Aunt Lucy shrugged. “I give up on that. If I fuss at her, she don’t come around, and then I don’t get to see my great-grandbabies.”
“She going to have a girl this time?”
“Another boy. That’ll make three.” Aunt Lucy sighed. “Listen to me, a great-grandma.”
“Aw, you ain’t so old.”
“Turned seventy-eight last April.”
“I know,” Bertha said, “but that don’t seem old these days.”
“Ha. So you say.” Aunt Lucy was quiet for a moment and then asked, “You be all right here by yourself?”
“Of course I will.” Bertha got up and poured another cup of coffee and freshened Aunt Lucy’s. When she sat, she pulled her stool out of the sunbeam. She’d actually been thinking it would be lonesome in the house: no Toni, no Doree, and now no Aunt Lucy. Why had they gotten such a big place? But they couldn’t have predicted the events of the last several weeks. Aunt Lucy said something. Bertha turned toward her. “What?”
“I said I put plenty of groceries in the cabinets.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. I used the credit card you gave me when I first come here. Hadn’t needed nothing until now.”
“Well,” said Bertha. “Thank you, then.”
“If you need me, you can call and I can be here in short order.”
“I’ll be fine. You want me to drive you?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m going on the train. You can take me to the station tomorrow morning and see me off.”
“Let’s do something special tonight. Dinner out?”
“I don’t need nothing special. Some of those places upset my digestion.”
“I know just the place. And I’m buying.”
“Are you sure?”
Toni’d always said if someone offered to do something nice for you, don’t ask if she’s sure—just say thank you. “Yes,” Bertha said. “I’m sure.”
And that’s how Bertha ended up at the Blue Lantern eating broiled mahi-mahi because they were out of halibut. The restaurant was in a bad end of town, but it had a lighted parking lot and usually a security officer on duty—especially on Saturday nights. Bertha was sadly surprised by a hollow feeling in her gut. The Blue Lantern had been a regular stopping place for her and Toni when they were younger. To save money, they’d split a rib eye and ordered two salads. Bertha felt a hand on hers.
Aunt Lucy said, “Where’d you go?”
Bertha smiled weakly and sighed. “I wonder how long it’ll be this way—the memories, I mean.”
“Bertha?”
A woman at the next table, with a man and an adolescent boy, waved at her. Bertha smiled and nodded but was at a loss. The woman wore an expensive-looking weave, and her skin was the color of Boston coffee. Bertha asked herself if she should fake it or admit right off that she didn’t remember this woman.
Aunt Lucy stood and extended her hand toward the woman. “I’m Bertha’s Aunt Lucy.”
The woman extended her hand. “Annalisa Wilson.”
“Would you be related to Pop Wilson?” Aunt Lucy asked. “Granddaughter, maybe?”
Annalisa laughed. “Daughter. But thank you.”
Bertha said, “The last time I saw you, you were in high school.”
“It has been a long time.”
“How is your father?” Bertha asked. “Since he retired, I rarely see him.”
“Well, you’re going to see him soon. He’s parking the car.”
Their salads and bread came. Bertha said how nice it was to see her again and turned around to pick the cucumbers out of the lettuce.
“Last time I saw her,” Bertha whispered across the table to Aunt Lucy, “she was about twenty-five pounds bigger, with braces.”
“That’s his only daughter, right?”
“Yeah. I used to worry that she was going to look like him.”
Aunt Lucy chuckled. “Well, if I remember him right, she don’t look nothing like him.”
Bertha was focused on a roll and cold butter when she looked up and saw Pop Wilson weaving his way between the overcrowded tables. He’d lost weight and his shoulders were hunched. His suit jacket hung on him. She put down her napkin and waved at him.
“My lord, who we got here?”
Bertha shook his hand, greeted him, and introduced Aunt Lucy.
Pop extended a hand to Aunt Lucy and said to Bertha, “I knowed this young lady since before you was born. Lucille, you’re as pretty as ever.”
Aunt Lucy laughed. “You old fool, you.”
Pop turned to Bertha and took her hand with both of his and, in a more delicate tone, said, “I heard about Toni. She was a good officer. It’s a loss for you, of course, but also a loss for this city. These new guys, they just Taser now and ask questions later.”
Should she thank him? She wasn’t sure.
Then a waiter came to take orders at his table. He let go of Bertha’s hand. “If I can do anything, let me know. Or better still, why don’t you call me. We’ll have coffee sometime?”
“I’ll do that,” Bertha promised him, all the while thinking she probably wouldn’t.
“You got my number?”
“I do.”
Pop nodded toward Aunt Lucy and then moved past Bertha and went on to join his family.
*
Sunday, the autumn morning turned dreary. Outside, a mist had changed to a light drizzle, too heavy for fog. After Bertha was dressed, she stood in the living room looking out at the street. She leaned forward and her fingers rose reflexively to her open shirt collar. She felt like the Titanic waiting for the iceberg. When would it come and where would it come from?
Bertha found Aunt Lucy in the kitchen, her suitcases sitting next to the garage door.
“Have some coffee before we leave,” Aunt Lucy said.
Bertha poured a mug full and took her place at the island. “Sleep well?” she asked.
“Good enough. I wish I’d gone to see Mom again.”
Bertha looked at her watch. “If we left now, we could stop and see her for a few minutes.”
Aunt Lucy slid off her stool. “Let’s do it.”
They emptied their mugs into the sink and Bertha grabbed as many of Aunt Lucy’s bags as she could carry. During the trip across town, they were often alone on the roads.
They had been quiet for a while when Aunt Lucy said, “This is a nice car.”
“Thanks. I’ve always had Jeeps.”
This Jeep was hardly broken in. She’d bought it for an excursion to Shawnee National Forest, way down at the tip of Southern Illinois. The weather turned out cold and rainy, and the three of them stayed in an old motel with cedar paneling and beds so soft that everything rolled to the center. The next day, muscles aching from the soft mattress, Bertha had trudged along a narrow path with Toni and Doree to a cliff that overlooked a green valley and another hill with the rocks sparkling in the sunlight. That afternoon, temperatures dropped and a strong wind gusted hard enough to bend solid tree branches. She and Toni argued, and even though they’d made peace Toni had a headache, so they hadn’t stayed the rest of the long weekend but headed home.
Bertha pulled head-on into a parking space and her tires bounced off the curb. “Sorry,” she said to Aunt Lucy.
“It’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You do it all the time. Doree and I talked about it.”
“My driving?”
“Your daughter says you don’t drink and drive. You think and drive. Much worse.”
Bertha wrinkled her forehead. “You talked to Doree about my driving?”
Aunt Lucy placed a hand on Bertha’s shoulder. “I asked her about it because I thought you might need new glasses. Anyway, Grandma backed her up.”
Bertha pursed her lips. “You talked to Grandma about my driving?”
“Shush now.”
“Seriously? Grandma.”
“Don’t go getting your bowels in an u
proar. You have a lot of people who love you. Sometimes we talk to each other.”
The nursing-home parking lot was mostly empty. They hurried between raindrops to the canvas awning that covered the path to the front door. Inside among innumerable smells, Bertha could make out coffee and bacon. The frowning woman at the nursing station pointed down the corridor. “Your grandma’s at breakfast.”
“We won’t bother her very long,” Aunt Lucy said with an apology in her tone. “I’m leaving for Chicago in an hour and a half.”
Bertha took her arm and headed toward the dining room. “Don’t apologize to her.”
Three aides were working. One ran food from the kitchen, and the other two fed residents who couldn’t manage themselves. A large window in the back of the room showed a courtyard with a few benches and a statue of St. Francis. The rain outside made the over lit room seem stark and inhospitable. Grandma was at a table with two other women, her back to them.
Standing next to her, Aunt Lucy said, “Mom.”
Grandma turned her head and studied her carefully for a moment. “Lucille?” Then she looked for Bertha, who was pulling chairs up to the table. “Thank God you’re here.”
Bertha nodded and smiled at the women who shared Grandma’s table.
Before Bertha could warn her, Aunt Lucy said, “Is something wrong?”
Grandma leaned close to Aunt Lucy and said, “They make me sit with these old whores. I don’t have nothing to say to ’em. They just sit all us black girls together—like nobody else wants us at their table.”
“Can’t you sit where you want?” Aunt Lucy asked.
“Assigned seating.”
Bertha noticed that at least Grandma’s plate was cleaned. She wasn’t too upset to eat. Took a lot for a Brannon woman to lose her appetite. “How about I get us all some coffee?” Bertha didn’t wait for an answer but went to the center table that contained the coffee urn. She filled three mugs, put some sugar packets and cream containers in her pockets, and lifted two cups.
“Let me help you.”
Inexplicitly an aide had appeared beside her and took the third cup. She was a thin white girl with black hair—too black to be natural.
“Thanks,” Bertha said. “I think I filled them too full.”
“Trick is don’t look at them. I was a waitress before I started here. I could carry four cups at a time and not spill a drop.”
Reluctantly Bertha tore her eyes from the brimming cups.
“Everybody here is so fond of Ms. Brannon,” the aide said.
“You must have the wrong Mrs. Brannon. Grandma can be difficult.”
“Oh no. She’s behaving differently since the gentleman caller.”
Hot coffee sloshed over the rim. Bertha abruptly set the cups on a table to her right and shook her scalded fingers.
“Here. I can carry all of them.”
“Did you say caller? A man?”
“You didn’t know? Oh, dear.”
The aide followed with the coffee, and Bertha hurried to Grandma, who was involved in a conversation with Aunt Lucy.
“They wanted me to wear my teeth this morning,” Grandma said. “How am I supposed to eat with a mouth full of teeth? Bad enough I have to wear a goddamn brassiere. Least I can fill one up. More than I can say for some of these gals around here.”
Bertha sat down and faced Grandma. “You have a gentleman caller?”
Aunt Lucy looked at Bertha, then at Grandma, then at Bertha.
“Son of a bitch. A girl can’t get no privacy.”
Aunt Lucy said, “Mom?”
Grandma threw her arms in the air in disgust. “All right. I got me one of them pen pals. We finally met.”
Aunt Lucy said, “You’re ninety-six years old.”
Grandma squared her shoulders, as well as she could, and said, “I ain’t dead yet. Besides, he’s younger than me.”
Bertha asked, “How much younger?”
Grandma shrugged. “About forty years, I’d guess. I didn’t ask.”
Bertha dug in her pocket and put two packs of sugar and two containers of cream in Grandma’s coffee and stirred it with the handle of a spoon from Grandma’s plate, sloshing it on the table.
“I could use some coffee.” The voice came from one of the women at Grandma’s table.
Grandma said, “You go get your own damn company.”
Bertha slid her own cup across the table to the old woman, who grabbed it with both hands, then spilled some on her blouse as she slurped it. Bertha positioned her plastic chair, sat, and stared out the window at the rain running off the face of St. Francis, conscious of the time Aunt Lucy talked to Grandma gently about going back to Chicago. Grandma sipped from her mug and seemed to have settled down a little.
Would Bertha be getting a grandfather younger than herself, or was something else going on? An uneasy feeling gripped her. She interrupted Aunt Lucy. “You were writing this guy?”
“At first,” Grandma said. “Now we mostly e-mail.”
Aunt Lucy said, “Mom, you need to be careful with strangers.”
“What’s he going to get from me? My money?” Grandma touched Bertha’s shoulder. “I might as well tell you now. He’s white.”
*
They were running late when they pulled into the station. Bertha swung into a parking space near the doors, bumping the curb as she came to a stop. A moment later they heard the sounds of the train, and Bertha went into action. She jumped out of the car, moved toward the rear of the Jeep, and started unloading Aunt Lucy’s suitcases. Bertha carried several smaller bags, and Aunt Lucy rolled the big suitcase behind her. They loped through the station and on the other side were intercepted by a porter and a luggage truck. Under an overhang where several passengers stood waiting, they watched as the last of arriving passengers swarmed onto the platform, then departing passengers lined up in the drizzle to board.
Aunt Lucy grabbed Bertha and held on. “If I can help with anything, anything, you get hold of me. I always counted you like one of my own children.”
“I’m going to be fine. You have a good trip. Let me know when that baby comes. I’ll send Monique something. What does she need?”
The train whistle sounded, and Aunt Lucy let go and called over her shoulder, “Money and a decent man.”
Bertha smiled. “I’ll send money.”
Aunt Lucy hurried, as much as a seventy-eight-year-old with arthritis in her knees could, across the wet platform toward the train. A porter took her arm and helped her up the steps. Only minutes later the train started to roll, and Bertha saw Aunt Lucy in a window waving. She waved. Then the truth sank in. She was alone.
*
Bertha dreaded going home to the empty house. She stopped by the county building and let herself in the back door with her key. She didn’t have much to do, so she started straightening the place up. When she moved things from her desk, the dusty spots showed just how long the papers had been lying there. She got on the computer and checked her e-mail. Thank God for this job. She hadn’t lived alone since she and Toni had moved in together thirteen years ago. For a moment she longed for her old messy duplex on the wrong end of town.
She stopped at a Mexican restaurant on the way home, had a huge salad, and lingered over taco chips. The purple and coral sunset was spectacular that evening. Bertha tried to focus on it as she drove. It would be late by the time Aunt Lucy arrived in Chicago. She’d made arrangements for one of her grandkids to pick her up at the station. As Bertha turned at the stop sign on Kennedy, her cell phone chirped. She hit the Bluetooth connection and answered.
“Hi. It’s me.” Doree’s voice was as clear as if she’d been in the passenger seat.
“How’re you?”
“Homesick.”
“Are you getting settled in?”
“I guess. I have to share a room with Emily.”
Bertha thought Emily was snotty and self-centered, but she said, “Emily’s a nice girl.”
“Oh, please. She�
�s thirteen, and…”
Bertha coaxed her. “And what?”
“She’s white.”
Bertha laughed as she pulled into the driveway.
Doree raised her voice in anger. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry. But you have to look at the big picture here. Your mother was white. It’s her family. They are and always have been white.”
“Well, obviously, but I’m not white. This was never an issue at home or at school. Now I’m the only black kid in my homeroom.”
“You’re mixed race, and a very beautiful mixed race, I might add.”
“Here, I’m black.”
Bertha rolled her eyes and decided to forgo the speech about the racist tone of Doree’s comment. Especially since Doree was clearly talking about other people’s racism. Bertha softened her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“Have you heard from Erik?”
“I didn’t expect to. He’s your boyfriend, not mine.”
“Oh.”
“Haven’t you heard from him?”
“Yeah,” Doree said, “I heard from him three or four times a day for the first few days. Then nothing Friday or this whole weekend.”
“You’ve tried to call him?”
“As often as I could without seeming like a stalker.”
Bertha chuckled, then in an effort to cheer her up, she said, “Well, some of us have to kiss a lot of frogs—”
“Great.” Doree exploded. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re so old your life is practically over.”
That was the Doree that Bertha knew. “Sorry. It seemed like a funny thing to say. I’m sure your feelings for Erik go deep, and this whole thing is very hard for you.”
A moment after her outburst, Doree said, “I’m sorry. Can I come home? Pleaseeese?”
“Soon, baby. Not now.”
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