“Hey, sugar.” Ruby kissed Celeste’s cheek.
“Hey, Grandma. Hey, Granddaddy. Daddy, are you okay? Who’s mar—?”
“Vivienne, hija, can you call Roy before he parks the car? I think I dropped my glasses in the front seat.” Lerenzo patted his blazer pockets.
Celeste waved her arms above her head. “Hello-o-o! An answer please. Maxine, did you run off and get married?”
First John, Vivienne, Ruby, and Lerenzo froze.
And Maxine looked over Celeste’s head at Uncle Roy.
He used the arm of a pair of glasses to tap the shoulder of the man at his side.
JD waved, his dimples familiar parentheses enclosing his smile. “Hey.”
________
“You picked a fine time to show up.”
“I said I’d see you around seven. It was 6:55.”
“Shh!”
Maxine glanced at her mother leaning forward in her seat. She mouthed, “Sorry” at Vivienne and decided to count the woodwind instruments onstage. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two . . .
“I didn’t tell you how beautiful you look.”
JD’s minty breath widened the breadth of her answering grin. In her periphery, she saw Vivienne throw a heated stare their way. Maxine tugged the hem closer to her knee as she traced one of the bold-orange, blue, and yellow flowers sprouting all over the silky fabric of her dress.
They sat there in the semidarkness of the auditorium while the orchestra launched into the first movement of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Maxine sensed JD’s head moving rhythmically and his fingers dancing on the armrests. She soon lost herself in the violins, only coming up for air when JD’s shoulder pressed against hers.
“Think your mom will ever like me?”
She shrugged. This time, she sensed rather than felt his exhalation.
He wasn’t the only one who was frustrated. She could tell Vivienne was done—“thoo,” as Mama Ruby pronounced when she was too upset to form the r in through. But JD’s arrival had cut off her conversation with First John at the knees. First John had pulled Vivienne close to his side, and they’d all stood there looking for a hole to jump into. Except Celeste. She’d beamed at Mr. Lester after their official introduction, kissed her parents, and bounced off to warm up with the orchestra.
Now Maxine trained her eyes on her favorite bass player, head bent over her instrument, bow at the ready. She tried to tune out JD, her uncle, and her grandparents on her right and First John, Mother, and the boys on her left.
But Vivienne wasn’t having it. She was through.
Maxine sensed it every time Mother shifted, felt the pain when her eyes flashed their way. Forty-five minutes into the concert, Maxine ached from the effort to appear normal and unaffected.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded almost imperceptibly at JD and studied her program. She tilted the paper toward him and pointed. Celeste’s solo!
He squeezed her hand, his anticipation palpable.
On the other side of First John, Vivienne sucked in a breath.
The low notes of the bass swelled through the auditorium, capturing all their attention. Maxine prayed for the strength to hold on until the music ended as she interlaced her fingers with his and squeezed back.
________
“That was beautiful!”
“Your mama’s right, Celeste. Your bass sang.” First John’s fingers seemed to chase notes in the air.
“You did good, Sis. You did good.” Zander clapped soundlessly.
Vivienne’s nose lifted toward heaven. “Only Jesus does good. Watch your grammar. You know better. And so—” she gripped Robert’s shoulder, who was trading elbow pokes with his twin—“do you. We’re not outside.”
“How long have you been playing, Celeste?”
All eyes turned to the man who’d asked the question—JD, drumming on the checkerboard tablecloth.
Celeste’s friends had canceled their postconcert plans, and it had become clear to Maxine that skipping off to have coffee with her ex-husband would have the effect of a nuclear air strike. Fearing the caustic residue, she’d invited JD to join the family for pizza instead. Gunfire, she could handle.
“I started the piano at four, the cello when I was six, and I moved to the bass at ten-and-a-half. It took a minute for Mama to get over that hit to her pocketbook, especially on top of the piano lessons.” Celeste grinned. Still floating from her performance, she didn’t seem to notice Vivienne’s return smile flicker and go out before it caught.
JD looked at Vivienne for a second. His fingers tapped on the side of the glass jar of Parmesan cheese in the middle of the table. “The cello? Wow. Why not the violin?”
“Why the violin?” Vivienne slid her arm on the back of Celeste’s ladder-back chair. “Everybody plays the violin. Our daughter isn’t everybody.”
Zander had been teasing his brothers about their artwork on their children’s menus, but at her words, he cocked an eyebrow in Maxine’s direction.
She shrugged.
Vivienne shushed the twins again without taking her eyes off their guest.
“Then why the piano? Everybody and their mama plays that, too, including mine.” The gap in JD’s teeth winked at them before he doused his grin. “The cello, piano, and bass. Any other instruments in your repertoire?”
“Nope, just the basketball. All of us do, thanks to First John.” Celeste pretended to dribble and shoot and laughed when Zan caught the “ball” and returned it.
“Who?” Even sitting at the table, Vivienne propped a hand on her hip as she leaned forward to glare at her daughter.
“Dad knows who I mean.” Celeste rolled her eyes.
“I played basketball in school, too, and so did my—” JD began.
“Where are those pizzas? I’m starving!” The metal legs of Maxine’s chair screeched on the concrete floor as she scooted her chair closer to the table.
“So am I.” First John looked toward the hostess and raised two fingers in the air.
“You played too?” Robert sat on JD’s right, at the end of the table where they’d been banished. “I don’t like basketball—sorry, Dad. We play baseball.”
“And the piano,” Second John chimed in. “At least Robert does.”
JD turned to Robert. “You play the piano too? My mother made me take lessons, but I loved playing the guitar more. And as a matter of fact, Mother played the cello.”
“I know good and well what instruments Annie played.” Vivienne pushed the words through stiff lips.
“There’s Uncle Roy with Mama Ruby and Granddaddy!” Maxine waved her arm wildly as if directing an airplane landing. “Over here!”
JD and First John rose. Zander grabbed Robert’s right arm and Second John’s left, and the boys stood as Ruby reached the table, with Lerenzo and Roy bringing up the rear.
“Now, y’all know we could’ve made us some better food than this. Why we eatin’ pizza when I could have made short ribs and stewed some greens?” Ruby plopped down heavily into the chair Roy set between Maxine and Celeste. She leaned over and kissed Celeste. “Hey, baby.”
“We’re here because we’re celebrating our granddaughter, and she wanted pizza. Verdad?” Lerenzo winked at the teenage girl and pulled up a chair beside JD.
“Yes, that’s right, Granddaddy.” Her smile seemed to wrap around them both.
“But—” Ruby began.
“Those are for sitting down and eating pizza. Right, Mama Ruby?” JD clasped first Lerenzo’s wrinkled hand, then Roy’s smoother one. They shook once and then their fingers snapped as their hands slid free. He grinned at Roy as the older man pulled up a chair at the end of the table.
“Boy, you betta . . .” The older woman’s eyes crinkled in a grin, belying her threat.
Maxine almost joined in the fun, but Vivienne’s frown weighed down the light, playful air at the table. Suddenly it felt like rain. She looked down at her lap.
“I like your dress, Maxine. I never
seen it.”
“Me neither, Grandma. I thought sure she’d wear one of those pleated skirts she’s got a ton of.” Celeste reached over and fingered the silky-smooth fabric. “But this is cute. I’d wear this myself.”
“As short as it is, you could probably wear it, Celeste. Did you really think that was appropriate for a child’s concert, Maxine?” Vivienne looked like she’d dined on a sour pickle.
“What’s inappropriate about it?” Maxine forced herself not to fuss with her hem.
JD’s eyes caught hold of Maxine’s across the table. “I told her earlier how beautiful she looks in those colors.”
“And who’s the child you’re talking about?” Celeste piped up.
Lerenzo reached across the table and patted Celeste’s fingertips. “Está bien, nieta. Vivienne, hija . . . cálmate.”
“I am calm, Daddy.” Vivienne’s smile looked as taut as the strings on Celeste’s bass.
Roy leaned in and stage-whispered in Maxine’s direction, “As the eye of a hurricane.”
Mama Ruby shushed him with a raised eyebrow. Then she sat straight in her chair and looked toward his right. “James Dee, I’m sorry to hear your mama’s doing so poorly. Anything I can do?”
JD glanced at Vivienne and Maxine before attending to Mama Ruby. “Yes. It’s hard to watch her lose touch, to lose herself, and it’s happening so quickly. Thank you for sending the note and the sweet potato cobbler. They meant a lot. Especially the cobbler.”
Maxine watched Celeste’s head whip from one face to another as Ruby continued.
“I’m happy to help any way we can while she’s on this side of heaven. And when the time comes, we’ll do you up right for her home goin’.”
“Mama Ruby!” Maxine knew JD was used to her grandmother’s plain speaking, but she cringed at the shameless plug for Manna’s catering business.
JD seemed unfazed. “I know you will, thank you. Kevin told me you really laid it out for the Agnews. I’m sorry Mom didn’t ask you when my grandfather died.”
Silence fell on the adults at the table like heavy morning dew, but JD’s calm statement sparked more questions from Celeste.
“You knew Mr. Lester’s grandparents?”
“Well . . . ,” Mama Ruby began, looking as if she were planning on digging one to jump into.
“Pizza!” Robert and Second John chorused.
“Finally!” Maxine exhaled.
Celeste’s mouth moved as if to say something, but two servers suddenly added plates, utensils, napkins, and five large platters to the table. Soon everyone was distracted by the clamor for food.
“Nobody eats veggies on your pizza?” JD’s knife and fork were poised over his plate.
“Nobody else uses utensils to eat pizza either,” Maxine pointed out. “And you know I don’t like anything on my pizza but pizza stuff.”
“And by ‘pizza stuff,’ she means only pepperoni and extra cheese.” Zander wiped his mouth.
Nodding and chewing, JD snickered as he bumped fists with Roy.
“You know how Maxine eats her pizza? Care to share anything else you know?” Celeste giggled.
“Celeste!” Vivienne let her slice fall with a saucy splat! that turned the table into a crime scene.
“What? Maxine knows I’m teasing.”
“Excuse me.” Vivienne dropped her napkin before pushing back her chair and stomping away.
“What’s wrong with Mama?”
First John swallowed. “Robert, don’t eat—I mean, don’t talk with your mouth full. Your mama’s fine. Probably mad about getting tomato sauce on her new dress.”
Maxine noticed that the humor took a wrong turn somewhere before it reached First John’s eyes. She set down her crust and looked at JD.
He swiped his mouth and wadded up the napkin. When he stood, his chair rocked and almost fell over. “I should go and let you enjoy your family celebration. If I leave now, I can complete some paperwork before tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow’s Saturday. And you didn’t finish your pizza!”
“Shh, Second John.” Maxine slid back her chair.
“The man can find his way out the restaurant, Maxine.” Ruby’s eyes seemed to order, Butts are for sitting down.
First John rose and extended a hand toward JD. “Thanks for coming. I’m sure it means a lot to Celeste . . . and the rest of us . . . that you were here. It’s good to see you.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s always good to be seen on this side of the dirt, as some folks say.” JD clasped First John’s hand with both of his own.
Maxine knew Mama Ruby was the “folks” JD quoted. She nodded good-bye as he pushed his chair under the table and walked away. When she glanced at Celeste, she intuited the girl knew it, too. She wondered if Celeste knew how much she looked like her father.
Robert knocked over his cup of Sprite. Zander jogged off to get extra napkins. Celeste broke eye contact with Maxine to help the boys clean up the mess, including the splatters of pizza sauce. Pink swirls in the soda, evidence of the casualties racking up in the family’s war.
Maxine scooted closer to her stepfather. “What are y’all doing tomorrow?”
He was quiet for a moment as his fingers plucked sausage from the congealing cheese on his half-eaten slice. “Well, Zan and Celeste have their usual chores. Vivienne is supposed to meet your grandmother around three to lay out catering plans for June, and I’m taking the boys to the Insectarium in the morning and baseball practice at six. Why?” He dabbed his fingertips and slowly folded his napkin. “Zan, get a tray for those wet napkins. Boys, collect all the plates, and cut it out so Roy, Ruby, and Lerenzo can eat in peace.”
Maxine leaned toward him on crossed arms. “Um-hmm. I was thinking we could visit Reverend Atwater. Together. You and Mother. With me.”
“For marriage counseling?” He rested his chin on his fists.
“I guess the secret is out.” Maxine felt like she was dancing on hot coals. “I’ve kept parts of my life from you and Mother, parts from Teddy, and parts from Celeste. I don’t even know my entire self, what I’ll look like when they’re all stitched together.” She studied her intertwined fingers.
“Whole. You’ll look and feel whole. And still as beautiful.”
“Like Frankenstein?” Her mouth twisted wryly.
“More like his bride.” First John shrugged as if he were considering the possibility. He glanced in the boys’ direction.
When Maxine followed his look, she noticed how Celeste seemed to float above her brothers’ commotion. She kept one eye on the distracted teen while she explained, “When we first met with the pastor, he explained that all the parts of us tell our story, and they affect how Teddy and I will write the next chapter. All of you are part of me. It’s like we’re all getting married.”
First John gripped her forearm, drawing her complete attention his way. “All, including JD? Are we meeting with Reverend Atwater because you’re too chicken to tell your mama and me alone?”
Maxine tried to hide her heartburn with a smile. “No. I mean, yes. Partly, I guess. Mother can’t flip out in front of a preacher, can she?”
“You know your mama. She’ll flip out anywhere she pleases. Are you worried?”
Maxine realized her face was telling on her, despite her best efforts. She grasped his hand. “All is well, First John. So are we going to the chapel tomorrow?”
“As long as you’re still going to get married.” He squeezed back. Together they watched Vivienne stalk back to the table and plop into a seat next to Roy. “And by the looks of it, it’s a good thing we’re going to see Reverend Atwater.”
________
The darkness in the room nibbled at the circle of light around Maxine’s desk where she sat watching the blinking cursor tick away the minutes. She closed her eyes and prayed. Then she typed My Daily Grace—The Music Maker.
Music tells a story. I felt that more than ever at my sister’s concert. Those melodies and rhythms made my spirit cry, dance, s
ing, and play along. Oh, if you could have witnessed their fingers dancing over the keys, strings, valves, and slides, heard their hands bang, clap, and pluck . . . ! I could hear and feel such stories. Or maybe I was listening to my own. If I’d had the nerve, I would have run down to the stage, pushed the conductor aside, and directed my own overture.
By now you know I’m more than a bride-to-be. I’m the teenager who doesn’t want to grow up. A daughter who still cries on her mother’s shoulder. The granddaughter looking for her grandma’s lap. A BFF who holds secrets close. A writer passing along her own legends, fairy tales, not-so-tall tales, and tragedies. I suppose my words are the notes I’m playing.
“What does this have to do with getting married?” Good question.
It takes the oboes, the trumpets, the violas—all the woodwinds, the brass, the percussion, and the strings—to form a complete orchestra. To make the music. If a clarinetist splits her reed, she can’t play. The piece wouldn’t be as full and rich, complete. We need the rumble of the bass drum as well as the trill of the piccolo. They show the thunder and the birds singing. What would “Rhapsody in Blue” be without the piano and the bass? And of course, we need the conductor! He signals each group when to come in, when to crescendo or decrescendo, when to stop altogether.
That’s marriage. That’s life. Each part tells a story, and altogether, they complete the story. The low notes, the high notes, the sorrows and the joys. The old friends who knew you as a single woman. The new ones who know you as half of a couple. The family who made you, loved you, and even scarred you. Coworkers who get the part-time you. Drivers who honk at you for idling at the light. All these people, all these events—they make up our story. And God directs it all, all the musicians, the entire composition. He knows the beginning, the middle, and the end. He’s its Author and Finisher.
Our job is to play it, to share it, to make our stories heard, experienced, and felt. I’m adding another chapter to my life. It’s not the chapter I’d outlined necessarily but the one written for me. While I’m grateful for the grace and the gift of the story itself because it’s beautiful and painful all at once, I pray for the strength to play this music that makes me cry, laugh, and sing. I’m sure my “audience”—my fiancé, my parents and siblings, my friends, the witnesses and my fellow musicians in this ensemble of life—will be leaning forward in their seats and moving to the beat of the music, alternately applauding or crying.
'Til I Want No More Page 21