by Rhett DeVane
Justine turned to face her mother. “Yeah. All of that.”
“It’s her way of trying to prepare us,” Hannah said. “Suzanne says her mother does the same thing.”
“I don’t like it!”
“Neither do I, Jus. But it obviously serves some deeper purpose for your grandmother.”
Justine wiped her nose with her sleeve.
Hannah started to scold her, hand her a tissue, then thought better of it. “I’ve learned to listen when she talks about death. I think it makes it easier for her, and maybe takes away some of her fear. Besides if she tells me exactly what she wants, I won’t have to wonder when the time comes. And it will come.”
“I don’t wanna think about that.”
Slug wove between their feet, begging for something, anything. Hannah shook a couple of kitty nibbles from the treat jar and made him “sit pretty” before she yielded the chicken liver nugget to his paws.
“No one does. Death is as much a part of life as birth. And unless we die before your grandmother, we’ll have to experience her leaving.”
Justine smiled weakly. “I wish we could all live forever.”
“Know what your grandmother tells me when I say that?”
“What?” Justine sniffled.
“It would get mighty doggone crowded down here.”
Mae and Hannah sat on Rosemont’s long shaded front porch where residents, family members and friends talked and laughed, soothed by the gentle evening breeze.
Mae removed a pearl and diamond ring. “Try this on.”
Hannah slipped the ring onto her finger.
“You must be my exact size,” her mother said. “Fits you like a glove.”
“I discovered that when the jeweler measured you for the family birthstone band we gave you for Christmas. Remember?”
“I reckon.” She motioned to Hannah’s hand. “You can give it back now.”
What was this all about? She waited for Mae to reveal her thoughts.
“I want you to have this pearl ring, baby. Helen can have my little diamond earrings your daddy gave me for our fiftieth anniversary.” She waved her hand through the air. “Helen wears so many rings already; I can’t imagine she could find a finger to fit one on. I don’t know how she can stand to wear all those. It would drive me crazy.”
Sweet Jesus wept. Can I really stand to have this discussion again? Hannah’s spirits sank.
Her mother’s blue eyes studied the distant line of trees surrounding the far end of the parking lot. “I’m still using them right now. Didn’t say you girls could have them right away.”
Adele, a resident in her sixties, pushed through the double entrance doors, followed by her son and daughter-in-law. The stroke that had confined her to a wheelchair had also destroyed her hearing. Mae was one of the residents Adele counted as a friend. Many afternoons, when Hannah stopped by, she found the two immersed in their improvised form of conversation. Mae scribbled on a notepad and Adele replied in a loud voice, almost a shout.
“Hello, Mae!” Adele called out. “Aren’t we so lucky? We have such good families who love us!” Her smile, wide and genuine.
Mae nodded and said slowly, “Yes, we do.”
“I love your mother,” Adele directed to Hannah. “She has a heart the size of a volcano.”
Adele pointed to a group of vacant chairs and her son and his wife settled in.
“She can’t hear, but she can read lips a little,” Mae explained to Hannah. “She’s one of the sweetest folks I know.”
“She obviously thinks a lot of you.”
“Most won’t take the time and effort to talk to her.” Mae shook her head. “She’s a very intelligent woman. Had that stroke, now she needs help to get by. We talk about all sorts of things. I enjoy her. I really do.”
Hannah studied her mother’s profile. “Ma-Mae, are you feeling okay?”
“I’m a little tired.”
“You seem to be talking a lot, here lately, about funerals and last wishes.” She poked her mother gently on the arm. “You planning on leaving me soon?”
“No. Not necessarily.”
“Something’s bothering you.”
Her mother took a deep breath. Today, the dark circles beneath Mae’s eyes seemed more pronounced. “A woman died in her sleep last night. They found her when she didn’t show up for breakfast.”
“Oh.”
Mae turned to face her. “Some days, I feel like this place is one big holding pen. A train station on the last leg of the journey. But you never know when your ticket will be collected.”
“Oh, Ma-Mae.” Hannah searched for soothing words. Sadly, her mother’s interpretation held more than a hint of truth.
“I’m on borrowed time. Bible says we’re due three score and ten years. That’s seventy, and I’ve seen that age come and go.”
Blue jays fussed in a crape myrtle next to the porch. Such pretty birds. Such big mouths.
“Sometimes, Ma-Mae, after watching your struggles, I’m tempted to take out a contract on myself, let some thug clip me, when I reach about eighty.”
Without hesitation, her mother answered, “You might check with some of your friends, honey. Maybe y’all can get a group rate.”
Hannah and her mother giggled. One trait she had inherited from her mother, before old age and ill health turned Mae periodically sour: the inability to stay serious for too long.
Adele’s son John listened to their conversation. He leaned over and said, “Not that I’m trying to butt in, Miz Mae, but—we just got in from a memorial service for a friend down in south Florida. I graduated with her. She died last week—forty-seven years old. None of us have any time guaranteed, and death is not only for you seniors.”
His wife Bethany jotted down the ongoing conversation for her mother-in-law.
Adele’s eyes watered. “I don’t understand that. Why would God take someone so young? Why not me?”
The elderly gentleman to their right spoke up. “He knows what He’s doing.”
John glanced from his mother to the group. “That’s what they tell us. Not that I’m being morbid, but it was a serious lesson about not taking my time for granted.”
Mae shook her finger. “That’s why I eat all the chocolate I can get my hands on.”
Chapter Twenty
“Did you get your invitation?” Helen’s voice jiggled with excitement.
Hannah took a quick sip of coffee and pushed the porch swing into a gentle sway. “Mail hasn’t run yet today, Helen. What invitation?”
“To the social event of the season!”
“Which is—?”
Her sister paused a beat. “Michael Jack’s Memorial Day shindig.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He’s inviting the whole family.” Her sister hesitated. “He’s probably going to hand-deliver yours.”
“Is it a cookout? Do we bring food?”
Helen mumbled something. “Says right here to bring a covered dish. The main course and drinks are provided.”
“I’ll make that mandarin salad, unless you want to.”
“Go ahead. I’ll come up with something. Maybe one of Ma-Mae’s recipes. She’ll like that.” Helen paused. “Have you talked to her lately?”
“Only every day, Sissy.”
“She seemed kind of depressed last time I saw her.”
“Mother’s Day? She was so happy about traveling over to your house, I can’t imagine.”
“She was—though she didn’t stay but the one night.” Helen blew out a breath. “She didn’t seem real . . . connected. I don’t know how to explain it. Kind of detached.”
“She goes through these spells, Helen.”
“Maybe this party will lift her spirits. We get to see what Michael Jack’s done with the home place. He’s been working like a dog.”
Walking onto the front porch of the family home on Satsuma Road, Hannah had the surreal sensation of stepping into a dream: one where she had been many times, yet nev
er. The wooden front porch shone with a fresh coat of dark green paint to match the window shutters. White metal pedestal planters supported lush Boston ferns, and pots of flowering annuals in sherbet shades hung along the eaves. Two cushioned pine rocking chairs stood on one end; a porch swing occupied the other. The refinished front door held a bronze kick plate and matching hardware, with a wreath of red, white, and blue carnations.
“Looks like your nephew’s been busy.” Norman pushed the brass bell.
Clad in a flag-themed Polo shirt and white cargo shorts, Michael Jack held the door open for his casserole-bearing relatives. “Come on in! Y’all are the first to arrive.”
“I beat my sister?” Hannah held one hand to her heart. “I’m going to have the big one.”
“Mom’s on her way,” Michael Jack said. “And in a full blown snit. Tommy and his family can’t come, and she just found out that Jimmy and a couple of his kids have bad head colds. She’s not pleased that she and Dad are the only representatives of my immediate family.”
“I’m sorry they can’t make it.” Hannah kissed her nephew on the cheek. “I haven’t seen those boys in years, it seems. I know Ma-Mae’ll be disappointed.”
Michael Jack swatted the air. “Their loss. Are my two cousins coming? And where is Grand-Mae? Not sick, I hope.”
“Justine’s driving them all over,” Norman answered. “Heaven forbid she pass up an opportunity to get behind the wheel.”
“I recall those days.” Michael Jack led them into the dining room where a long decorated table waited. “Now I’d just as soon pay someone to drive me around.”
“Call Justine.” Hannah sat the chilled bowl of mandarin salad down. “She’ll be glad to help out.”
Norman slid a casserole dish onto a trivet. “When she starts paying for her own gas and insurance, the blush will fade from the rose, I’m sure.”
Hannah made an effort not to downright gape at the changes in her childhood home. The original hardwood floors glistened. The walls were painted a soothing shade of creamy mocha. When she stepped into the small kitchen, Hannah noted white and black tile checkerboard flooring instead of stained linoleum, and cabinets painted white with new silver hardware. The toaster and canister set, bright red. Very retro.
“I’ll replace the countertops as soon as I gather more resources,” Michael Jack said. “Can I get y’all a drink? I have tea, coffee, bottled water and soda.”
Hannah nodded. “Tea for me. Norman likes his Diet Coke.”
A petite young Asian woman slipped through the door leading from the hall. Michael Jack held out a hand and drew her affectionately to his side. “Aunt Hannah, Uncle Norman, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Mili Wah.”
Hannah ventured a quick glance at her husband. Helen was going to poop a brick. Her confirmed bachelor son had chosen a bride of foreign descent. Though Helen swore on her sense of fairness and lack of bigotry, she often fell short when it came to her immediate family.
“Pleased,” Norman said. “Um, what was your name again?”
Mili smiled shyly. “Me and Lee. Mili.” To Hannah’s surprise, the young woman’s voice held no hint of foreign dialect.
Hannah grasped Mili’s tiny hand. “Welcome to the family.” She winked at her nephew. “Did you prepare her for this bunch of nutcases?”
“Figured I’d let her judge for herself.” Michael Jack’s brown eyes glistened when he looked at Mili. “We met online in a chat room. Never in a million years did I think I would find someone like her.”
“You haven’t introduced her to the rest of the family?” Hannah said.
“Only Uncle Hal. Mili’s been helping me with the remodel. He dropped by one day last week when she was here.”
Hannah made a mental note to slap her brother silly for holding out. “Hal didn’t mention it.”
Michael Jack grinned. “I asked him not to. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Hal and Suzanne were the next to arrive. Suzanne bustled in, sat the covered dish container down, and dug in her oversized woven grass purse. “Wait till you see!” She extracted a small crimson velvet pouch. “I bought my zills last night!”
Hannah’s eyebrows knit together. “When? I didn’t see you shopping.”
“After you and Becky left. I stayed behind for a few minutes to go over that snake arms movement.” Suzanne turned toward the rest of the group and explained, “We’re taking this belly dancing class and learning all kinds of different undulations. I do fine with my right arm, but let me try the same with my left, and honey hush! I can’t even pick my nose with my left hand without cramming my finger clean to my brain, much less move it in time to the music.”
When their laughter died down, she continued. “Anywho, I went ahead and bought a set of these student zills. They were only twelve bucks.”
Hannah poked out her bottom lip. “I’m jealous.”
“You ought to see the cats hightail it when I clang them.”
Michael Jack said, “Those are little finger cymbals, right?”
“They’re called zills, like in dills, but with a z.” Suzanne stuck out her hand toward Mili, then thought better of it and gave her a quick wind-deleting hug. “You must be Michael Jack’s intended. Hal told me all about meeting you. I’m Suzanne.”
“My honor.” Mili clasped one hand to her chest. Probably trying to get air back into her lungs.
“Place is really coming along, Michael Jack.” Hal looked around. “Helen’s not here yet?”
“No,” Hannah answered. “Can you wrap your mind around that?”
By the time Helen and Charlie arrived, the family had relocated to the shaded backyard beneath a large Southern Magnolia tree, where they sipped iced drinks and watched Michael Jack operate his new stainless steel gas grill. The tantalizing aroma of barbequing chicken and pork ribs floated in the late spring breeze.
“Hey, everybody!” Helen descended the stairs leading from the screened back porch. “Sorry we’re late.”
Charlie, her paunchy balding husband, stepped down beside her. “Helen had a cooking emergency.”
“Disaster was more like it.” Helen accepted a tall glass of iced tea from Hannah. “My lemon cheesecake looks like one of those Bloomin’ Onions they fry up at the fair. It was pretty as a magazine cover picture when I took it from the spring form pan, then this itty-bitty crack appeared on one side. Before you could scat a cat— poof! It fell all to pieces.”
Hannah rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I’m sure it will still taste good, Sissy.”
“I wanted it to be perfect. The more I tried to fix it, the worse it got.” Helen focused her attention on her son. “I’m so sorry about those brothers of yours, Michael Jack. Sickness happens and I don’t fault Jimmy for that. But I reminded Tommy a half a dozen times about today.”
Michael Jack used a pair of tongs to flip chicken pieces on the grill. “It’s okay, Mom. Really.”
Helen’s gaze rested on Mili. “Here I am running my motor mouth. Are you one of my son’s friends from Tallahassee?”
Michael Jack wiped his hands on his white cook’s apron and held out his hand to Mili. “Mom, Dad. This is Mili Wah. My fiancée.”
Hannah fought back a chuckle. The expression on Helen’s features flickered from shock to dismay before recovering to mild surprise. “Fiancée?”
Michael Jack hugged Mili to his side and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment before he answered. “Yes.”
Charlie stepped forward and pumped Mili’s hand. “Well, how about that! Pleased to meet you, young lady.”
“Yes. Pleased.” Helen’s voice sounded weak as she offered her hand.
“Yoo-dee-hoo!” The sound of Mae’s voice calling from the top of the stairs broke the tension. “Is this my old house? Could it be?” Mae threw her head back and laughed. “Can we crash this little bash?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Hannah admired the wood plank floors and high ceilings of the Fort Braden Community Center,
eleven miles west of Tallahassee. The massive old red brick building, once a public school, now served as a civic hub and host for the Hafla/Luau event. She closed her eyes, imagining the shuffle of children’s feet down the long hallways and the familiar blended aroma of chalk dust and Murphy’s Oil soap, a scent so distinctively academic, she wondered if all American school buildings smelled the same.
Hannah liked the idea of “repurposing”—the coined word popular with the recycle-and-reuse crowd. She had spent her life being repurposed: suckling baby to headstrong child; school girl and daughter to wife and mother; carefree college coed to careworn caretaker. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo, she thought, a nice tri-color recycle sign on my behind.
The auditorium held rows of metal folding chairs, with vendors in the rear. Over-sized pillows rested along one wall, with a young magenta-haired henna artist ready to embellish temporary body decorations. Dancers strolled the hallways bedecked in vivid costumes: the bright floral prints of the Polynesian performers, the ruffled gowns of the Spanish troupes, and Middle Eastern costumes similar to hers.
Suzanne appeared and deposited a dripping umbrella and a duffel bag beside Hannah’s chair. “I’m shopping right off, before all the good stuff’s gone.”
Becky arrived a few minutes later. “Did I miss anything? I got caught in a downpour.”
“They don’t start dancing until twelve,” Hannah said, glancing at her watch.
The exotic scent of curry wafted through the air. Hannah felt a sudden urgent craving for peanut butter. Weird, she didn’t eat it that often, and it smelled nothing like curry.
“I’ll shop later. I want to see how the dance troupe puts it all together.” Becky plopped down and patted the seat next to hers. “Catch me up on everything. We hardly had a chance to talk in class.”
“I can’t get over what happened at the Memorial Day party.” Hannah sat down. “Unbelievable.”
Becky handed her a cold bottled water from a small cooler. “Do tell.”
“First of all, Michael Jack, you know my sister’s youngest son? He’s engaged.”
“I always wondered about him. He’s always been so bookish. When did he find time to pursue a woman?”