“That’s nice, honey.”
Bertha moved in front of Grandma and parked her butt on the arm of a worn-out couch. No one ever sat in the thing, including visitors. If they did, the cushions sagged so much they’d need help getting up. Bertha had warned Doree not to say anything about Toni. Bertha didn’t want to cause undue anxiety for Grandma. Bertha would have time enough to help her adjust to Toni’s absence. She needed to adjust to it herself first. Doree looked a lot like Toni, her green eyes and reddish hair that wasn’t straight like Toni’s, but a softer version of her black father’s. Bertha said, “She insisted on seeing you before she left.”
Grandma turned to Doree and gave her a toothless smile. “Bless your heart, baby.”
Loud voices and some kind of commotion interrupted them. All three turned toward two red-faced women whose walkers were locked together.
“Frigid bitches,” Grandma said.
Bertha remembered them from her last visit. The two had been playing Chinese checkers, and the one with the pink hair kicked the board, making marbles fly in all directions. That time Grandma’d said, “If she can’t lose, the harlot shouldn’t play.”
Doree said, “Wonder what that’s about?”
“Well, for Christ’s sake, don’t ask them,” Grandma said. “They both out of their rabbit-assed minds.”
Doree flushed a bit, and Bertha laughed at Grandma’s orneriness. Grandma sat up a little straighter, pleased with herself, and smiled. She’d been cussing a lot more since coming to live at Golden Promise. It had started when they took away her wine and potato chips, and once she’d started swearing, she’d noticed how it upset everyone, and now she did it as often as possible.
“So when you leaving?” Grandma asked.
Doree said, “Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
Doree nodded.
“Well, I don’t have time to shop,” Grandma said. “But I have something in my room I been saving for you. Push me down there, will you?”
Bertha took hold of the back handles on the chair. A bag containing an M3P player and earphones hanging over Grandma’s shoulder, a gift from Toni, caused a pinprick of pain. The chair needed only a slight push; Grandma was light—thinner than Bertha could ever remember.
Grandma told Bertha to pull the curtain around her bed and then scooted the chair toward her nightstand. She rummaged around and pulled out a pair of scissors. Holding them out to Doree, handles first, of course, she said, “Take good care of these, they’ll cut anything.”
“My God,” Bertha said. “Where’d you get them?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“Come on,” Bertha said. “Give it up.”
With a defeated shrug, Grandma said, “Took ’em from the nurses’ station.”
Wondering if she should reimburse Golden Promise, Bertha said, “Then they’re probably good sharp scissors.”
“You ain’t gonna arrest me?”
Bertha shook her head. “But you’ve got to stop stealing.”
“Damn it. The only fun I get. And I never steal from the other patients or them nurses’ aides, who can’t afford nothing.’ Just the douche-bag nurses.”
Doree said, “Grandma.”
“What, baby?”
“I have something for you, too.” Doree opened her purse and, to Bertha’s surprise, pulled out a gift-wrapped package. She handed it to Grandma.
As Grandma ripped the package open, she scolded Doree for spending her money. The paper fell to the floor and Grandma turned the DVD over. “Drag Me to Hell,” she read.
Doree sounded excited. “You’re going to love it.”
“I’d love anything you give me, but the title do sound good.”
“Let’s watch it now.” Doree clapped her hands.
Grandma turned to Bertha. “Can you talk to that activity director? Maybe everybody could watch it. Get some folks’ blood to pumpin’.”
Bertha laughed as if Grandma’d made a joke, although she knew Grandma was serious. She took the DVD from her and worked to get it open. Doree had been one surprise after another since Toni’s death.
“Get over here,” Grandma said to Doree.
With the DVD in the player ready to run on Grandma’s 19” TV, Bertha turned back toward what was left of her family. By then Doree had pulled a chair close to Grandma, who was holding on to Doree and kind of rocking her in an awkward embrace, her gnarly thin fingers stroking the girl’s red hair. “My sweet baby girl.”
Then the story started. Bertha recognized it as one she’d heard several times, of a year when death had become the fulcrum on which Grandma’s life turned. Grandma’s voice was deeper and softer than usual, as she said, “One time my world emptied out and I was alone. My husband got killed at the factory. I’d wanted lots of children, but God just give me two. Seemed like right after her papa died, Lucille, my baby girl, run off to Chicago with some no-good man. My son was married with a daughter, but they lived far away and I was alone. I run out of money and the only thing of value I had was an old sewing machine. That’s when I started doing alterations. Money trickled in dress by dress. Then I heard how my son got in with some bad types, and next thing I know he got hisself shot and left out in some cornfield. I asked God how he could be so mean to one woman. Then I got my answer.” Grandma sighed.
“My son’s widow, Sally, come to see me, standing on my front porch, holding hands with this little girl in pigtails, and she told me she couldn’t keep her. She was part white and set on passing. She thought she had a chance to marry again, but the man wouldn’t accept a little colored girl. Bertha didn’t cry one time after her mother left her with me. I could see that she wanted to. All she come with was a paper sack with a few clothes in it and a white baby doll. That night I set up late and made her a brown doll. In the morning we put the white doll in the drawer, and over the years, she disappeared. From the start I dressed Bertha in nice things and put bows in her hair. I would a loved her even if she wasn’t all I had. But it was that little girl, big for her age and full of vinegar, got me through. I’d do anything to keep her safe. She had her own ideas about life though.”
Bertha remembered the baby doll she’d given to a white girl down the street who needed a doll as much as Bertha needed a friend. She realized how alone she felt because in this latest scenario, with Toni gone, Doree was all she had, and she had to send her away to keep her safe.
“Living so long is a curse,” Grandma said. “You see everything you know come to an end. Sometimes I think it would be best if I’s gone too.”
Doree scolded her. “Don’t say that. I don’t know what Bertha or I would do without you.”
Bertha thought the kid was laying it on a little thick, but she was pleased and touched that Doree made a fuss over the old woman. Grandma was the only grandma she had.
“Been thinking about starting to date,” Grandma said, “Grandpa’s been gone fifty years now. I don’t think nobody would fault me for remarrying. Maybe I could find one of those rich men like Bertha’s mama did.”
*
Bertha leaned forward and picked up a plastic laundry basket full of DVDs, vampire books, and a couple of stuffed toys. She noticed, with some sense of satisfaction, they were ones she’d bought the kid when the three of them were much younger. Toni’d told her Doree was too old for Miss Piggy, but Bertha’d loved the darn thing and bought it anyway. Despite Toni’s warning, Doree had loved Miss Piggy, who eventually took the center spot on a shelf full of bride dolls and Barbies.
Bertha crammed the laundry basket into the Focus’s small trunk and shut it. The huge dark sky hovered above, comfortless. Aunt Lucy joyfully came down the walk carrying a bag of sandwiches, chips, and cookies. She insisted on trying to make everyone happy, but Bertha couldn’t cheer up. Before she closed the trunk, she looked at the sky and mumbled to Toni, “Another red-letter-day in the life of Bertha Brannon.”
Doree waited by the car, wearing jeans that were tighter than the rubbers Bertha�
��d dropped into her purse. Toni, in another reality, had told Doree about condoms when she was fourteen and promised her such protective devices would always be around. To Doree’s humiliation, she’d showed her how to use one on a cucumber. Currently, following a couple of perfunctory embraces, and with an expression that suggested she was carrying a cross and wearing a crown of thorns, Doree climbed into the passenger seat. Her eyes grew smaller and darker with fury. Yesterday she’d spent over three hours with Grandma, and none of this anger had showed. But she’d been at it all morning—the cold silent treatment. How like her mother, Bertha thought. The kid could turn it on and off at will.
At six feet tall and 210 pounds, Bertha found herself pondering the child’s ability to wear those tight jeans without hurting her back. When the car pulled away from the curb, Doree reluctantly waved. Bertha remained on the front walk after their departure, watching the place where the car had been until the first large drops of a downpour hit her. Then she turned and trudged toward the house.
*
Later, Bertha stood at the window looking out at Parkview Drive. The empty roadway gleamed in the rain, reflecting the lights of a gas station down by the intersection. For years she’d waited at this window for Toni when she did her monthly evening rotation. A car would drive by and Bertha’d think maybe the next car would be Toni, or the next. Sunday nights, like this one, had been the worst. She knew she should be in bed because usually her Monday docket was full, with a throng of weekend arrests, but she’d wanted some time with Toni. She couldn’t simply go to bed and wait for her to crawl in beside her. Often Toni’d come in after midnight, so Bertha yawned through one misdemeanor arrest after another the next morning.
She didn’t have a reason to stay up this night. Aunt Lucy had made herself comfortable in the recently vacated guest room right after the ten o’clock news. The house seemed large and cold and empty. Bertha felt as remote and unconnected as if she were adrift in space. Not just the space of the now too-large house, but the space of the universe. She was tethered to nothing—had nothing to grab on to.
Intermittent car headlights caused Bertha to see her somber reflection in the rain-speckled window. She and Toni hadn’t made love for several weeks before Toni’s death. Bertha wasn’t sure how that had happened. She hadn’t intended to go for a month, but sometimes they did. A comfortable intimacy had replaced all that wild sex in the beginning. Then the day-to-day of life together seemed to erode all that excitement. But she sure wished that once, just once in the weeks before her death, she’d grabbed Toni, professed her love, and ripped her clothes off. She told herself over and over not to think of these things, but one thought led to another. For several years Toni’d wanted to drive across the country and stop in all the natural parks. The destination would be San Francisco, where Doree could tour Alcatraz. But each time they’d thought was the right time turned out not to be. Why hadn’t Bertha made the time, left something else undone?
Considering the spectacle Doree had made when she left several hours before, Bertha was surprised to find herself missing the kid—not the presence of her, but the responsibility. Now it didn’t matter what she did next. No one depended on her—no one cared. At least returning to work would fill some time. She should have gone to the Sunday-night AA meeting that by now had been over for hours. She’d dropped that meeting awhile back, although she couldn’t remember why. But she’d still have a few old friends there.
Bertha noticed car headlights on the damp asphalt illuminating the dull and misty rain. The car came slowly and someone turned a spotlight onto her house. Fear pounding beneath her throat, she stepped back from the window. As the car came level with the house, she could see the bar of lights on the roof. Good at their word, the police were patrolling her block. She exhaled sullenly and turned away from the window.
In her room, in her nightshirt, on the cool sheets, beneath the warm covers, Bertha fell into a heavy sleep. Sometime later she woke up in the hard darkness of late night. The digital clock read three am. Then she heard it again. The phone. She rolled to a sitting position, grabbed the phone, and squinted at the caller ID while fumbling for her reading glasses. The caller was blocked. She considered letting it go to voice mail, but after a few more rings, she couldn’t resist answering.
“What?” she said.
“That you, Judge?”
“It is.”
“You think sending the kid away will protect her?”
“It’d better.”
“I know she’s left for Indiana and I know where in Indiana. As for you, you’re a sitting duck, my dear.”
Her stomach clutched. “Who is this? What the hell do you want with me?”
“I have no use for you,” the voice said. “Alive, that is.”
Bertha’s fear turned to anger. “Listen to me, you penis sludge. I have a gun and I can use it.”
“You carry a gun to work?”
An image popped into Bertha’s head. The metal detector. The searching of bags and briefcases. “Neither does anyone else.”
“So you say.”
The more frightened she got, the more insulting she became. “You’re not the sharpest crayon in the box, are you?”
“Very funny,” the voice said. “I’m coming for you, sister. Watch yourself.”
Bertha was silent for a moment. She could hear the caller breathing on the other end of the line, and then she hung up. Shaking, she got out of bed and checked the dead bolt on the front door, then the alarm system in the family room. After she’d made sure all the windows on the first floor were locked, she lay back down and stared at the simple, unfathomable nothingness of the dark room.
She’d report the call in the morning. No sense giving all the info to the night-desk sergeant.
Then Aunt Lucy appeared at the bedroom doorway. “It’s seven thirty. What time do you need to get up?
Bertha raised her head from the pillow. The room was light. “Seven thirty in the morning?” she said. “Why didn’t the alarm wake me?”
“What can I do to help?” Aunt Lucy asked.
Bertha rolled to a sitting position and put her feet on the floor. “Coffee to go and three slices of cinnamon toast.”
“That’s all?”
“I’m going to eat in the car on the way downtown.” Bertha stood, pulled her nightshirt over her head, and proceeded to the master bathroom and the shower.
A short time later, she walked through the metal detector at the county building noting she was only a few minutes late. Thinking about the caller and wondering if someone could get a weapon past security, she hesitated, then grabbed her briefcase and rushed to the elevator, while brushing cinnamon-sugar from the front of her jacket.
Alvin met her in the seventh-floor hallway. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” he said, following her to her office. “I’ve stacked mail and memos on the chair over there. Those folders are this morning’s cases.”
Bertha’d known Alvin since the old days in the office across from the bank where she set up her practice right after drug rehab. His hair had thinned since then. He’d tried a hairpiece for about six months, then shaved his head. Freckles like those across the bridge of his nose were scattered on his crown, but spray tan and the gym kept him looking younger than his forty-nine years.
“Do we have coffee?” Bertha asked.
“Not before you tell me about Randy.”
“I’m running late. How about we talk at lunch?”
“You want coffee then we talk now.”
“All right,” she said. “He’s a police officer.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“He asked me to say hello to you for him.”
“Police officer.” Alvin seemed to be trying the words on for size.
“Coffee,” Bertha reminded him.
Alvin spun on his heel and left the room. Bertha sat at her desk and felt as comfortable as if she were wearing her oldest, best-fitting pair of jeans. It felt good to be doing something normal.
Alvin appeared in front of her again. He slid a coffee mug on her desk, and it slopped over the rim and on to her desk blotter.
“How did he look?” Alvin asked.
“Handsome as ever. A little pudgy though.”
“I can’t believe he gave up the beauty shop.”
Bertha smiled. “You have to admit he wasn’t very good with hair.”
“But the police force,” Alvin said, sounding astonished.
Bertha sipped the scarcely warm coffee. A bit dripped in her lap. One of the things she liked about wearing a robe was that it concealed spills on her clothes. She leaned back in her desk chair and inhaled. The morning newspaper sat folded on the corner of her desk. She liked to look at Police Beat before the Monday-morning docket to see if any of the jailed had been newsworthy.
Pulling the paper to her, she scanned the front page. An article in the bottom right corner caught her eye. The heading read Beating Victim Dies. Her hand shook, spilling more coffee as she read the copy. “Margaret Scott died late Saturday night of injuries suffered in an attack outside a bar four days ago.”
Alvin stuck his head in the door. “Judge, it’s time to rock and roll.”
Chapter Six
For the first week of work, Aunt Lucy had a warm dinner waiting when Bertha came home. Bertha didn’t want to sound ungrateful; in fact, she was glad to have the dinner even though it wasn’t always what she wanted. Aunt Lucy thought Bertha should eat more vegetables and have something hot every day. This from someone five feet one who weighed about the same as Bertha. To Aunt Lucy, vegetables were one of those “don’t do as I do, do as I say” things Grandma’d taught them both. The weekend came and Bertha was glad enough to sleep late and rest up. Near noon on Saturday, they were seated next to each other at the kitchen island, over coffee, when Aunt Lucy announced she was going back to Chicago.
“Monique’s about to drop that baby,” Aunt Lucy said by way of explanation.
Bertha squinted against the sunlight that filtered through the south window over the sink. The white cabinets amplified the glare. The breakfast-bar/food-preparation island had been Bertha’s idea and was added after she and Toni bought the house. But it made the kitchen much smaller, so Toni insisted on painting the cabinets white. Her theory was white cabinets made the kitchen look larger. Bertha shaded her eyes. “She going to marry the baby daddy this time?”
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