Cathead Crazy

by Rhett DeVane

  “Maybe in the fall,” Mae said.

  Right, Hannah thought. Since you won’t leave Rosemont for over twenty-four hours.

  Uncle Toby turned to Hannah. “We were pleased to see Lucy Goosey had found a new home.”

  Aunt Pauline laughed. “I have a yard goose too, but never have taken the time to make it any clothes.”

  “Shame on you, Pauline.” Mae wagged her finger at her sister-in-law. “If I’d known your goose was buck naked, I would’ve sent a couple of outfits your way.” She glanced down to her arthritis-gnarled fingers. “Was a time I could do fine tailoring, but not anymore. Some of the ladies at Rosemont have taken it upon themselves to take care of Lucy’s wardrobe.”

  “Have you seen her little dress?” Aunt Dot asked Hannah.

  Hannah threw a questioning look toward her mother. “The bathing suit’s gone already?”

  “Lucy’s switched to a fetching red, white, and blue ensemble complete with a sun bonnet and matching parasol for the Fourth,” Mae flipped back.

  Hannah threw up her hands. “Heaven forbid that cement goose had to wear an outfit longer than a couple of days.”

  “I think it’s plainly adorable,” Dorothy said. “And it gives them something to do, there at Mae’s place.”

  “Are we going to get to see your kids?” Pauline asked.

  “Justine and Jonas are meeting us for dinner, along with Norman of course. Luckily, my son didn’t have a baseball game tonight. The only way he’d miss one of them is if he was unconscious.”

  Toby leaned forward and slapped his knees. “I don’t know about you ladies, but my stomach’s touching my backbone. What say we take this discussion and have it over coffee and breakfast.”

  Hannah turned to her mother. “Did they get your meds together for you?”

  “Lora put them in my little pill box. Now where did I put it last night, sister?”

  Aunt Dot hopped up and rummaged in Mae’s purse. “I could’ve sworn you put it in here, Mae. Where else would it be?”

  For the next few minutes, they tore the room apart searching for her mother’s morning medications.

  Mae rested her hands on her hips, patted her pants with a curious expression, then pulled a small gilded box from her pocket. “Well, look here. I had them all along.”

  “I dearly love these Country Cracker Restaurants.” Dorothy settled into a gingham-cushioned booth. “We don’t have these up north in Pennsylvania.”

  “She’s gotten a fair share of them this past week,” Toby commented. “We’ve eaten out in the one close to our house most every morning since her feet hit Southern dirt.”

  The morning crowd swelled in number around them. Hannah watched platters of fried eggs, red-eye gravy, and biscuits pass by and wondered how much collective fat filled the restaurant.

  Dorothy snapped a cotton napkin and laid it across her lap. “I take advantage of it as I can, brother of mine. I can’t get decent grits unless I make them at home.” She wagged her finger. “Don’t you forget my barbeque before I fly home.”

  Pauline looked up from the brown paper menu. “We’ll get take-out from Johnson’s when we get back to Macon, Dot. His is the best in Georgia.”

  “Wish y’all could stay on a few days,” Mae said.

  Dorothy patted her elder sister’s hand. “I’d love it too, Mae. I’m only down for a week, and I still have a few old friends to catch up with back in Macon.”

  The conversation turned from current events, grandchildren and great grandchildren, to reminiscing. Hannah had noticed the same trend the past few times the uncles and aunts reunited.

  “Remember the time Auntie Mamie brought you, me, and Caroline those dolls?” Dot asked Mae.

  “Prettiest things.” The skin around Mae’s blue-gray eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Hand-made down to the little pantaloons. She even painted their porcelain faces. I was named after her—Auntie Mamie. Only, Mama called me Mae instead of adding the me.”

  “The hands and feet were porcelain too, as I recall.” Dorothy’s features morphed into a sneer. “I hated my doll.”

  “Whatever for, Aunt Dot?”

  “I was the baby, you see, so Auntie Mamie made Caroline and Mae’s dolls twice the size of mine.” Dorothy focused on the menu. “Guess I was envious.”

  “Wish I’d have kept that doll-baby,” Mae said. “Don’t even know what went with mine.”

  “I burned mine up in the oven,” Dorothy said.

  The white-aproned waitress appeared, took their breakfast orders, and filled coffee mugs before skittering off.

  Mae slapped the table with one hand. “Lordy! I had nearly forgotten about that. Mama was mad as a wet hen and tore your little tail up.”

  Dorothy turned to face Hannah. “I recall opening the oven door— it was a big clunky cast iron model—and shoving that little doll inside. Pretty soon, the whole kitchen filled with smoke. Stunk to high heaven.”

  Toby added, “I remember you on the front steps beating the doll in the head with a hammer.” The group laughed.

  “Have mercy, Aunt Dot. Nowadays, they’d send you straight to a counselor because they’d worry you were a budding serial killer.”

  Dorothy grunted. “I don’t remember any hammer, Toby.” She turned to Mae. “You and Caroline would never let me play with your dolls after that.”

  Hannah grinned. “Gee, I wonder why.” Will this be me and my siblings in a few years? While her aunts and mother reminisced, Hannah thought for a moment about parents and children. How Mae had been young once, with an entire life that did not include Hannah. An epiphany lurked, but she didn’t allow it to develop. Maybe later when she had time. Right.

  The beyond-cheerful waitress arrived with breakfast-laden platters.

  “Nothing short of an act of Congress is going to keep me from having one of these.” Hannah picked a plump biscuit.

  Mae shoved a bowl toward her daughter. “Slather it with some of this sausage gravy. If you’re going to feel guilty later, might as well have something worth the effort.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Becky tied a double knot in her turquoise hip scarf. “There. Maybe it won’t try to fall to my knees tonight.” She shimmied a few times to check the fit.

  “If you had more hips for it to hang onto, you wouldn’t have issues,” Suzanne said. “Reckon we’ll play the zills tonight? That’s my favorite thing.”

  Hannah took a big swill of bottled water and glanced around the Women’s Club hall at the other dancers donning their costumes. “Amy said we’re learning something new this class.”

  “Speaking of learning something new,” Becky said. “You’ll never bee-lieve what my husband signed up for.”

  Hannah and Suzanne leaned in.

  Becky beamed. “Middle Eastern drumming lessons.”

  “Never pictured Keith as a musician.” Hannah paused. “No offense, Beck.”

  “None taken. He’s absolutely not.” Becky’s smile turned evil. “But he does have awesome rhythm.”

  Suzanne huffed. “Oh, good Lord.”

  Becky tilted her head to one side and gyrated, sending ripples through the scarf’s bangles. “It’s a fact.”

  “Okay. Enough!” Hannah threw up her hands in surrender. “But drumming?”

  “Keith wants to accompany me. If he sticks with it, I’ll buy him a dumbek for Christmas—with inlaid mother-of-pearl like the one Amy’s husband played at the Hafla.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think it would fly with Norman,” Hannah said, tying on her new scarlet hip scarf. Her belly seemed a bit swollen, so she loosened the knot. No more biscuits or desserts for her for a while.

  Suzanne laughed. “It’ll be a hard frost in Jamaica before your brother does it either.”

  They took their places in the line-up.

  “Never did ask—what did y’all end up doing for Father’s Day?” Becky leaned over for a slow cat-like stretch.

  “Cologne and chocolate cake,” Suzanne said. “Hal’s an
easy man to please.”

  “Long as he has you, sis dear, he’ll be happy. I sent Norman off for a day on the river with Jonas. Then we had a fish fry on Sunday afternoon to reap the rewards of their hard work. Justine made a strawberry refrigerator pie.”

  “I performed a special dance for Keith.” Becky’s left eyebrow flicked upward as she air-quoted. “That and a new dress shirt and pair of khaki slacks. The man would rather wear rags than set foot in a clothing store.”

  “You’re riding this belly dancing wave till it hits the shore, aren’t you hon?” Suzanne kidded.

  “You bet. Hey, how’d the family cookout go yesterday?” Becky asked.

  “It was like a mini-reunion. Ma-Mae really enjoyed it.” Hannah looked thoughtful. “Uncle Toby and I talked.”

  Suzanne said, “I saw y’all over to the side in an intense conversation.”

  “Uncle Toby told me he understands now, why Ma-Mae’s at Rosemont.”

  “I figured a couple of days with her, and they’d see,” Suzanne said.

  “From what I can gather, he and the family had serious reservations about Ma-Mae moving, though she told them it was her idea. He sees it’s a good thing. She’s happy and well taken-care-of. She has friends to do things with, and places to be. Before, she just sat in front of the television.”

  “It’s really up to you, Hal, and Helen, as to how you see fit to care for your mama,” Suzanne said.

  “True,” Hannah said. “Still, it made me feel better that he understood we weren’t shoving Ma-Mae out of her house for selfish reasons.”

  A slow middle-eastern beat, a beledi, sounded. Amy clapped and motioned to the group. “Let’s warm up!” The instructor swiveled her shoulders, then the movement flowed effortlessly down to her waist and hips.

  “I wish I could work it like she does,” Suzanne said.

  “Tonight,” Amy said, “We’ll learn to wrap our veils and then, in a series of magical moves, to unwrap them from our bodies.”

  Becky’s smile switched on her deep dimples. “Oh, goody. Like unwrapping a gift.”

  “Mind out of the gutter, Beck. Mind out of the gutter.” Hannah thought of Norman unpeeling her like a ripe banana and her face flushed. She pushed down the racy vision and attempted to stretch and chastise herself simultaneously.

  Hannah seldom experienced Monday-itis. Tuesdays proved to be her most aggravating day of the week. The last Tuesday of June started out with her carpool traveling through the kind of thunderstorm the South is famous for: jabs of lightning and sheets of water that could send a motorist hydroplaning into a ditch. By the time Hannah pulled into the parking garage, her fingers clamped around the steering wheel like eagle claws on a fresh kill.

  Two conference calls followed a drawn-out interdivision meeting that accomplished next to nothing other than making the work pile up on her already crowded desk. She had just sat down to sort through two days’ worth of office email when the phone rang.

  “Hon?”

  Her heart rate accelerated. Rarely did she and her husband phone each other during work hours. “Norman? What’s wrong . . . Ma-Mae?”

  “Your mother’s fine, far as I know.” He paused. “Don’t get all upset, now.”

  A conversation beginning with a disclaimer: not good. “Tell me—”

  “Jonas has broken his arm.”

  “What! How? When? Where?” She sounded a bit like her high school journalism teacher coaching the makings of an investigative piece.

  “Calm down, hon. I’ve taken care of things. The nurse called from the teen center. Seems Jonas was horsing around and fell down a set of steps, first thing.”

  Hannah forced herself to release the breath she held.

  “I picked him up and carried him around to the Walk-in Clinic. Simple fracture in the forearm close to the wrist—the radius, Doc said. Anyway, he has a nice navy blue cast on it for the next six weeks. Doc doesn’t think it should give him any trouble.”

  “Which arm?”

  “Left.”

  “Thank goodness it wasn’t his right,” Hannah said. “Jonas can’t even scribble with his left hand.” She did a quick calculation. “He’ll be out of the cast before school starts back.”

  “Good point.”

  Hannah coaxed her shoulders to relax. “So, where are my two boys now?”

  “On the way to get a bite to eat. I’ll take the rest of the day off. Family sick leave. I’m rarely out, so they shouldn’t complain.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. We’re swamped and two people have called in sick this morning. That’s on top of the ones who are already on vacation.” She hesitated. “Is he in pain?”

  “Not too bad,” Norman assured. “They gave him a couple of extra-strength Tylenols at the Walk-in.”

  She heard her son’s voice in the background.

  “Let me speak to him, Norman, please.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay, baby boy?”

  “It’s just a broken arm. No big deal.”

  “Love you, Jonas.”

  “You too, Mom.”

  Norman spoke again, “We’re stopping at Bill’s for burgers.”

  Ah, the gobacious gut-spreader special: Bill’s quarter-pound, real beef burger, loaded, slathered with mayonnaise and oozing with juice. Beside it on the platter, a towering mound of crispy seasoned home-fried potatoes. For dessert, a piece of Julie’s blackberry cobbler with a double scoop of vanilla ice cream. Hannah’s stomach rumbled. “Wish I was there with you.”

  “We’ll make it a point to think of you. Hey, you want I should cook dinner?”

  Grilled, no doubt. Norman lived for the thrill of cooking over an open brazier fire. He rarely touched a stove.

  “I’ll take you up on that, Norman Olsen. There’re chicken breast fillets in the freezer. That and a salad should suffice. Remember, we’re supposed to be cutting back on the night meal.”

  After she hung up, Hannah sat back and sipped the now-cold dregs of her third cup of coffee. Madeline, one of her coworkers, stuck her head around the cubicle divider. “Everything okay? I couldn’t help over-hearing.”

  “My son has a broken arm,” Hannah said. “But fixable.”

  Madeline nodded. “Life’s an uphill hike sometimes.”

  Another thunderstorm announced its intentions with a white blaze of lightning, followed by a deafening boom. The overhead lights flickered twice before the room fell into darkness.

  “Ain’t it though,” Hannah replied to the dim outline of her coworker. “Uphill and I’m wearing high-heeled sandals.”

  “Doesn’t that dang bird just beat all?” Maxine commented from her seat next to the front desk.

  Hannah signed the Rosemont visitor’s log. “I’d like to be half that prepared for a good time.”

  Someone had added a few finishing touches to Lucy Goosey’s Fourth of July ensemble. A small red and white checkered cloth-lined picnic basket stood beside her, packed with bottled water and a sack of mixed bird seed. A goose-sized lounge chair fashioned from plastic straws and striped material, folded for easy transport, leaned next to a small cardboard box painted to resemble a cooler.

  “How’s your belly dancing class coming?” Beth asked.

  “Loads of fun. Don’t even think about the fact that it’s exercise.”

  “You going to paste a jewel in your navel and come do a dance for us?” Maxine asked.

  Hannah laughed. “Don’t know if you’ll catch me baring my middle any time soon, Miz Maxine.”

  “We’re an appreciative audience. Half of us can’t see the broad side of a barn and the other half are deaf as a stick.” Maxine flashed a dimpled smile. “Bet you’re a sight.”

  “That’s a good way to put it.”

  Beth said, “Your mother and Miz Harrison are excited about the outing today.”

  “They surely are,” Maxine confirmed. “It’s all they could talk about over breakfast. I’m proud to see your mama has taken her under her wing. Jo
sephine’s having a hard time adjusting.”

  Hannah asked, “Hasn’t she been here the same amount of time as Ma-Mae?”

  Beth nodded. “Yes.”

  “That son of hers hardly ever visits.” Maxine huffed. “He’s too busy with work to pay his mother much mind. The other son lives clean out on the west coast. She might as well not have any kids, the attention they pay her.”

  “Your mother said she’s adopted Miz Harrison,” Beth added. “It’s very sweet. You don’t see one without the other.”

  Maxine stood slowly and leaned on her walker for support. “Your mama gets Josephine out and marches her around the building most every day, weather permitting.”

  Mae always took in strays: people or animals. Hannah recalled a steady stream of orphans: baby squirrels, rabbits, dogs, cats, snakes, turtles, and once, a nanny goat. Several times, the family had shared the cramped house on Satsuma Road with down-on-their-luck drifters. Not once had Mae’s kindness been repaid with hate.

  Beth motioned toward the elevators. “You might check up in Miz Harrison’s room, Hannah. Your mother was helping her get ready. Miz Josephine moves pretty slowly in the mornings.”

  “Don’t we all?” Maxine turned and pushed her walker toward one of the long halls.

  “She’s in room . . . ?”

  “Two-fifty-four,” Beth answered without hesitation. “Take a left from the elevator and then around the corner. About half-way down, on the right.”

  “Thanks.” Hannah caught up with Maxine before calling for the elevator. “I’ll see what I can work out with the dancing as soon as we learn enough to piece a routine together.”

  “You do that. We’ll even make Lucy a belly-dancing costume.”

  Two voices answered in unison when she knocked on the magnolia-decorated door on the second floor. Hannah entered to find Josephine Harrison seated on a small wooden chair with Mae hovering behind her, comb in hand.

  “Hi, sugar! Didn’t know your old mama could fashion hair, did you?” Mae winked.