A Long Time Comin'

by Robin W. Pearson

  Evelyn peered at the differences in hairstyles and hair textures, the aquiline noses and flaring nostrils and skin tones that ranged from fairest Mary to bittersweet chocolate–flavored Milton. She wondered about what Hewitt looked like and which of his children looked most like him. Did Ruthena’s wavy hair remind Granny B of her lost love? Or did Thomas’s mellifluous voice that served him so well in the courtroom strike a discordant note in her grandmother’s ear? Most likely it was Milton’s sturdy frame and jawline that caused her the most pain.

  She caught Cocoa scooching under the bed with a small photograph between her teeth. Evelyn gently dislodged a black-and-white close-up of Lis, decades later, kneeling under a large tree. Her hands were tucked beneath her large belly, and she was laughing at the photographer. Evelyn smiled with her beautiful mama, imagining her daddy teasing her in that easy way of his.

  “We took that at Holden Park.” Lis peered over her shoulder.

  Evelyn gasped. “When did you get home?”

  “Just now. I left Kevin and Jackson at Mama’s.” Lis reached down and gently took the photograph. “I remember I was about seven months pregnant, and I was feeling it. Your daddy got a babysitter and we headed over to the park. It was a beautiful park—and it was the perfect day for a picnic. He’d seen some movie—hmmm . . . what was it? And he had the idea to buy all these gourmet foods for us to eat—stuff only people in movies eat, you know what I mean?” She sounded like she relished the day.

  Evelyn nodded.

  “Well, I took one look at the basket and thought, ‘Ooh, fried chicken and potato salad!’ But when I opened it, I saw runny cheese and goose liver and these crackers that looked like they had seaweed in them! You should have seen your daddy when he took a bite of that pâté. It was so funny. We laughed the whole time, but boy, were we hungry!”

  Evelyn soaked in the splendor of their long-ago day.

  “We spent hours at the park, in spite of being hungry and all. He rubbed my feet and massaged my neck. I’d been so achy the whole pregnancy. He just pampered me. Then we held each other, and he rubbed my stomach. We discussed having another girl or another boy . . . I was so big.”

  “You were so beautiful.” Evelyn took the photo from her. Then her mama’s words struck her. “You were pregnant with me.”

  “Of course. Didn’t you read the back?” Mama turned the picture over.

  Elisabeth, with baby #3. She blinked away tears. “Oh!”

  “Yes, I was pregnant with you. And let me tell you, you kicked my butt the entire time.”

  Should I apologize? Laugh?

  But her mama didn’t seem to pick up on her discomfiture. “What are you doing? Where did you find this picture?”

  “In the box in your closet. I’m organizing them.” She pointed at what she’d already started.

  “What are you planning to do once you’re done?”

  Evelyn sat back then. “Well . . .”

  “I’m going to need more than a dozen albums to hold all these. Do you mind if I work with you?”

  Evelyn had expected her mama to have her head before giving her a hand. “Sure, that’d be nice.”

  They dove in. Every now and then they laughed over a picture or Lis explained the circumstances. More than two hours passed before they heard the chirp-chirp of the security system announce the guys’ return.

  Lis leaned toward the door. “Jackson! Kevin! We’re up here!”

  After the thud-thud-thud of footsteps, Jackson poked his head inside. “Mama, Granny B cooked up a storm and sent most of it with us. It’s downstairs if you’re ready to eat. What are you doing?”

  “Stepping back in time,” Evelyn responded smartly.

  “Why don’t you and Kevin go ahead? We’ll be down.” Once he withdrew, Lis faced Evelyn. “You haven’t asked about Mama.”

  Evelyn suddenly busied herself with brushing off her shorts. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. Wondering how you’re doing.”

  Evelyn stopped brushing. “Wondering about me?”

  Lis held her daughter’s gaze and dug in. “Yes. She’s worried how you’re taking the news.”

  “What news? That’s she dying?”

  She smiled slightly. “No, that she’s a woman. She’s human. Just like you and me.”

  Evelyn struggled to find her voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “I imagine we’re talking about the same things, Evelyn.” Lis inclined her head slightly. “Mama told you about my father. About Hewitt. She told you about all his comings and goings, and she told you that Milton is really my half brother. That Henton is his father.”

  Evelyn sat as stone.

  “It’s okay, Evelyn. Mama told me.”

  “It’s okay? It’s okay?” She finally scooped up her voice from between her toes. “How can you stand there and say, ‘It’s okay’?”

  “Because it is. Here, come sit down.” Lis took Evelyn’s hand and led her to the window seat. She tugged gently. “Sit down, Evelyn. Please.

  “Evelyn, there are so many things that can happen to a person, things that other people can’t understand—even the person involved sometimes doesn’t understand. Imagine it.” She entreated Evelyn with her free left hand. “Thirteen. Mama was thirteen when she first met Hewitt. And then two years later, there she was, living with a man, yes, her husband—”

  “Of her own free will, to hear her tell it.”

  “Yes, but how much free will does a girl that age have? I don’t care if it’s 2040 or 1940. She was a teenager, and she’d never been off her daddy’s farm, at least not long enough or far enough to speak of. And here comes Hewitt Agnew. Fine as wine to hear her tell it.” She grimaced. “And she was caught up, like so many girls are caught up today. She marries him and her family spits her out like something that tastes bad. She’s living with another stranger—his brother, Henton—and the man she loves who loves her maybe twice a year. What would you have her do?”

  She had no idea what she would have done, but then she wasn’t Granny B, the strongest, meanest, most faithful and honest woman she knew.

  “You’re looking at your grandmother through eyes that see her as she is today—not as she might have been, as she was years and years ago, when she was less than half the age that you are now! Who do you think made her who she is? What shaped her life? Her experiences made her who she is today, and I’m proud of her for it.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. She stuck it out when my own father left her, left us. And he never looked back. She made mistakes, but my mother was a faithful wife, a strong mother who didn’t take nothing from nobody, Evelyn. She protected us fiercely from a town that could have run her out on her ear. We could have been labeled all kinds of names. But she wouldn’t have it. She stayed there and waited for him, and yes, he took what he wanted from her. But she needed him, too.”

  Evelyn listened as Granny B’s words flowed from her own mama’s mouth.

  “As far as any outsider really knew, Hewitt was just Henton’s brother, and he came home from time to time. She was living in Henton’s house and her last name was Agnew, so naturally most folks assumed Hewitt was our uncle, not our daddy. I’m sure some nosy people could have timed her pregnancies with his visits, but living was pretty hard then, and who had time for that?” She seemed to consider it. “Well, maybe Mrs. Johnson, but she didn’t move there for a long time.

  “Meanwhile, we had a roof over our heads and food to eat, and we went to school. And she protected us, too, by keeping us so busy and distracted, we didn’t know any better. We would have had none of those things if Mama had followed your modern way of thinking.” Lis swallowed.

  “So Mama stayed there, having six children and burying two, until finally, God gave her the courage to kick my sorry daddy out. Over time, she became the Granny B you know today.” She squeezed Evelyn’s hand.

  Evelyn thought she could accept all that. But not everything. “You left out one. What about Milton?”


  Two tears seeped from the corners of Lis’s eyes and trickled down her otherwise-calm face. She blinked and broke their gaze for the first time. “Milton’s another matter.”

  Then it was Evelyn who did the squeezing. “What do you mean?”

  Lis blew out a breath. “Well, Mama didn’t have anywhere to go then, after Hewitt left. So she stayed there in Henton’s house.”

  “Are you going to tell me they fell passionately in love and that he left her, too?”

  “No, they didn’t, or rather, she didn’t. I don’t know if Henton loved Mama from the moment he saw her or if he just grew to love her. We can’t ask him. They spent a lot of time together in that house, and I do believe he loved us children, and she probably felt something for him, but she fought it with all she had.” She shrugged.

  “But one night, the night Thomas nearly lost his finger, Mama was beside herself. She’d been looking backward and forward, blaming herself for staying with Hewitt so long and kicking him out too soon. Missing him, loving him. Hating him and herself. Just out of her mind with heartache. And that night—” Lis swallowed hard as more tears chased the others—“Henton came home drunk. When we heard Mama crying, I called for him to go see to her . . .” She brought a hand to her mouth.

  Evelyn’s heart was a slowly moving stone. “Did he assault Granny B?”

  Lis wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “No. That she could’ve moved past, strangely enough. But what she couldn’t forgive is her own part. She blamed herself for everything, especially for the sin in seeking physical refuge in Henton. And then she had Milton.

  “At first, he reminded her of her weakness, the mistakes she’d made. But later, I think Milton stood for the love that got away—Hewitt’s and Henton’s. One man she loved who she couldn’t keep and another who loved her. I think in his own way, Henton loved her, really loved her, in a way that Hewitt never did. But for Mama, loving had caused her nothing but pain, loss, and suffering—her parents, Hewitt, children, Henton. Oh, Milton.”

  Then Lis wiped her eyes again, and Evelyn could tell it was for the last time. Yet the words continued to well up and over.

  “Milton symbolized all of that heartbreak, and she poured it into all of us, all the bitterness. She wouldn’t risk loving another thing, another person, or even God, who allowed it to happen. So more and more, love became this work you do, not a joy or a gift you feel or extend. Henton stuck around for a while after his son was born. But then I guess he assumed the blame. He probably knew Mama couldn’t take him anymore either, so he left. Leaving her the house and the land—everything.”

  “So the Social Security that Granny B gets—”

  “Is from Hewitt. She was his wife, not Henton’s.” Lis’s now-dry eyes searched her daughter’s. “Are you still angry?”

  “I never said—”

  “You were angry. And hurt. Disappointed, too. But there was no need. It’s sorrow we should feel. I hope you see that now.”

  Evelyn looked away, but a finger forced her head back.

  “And I hope you see some other things.”

  “What things?”

  “Why I’ve been so concerned.”

  Evelyn laughed shortly. “Concern. That’s what you call it?”

  “Yes. You are so much like Mama, Evelyn. Holding things in, creating your own hell.”

  Evelyn thought of Yolanda’s words.

  “Yes, you are like her.” Her hand gripped Evelyn’s, and her eyes devoured her daughter’s face. “And as much as I love her and admire her, I don’t want you to be like her. I don’t want you to live like she did, all alone, with a child she viewed as punishment, a life she had to endure. I want you to look at this baby as an opportunity, as a blessing, and not as a rope tied round your neck.”

  “You look at raising children as a job, a punishment even. Where is the joy?” Evelyn’s own words haunted her.

  “Have you even talked about the baby with Kevin since he’s been here?” Lis released her hand to grasp both shoulders. “What Mama went through? Each pregnancy, each baby, tied her inextricably to Hewitt, even to Henton. And I don’t know what I would have done. Probably resented each nappy-haired one of us.”

  “And she does.”

  “Yes, she does, or at least she did. But she loves us, too, more than she can even say on a piece of paper. But you, Evelyn, you’re not living Mama’s life. You have a loving husband. He did something terrible, almost unforgivable—”

  “Mama!”

  “—but he’s a good man, I know. And this life you’re carrying is just as special as each of you is to me. And you need to act like it.”

  She brushed away her mama’s hands and rose. “I know all this.”

  “Then act like it.” Lis remained seated.

  “I just didn’t plan any of this.” And by this, she meant Kevin’s unfaithfulness, the separation, Granny B’s illness, the pregnancy.

  “So what? Neither did I. Not Lionel or Yolanda or Jackson either.”

  Immediately Evelyn pictured helping Granny B gather linen at the clothesline. It felt like years before but was only weeks. “Getting pregnant was not in my plans, and being a single parent most definitely isn’t.”

  “You think dyin’ was in mine?”

  Evelyn shrugged off the image. “But you wanted to have children, even if you didn’t know when. I didn’t plan to have children at all.”

  “So what? Now, I’ve sat back and let you and Kevin—”

  “Sat back?”

  “—act like nothing strange was happening, but I can’t let you ignore what’s going on.”

  Evelyn studied the floor, the bed, the wall behind the bed, and the window behind them that framed the pewter skies outside. But that didn’t seem to stop Lis from approaching Evelyn. She again took both her daughter’s hands and cradled them. “Evelyn,” she whispered.

  Evelyn stared at the clock on the nightstand, willing the second hand to stop and freeze everything in the room—everything but her, allowing her to escape.

  “Evelyn Beatrice, look at me.” Lis didn’t raise her voice.

  She obeyed.

  “Child, child,” Mama groaned, pulling her close.

  How long had it been since her mama had held her tightly enough to squeeze the breath from her? How long since she’d wanted her to? Evelyn clung to her and poured out her sorrow for Granny B and for herself. Her mama tenderly ran her fingers through Evelyn’s spiky strands and held her. When Evelyn pulled back slightly, it wasn’t because she wanted to. She desperately needed a tissue.

  Lis reached into the pocket of her jumpsuit and offered her ever-present handkerchief. She placed a hand on each of her daughter’s shoulders. “Better?”

  Evelyn nodded.

  “Girl, I’ve tried to blaze the trails before you. I don’t want you to waste time making my mistakes. My mama’s mistakes. What would be the point? I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Lionel. I was scared to death! And I was scared to death with Yolanda, and with you, and definitely with Jackson since I was nearing fifty years old. And I know you must be out of your mind, too.”

  Lis nodded toward the handkerchief and was quiet until Evelyn wiped her overflowing eyes and nose. “I know you’re mad, too. Mad at yourself for allowing this to happen. At your husband for forcing your hand. At me for buttin’ in . . . Everybody! But that’s okay. Be mad. Mama stormed around the house every pregnancy. But when the time came, she did what she had to do, and so will you. Because of love, Evelyn. Love. That’s the only reason I put up with your sassy tongue—hush, now.”

  Evelyn closed her mouth.

  “That’s the reason Mama put up with what she had to, and I’m sure it’s why she’s giving us all such a hard time now. She’s trying to do what’s best for us and for herself, and just like children, we’re fighting it. But joy is wrapped up in the love God gave us. Mama didn’t hold on to it, but you can. You will. You have a responsibility as God’s child, my daughter, and that baby’s m
other.”

  Lis sighed. “Now, I’m going down to see if my eighteen-year-old left us anything for dinner. And I’m sure that husband of yours, who stomped around Mama’s house all afternoon, is dying to know whether we’ve finally killed each other.”

  Lis looked at her squarely. “I’m sure you have things to do. Right, Evelyn?” Her mama kissed her on the cheek and patted her softly on each shoulder. Then she let Evelyn go.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE IMPALA’S TIRES consumed the road. With each mile, the rain that had steadily pummeled the ground over the past few days lightened, disappearing altogether by the time Evelyn turned onto Carrot Lane. She skidded to a stop in Granny B’s drive and dashed across the sodden ground to the door. Several minutes later, she realized that again, Granny B was gone. Evelyn descended the steps slowly, wondering if she was up for another berry-picking adventure.

  “Where you runnin’ off to, child?” Velma Johnson, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, knelt among the weeds in her flower bed.

  Evelyn’s fingers twitched weakly in greeting.

  Mrs. Johnson used her hoe to push herself to her feet and walked closer to the road, not that she had to. Her strident voice carried. “Lookin’ for your grandma?”

  Evelyn bit her sarcastic “Obviously” in two and swallowed it. May God bless widows and children, she prayed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I saw her walk that way just as the rain was stoppin’. Toward town.” Mrs. Johnson brushed mud and wet grass from her knees.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Johnson!” Evelyn hastily pulled the handle to open the door.

  “She was lookin’ good today—”

  Evelyn turned on the engine and backed into the street. As she shifted into drive, she risked a glance in the rearview mirror. Velma was waving her hoe wildly back and forth. For a second, Evelyn considered pretending she hadn’t seen her, but God made her press the brake, jerking the car to a halt.