by Rhett DeVane
“He met her on the Internet.”
Becky’s eyebrows shot up. “Another computer geek?”
“Suppose so. She and Michael Jack launched into a couple of high-techie type discussions before Helen told them to talk so the rest of us could understand.”
“You’re a computer expert. That should’ve been right up your alley.”
“Not compared to those two.” Hannah took a sip of water. “The part that was so interesting is that she, Mili, is Chinese.”
“That surely sent your sister over the edge.” Becky smiled. “Helen never has been one to be very diverse. Not to dis’ your sister, but—”
“True though.”
“How’d your mother react?”
“Ma-Mae warmed right up to Mili. Drew her into a corner and started talking like they had known each other for years. By the time the party ended, Mili had promised to cook dinner for Ma-Mae sometime soon. You know how mama loves any kind of Asian food.”
“Isn’t that something, your mama being more open-minded than your sister.”
Hannah nodded. “I asked Ma-Mae about it later. She told me that when you get to be her age, you pay a lot less attention to the outside than the inside.”
Becky glanced around the auditorium. “Where’s Suzanne?”
“Shopping. Where else?” Hannah motioned to the far end of the room.
The corners of Becky’s lips curled up. “Keith gave me a hundred dollar bill. Told me to buy us a new outfit.”
“Things have heated up a bit?”
“He even so much as hears one ring of my zills and he turns into a hitching post.” She giggled. “Good place to hang my veil.”
Hannah’s lips twitched. “I’m pleased things are working out, Beck.”
“I’m just pleased they’re still working, period.”
The sound of wind echoed through the building. “Man, did it ever rain on us driving over,” Hannah commented. “It really hit us right around the Quincy exit off I-10.”
“Worst of it is supposed to blow through by tonight, from what they said on the weather channel.”
“I feel for those poor folks in Pensacola,” Hannah said. “They got slammed end of last hurricane season too.”
Becky agreed. “At least Arlene’s a tropical storm and not a full-fledged hurricane.”
“Still, sixty-mile-per-hour winds aren’t anything to sneeze at. One of my co-worker’s cousins lives over near Pensacola, and she’s just now completed the repairs to her house. She was one of the lucky ones who had most of hers left standing.”
“Be glad the brunt of it isn’t headed our way,” Becky said. “We dodged the bullet this time around.”
“They say this season’s going to be active. Twelve or more.”
Becky snorted. “Keith lives for a good natural disaster. He bought a generator the size of my car.”
“We have one too. And enough tarps to cover half of Gadsden County. And duct tape, though I’m not sure why Norman needs seven rolls, two in a fetching purple camo-print.”
Suzanne slipped into the seat next to them and dropped several packages on the polished wooden floor. “All that spending has worn me out.”
“What’d you get?” Becky lunged for the bags.
“Don’t you touch! There may be something in there you don’t need to see.” Suzanne rummaged in the wrappings and extracted a turquoise silk veil.
Hannah ran her fingers through the rich material. “Feels like warm honey.”
“Wait till you get a load of this.” Suzanne removed a clear plastic bag. “This is the hip scarf to match.” Gold bangles rippled with each movement. Strips of metallic thread ran between woven stripes of turquoise, purple and deep blue.
“That’s about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Becky said.
Suzanne motioned to one of the vendors’ tables. “Each one’s a little different, so you don’t have to worry about being a copy-cat.” She winked. “I’m sure you can find Keith’s favorite color somewhere in that big pile.”
Hannah reached a hand over and shushed them. “They’re getting ready to start.”
Billowy Indian-print material and tropical silk orchids and ferns decorated the raised stage. Two silk palm trees held strings of white lights and inflated tropical fish. Netting draped the performance area: Sheik’s lair meets Hawaiian vacation.
The Butterfly Rainbow Dancers, the children’s troupe, performed the first three sets. The audience oohed and ahhed. Then the adults took the stage. Following the Flamenco artists and two Polynesian troupes, the Middle Eastern groups undulated.
“I recognize some of those moves,” Suzanne said in an excited whisper.
“We’ll be up there, this time next year,” Becky said.
A far deeper meaning dawned on Hannah as she watched women and men of all ages and body shapes move in time to the tribal beat. The performers seemed comfortable with their bodies, releasing to the music and joy of the dance. She wondered if her mother and father had ever danced together. Must’ve, what with the popularity of Big Band music during their younger years. The thought of her parents doing the Jitterbug made her smile. A brief memory like the whiff of a long-faded perfume teased her mind: Her mother and father gazing into each other’s eyes, arms intertwined, swaying in the kitchen, her father humming a wordless tune.
“I want one of those shiny outfits.” Becky’s eyes twinkled.
“I priced them,” Suzanne said. “Two hundred and fifty dollars for the bra, harem pants, vest and matching scarf.”
Becky beamed. “Keith did want me to come home with something pretty.”
“Pick one of them up, Beck,” Suzanne said. “Weighs a ton! Better make sure your hips are ready to take the strain.”
“If I come out wearing that outfit,” Becky said with a wink and nod. “I won’t have to move around much.”
Summer in the Florida Panhandle arrived with an almost audible groan. The humidity hovered as close to a hundred percent as possible without turning to liquid. Hannah cussed her hair. Even the short bob—thank heaven for Mandy at the Triple C—failed to tame her unruly waves. Wisps of hair stuck out at bizarre angles the moment she stepped into the moisture-saturated air.
As a formal proclamation of the season, Rosemont’s official greeter, Lucy Goosey, showed out in an eye-popping yellow and orange polka dot bikini with coordinating head scarf, beach pail and shovel, and terry cloth towel. A small mesh carry-all at her side held tanning products, a copy of Bird Talk magazine, rhinestone-studded sunglasses, and a vintage transistor radio.
Beth glanced up from her computer screen. “Morning, Hannah.”
“To you, too. I see Lucy’s heading for the coast.”
“That cement bird owns more outfits than you and me put together.” Beth chuckled. “She has three swimsuits. The residents made them in Catharen’s craft class.” Beth handed her the sign-in booklet. “One is a saucy little purple strapless number with a heart-shaped peephole on the behind.”
Hannah scribbled her name and date on the roster. “Lord help.”
“Your mama’s seemed a bit down the last few days.” As Rosemont’s front desk commandeer, Beth possessed a sixth sense when it came to the residents.
“My dad passed away in July of ninety-three. She gets a bit more melancholy starting around mid-June.”
“Usually, she’ll stop by and talk to me in the mornings on her way back from breakfast. Tell me some joke or story she’s heard.” Beth waved a hand through the air. “Don’t mind me. I worry about my people.”
When Mae failed to answer after the second set of knocks, Hannah dug in her purse for the extra room keys. As she fit the key into the lock, the doorknob turned.
“I heard you,” Mae said. “I’m not motivating very fast this morning.”
“Do you feel bad?” Hannah asked as she stepped into the room.
Mae shrugged. “My get-up-and-go has got up and went. I didn’t sleep so well.”
“I
have those restless nights every now and then. Keep waking up and checking the clock every hour or so, just to see if it’s still working.” Hannah plopped down on her mother’s bed.
“I wake up, all anxious about things.” Mae trundled to the restroom. “Let me put on some rouge and a little lipstick so I don’t look half dead, then I’ll be ready to go.”
“What’s worrying you, Ma-Mae?”
“Nothing. Everything.” She pursed her lips and applied a ring of deep red lipstick, then blotted with a sheet of toilet paper. “I wake up and wonder: why, what, when, and where.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Why I’m still here, what I’m supposed to be doing, when I’ll finally get to leave, and where I’ll go when I do.”
“Sounds pretty heavy.”
“Enough to weigh an old lady down.” Mae heaved a sigh so prolonged, Hannah was surprised her mother’s lungs could hold so much air. “You know how I get in the summer.”
“Same as me.”
“It’s like the air presses down and I can’t catch a good breath. My patience is about as long as my pecker.” Mae offered a weak smile. “And that ain’t long at all since the Good Lord didn’t give me one.”
“I can’t get cool at night. If I throw off the covers, I shiver. But then I can’t stand to have the sheets touch me, either.”
Mae patted her daughter on the shoulder. “It’s the change, sugar. I used to have the worst hot flashes when I was your age. Lord have mercy! I could have the oscillating fan blowing a gale right on me and still be flat-out burning up.”
Hannah nodded emphatically. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. I’m on fire from within.”
“Get you an ice bag and take it to bed. I used to sit one right square in the middle of my chest. Wash your feet with a cool wet rag before you turn in. That helps.”
“Thanks, Ma-Mae.”
At times, the reversed mother-daughter role stood aside and a comfortable female camaraderie took its place. Just two women discussing life’s trials and travails.
“Where are we bound for?” Mae handed a small leather purse to Hannah and grabbed her cane and room keys.
“Nowhere special. Just lunch. You in the mood for anything in particular?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite when it’s hot weather. Maybe a salad—one with everything on it, meat and all.”
Hannah followed her mother into the hallway and closed the door behind them. “After we stop at the Dollar Store, we can ride over to Quincy. I hear there’s a new little café on the square across from the county courthouse.”
As Hannah steered from the Rosemont parking lot, Mae said, “I worry about running you ragged.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re always dashing to and fro, dragging me around to the store and doctor’s appointments and such.” She turned away and stared out the passenger window. “I hate to be a burden.”
“You’re not. I enjoy our time together.”
The realization sunk in, spreading like ripples from a pebble cast in smooth water. In spite of the stress and constant niggling worry that accompanied her like a second skin, Hannah truly treasured time with her mother. The image of an overturned hourglass popped into her mind, its finite crystals pouring continually downward.
Chapter Twenty-two
Justine slammed the back door so hard the decorative plates on the wall rattled. She scurried through the kitchen, leaving a wake of discarded items: backpack, purse, hot pink flower-studded sandals.
“Hi honey,” Hannah called out to no response. “Due to lack of interest, today’s parent-child goodwill program has been canceled,” she announced aloud to the dead air. A fog of peachy aroma lingered: Justine’s bath and body signature scent.
Hannah praised God on a daily basis for sending her and Norman only one angst-ridden hormonal girl child. Jonas would submit his own unique set of issues as he crept into his late teens, but he’d have to stretch to equal his sister in the intensity of mood swings.
Jonas shuffled in from baseball practice, dropped his glove, bat, and duffel on the floor, then rummaged in the refrigerator.
“There’s a bowl of fresh pasta salad if you need something to hold you until dinner.”
He backed out of the frigid air, his arms filled with a loaf of bread, deli packages, and condiments. “S’kay, Mom.”
Hannah sipped from a diet cola and tended to the simmering pot of meat sauce on the stove. “I’ll have the spaghetti ready in a bit.”
“No sweat. I can eat again.”
If Jonas kept consuming food at his current rate, she and Norman would need to peddle their souls on a street corner to supplement the grocery budget allotment. Again she praised God, this time for sending only one bottomless-pit boy child.
Jonas slathered enough mayonnaise on the wheat bread for four sandwiches, added three slices of Colby cheese, a mound of sliced turkey breast, lettuce, two thick slices of tomato, and half a jar of dill pickles. He smashed the towering creation with both hands to a more manageable height.
“I don’t know how you’re going to fit that in, hon,” Hannah said.
“You always said I have a big mouth.”
“Must take after your father.”
“Uh-huh.” Jonas grabbed a glass, added ice, and poured it full of sweet tea.
“What’s up with your sister? She seems a bit unsettled.”
“And that’s new?” Jonas asked.
The pungent odor of stale boy-sweat hit Hannah’s nostrils and overrode the earlier peach scent. Motherhood came with an array of sensory delights. Dirty diapers and throw-up were only the beginning.
“Probably the usual, Mom. Fighting with Brittany.” Jonas crammed in a huge wedge of sandwich and attempted to chew.
“Jeez, son. Don’t take such outlandish bites! You’ll choke.”
When he had enough clearance to speak, he continued, “Heard Jus screeching on the phone last night. Not that I’m trying to rat on her or anything.”
“Our secret. I don’t mean to put you in a bad position. Really. I’d like to help out if she’s in some kind of trouble.”
He wiped a glob of mayonnaise from his chin. “Jus was crying. Told Brit that ‘she was going to tell someone about her little problem.’ ”
Hannah’s chest constricted. Little problem? Boys? Fashion? Or something more ominous or life-changing? She closed her eyes. God forbid, not pregnancy.
On the short trip down the hallway to Justine’s room, Hannah felt the same mix of emotions as she did with her elderly mother: a mish-mash of intense love, protectiveness, anxiety and temerity. Both were basically good, kind people. Shining through Justine’s center-of-the-known-universe teen vantage point, Hannah glimpsed moments of compassion and empathy. Her elderly mother’s world view had narrowed as well, but Mae still managed reserves of selflessness and concern for the people in her orbit.
Justine’s door exhibited a road sign replica announcing Private! Posted! Keep out! Violators will be shot! Or at least verbally castrated, Hannah thought. She tapped on the closed door.
“What?!” Justine’s stern voice called.
“Honey, may I come in?”
Justine cracked the door and peered out, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “Mom, I really don’t—”
“Please, Jus. Pacify me, will you?”
Justine swung the door open, then plopped down cross-legged in the middle of the bed.
Over the years, her daughter’s lair had morphed from the lace and frills of girlhood to a blend of bright colors and geometric shapes. A few vestiges of the sweet tow-headed child remained: a worn Raggedy Ann doll, a fuzzy chenille teddy bear missing one button eye, and a milky-white bubble glass lamp with a dingle-ball-trimmed shade.
“Whatsup?” Justine asked.
Hannah settled onto a cushioned stool next to the vanity. “Same old. I’m not here invading your space to talk about me.” When Justine failed to take the lead, Hannah continued, “You’ve been moping
around the house for the past few days. I’m concerned. We all are.”
Tears welled in her daughter’s blue eyes. Justine’s gaze dropped to the clenched hands in her lap.
“I try to stay clear of your affairs, Jus. You have to learn to handle things—problems—on your own. I encourage that . . . It’s just . . . ” Hannah groped for the words to penetrate Justine’s fortifications. “When I notice you not eating and staying closed up in this room for hours . . . ” She studied her daughter for a moment. “Are you sick, honey? Or, is it Shaun?”
Justine flicked her eyes up then down. “Shaun? That was so forever ago.”
Hannah fought the urge to smile. “It’s hard for me to keep up. Sorry.” She reached over and gently tucked a stray hank of hair away from Justine’s eyes. “Share with me? Maybe I can help.”
Hannah waited while Justine wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“She’s dying, Mom, and I can’t do a thing to stop her!” Justine hung her head and buried her face in her hands. Her thin shoulders shook slightly.
Hannah slid onto the bed and enfolded Justine in her arms until the sobbing quieted.
“I can’t take it. I just can’t take it,” Justine said in a shaky voice.
“You and I talked about this. Grand-Mae doesn’t mean to upset you when she talks about death.”
“No, not Grand-Mae. Brittany.”
Hannah pushed back and studied her daughter’s face. “Is she sick?”
Justine nodded. Her crystal dangling earrings tinkled like fairy music. “Sort of.”
“Does her mother know?” Hannah asked in a soft voice.
Surely someone in town would have mentioned a child’s grave illness. Secrets in a small community were rare.
Justine’s expression darkened. “She doesn’t have a clue.”
“Drugs?”
Justine scowled. “No, Mom! Not drugs! Gah, why is it that all adults think drugs are the root of all?”
“They are, a lot of the time.”
“She’s puking.” Justine’s lips curled in disgust. “It’s so sick!”