by Rhett DeVane
“What?”
“I know I’m somebody, ’cause God don’t make junk.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
A sensation floated over Hannah as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness, her hand loosely clasping Norman’s: her father’s large hand—rough, calloused, strong—folding around hers. She tried to grasp the feeling, but it faded.
Hannah often looked at family photos, straining to call up snippets of her father’s physical presence. As the years passed, the memories slipped into obscurity. Only through Hal, the sole male Mathis offspring, could she glimpse reflections of her father’s ambling walk, broad shoulders, and belly-shaking laughter.
Norman’s chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm. He ignored the clock radio’s insistent intrusion and Hannah slapped the snooze button. Even on hot-flash nights when she whipped the sheets to a damp froth, Norman slept peacefully, dadgum him. She snuggled closer to her husband, chasing a vague fear with the comfort of human touch. His heartbeat, even and strong, provided a reassuring mantra.
Hannah’s thoughts crept to Mae. What small tidbits would she recall about her mother? The softness of Mae’s wrinkled cheeks. Her baby-fine, angel-white hair. The way her blue-gray eyes twinkled when she acted mischievous. Her child-like laughter.
Possessions—cars, houses, money, jewelry, clothes— meant nothing in the end. The legacy lay in the remembrances of loved ones and friends, and in the small, seemingly insignificant acts of everyday goodness.
The clock radio jarred her reverie again. Just as well. No need to delve so deeply into the meaning of life before a shower and a cup of strong coffee.
Hannah fumbled with the toggle switch, kissed Norman on the cheek, and stumbled to the bathroom. She showered in the dim illumination of the night-light. How in the world did those morning-people bounce straight from sleep to chirping and flinging open blinds?
Rivulets of warm water trickled to either side of her belly like a raging river avoiding a boulder. She glanced down and frowned. Salads only for her for a while. Even her most forgiving pants failed to meet at the waistband. She soaped, rinsed, and dried off without looking too long at any one body part.
Other than the rhythmic ticking of the kitchen clock, the house was silent. Jonas and Justine slept, enjoying one last week of freedom before the start of the fall school term. Jonas would be the first to appear, usually about the time Hannah left for work. Forget seeing her daughter until after ten, at least. If sleep truly equaled beauty, Justine was drop-dead gorgeous. Norman stayed in bed until the last possible moment, easy for a man. He could shower, dress, and grab coffee in less than thirty minutes.
In the kitchen, Slug twirled in languid circles at her feet until she filled his bowl. She mixed Snooker’s dry kibble with a splash of warm water, added a dog biscuit and carried it to the deck with her coffee and a day-old cinnamon roll. She ate on the swing, accompanied by the smack and slap of Snooker’s lips and tongue. Delicate, he wasn’t.
Moisture clung to every surface and swirled in pools of mist beneath the trees. Hannah longed for the first indications of fall: small changes in the way the air felt on the fine hairs on her forearms; a certain scent carrying the promise of the final harvest; the edginess of animals preparing for the dead season.
Each year as the summer dragged on, weighing human and animals down to a miserable crawl, the thought of relocating teased the back of her mind. Yet when ice storms and blizzards screeched the northern states to a housebound halt, Hannah reaffirmed her Southern roots. She could barbeque in the backyard in a light jacket while some poor fellow shoveled his walkway for the third time in a week.
Life: a series of tradeoffs. Hannah studied the half-eaten cinnamon roll and wondered how it would taste slathered with peanut butter.
“Sweet Jesus wept,” Becky whispered, her eyes wide. “Look who just strolled in.”
Missy Rodgers spotted the group of women across the dance studio, waved and walked to join them. “Hey!” She smiled and plopped a quilted bag on the floor. “Hope y’all don’t mind me joining the class. Hannah has talked about it in such glowing terms.”
Hannah, the first to recover, said, “Of course not.”
Missy glanced at Becky’s ornate ensemble, then down to her own black tights and tank top. “I didn’t know what to wear.”
“What you have on is fine,” Suzanne said, digging in her bag. “Here, tie this on.” She handed Missy a mint green chiffon scarf trimmed with rows of silver dangles.
“Isn’t this the prettiest thing?” Missy tied the scarf around her waist and gave a few experimental shakes. Anyone who knew the Majesty-of-the-Volunteer-Squad would not have recognized Missy as the same uptight, ultra-perfect housewife and mother. Her hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail. Even her scrubbed-clean facial features, formerly frozen into an insincere facsimile of a smile and lacquered with makeup, seemed relaxed.
“I thought you’d be busy getting ready for Brittany’s homecoming,” Hannah commented as they lined up.
“One can only mop the floor and polish the furniture so many times,” Missy said. “My counselor highly recommended I do something just for me. I’m so stuck in a rut and . . . well, bored.”
“Didn’t think you lit in any one place long enough to be bored,” Becky said. “You’re on the social page of the paper practically every week.”
“Everything I do is for someone else, not that volunteering is a bad thing. I need something to call my own.”
Hannah nodded. “We women tend to define ourselves in terms of our families.”
Suzanne leaned over and stretched. “I thought we weren’t allowed to get all profound during official dance-and-fun time.”
“Point taken.” Hannah motioned to a spot beside her. “You can be up here on the front row next to me if you’d like, Missy. It’s easier to see what the instructor’s doing.”
Amy bustled through the door, a rolling case trailing behind. “Hey, everyone.” She stopped in front of Missy. “Eww! A newbie!”
Missy blinked. “Did I need to let you know ahead of time that I wanted to come?”
“Not at all. We’ll get you caught up.” Amy tied on a black and silver hip scarf and loaded the CD player. “Let’s stretch out the wrinkles.”
“I took dancing in college,” Missy reached overhead with both arms.
Becky said, “It’ll take a bite out of your behind, the first couple of classes. After that, you’ll be fine.”
By the end of the class, Missy had mastered the basic hip movements. Afterwards, the group stood in a cluster in the parking lot, exchanging a few last minute comments.
“You know, Missy. You’re not half as bad as I always thought,” Suzanne said. “If I didn’t like you so much better, I’d almost hate you for how good you are already at this dancing thing.”
“I’m a long, long way from perfection,” Missy said.
Becky slapped Missy playfully on the back. “Thank God for that. Perfect people are so annoying.”
Hannah felt a glow of pride for her new friend.
“I have an idea,” Missy said. “Why don’t you all come over this weekend? I’ll throw together some munchies and we can review the moves.”
“Isn’t Brittany due home?” Suzanne asked.
“Yes. But I don’t want her to feel as if she’s under a spotlight. If it’s only the two of us cooped up together, I’ll hover. I know how I am.” Missy turned to Hannah. “Maybe Justine can come over. She and Brittany could spend some time catching up on their girl talk. Saturday about two?”
“It could work. Norman and Jonas will probably take the boat out, if the weather’s good.”
“Saturday’s okay,” Becky added. “I have plans on Sunday.”
“I’m in,” Suzanne said. “I don’t practice at home enough as it is. Hal can amuse himself for one afternoon.”
Missy clasped her hands together. “Wonderful! Now I have to find some of that music like Amy plays in class.”
Beck
y held out both arms. “Got that covered. I went online and bought out the entire Middle Eastern Dance section.”
“That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Beck,” Hannah said. “Your over-the-top enthusiasm.”
“Better en-thused than re-fused.” Becky threw over her shoulder as she walked toward her car.
The phone rang at 6 a.m. as Hannah settled down with her first cup of coffee and the Saturday Tallahassee Democrat.
Her mother said, “Did I wake you?”
“No, Ma-Mae. What’s up?”
“I know we’re supposed to have a girls’ morning out, but I’m having trouble with my bowels. I got that puffy feeling like my stomach is all swelled up.” Mae sighed. “I’ve been on the move so much, I’ve let myself get off schedule.”
“Haven’t been drinking your water, have you?”
“I forget.”
“Why don’t you ask them to make sure you have some prunes along with breakfast? You’ve always maintained that helped you.”
“Good idea, sugar. I’ll mention it to Miz Leah. She caters to me, you know. For now, I’ll take one of my little pink pills and hope for the best.”
Do other people have in-depth discussions about irregularity first thing in the morning? Hannah wondered. “Can I bring you anything?”
“I’m okay for now. I don’t think I want to be far from a bathroom when the medicine starts to work. Maybe you can stop in later on. If I feel better, we can go for a frozen yogurt.”
“Call me if you need me,” Hannah said. “I may break down and do a little weeding this morning, but I’ll have the phone out here with me.”
“Love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”
Hannah smiled at her mother’s little ditty. “Love you, too, Ma-Mae”
Chapter Forty
Missy Rodgers answered the door wearing a sweeping black skirt and matching tank top, overlaid with a scarlet hip scarf. Her hair, tied up on the crest of her head, sported multi-colored strips of material.
“You’re really going all out.” Hannah smiled. “It took me four lessons before I committed to buying a hip scarf.”
“I’ve wanted to get back into some kind of dance, ever since college. But my dear departed husband didn’t think it was comely for a married housewife.” Missy crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue like a petulant two-year-old, then laughed. “C’mon in. I’m making fresh peach daiquiris.”
“Sounds like you’re going to an awful amount of trouble.”
“Not really.” Missy gave a dismissive wave. “I bought a bushel of Georgia peaches yesterday at the fruit stand. I’ll freeze some, but the rest will ripen faster than Brittany and I can eat them.”
Missy spun and bustled off toward the kitchen, Hannah in her wake. Suzanne and Becky sat at the round oak table, eating crackers and gourmet cheese.
“About time you got here,” Becky said.
Hannah pulled up a chair. “I stopped to check on Ma-Mae.”
“How is she?” Suzanne asked.
“Not such a good day.”
“Too bad she’s not here. Missy could fix her up with one of those concoctions she’s churning,” Suzanne said. “Judging by the rum she’s adding, we’ll do good to stand up, much less wiggle.”
“I made a virgin batch too,” Missy said. “And I didn’t put that much rum in.” She glanced at Hannah. “I know we have to teach our kids about the danger of alcohol consumption, but I believe they have to learn about responsible drinking by adults too.”
Hannah held up a stop-hand. “I’m not judging, Missy. Relax. Norman and I have an occasional beer or glass of wine.”
Brittany and Justine appeared.
“Mom, we’re going to ride up to the lake,” Brittany said.
“Fine, honey. Be sure to take plenty to drink. It’s really hot outside.”
“I’ve got bottled water in the car.” Justine held her hand out to her mother, palm up. Hannah dug in her purse for a couple of bills and handed them over.
“Be home before too late, please,” Missy called after the departing teens. “I’m making your favorite supper.”
“Brittany looks pretty good,” Hannah commented after they heard the front door slam.
Missy poured four tall insulated tumblers full of the sherbet-toned frozen mixture. “She’s put on seven and a half pounds. But it’ll be an ongoing trial to keep her from regressing. The counselor says this is the difficult part, when she rejoins her peers.”
“Knowing my daughter, she’ll keep a close eye on her,” Hannah said.
“A fact I am greatly appreciative of.” Missy delivered the mint-garnished daiquiris to the table.
“Sure am glad you’re not giving up totally on your ‘hostess-with-the-mostest’ role,” Hannah said.
Missy smiled and took a delicate sip before answering. “Entertaining is the heart of me. I see no reason to quit now.”
“I bet each ounce of this wonderful drink has about a thousand calories,” Suzanne said.
“Probably.” Missy made an amused sound. “I plan to make y’all dance till you drop, so there shouldn’t be a problem working it off.”
Becky laughed. “Why do I get the feeling that all that volunteer energy you’ve shucked off is going to land on us?”
Missy raised one eyebrow. “It has to go somewhere.”
Suzanne followed her sister-in-law to her car. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m pretty whipped. All that swiveling.”
“You seem kind of washed out.”
Hannah frowned. “A little.” The slight rum-buzz had faded.
“Anything I can help with?” Suzanne leaned against the side of Hannah’s SUV.
Hannah felt the burn of impending tears. “Not really. Same old. I’ve been so tired lately. I can’t seem to get enough rest.”
“When was your last period?”
Hannah thought for a moment. “Two, three months ago maybe? No real schedule. I never know.”
“Probably a huge part of how you feel. The whole hormonal switch-off thing.”
Hannah leaned against Suzanne’s van. She found support wherever she could, lately. Exhausted because she couldn’t sleep. Crying jags. Laughing jags. Jags for no good reason. Tears welled in her eyes. At least her eyes weren’t dry.
“I’m coming over and we’re going to talk,” Suzanne said.
“Don’t feel like you have to do that, Sis. I’m always leaning on you.”
“You’ve been there for me. You forget all those times.”
A few minutes later, the two women settled onto Hannah’s porch swing with tall glasses of iced tea. Snooker greeted them with knee licks before flopping down on the deck and promptly going to sleep. Hannah sometimes wished she was a dog, or better yet a cat. Fed, watered, able to play or snooze at will.
“It’s Mae, isn’t it?” Suzanne asked.
“Primarily, I guess . . . I feel like such a broken record.”
Suzanne nodded. “I get so tired of hearing myself talk about the same things over and over. It’s a wonder your poor brother doesn’t go stark raving mad.”
“If he’s like most men, and I know he is, he only hears about half of what you’re saying anyway.”
“True. True,” Suzanne agreed. “He’ll at least grunt every now and then. Sometimes, he gives some pretty good advice.” Suzanne kicked her feet to put the swing in gentle motion. “What is it with your mama today?”
“Nothing new, really. She wasn’t feeling well. Irregularity issues.”
“Nine times out of ten, it’s either her bowels or kidneys, like my mama.”
“When she feels bad, she gets down mentally. Starts wondering why she’s still here. She’s been having nightmares.” Hannah held the frosty tea glass to her forehead and rolled it back and forth. Maybe I’ll move to Siberia for a few years, she thought.
“What’s she dreaming about?”
“I don’t think she remembers. Just that she wakes up in a cold sweat. S
he’s dreamed a lot, especially in the last couple of weeks, about Pop. That upsets her because she’s ‘dreaming of the dead.’ I’ve tried to explain to her that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. They were together so many years; it’s only natural for her to dream about him. I do.”
“You came away sad again, after talking to her?”
Hannah nodded.
“Don’t take this like I’m raining down on you, Hannah, but you have to develop the ability to let Mae’s stuff roll off you better. If not, you’ll go plain cathead crazy.”
“I’m there already.” Maybe I’d feel better if I did get up and pitch a fit. Flail my arms, jerk and jive, let a little drool drip down my chin.
“Old people have good and bad days, like the rest of us,” Suzanne continued. “Mae’s body’s wearing out and she hurts. It’s enough to make anyone feel blue. Plus, your daddy’s gone. My mama misses my daddy something fierce. No amount of me loving her up is going to change that.”
“I know all of these things on a conscious level, Sis.”
“You are by nature, a caring type of person, Hannah.” Suzanne’s gaze filled with concern. “Your mama raised you up to be that way. But you have to figure out in your mind some way to listen without soaking it all inside.”
Snooker jerked awake and dashed off, barking. From zero to murder-the-squirrel mode.
Hannah watched her dog circle an oak tree. The squirrel climbed to a safe level and chattered. “I already take Zoloft, for heaven’s sake.”
“All that drug does is help take off the edge. But you have to settle in your own mind. If I had a magic wand, I’d clobber both of us over the head with it. It’s not like I’m the expert of the world. You’ll more than likely take my words and spit them right back at me when I get myself loaded down.” Snooker returned, panting, and flopped down. Suzanne petted him with the tips of her toes.