhood with a public school my father had researched.  He thought it would be good for us.  We didn’t stay long.  People would call all night and when my parents answered, they’d hang up–two in the morning, three, four—every night for months. I would cry and Daddy would rock me back to sleep.  In the morning, when we’d go outside, there would be broken eggs dripping from the door, eggshells on the ground.”