by Beth Hoffman
She hoisted herself out of the car. “If it’s all right with Miz Tootie.”
My aunt nodded, and I scrambled from the backseat and waved good-bye as she pulled away.
Oletta opened a wooden gate and we walked to her front porch. While she hunted for keys in her handbag, I looked around. Dangling from a hook in the porch ceiling were wind chimes made of old silver spoons. I flicked my finger and sent them into a happy, out-of-tune melody. A narrow gravel driveway ran along the side of the house and led to a small garage.
“Do you have a car, Oletta?”
“Not anymore. Cars and I never got along too good. I like takin’ the bus—it suits me just fine. If I can’t get somewhere on the bus, then I figure I don’t need to go. C’mon in,” she said, unlocking the front door.
I followed her into a living room that had a lime green area rug and a brightly patterned floral-print sofa. A brown leather recliner chair sat off to the side—its seat cushion bore the soft, round imprint of Oletta’s behind. Directly across from the chair was a TV, and on the front windowsill was a statue of Jesus.
She led me past a tiny kitchen with a red linoleum floor that gleamed like a polished mirror. I followed Oletta down a narrow hallway, past a sewing room, and into a bedroom that was so clean it was like breathing in a basketful of fresh laundry. Above a chest of drawers there hung a photograph of a black man with dark, intense eyes. A thin silver chain was draped over one corner of the frame, and from a loop on its end dangled a wooden cross.
“Who’s that?” I asked, stepping closer to the picture.
Oletta’s eyebrows shot up. “As smart as you are, you don’t know who that is?”
I shook my head.
Her eyes warmed with reverence as she eased herself down on the bed and gazed at the picture. “That’s Martin Luther King. He’s a great, great man. I got the chance to hear him speak when I was visiting my sister, Geneva, in Birmingham. It was something I’ll never forget. The minute I heard him speak, I knew he was sent here by the Good Lord himself.”
I figured the man must be important to have a cross hanging over his picture. “Is he something like a saint for colored people?”
She let out a little laugh. “Child, I get a kick out of how your mind works. But in a way, you’re right. Martin Luther King is a saint to me, and to lots of other folks too. Mark my words, that man is gonna change this world. Next time he’s on the radio, I’ll let you know so you can hear him speak.”
“Okay.”
On a table next to the bed was a photograph of a young girl with wide, inquisitive eyes and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. “She’s really cute,” I said, picking up the picture. “Who is she?”
“My sweet daughter, Jewel. She was about your age when that picture was taken. You remind me of Jewel in a lot of ways. She was real smart and curious about things, just like you. That child asked questions from morning till night.”
I smiled at Oletta. “I didn’t know you had a daughter. Will I get to meet her?”
She glanced down at her hands and shook her head. “Jewel is with the Lord now. She passed away when she was only thirteen years old.”
I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Oh, Oletta, that’s so sad. What happened?”
“Jewel got spinal meningitis. The doctors tried everything, but they couldn’t save her. I was right there with her when she closed her eyes and went home. She went real peaceful.”
Though I wondered what spinal meningitis was, I knew this wasn’t the time to ask. Gently I replaced the picture on the table. “I’m sorry, Oletta.”
She let out a barely audible moan. “Me too.” And with those two simple words the depth of Oletta’s grief revealed itself to me. As if to beat away the painful memory, she slapped her thighs and said, “Anyway, we better hurry up. Miz Tootie’ll be back soon. There’s a suitcase under the bed. Pull it out for me, will you?”
When she’d finished packing, Oletta pulled something from the closet that looked like a metal broom handle with a beat-up silver platter attached to one end.
It looked so weird, I laughed out loud. “What is that thing?”
“This here is my fortune finder,” she said with a chuckle. “Works pretty good too. Last year I found some old Spanish coins and a solid gold watch. Made me some nice money off them things.”
I’d never heard of a fortune finder. “How does it work?” I asked, smoothing my fingers along its handle.
“Well, I turn it on and then I walk real slow along the beach. If I hear a crackling noise, I know I’m real close to something that might be worth some money. Maybe while Miz Tootie’s gone we’ll go over to Tybee Island and do us some treasure huntin’.”
Just then a familiar beep-beep sounded.
“Miz Tootie’s back,” she said, pulling the suitcase off the bed and heading for the door.
I followed, carrying her fortune finder.
When we arrived home, Miz Goodpepper was weaving her way through Aunt Tootie’s garden. She was wearing an immaculate white suit and a wide-brimmed black hat that dipped low over her left eye.
“The mailman delivered this to me by mistake,” she said, waving an envelope in the air.
“Thank you, Thelma. You look lovely. Where are you off to all dressed up?”
“I’m driving up to Charleston to attend an art show, then I’ll have dinner with some friends.”
Miz Goodpepper’s gaze drifted toward me. Her ruby lips formed a strange, conspiratorial half smile, and her long silver earrings glittered like the tails of twin comets when she stepped forward and said, “Cecelia is so sweet. Did she mention that she stopped over to see me last night?”
“She did?” Aunt Tootie said, turning to look at me.
“Yes. She brought me an old twenty-dollar bill she found in one of Granddaddy’s books. We’ve become great friends, haven’t we, darling?”
I nodded and looked down at my shoes. She was testing me. I was sure of it.
Aunt Tootie lifted her hand and shaded her eyes from the sun. “Thelma, did you see the morning paper?”
“No. Was there something of interest?”
Aunt Tootie nodded and the corners of her lips quivered when she said, “Violene is in the hospital. She slipped on a slug last night, right in her own backyard. From what I read it sounds like she cracked her head wide open. She’s got a concussion too.”
Miz Goodpepper gave a slight shrug to her shoulders. “I heard a siren, but I didn’t pay much attention. A slug? Is that what you said?”
“Yes, a simple old garden slug.”
“Well,” Miz Goodpepper said with a wry smile, “Violene’s so thickheaded I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”
Aunt Tootie and Oletta chuckled.
Though I’d never dare to utter a word about what had really happened, the threat of it being revealed stood between Miz Goodpepper and me, as big as a Ferris wheel. She seemed pleased with my unspoken vow of loyalty and touched my cheek. The current that passed through her fingertips brought the hair straight up off my neck.
Miz Goodpepper glanced at her watch. “I’d better be going.” She turned and headed for home, her high-heeled shoes leaving a trail of tiny holes in the grass behind her.
“Thanks for bringing my mail,” Aunt Tootie called out.
“Anytime,” Miz Goodpepper said with a wave of her hand.
I pressed my fingers against the spot on my cheek Miz Goodpepper had touched, and as she dipped her hat beneath a tree limb and disappeared, I thought about the black boomerang of karma.
Thelma Rae Goodpepper was a mystery to me: wise and funny and kind, yet she also possessed a darkness that was as smooth as silk and as dangerous as a slim blade. Something formidable shimmered in her cool, blue eyes. I didn’t know what to think of her. But I did know, with searing clarity, that I’d never want to fall out of her favor.
Thirteen
While Aunt Tootie packed a suitcase for her trip to Raleigh, I sat on a dainty upholstered chair by th
e side of her bed.
“Cecelia Rose, I just hate leaving you,” she said, folding a sweater. “With all the work I’m doing on the Historic Foundation and now having to go to Raleigh, you must think I run in circles like a dog chasing his tail.”
I ran my finger along the silky cording of the chair. “I understand. I’ve got plenty of books to keep me happy.”
Aunt Tootie slapped her forehead. “How could I have forgotten,” she said, moving across the room She flung open the door to her walk-in closet and disappeared, returning a moment later with a paper bag in her hand. “I bought this for you the other day.”
I opened the bag and pulled out a new, leather-bound dictionary.
“I know you’re always running downstairs to look up words in that big old dictionary in the library, so I thought it’d be nice if you had your own to keep in your bedroom,” she said with a wink.
“Thank you, Aunt Tootie.” I lifted the dictionary to my nose and breathed in the leathery smell.
“You’re welcome,” she said, walking into her closet again. I heard the metallic clink of hangers and the soft rustle of dry-cleaning bags. “I’ve got to find my favorite traveling dress. I know it came back from the cleaners.”
Oletta walked into the bedroom with a stack of towels in her arms and headed for Aunt Tootie’s bathroom. I could hear her happily humming a song as she put them in the linen cabinet.
Just then the ring of the doorbell sounded.
I put down the dictionary and headed for the door. “I’ll get it.”
While I was bounding down the stairs, the doorbell rang again. I fumbled with the dead bolt and pulled open the door. I couldn’t have been more stunned had someone pulled out a gun and shot me.
Standing on the steps was my father.
He offered me a thin smile. “Hello, CeeCee. I’m on my way to Chattanooga. Thought I’d take a long detour and stop by.” He nervously shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced toward Forsyth Park. “Savannah’s a pretty place. That’s some park over there.” He took a step backward and looked at the front of Aunt Tootie’s house. “So, how’s it feel to be living in the lap of luxury? This house is something, isn’t it?”
When I didn’t answer, he started jangling loose change in his pocket. “I’ve got something for you in the car,” he said, nodding toward the street.
From behind me, I felt hands on my shoulders, strong and warm. Oletta’s voice boomed over my head, “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Oh, uh, hello. I came by to drop some things off for Cecelia. I’m Carl Honeycutt, her father.”
“Is that so?” Oletta said, squeezing my shoulders. “Well, you just wait a minute.” She never took her eyes off my dad as she nudged me from the doorway. To my astonishment she closed the door in his face and bolted the lock. “Run upstairs, get Miz Tootie. Hurry up.”
Oletta stood by the door like a five-star general while I raced up the stairs, and when Aunt Tootie and I came down, she was still standing there with her arms crossed over her chest.
Aunt Tootie took a breath and opened the door. Dad was sitting on the steps. He quickly stood and brushed off the seat of his pants. “Hello, Tallulah.”
Her voice sounded stiff and frosty. “Why, Carl, this is quite a surprise.” She waited a moment before she said, “Won’t you come in?”
Dad sheepishly stepped inside while Oletta stared him down. “I don’t want to interrupt anything,” he said, nervously rubbing a finger over his right eyebrow. “I was telling CeeCee that I was on my way to Tennessee and thought I’d swing by. I’ve got some things for her.”
“Oletta,” Aunt Tootie said, “will you bring us some iced tea, please?”
Oletta shot my dad a sharp look, turned, and headed for the kitchen while Aunt Tootie led Dad and me into the formal living room. I huddled close to her on the sofa while Dad sat on the edge of a yellow velvet chair, looking pale and uncomfortable.
“Well, like I said, I can’t stay and I don’t want to interrupt your day. I was—”
“Savannah’s quite a drive from Tennessee. What’s on your mind, Carl?”
Stunned by the crisp bite in Aunt Tootie’s voice, he held up his hands and said, “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to talk to CeeCee for a few minutes and give her some things. That’s all.”
After Oletta brought the iced tea, Aunt Tootie stood and gave my arm a gentle pat. “All right, I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.” She took her glass of tea and headed out of the room, but then she stopped and turned to me. “Cecelia Rose, I’ll be in the library if you need me.”
Like two edgy cats, Dad and I stared at each other from opposite sides of the fireplace. He took a slow drink of iced tea and forced a smile. It was a broken, tired smile. “So, how are you making out here?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said flatly.
“Cecelia,” he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees, “I know what you probably think of me, and whatever it is, you’re right. I ran out on you and your mother when things got rough. There’s no excuse for it—”
“Then, why did you?”
“When the psychiatrists couldn’t help her, I got tired—just gave up. And when the traveling sales position came up, I grabbed it. I guess I thought it’d be easier that way.”
“Easier for you!”
Dad’s face reddened. He stood and peered out the front window. For the longest time he didn’t say anything. I watched him cave in on himself as each moment of silence ticked by.
“Sure is pretty down here. The trees are something else, aren’t they? The South must agree with you, CeeCee,” he said, turning to face me. “You look good, real good.” He jingled his pocket change again, waiting for me to respond. “Anyway, I’ve got some things for you in the car.”
I stood and shook my head. “I don’t want anything.”
Dad walked into the front hall, opened the door, and nodded toward his car. “The things I’ve got in the trunk are important to you.”
I glared at him with so much loathing that my ears heated up. “How would you know what’s important to me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Okay, I had that coming. But, please, at least come out and see what I’ve got. Fair enough?”
I rolled my eyes and reluctantly followed him out the door.
Dad fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the trunk. I took a few steps forward and peered in. The trunk was jammed full with cardboard boxes. I pulled back a flap of the closest box and could hardly believe what was packed inside. My books. I reached in, grabbed a box, and lugged it to the sidewalk. Dad and I unloaded the trunk, never once speaking a single word.
When the trunk had been emptied, I looked him in the eyes and managed to say, “Thanks.”
“Let me help you get them into the house. They’re heavy.”
“No. I’ll take care of them from here.”
He let out a sigh of defeat and slowly closed the trunk. “Okay. Well, I don’t suppose you’d like to take a walk over in the park, so we could talk?”
I shook my head and backed away.
“All right, maybe another time. I guess I’d better hit the road.” But instead of getting in the car, he stepped forward. “CeeCee, will you listen to me for a minute?”
“What?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’m sorry things happened the way they did. But you’ve got to understand that it’s not all my fault. When I met your mother, I knew she was high-strung and emotional at times. But she was beautiful and fun. I thought her moods were just part of her young age. I didn’t know that an incurable mental illness was starting to take hold of her. All I knew was that she made me laugh and I loved her. I did. She gave me a new lease on life—made me feel young again.”
Dad’s shoulders sagged. “Now, did I screw things up? Yeah, I did. I admit it. But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t divorce your mother and take you away from her. It would hav
e killed her. Do you have any idea how much she adored you? I know you might not remember that, but she did. You were the only one who could reason with her. Hell, it got to the point where she didn’t know me from Colonel Sanders. Half the time she didn’t even know my name. But she always knew your name. Did you ever notice that? And she’d listen to you too. You always handled her a lot better than I ever did.”
Angry words burned my tongue, and I spat them out. “And while I was handling her, my life got ruined.”
He looked down and tapped the curb with the toe of his shoe. “I know that, and I came here to tell you I’m sorry. I was a lousy father, Cecelia.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. Who did he think he was, showing up here and thinking he could erase all those years of hurt with a few words and that sad look on his face?
Mrs. Odell once told me that forgiveness had a whole lot more to do with the person doing the forgiving than it did with the person in need of forgiveness. She said holding on to hurt and anger made about as much sense as hitting your head with a hammer and expecting the other person to get a headache. But too many years of resentment were swollen inside me, and I had no forgiveness to offer my dad.
I stood tall and took a deep breath. “I want the truth. You owe me the truth.”
“All right. What do you want to know?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t answer.
“I know you do, and I’m not the only one who knows, either. But I want to hear you admit it.” That was a downright lie, but I didn’t care. I wanted to see what he’d say.
Streaks of red spiked above his collar. I waited for his answer, but he just lowered his head and stared at the sidewalk. Car after car went by, whipping up hot dusty air. He never looked at me when he cleared his throat and said, “It’s not what you think. Believe me. But I was lonely and—”
“You were lonely!”
He took a tentative step forward. “Now, hold on a minute, CeeCee. You’re old enough to know there are two sides to a story. If you’ll just calm down and let me explain—”
“No. I don’t want to hear anything more you have to say.”