The Sweet By and By

by Todd Johnson

  “I can’t believe you did this, April. You ain’t never been able to keep a secret from me!”

  “Now how would you know that? Think about it.” She winked at Althea.

  “Anything worth knowin, I already know, old as I am,” I said. “Ain’t that right, Althea?”

  “You better bite your tongue. You might be gettin up there but I am in my prime.”

  “Prime compared to what?” I said. I loved to tease Althea so good.

  “You look around here at these old women, you couldn’t get most of em to dance if you had a shotgun,” she said. “Me, I ain’t cashin it in until the game’s over.” She made her way back into the crowd, stubborn and feeble at the same time, putting down her glass and taking mine, still full, raising it above her head like the Statue of Liberty, except black and wearin a church hat. April cheered, “You go, Althea,” and Taylor whistled with his fingers in his mouth.

  “That woman has dipped a few times but has yet to fall,” I shook my head. “That’s why I like her.”

  She’s right about one thing though, and I know it. I am old as dirt. There’s some kind of comfort in sayin it, and Lord knows it ain’t like I don’t know exactly what I’m talkin about. I’ve seen every kind of old there is. And I’ve had plenty of time to get used to the idea, so I got no bitterness. I don’t even think about being young, that’s the God’s honest truth, except for sometimes when I get to wishin I could live a thing that happened to me one more time, just to feel it again. I never have been much of a worrier, there’s plenty folks around who’ll do that for you if you’re a mind to let em. There’s only one thing I worry about and that’s getting lonely. Because what I know, what I have seen with these two eyes, is that loneliness will creep up on anybody at any time. You go on doin what you been doin all your life, one day to another, and then the next thing you know, there’s nobody around. That’s when you know you’re old, when all your people start dying and your phone don’t ring and you don’t feel like puttin up a Christmas tree cause who’s gon see it but you. And you don’t bother to plant flowers in the spring cause you decide they’re too much trouble to take care of. And even though you love to cook more than anything, you stop turnin on the stove. And you don’t want to put on clothes because you ain’t goin nowhere. And you tell the same stories over and over cause havin new stories means livin and you’re not livin, you’re sittin in a chair or lyin in a bed with the only thing goin on being what’s in your head. And the thing that you never let yourself think about has happened: people have forgotten about you. Without you havin any idea, your days have become like listening to a radio station when you’re drivin way out in the country. You get so far off the map that static starts interruptin the music and it’s a little bit frustrating but you stay with it, tryin to listen, and then there’s more static than music and you might still hang on if you’re interested, but then the music is gone and you have to turn the thing off. The silence is better than the noise.

  After dinner, which lasted five times longer than any meal I ever ate, we went back up on the outside deck and grouped some chairs together. I had Taylor turn mine and Althea’s to look out at the water. From here, it don’t even look like water, more like a thick dark bedspread. Another blond-headed boy in a uniform—they’re everywhere you look—brought us blankets. I think he either read my mind, or else he figured old people were always cold or gon get that way soon, so he might as well save himself a trip later on. Althea, worn clean out from dancin with a young white man with sideburns and big arm muscles, then eating enough for three people, fell asleep stretched out in a lounge chair beside me. I hadn’t leaned mine back yet. I wanted to look out in the distance, I like that line way out there where the sky starts. April and Taylor had strolled over to the railing, looking over the edge and pointing. That’s my family, I thought. That’s reason enough for me to want to be here. I laid my chair back one notch and tucked the blanket up under my chin. It wasn’t that cold, but the breeze made you want to snuggle up. Althea made a loud noise like she was choking, but she wiggled around some and was quiet again, the way a baby ought to sleep, safe and knowing it.

  “Are you cold, Grandma?” Taylor was by my chair. “You want another blanket?”

  “I’m all right, baby. Thank you though.”

  “It must be late, we’re the only ones out here,” April motioned to the wadded up mound beside me. “Look at Althea, bless her heart, she’s dead to the world.” Althea was talking in her sleep real quiet, her lips barely moving, saying something like “kitty cat, kitty cat,” over and over.

  “I know it,” I said. “Of all people to fall asleep before a party’s over. She’d die if she knew. We’re gon have to tell her she didn’t miss nothin.”

  “From what I saw, she didn’t.” April laughed. “Let’s go to bed.” She reached for my arm to help me up.

  “No, no, no,” I said, not taking hold. “I just have got myself comfortable good. I ain’t ready to go yet. I’m gon stay out here and look at the stars for a little while.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” Taylor said.

  “You night owls suit yourselves. I’ll see you at breakfast. Taylor, get your grandma and Sleeping Beauty back to their cabin.” She pulled her thin sweater close around her shoulders and left us.

  Taylor yawned, stretching his arms behind his head and looking up. “It’s like home,” he said.

  “In the middle of the ocean?”

  “We never see stars in Chicago, too many lights.” He cupped his hands around his eyes. “If I shut out everything and look straight up, it’s like a long time ago when we used to sit out in the field at your house.”

  I tried to let my eyes follow his, both of us peeping through cupped hands like little children. We stared together at the patterns of light above our heads, a million stitches in a quilt that didn’t look like it was finished. He was quiet, I wanted to talk. “I think those stars might be closer to earth than you are right now,” I said.

  Taylor didn’t look at me. “You know, Mama used to say we’re made for the stars and born for eternity. Actually I’m pretty sure Dr. King is the one who said it, but she adopted it.”

  “What about you?”

  “I think eternity’s overrated. I know that doesn’t sit too well with you.”

  “Lord knows you ain’t on earth to please me,” I put my hand on his arm so he would look my way. “Taylor, you know I’m not an educated woman, so go on and write me off as old and simple if you want to.”

  “What are you talking about?” He frowned.

  “Let’s just say I’m closer to the end of the story than the beginning.”

  “Don’t talk that way.”

  “Now, now, now just wait a minute. I want to tell you somethin. I’m old but I do know this. If you ever want to feel full in this life, you’re gon have to ask if you might be made for somethin bigger than yourself. And when you can answer that, the only other question is what are you gon do about it.”

  “I’m not religious, Grandma.”

  “I don’t blame you, it can get you in trouble.”

  “I mean I don’t believe in God.”

  “Honey, I ain’t in that. That’s your business. And if you’re tryin to shock me, you’ve waited about fifty years too long. God or not, you got to find your own way to anything that lasts. Most of what we think is important don’t have enough glue in it to stick. Have you had enough of my preachin?”

  “If I knew a preacher like you I might listen.”

  “No you wouldn’t. You ain’t gon listen to nobody too much yet, that’s all right. I’m just tellin you now in case I don’t get the chance to again.”

  “I hate it when you’re morbid.”

  “Honey, I might not be doin too good next time I see you.”

  “I’m gonna try to come home Easter, it’s not that long.” He sounded nervous.

  “Well that’s good,” I said, “that’s real good, but I want you to do something for me.”


  “Tell me.”

  “Promise me you won’t ever stop talkin to me. I need that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “And let me touch you sometimes. That’s all.”

  “Grandma…”

  I didn’t let him finish. “Hush now.” I pulled his head down onto my shoulder and stroked his cheek. There was the stubble of a beard, the only thing that made it any different from when I held him as a baby. I felt a warm dampness from his eyes on my hand, cradling him while I stared off into the sky. All that open space over our heads had slipped down around us and creeped inside through cracks we couldn’t see, making the bigness of it all part of us too. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a revelation, probably not, at least not straight from God. Most of what I believe sort of rises up to the top like butter in a churn after swirlin around inside me for longer than I would like. Holdin my grandbaby, I know that my love will outlive me. That might be all I need to know from now on.

  Maybe we’ll all be together again Easter, I don’t know, a lot can happen between now and then. Come spring April’s yard will be full of tulips and daffodils, it always is and she don’t do one thing except add more bulbs year after year. She might have some hyacinth too, I hope she’ll bring some inside if she does cause those things are sweet perfume to me. I’ll try to make us a good ham if everybody can come and if I’m able. We’ll need a crowd to eat it. We’ll probably go to church, I know I’ll want to show off Taylor, and he won’t mind even if it’s nothin but a bunch of strangers to him and me both. He might have to do me a favor and go pick up Althea, but she’ll come as long as she can move one muscle. April will help me with anything I can’t do. It won’t be nothin fancy, just good food the way I learned to make it when I was young. We’ll eat ’til we’re full and we’ll talk all about this here trip and show pictures. April will have a bunch of pictures I know, she started takin em as soon as we got off the airplane. We’ll sit around the table while the light changes outside and tell so many stories that none of us is gon remember what exactly really happened, but it won’t matter to us, we ain’t gon argue over details.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my early readers and all those who shared stories, hilarious and heartbreaking, of aging loved ones along the way, especially Sally Lloyd-Jones, Karen Braga, Todd Shuster, Christa Rypins, Eileen Lahart, and Nickole Kerner-Bobley. Special thanks go to my dear friend and muse Laura Grooms for unflagging support at every turn. And to Adriana Trigiani, who is surely the world’s greatest cheerleader, not to mention one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

  I would also like to thank my editor, Marjorie Braman, whose insight and passionate guidance were invaluable, and my agent, Wendy Sherman, whose enthusiasm was immediate and unwavering. I am fortunate to work with both of these extraordinary women.

  Additional thanks for important kindnesses go to Gail Godwin, Judy Clain, Gray Coleman, Peggy Hageman, Christopher Little, Robin and Peter Ketchum, Liz and Jed Hogan for the respite of Doolittle, Louise and Bill Grooms for the creative haven of Fripp, my colleagues in the Broadway community, and my friends in France who pretended my grammar was fine. Finally, thanks to Michael for faith, as well as to Sue, Kenneth, and Troy Johnson, and all the Laharts and Flemings, who instinctively knew how to be encouraging without asking too many questions.

  About the Author

  TODD JOHNSON was born and raised in North Carolina. Following a career as a teacher and studio singer in New York City, he received a Tony Award nomination as a producer of The Color Purple on Broadway. He studied history at UNC-Chapel Hill and holds a master’s degree from Yale Divinity School. He lives in Connecticut. This is his first novel.

  If The Sweet By and By prompts you to share a personal story, please write to Todd@ToddJohnsonBooks.com.

  WWW.TODDJOHNSONBOOKS.COM

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Credits

  Jacket design by Laura Klynstra

  Jacket photographs: dresses by Philip Salaverry/Jupiter Images; sky by Plainpicture/M. Wolff/Jupiter Images

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE SWEET BY AND BY. Copyright © 2009 by Todd Johnson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub © Edition JANUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780061853654

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  About the Publisher

  Australia

  HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

  25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)

  Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia

  http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au

  Canada

  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

  2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

  Toronto, ON, M4W 1A8, Canada

  http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca

  New Zealand

  HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited

  P.O. Box 1

  Auckland, New Zealand

  http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz

  United Kingdom

  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

  77-85 Fulham Palace Road

  London, W6 8JB, UK

  http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk

  United States

  HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  10 East 53rd Street

  New York, NY 10022

  http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com