“Didn’t you and Ginger get home around twelve-thirty?” Kim nodded. “And Jewel was still up?”
“Up and painting.”
“Painting.”
“Painting her bedroom with the heat all the way up to a hundred and five degrees.”
“What!” exclaimed Katherine, nearly choking on the hot liquid.
Kim sat back, folding her arms on her lap. “She was stark naked with a plastic trash bag over her with a hole cut out in top for her head.” A gasp echoed from Katherine. “I said, ‘Mama, what you doing up this late painting?’ She said, ‘I’m getting the room ready for Ollie to come home.” Okay, I thought to myself, I can deal with that. ‘Why is the heat up so high, Mama?’ I said. She said, ‘It was cold in here.’ I said, ‘Mama, why don’t you put some clothes on then?’ She said, ‘I don’t want to get any paint on ’em.’ ”
“Bless her soul. This past year has been harder on her than I thought.”
“I finally coaxed her to bed, after reminding her how tired she was going to be when we came to see Daddy this morning. She’d forgotten about the visit today.” Kim sighed deeply, exhaling an abundance of pent-up air. She bit her lower lip until it throbbed like her quickened pulse. “Do you think I should take her in for a complete examination?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” said Katherine in a concerned tone. “I’ll tell you what — give me a few days. I’ll call my doctor at home and see if he can recommend a good doctor. She’s complained to me on more than one occasion that she was unhappy using Ollie’s doctor. Under the circumstances we should find another for her.”
“Aunt Katherine?” Kim asked slowly. “Do you miss Uncle Lewis a lot since he died? I know it sounds like a dumb question, but I’ve wondered how long a time period a person grieved over a loved one.”
“It all depends on how much they happened to love that person. Lewis and I loved each other, but not like your mama and daddy. They’ve shared the kind of love rarely experienced by two people.” A shamed look fell over her face. “I didn’t have that with Lewis.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Katherine.”
“I’ve learned a few things in my lifetime. Most of which I wished I’d known before I married Lewis. Deciding who you marry is the most important decision you’ll ever make. Because marriages are meant to last a lifetime, like your father and mother’s. When they don’t, your children, your neighbors, society, and all the world suffer. They say it’s never too late to heal an injured relationship. God knows I tried everything I knew how to keep Lewis’s and mine together.” Tears formed in her eyes.
“You know, Kim,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, “Ollie and Jewel have real love. The kind of love that stands the test of time. You remember that love affair in Pretty Woman?”
“Yeah, that was great. I could watch it over and over again. I loved it. Why can’t life be like that?” said Kim dreamily.
“Because love stories in movies are just figments of someone’s imagination. They’re only single moments in time. Real love in a marriage or relationship works when you make the transition from falling in love to being in love.”
Was that where she and Bill were? Still falling in love, but not yet feeling the commitment of being in love? A vision of love, was that all that her and Bill’s relationship would turn out to be — her vision?
Her mother insisted that what makes the difference in a relationship and binds two people together is a public commitment. An official document. Men and women will always differ on the expectations, negotiations, and transformations in a marriage. But when you commit to marrying someone, it proves you’re willing to go that extra mile to make sure it works. Well, she was not ready for that yet.
After bathing the boys and reading them their nightly bedtime story, Mae Thelma allowed herself to luxuriate in a steamy bubble bath, filled with the sweetness of jonquil-honeysuckle crystals. She relaxed in the solitude of her private little pool until the insides of her fingers crinkled like dried prunes.
Her evening had come to a jarring end because of a shouting match with Robert Earl over the phone. She wound up crying, telling him she’d pray for him. That was all she was able to do. He’d fired his latest court-appointed attorney, and they were running out of options.
Couldn’t he just once think about her? Her loneliness. Needing someone to hold her. To love her. To whisper sweet words in her ears. She’d worked herself to death every evening, cleaning everything she could, so she’d be too exhausted to feel the desire in her young body.
She flipped through the pages of her Bible until she came to the passage she enjoyed reading:
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.
Draw me, we will run after thee: the King hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.
I am black, but comely. O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon. Look upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother’s children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own have I not kept. . . .
Yet, instead of seeing her body lying nude next to the caramel-skinned body of her husband, his straight, jet black hair brushed back close to his head, she saw the rich dark chocolate skin of a man with cropped wiry hair smiling slyly at her through large white teeth.
. . . His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, ’til he please.
Set me a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it, if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
. . . Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
Mae Thelma closed the black leather book, smoothing her long fingers along the shiny gold-edged pages. Lying outstretched like an angel on the bed, using the Bible under her head as a pillow, she prayed for forgiveness for the adulterous thoughts that were so vivid in her mind. So real. But when she lifted her head upwards for guidance, her eyes shut tight, and the vision of a tall, dark male reached out his hand, beckoning her to come . . . come to him.
That Sunday, Ginger had a dinner party with Mae Thelma, her boys, Kim, Bill, Katherine, and Autumn. Kim had pleaded with her mother to stay home. Jewel assented, adding that she was a little tired from church this morning. By the time Kim left home at three-thirty that afternoon, Jewel had fallen asleep on the couch, the Bible perched on her lap.
Dinner was a success, thanks to Katherine’s succulent turkey and dressing. Surprisingly, Mae Thelma’s boys weren’t any trouble at all. Bill had spent time telling them stories after they’d finished dessert. Jackson’s name had also been mentioned a lot.
“I’m glad that’s over, Mama,” said Ginger, flopping down at the table. “I thought they weren’t ever going to leave.”
Katherine urged Ginger to rest, placing a cup of hot Lipton tea before her. After putting away the dinner leftovers, Katherine joined Ginger, selecting a glass of Pepsi over a cold brew.
“Given up alcohol, Ma?” said Ginger, lifting an inquisitive brow.
“Just tired of beer for the time being. Haven’t given it up. Just had enough.” Katherine remembered hearing the preacher say today, “Save us Lord, not from ourselves, but for ourselves.”
Katherine had gotten up for the early-bird service at 7:00 A.M. Ginger could never manage to get the kids ready on Sunday before ten-thirty. The congregation was quickly growin
g, and it was difficult to get seats at the 11:00 A.M. service. “Does this have anything to do with you and Aunt Jewel going to church this morning? You had an odd expression on your face when you came home. Is something wrong, Mama? Your asthma isn’t acting up again, is it?”
Katherine shook her head. “No to all three questions. As far as church goes, I enjoyed the service. It was uplifting. For me as well as Jewel. Funny how the pastor knows just the right words to comfort you, and Jewel seems better.”
Autumn walked up behind her mother and hugged her around the neck. “Mommy, are the kids coming home tonight?” she asked with hopeful eyes.
Ginger reached her arm around, patting her baby on the back. “Yes, baby. They should be home around eight.” She looked at her watch; it was barely six-thirty. She searched her mother’s eyes for help.
“Autumn, you wanna do Granny a big favor?” Katherine patted her thigh, urging Autumn to take a seat. A smile beamed across the girl’s face, her two pigtails flopping like wings. “Granny’s clothes are downstairs on the ironing board.”
“I know, Granny, you want me to pack your suitcase for you. You going home today, huh?”
“Yep, Granny’s catching a ride back with the kids’ father when he comes so your mommy won’t have to drive seventy miles to take me home.” She kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. “We don’t want to tire your mommy out before your daddy gets home, do we?”
“No, Granny. My daddy said he’s bringing me something special back from his trip.” She turned to look at her mother. “When is Daddy coming home, Mommy?”
“Tuesday, baby. Remember the days of the week you learned at Sleepy Hollow. Today is Sunday —”
“Tomorrow is Monday, and the day after that is Tuesday.” She unfolded her fingers as she counted the days. “That’s three days. Daddy’ll be home in three days with my present.” She drew a large circle with her hands. “And Daddy says it’s big.” She jumped off her granny’s lap and hugged her mother, rubbing noses with her mother and kissing her mother’s buttery cheek.
“I know how to pack your bag, Granny. I helped Daddy pack his bag. He told me I was a big girl — and big girls can do everything. Right, Mommy?” Ginger smiled sweetly at her daughter and patted her narrow buttocks before she skipped off downstairs.
“Ginger, I declare that girl looks so much like her daddy, I’d swear he spit her out. The only thing she took from you is her keen nose.”
“Leave my baby alone, Mama,” said Ginger, blushing. “She does have the cutest little button nose, doesn’t she?” Katherine nodded as she finished the last of her Pepsi. “She’s been asking me when she’s going to get a bridge like mine and the rest of the kids. She doesn’t like that little button in the middle of her face.” Ginger and Katherine both laughed.
“Time. When she’s ten years old, she won’t remember ever not having one. Remember when Christian’s and Jason’s noses sat on their faces like that?” Katherine said knowingly.
Ginger thought fondly of her boys’ small noses, and how she’d wondered if they’d ever resemble hers and their father’s. Katherine had assured her, no child was born with a keen nose like hers, they had to grow into their schnozzes. But then Sierra was born, pale as pie dough, fire red hair, and a sharp, pointed nose, complete with a bridge, and Katherine had had to eat her words. “Yeah, I remember, Mama.”
“Well, this baby ain’t no different. Autumn’s got to grow into it. Yes sir, she’s got the same fine line of baby hair outlining her face, full lips, and a tall narrow body just like him. Them hard legs of hers remind me of a young colt, just learning how to walk.”
Ginger thought of Jackson’s nude body as he stepped from the shower, his firm body glistening as he toweled himself off. She smiled, shaking her head slightly, recalling how the soap suds ran along his hairline at the base of his neck. He never seemed to remember to rinse the soap from his hair. Standing behind him, she would wipe away the suds, her eyes feasting on the beauty of his physique as he shaved.
“Don’t talk about my baby’s legs, Mama. Jackson’s got terrific legs— and so will she.”
“Sure, sure,” said Katherine, rising to clear the table.
Ginger followed her into the kitchen. “Mama, do you think Kim’s been acting a little strange? She was so quiet today — and when he wasn’t taking time with the children, so was Bill. Something’s wrong.” She reached in the cabinet, searching for her vitamins, which weren’t in their usual place.
Katherine reached around Ginger, opening the cabinet next to her. “Is this what you’re looking for?” She handed her four brown bottles. “Ain’t nothing wrong with them two that a good night of screwing won’t cure.”
“Mama!” Ginger counted out the vitamins in her hand, gulping them down with water.
Katherine wasn’t paying her any attention; she was looking in the refrigerator. “So they had an argument — everybody does.” She kicked the door shut with her foot after she tucked a bottle of Colt 45 under her arm.
“I thought you gave that up for today?” said Ginger, looking into the refrigerator for something to snack on that wasn’t fattening. She settled for a bruised golden Delicious apple. Cutting off the brown spots and rinsing it clean, she joined her mother, who’d already consumed half the bottle of cold brew.
Katherine eyed her daughter as she belched loudly. “That sneaky-looking Mae Thelma is who you should be concerned about.” Ginger’s eyes bugged out as she studied her mother’s I-bet-I-know-something-you-don’t face. “Every time you mentioned Jackson’s name, that sanctified whore feasted on every word, like he was the main course, instead of the turkey and dressing piled on her plate.”
“Mama. She’s so nice. This is one time you don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s Jackson’s cousin’s wife.” Her mind retraced the conversation at the dinner table earlier. When she thought about it for a minute, Mae Thelma did seem a bit interested in hearing about when Jackson was coming back home. No. She was saved. She wouldn’t even think of looking at another man. Especially Jackson— would she?
“I don’t give a damn how saved and sanctified she is. She’s still a woman.” Katherine took another swig of beer and wagged the bottle in Ginger’s face while she continued. “I asked her when her husband was coming home from jail.” Katherine gave Ginger another one of her knowing looks.
“Mama, you shouldn’t have done that. Mae Thelma doesn’t like to mention it to other people. I hope you didn’t say anything in front of Bill?”
“Do I look like a damned fool to you?”
“No, Ma.”
“Tact. Something you don’t have. Tact.” Katherine sat back in her seat, sipping on the last of her beer. “Gonna be a while before he gets out. Her ass should be getting plenty hot by the summer, you mind what I’m saying.”
“Isn’t it obvious she knows how to pray? She carries that Bible with her everywhere she goes.”
“Don’t mean diddly shit to a young woman in heat. Pretty, too.”
“What about older women in heat?” asked Ginger, seeing her mother’s body tense.
Katherine creased a fold in the waxed paper to keep the air from getting into the rest of her crackers. She lifted her robust frame from the table, glaring at her Ginger. “You know, if you had an ounce —”
“Granny,” called a sweet voice from the hallway. Autumn came in with a big smile on her face. She grabbed her granny’s hand, using her tiny body to pull her from the room. “Come see.”
Katherine softened her features into a smile. She rolled her eyes at Ginger as she left the room hand in hand with Autumn. Just in time, before she cussed out her daughter. Something she really didn’t want to do, knowing how much Ginger was missing Jackson, and knowing how insecure she was feeling about her hair. And Mae Thelma sitting there earlier looking like a Greek goddess with enough hair for Rapunzel. Katherine saw Ginger staring at the younger woman’s hair with such envy in her eyes, she almost couldn’t stand it.
A
lthough Katherine’s daughter had lashed out at her, the problem was, Ginger was right. Her ass was getting a might overheated lately, and she planned on doing something about it. Soon. Point was, a horny bitch could always smell another bitch in heat, and Mae Thelma’s scent was evident to Katherine even through all that sweet-smelling honeysuckle.
14
The Tracks of My Tears
Ginger and the children huddled around the television set in the family room. Channel Two news was on, and Ginger sat watching patiently as they waited for Jason to end a phone call to his girlfriend so they could have a family discussion.
“See, that’s him, Mama,” said Sierra, pointing to the handsome face on the screen.
Ginger turned her head to watch the good-looking young man in his late twenties who was anchoring the six o’clock news. His striking gray eyes caught Ginger’s attention, and she was certain he must have had the same effect on her daughter. His Hershey’s light-chocolate skin resembled Sierra’s. A tad light for Ginger’s taste, but great-looking all the same. “He’s cute, Sierra.”
“Cute,” butted in Autumn. “Mommy, Ivory Michaels’s superfine.”
“If you say so.” Ginger turned toward the doorway — what was keeping Jason? Anxiously she looked at her watch, it had been almost —
“Here he comes, Ma,” said Christian, hearing the sound of footsteps.
“Yo, Ma, what up?” called Jason, from across the room, drinking orange juice from a quart bottle.
“I hope you bought that juice from work, and it didn’t come from the refrigerator. I told you about drinking from the bottle.”
“Chill, Ma. I brought it home with me,” he said, flopping down beside her on the couch. Autumn and Sierra still sat mesmerized by the articulate figure on the screen. Jason smiled as he watched his sisters’ attentiveness to the set. He’d seen them many a night, agog over this man on television who looked like a sissy to him — his hair was too straight, nose a bit too pointed, and his lips were too narrow for a Black man. He couldn’t possibly shoot any hoops with those well-manicured nails of his. Nope, pure fag, thought Jason.
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