A Long Time Comin'

by Robin W. Pearson

  Granny B yanked Evelyn from her wading pool of sentimentality and threw her unceremoniously into the deep end of indignation. And that water sure was cold. The greens simmered softly atop the stove, but Evelyn embraced the icy heat of anger. As she wiped away the wetness on her face, she yearned to exclaim, “Apologize! For what?” But instead she bit back her retort and surreptitiously wiped away her tears.

  “Gal, you hear what I said?”

  She gathered herself. “Of course, Granny B. I’m sorry; I was just thinking.” Maybe she’ll think that’s an apology, and we can move on. “Did you want more coffee?” She stood to rinse her cup and set it in the sink to dry.

  “No, I don’t want nuthin’. ’Cept for you to come over here and sit back down.”

  She sat. They stared into each other’s eyes for a solid minute. Her grandma blinked first, which gave her courage to plow ahead. “So, Granny B. What’s going on with you?”

  “What’s going on with me?” She put her right hand to her hip and crooked her left index finger in her granddaughter’s direction. “You the one need to be answerin’ that question.”

  Growing even more frustrated and hot in the warm kitchen, Evelyn blew out a lungful of air. She sat back in the chair. “Now, don’t try to turn this around. You know what I’m referring to.”

  “I ain’t turnin’ nuthin’ round. And you know what I’m referrin’ to.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” Does she want to know about Kevin’s new job? My job? She plucked and discarded one option after another. Flustered, she changed tactics and loaded the cannon: “Granny B, you should know that I’ve heard the news.”

  Evelyn waited for her to light the fuse, but when Granny B only glared at her, she added more gunpowder. “Granny B, why didn’t you tell somebody? You knew we’d all be here for you, doing whatever you needed, making sure you were taken care of.”

  “Me? I got all I need, gal.” Granny B rose and stirred the greens. Without taste testing what simmered in the pot, she added a dash of her special seasoning that she kept behind the regular stuff like salt and pepper. “The question is, you got all you need?”

  “What was it you used to tell me? ‘Whatever you hide in the dark will someday come to light’?” Evelyn jumped to her feet. She grabbed her grandmother by one of her wiry shoulders, as much to steady herself as to capture her complete attention.

  Granny B squinted at Evelyn as if studying an unknown specimen through the lens of a microscope. “And I would tell you that same thang again. Ain’t you a big fat pot callin’ the kettle black?”

  Once again, she could see defiance, fire, and triumph in Granny B’s eyes. But no, she determined, today it would take more than a firm shove to get her out of this house.

  “You can talk about pots and pans and kettles all day, Granny B. We can discuss all the utensils in this whole kitchen. But first, I want to hear some truth from you.”

  “Well, let’s just start with you, little Miss Sassafras. Comin’ in here and talkin’ to me about tellin’ the truth. We’ll start with you.”

  The kitchen was heating up. Evelyn threw her hands into the air. “What are you talking about?”

  All of a sudden the triumph faded from Granny B’s eyes. The fire and the defiance warred with each other. Defiance won out, reducing the flames to mere embers. She thrust out her chin and her hand returned to her hip. “I’m talkin’ about that baby you carryin’, Miss Ev’lyn Beatrice. When was you plannin’ to tell the truth about that so we could help you and give you what you need?”

  All Evelyn remembered was a loud boom! And then suddenly Granny B was picking her up off the mercifully cool hardwood floor and helping her sit down at the table, stuffing her head between her knees.

  ——————

  “You all right?”

  Evelyn nodded slowly but kept her head down and her eyes closed. Neither said anything for five minutes or more.

  “How ’bout you sittin’ up?” The pressure of Granny B’s fingers on her left shoulder turned this suggestion into a command. Granny B placed a cool cloth in her hands. “Here. Take this and put it on the back of your neck.”

  Eyes closed, Evelyn obeyed.

  “Still all right?”

  Again she nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” When she finally peeked between her eyelashes, Evelyn saw Granny B to her left, hands tucked inside her apron pockets.

  Evelyn didn’t bother to ask what had happened because she could think of little else all the time she crouched at the kitchen table. The one question that hammered away at her—the one question that she could not get past—was How did she know? With the cold war at home and Kevin’s intermittent travel, he had not even realized that she had missed her last two cycles. How did Granny B know?

  “Want some water?”

  Granny B’s question snapped her back to the present. “Uh, no, nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t look fine when you was layin’ out on that flo’ a few minutes ago.”

  “Well, it’s pretty hot in this kitchen, if you haven’t noticed.” Testing her equilibrium, Evelyn put weight on one foot and then the other.

  “I been workin’ in this very same hot kitchen for nearly seventy years now, and I ain’t never had no faintin’ spell,” Granny B harrumphed. “And I was pregnant myself many a them years.”

  How did she know? “What is it with this pregnant stuff? This is the second time you’ve said something like that.” Evelyn could not bring herself to outright deny her pregnancy. It was hard to deny something that she had not completely accepted.

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled her words in a great rush as she attempted to redirect the conversation. “Granny B, could you please sit down in the front room with me so we can have a talk?”

  “I don’t see as we have much to talk about. Unless you ready to start admittin’ the truth.”

  “Well, to hear you tell it, there’s nothing more for me to admit.”

  “That thick waist of yours is doin’ the talkin’ for you.”

  Automatically, her hands flew to her nonexistent bulge, partly from some instinctive need to protect it and partly to check for any signs that she was showing even a little bit.

  Granny B’s eyebrows lifted at her discomfiture. “Ain’t no need for you to try and hide nuthin’. I’m surprised ’Lis’beth ain’t said somethin’ yet. She’s had enough babies. She should know the signs, same as me.”

  Evelyn studied the floor as her hands fluttered to her sides. “She can’t tell you about something that she doesn’t know.”

  Granny B raised her eyebrows. “Oohh! So you got yo’ own skeletons clankin’ in the closet. And you come down here tryin’ to free mine.”

  “I wouldn’t consider a pregnancy a ‘skeleton.’” Her words were so dry and brittle Evelyn had to be careful not to snap them in two as she spoke. “But don’t you have enough to worry about right now?”

  “You got yo’ own private business, but I just ain’t got none. Is that what you sayin’?” Granny B crossed her arms over her chest.

  Evelyn almost laughed. “Oh, you have plenty. That’s why I came here, to—”

  “It really don’t matter what you come here to do. You done run out of time.” Granny B began hustling her toward the open back door.

  Evelyn tried to wrench her arm from her grandmother’s viselike grip. “I’m not leaving here until I’ve said what I came here to say,” she managed. Unbelievably, Granny B pushed her even harder, practically dragging her to the door. She was shocked as much by her physical strength—Isn’t this the same woman on the brink of death?—as by her gall. Verbally throwing her out was much different from using both hands to do it.

  “What are you doing, Granny B? Stop this! Is this how you treat people you love? Who are only trying to help you? Maybe that’s why Henton left, having to put up with stuff like this day after day.”

  As if Evelyn had pushed her away, Granny B reeled back and hit the washing machine. The detergent fell over ont
o its side and powder spilled onto the floor. Granny B glowered at her, her chest heaving. Her anger simmered, threatening to bubble over like the greens on the stove.

  “Who are you cooking for, Granny B? Who are you cleaning for? Who are you waiting to see? Who’s going to eat all this food?” Evelyn’s hand swept in the direction of the pot. “I’m almost the only one you ever let in here on a regular basis, and now you won’t even allow me to come. There’s no point storing this food in your freezer because your pigheadedness is going to let you die in what . . . ? A few months at most? Or what, do you think that Henton is going to walk in here one day?” Evelyn shook her head slowly. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen. You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know whatchyou talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Oh, you know exactly what.”

  Uncharacteristically, Granny B retreated. “I ’spect you to be gone when I come back.”

  “Well, you expect wrong,” Evelyn retorted, following her and blocking her escape. “Aren’t you tired of running people off? You did it with Granddaddy, you’ve done it with your children, and you’ve tried it with me.”

  “You best move, gal.”

  Evelyn planted her feet, prepared to wrestle with the angel. “No, I won’t let you run me away!”

  “You oughta know about runnin’ folk off. You been runnin’ yo’ mama off for years. You wont somebody to talk to? Go home!”

  “No!” Then she added, less forcefully, “Please, Granny B.” Evelyn swallowed and continued, still more gently. “Don’t you think it’s about time you talked about it? If you let down that burden . . .”

  “What? You wont me to lay my head on yo’ shoulder and just cry my fool head off? Tell you all ’bout why that . . . that . . . ma-an left me and my chillun, left us here to die like . . .” She gulped down a breath, and with a nod, Granny B answered her own questions. “’Course you do, ’cause you care about me.”

  Then Granny B shook her head. “Well, I won’t do it. It ain’t none of yo’ business why he left.” She returned to the washing machine to clean up the spilled detergent.

  Evelyn spoke to her back yet again. “You don’t have to tell me why Henton left, Granny B. I know the answer to that: You kicked him out. Just like you threw me out. But why would you force Henton to leave here, right when you needed him most? You did have seven children to feed and clothe and take care of—”

  “You don’t have to remind me how many children I had by the time his sorry behind left here. I was there, remember?” Granny B’s voice was flat.

  Evelyn winced. She softened her voice, hoping to deliver the same message on a pillow instead of a sword. “Why not write him back after all those times he wrote you? I counted—what?—ten or fifteen letters that Henton had written you, right up until he died. Letters to Mama and Thomas, Little Ed—to all of you!”

  Granny B remained silent as she braced both hands against the washing machine.

  “What about forgiveness?” Evelyn pushed away the memory of Kevin asking that same question. “Believe me, I know I may be upsetting you, but I think talking about this can help—”

  “Upsettin’ me? You ain’t upsettin’ me. You makin’ me angry as—!” Granny B reined in her emotions, flexing her fingers. “You thank you have the right to come into my house, meddle through my thangs, and wont to talk about forgiveness, tell me about my business . . .”

  “Well, you—”

  “Well, you, nuthin’. This my house and my life and I’m gon’ do with it what I wont.” Granny B pushed away from the washing machine and strutted down the hall into her bedroom.

  “This is not just your life. It does not involve just you.” Anger suffused Evelyn’s bones and made her tremble like a leaf in a spring breeze as she tramped after her grandmother. Her fingers shook with it as they reached out to Granny B. Then that same anger curled her outstretched fingers into an impotent fist. “How can you stand there and say that? You have children, grandchildren . . .”

  “And how you figure that?” Granny B looked around her as if perplexed. “I don’t see nobody else livin’ here, payin’ no bills.” She crouched on one knee and lifted the bedspread. “Hmmpf. Ain’t nobody under there. They must all be out on the back porch, waitin’ to jump up and yell, ‘Surprise!’ when I walk outside.” Granny B pressed a hand to her side as she straightened.

  “They may not be living out here, but they should be living in here, in your heart.” She gently tapped her grandma on the left side of her chest with an index finger.

  Granny B knocked aside her finger. “Is that where I been livin’ since you been gone? In yo’ heart? ’Cause you sho’ ain’t been round here.” She reached for the cloth and lemon-scented furniture polish sitting on her dresser. After spraying the rag, she furiously wiped away nonexistent dust.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, you have been constantly in my thoughts and in my heart. Just like Henton has lived in yours for more than sixty years.”

  Granny B threw down the cotton swath. Through clenched teeth she ground out, “Why you keep sayin’ that? You thank I care one whit ’bout that man? Yes, Henton said I throwed him out. Un-huh.” Granny B’s head bobbed up and down. “But what kinda man allows hisself to get kicked out his own house—that is, if he really wont to stay in the first place? I tried to kick you out just a few minutes ago, but you still standin’ here.”

  Granny B’s eyes bored into her granddaughter’s. “Yes, he wrote letters to my chillun, tried to reach out to ’em. But I couldn’ta stopped him from seein’ ’em if he’d a really wonted to. He knew where they lived, where they was goin’ to school. Spring Hope ain’t but so big.”

  Granny B turned away. “If my man had wanted to come back—if he’da wanted to stay, ain’t nobody coulda done nuthin’ to stop him, Ev’lyn.”

  “But why, Granny B? Why would you want him gone? Back then you had all my aunts and uncles to look after. There’s no way you could have wanted to do it all yourself, even knowing what I know about you. And now here you are. You’re dying—”

  “Dy—!” Granny B raised her finger.

  “Yes, Granny B, Mama and I know what Dr. Hedgepeth told you. You. Are. Dying. And yet here you are, still trying—no, fighting—to be alone. To die here alone. Do you really expect Mama and me—any of your children—to let you continue to live and then die that way, the way Henton left you, grieving and alone? Yes, he might have let you push him out, but we won’t. I won’t.” Unable to hold herself back any longer, Evelyn’s raised voice was cutting; she brandished her words like a weapon.

  Granny B crossed her arms and looked beyond Evelyn, at some distant point through the open bedroom door.

  “Granny B? Granny B, please. Look at me. I know you like to keep to yourself, but God knows you don’t have to depend on just yourself or Mama or me. You’re surrounded by your children. Aunt Ruthena and Uncle Matthew would drive over from Charlotte in a heartbeat if they knew—”

  Eyes finally meeting Evelyn’s, Granny B spewed, “So she can put some of that veg’able oil on my head and pray over me? You thank the same God that done kept me all these years, who took my chillun, and the same God who’s gon’ kill me gon’ just change His mind and save me now? You thank God is just havin’ some big laugh ’cause ain’t nuthin’ else important in this here world that He needs to bother Hisself with?” She looked out the window. “And whatchyou gon’ do? You cain’t even stand up for more’n two minutes without faintin’. Got a baby on the way. You cain’t even take care of yo’self and you gon’ try to take care of me?” She looked away and grunted, almost to herself, “Even if you could, I wouldn’t have you here. I’m gon’ be with Him soon enough.”

  Evelyn ignored her vituperation, the words that sounded more like a curse than a promise. “Maybe Aunt Mary won’t step out of the spotlight long enough to fly here, but Uncle Thomas and Aunt Sissy would love to help. That’s what they live and work for—helping. Surely God wants you to experience His goodness here
, in the land of the living, not just in heaven. All you have to do is reach out, Granny B. Forgive. What can be so hard in that?” Yes, Evelyn, what can be so hard? a little voice prodded and poked her.

  Granny B took her time answering. But then finally, in a monotone, she asked, “What can be so hard? What can be so hard?” Her voice crept to a whisper. “I reached out for almost twenty years to a man. But that man, the one who came to me in my bed for almost twenty years, that man stole my childhood and much of my life. And what he didn’t take, I kept givin’ away till I had barely nuthin’ left. Well, no more.” The angry tears that had gradually pooled in Granny B’s eyes slowly gave way, spilling down her cheeks and dropping onto her heaving chest, her sturdy black shoes, and the hardwood floor.

  “Now, Henton was long gone ’fo’ his body ever left here, when my heart was breakin’ over Milton. He didn’t stay round long enough to help me. I needed somebody then, Ev’lyn. Sho’, I was reachin’ out, but not for that man. Never for that man.” Granny B didn’t seem to be addressing Evelyn.

  Evelyn stumbled there, caught up in the image of a young woman left alone to fend for herself and her family. While she paused, Granny B silently walked around her to the door of the bedroom.

  “Maybe you got somethin’ else to say, but I don’t care to hear it, chile. Not right now. If you wont to do somethin’ for me, you just get outta my house.”

  A few seconds later, Evelyn heard the back door bounce a few times until it finally shut for good. Deciding to give Granny B what she had asked for—no, demanded—Evelyn quietly walked dry-eyed and cotton-mouthed through the front room and let herself out.

  ——————

  Evelyn woodenly traversed the quiet two-lane road leading from Granny B’s house and eventually merged into the mélange of cars, 18-wheelers, and sport utility vehicles flowing steadily on Highway 64. She didn’t want to play music, talk to God, or even hear herself think. Her mother would give her plenty to listen to when she got back to Mount Laurel.