by Rhett DeVane
“I’m glad. Especially Josie and Maxine.” Hannah raked a comb through her brush to dislodge a mat of hair. “It’s going to feel really strange, not having Ma-Mae to take care of. Particularly the last three years, I’ve been focused on that.”
Hal rose and enveloped his sister in a warm hug. “You still have Helen and me to watch over, Pookie, if you need to continue the tradition.”
A large group of mourners spread out at the periphery of the dark green Memorial Memories tent. Hannah’s gaze rested on the flower-adorned closed coffin as the immediate family filed into the first row of velvet-draped chairs. A centipede trailing along on the dried grass in front of her feet caught her attention.
“Let us pray,” the preacher said.
Hannah bowed her head, but kept her narrowed eyes trained on the meandering creature. Each section moved independently, yet its entire body rippled in a perfect rhythm to move it forward.
As she watched the centipede traverse the ground beneath the funeral tent, Hannah’s mind drew parallels. Like the insect’s segmented body, her life was a string of separate parts: woman, daughter, wife, mother, sister, friend. Similarly, the different decades had brought distinct scenarios into play: kindergarten, grade and high school, college, marriage, children. And now, the latest bit-part: shouldering the mantle of the wise, older generation.
She allowed her mind to travel back to cherished memories of her parents. Her mother’s easy laughter. Her father’s strength. Scenes blinked past. Long hot summers, frosty pitchers of lemonade, and hand-churned ice cream. Skinned knees and tears. Homemade birthday cakes and party hats. Ma-Mae ordering the red-faced siblings to separate corners when their rivalry became too intense. Warm, breast-y hugs and butterfly kisses. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed-bugs bite.” “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And should I die before I wake. I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Without glancing around, Hannah felt the compassionate cloak of family and friends. Missy Rodgers would be there to share her sorrow, returning the favor of friendship. Becky and the belly-dancing girls. Neighbors, church members. Her extended family of coworkers would reach out too. Suzanne sniffled beside her. Soon, Hannah could comfort her sister-in-law as she traveled the same path with her own mother. Helen and Hal would each grieve in their separate fashions, but Hannah sensed the underlying solidity of the family. For a time, Hannah’s children might break away from their self-centered universes to orbit their mother, as Helen’s children would for their mother. And Norman. Always steady, faithful Norman.
She glanced at Hal and vowed to spend extra sister-time with him. Heaped on her brother’s sadness was his daughter’s failure to show for the visitation or funeral. Hal hadn’t acknowledged Natalie’s slight, but it no doubt bruised him. Even Norman’s brother Nathan had taken time from his busy schedule to drive up for the ceremony.
Rifts formed during grief took longer to heal, and Hannah knew Natalie had cut Hal to the middle. Yet time would pass. Life would proceed.
Norman reached over and enfolded her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
She became aware of the preacher’s voice as he tied up the loose ends of the memorial service and led the final prayer. Just as Ma-Mae asked: “Make it short and sweet, then get on with it.”
The crowd of supporters left. Her brother, sister, and their families headed to their homes. Nathan and Cindy visited before leaving for south Florida, with plans for the brothers to meet soon at Nathan’s river house. Hannah’s kids drifted off to their individual purposes. Elvina stopped calling once an hour. Norman hovered, his concern bordering on irritation. Between it all, final repairs to the house moved along, though Jonas seemed content to camp out in the living room.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go rest.” Hannah yawned.
Norman cradled her shoulders and guided her to their bedroom. “Go ahead, hon. If anyone stops by, I’ll deal with them.”
Hannah curled into a fetal position and stared into the dust channel formed by the sunbeam filtering through the blinds. Slug jumped onto the bed and snuggled as close to Hannah’s heart as possible. She didn’t remember closing her eyes.
As if viewing the scene from above, Hannah saw herself standing on a downtown street corner, maybe the intersection of Park and North Monroe in Tallahassee. A delivery-type truck pulled to a stop in front of her and two of the rear side panels flipped outward—one of those rolling food vans. A woman in her mid-forties stuck her head from one of the windows and smiled. A wave of shock and enchantment stunned Hannah. The lady looked exactly like a younger version of the Mae that Hannah had seen in family photos.
“Hi, gal. I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by.”
Hannah’s voice wouldn’t cooperate.
“Not like you to be at a loss for words, sugar plum.” The young Mae looked Hannah up and down, then threw her arms open. “How do you like it? My new business venture. I’m running my own rolling bakery.”
“Whu . . . wh . . .?”
“Thought I’d stop by and say howdy,” Mae said. “I’m busy as a bee in a tar bucket. Moving on. Moss ain’t growing on my backside.”
“But you’re—”
“Dead? Kaput? Passed over? Gone on to my ree-ward?” Mae tilted her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have things to do. You should taste my cinnamon rolls. They are to die for.”
Hannah laughed at the pun. “So to speak.”
Mae busied herself arranging a platter of cathead biscuits. “I came to tell you I’m okay. Better’n okay. Don’t go looking for me, now. Don’t waste your time on that nonsense. Don’t ask the Angel of Lost Things to hunt me down. I’m not lost, not even misplaced. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and you’ll see soon enough.”
The scent of warm sugar and cinnamon wafted to Hannah’s nose and she took a deep breath. The dream broke its hold and her eyes opened. For a moment, grief threatened to steal the sense of peace she had felt on the street corner, then she realized the aroma was real.
Somewhere on The Other Side, a younger version of Mae Mathers delivered hot bakery goods. Somewhere on this side, a loved one—Justine?—stood in her kitchen, cooking up comfort.
Chapter Forty-six
Two weeks crept by. The paperwork surrounding a family death loomed in loosely organized piles in the study. On the kitchen counter, empty casserole dishes awaited return to their generous owners. Boxes containing Mae’s personal belongings from Rosemont leaned against one wall in the garage.
Hannah was more than ready to go back to work.
On the first day, she chose to drive to Tallahassee alone. Though she liked her carpool members, she wasn’t ready for the well-intentioned questions and social niceties. Tears hovered, a blink away. All she needed to unleash a fresh barrage was for someone to be solicitous. As long as she could hole up with the computer and submerge herself in minutiae, she could maintain a level of composure.
Two o’clock came. Hannah’s stomach growled. Not only had she not stopped to take a bathroom break—unusual for her, anymore—she had not eaten since the piece of dry wheat toast and coffee at six. Her spirit was numb, but her body still required fuel. If only she had a huge jar of peanut butter. She imagined licking a spooned glob like a double-dip ice cream cone. What the heck was that all about? Peanut butter: the new comfort food. She hadn’t eaten as much extra crunchy since before Jonas was born.
Hannah pushed away from her desk and walked to the office lounge. On the bottom shelf of the cramped refrigerator, she located a carton of peach yogurt near its expiration date. She sat, spoon in hand, dipping mindlessly into the container, when it occurred to her: she felt delightfully comfortable and relaxed. Maybe the time off, regardless of the reason, had been good for her.
Hannah reached down and patted the front of her blouse over her heart. With a startled expression, she slid her hand to her waist and down the side of one hip.
“Oh good Lord,” she whispered.
No small wonder she felt so comfy. She took a quick inventory. Pants and a blouse. Shoes and earrings. Rings and watch. No bra and no panties.
What if the seams don’t hold up all day? Hannah vibrated with the effort to stifle the merriment building inside like a shaken cola. What if I have a wreck on the way home? Not only will I not be wearing clean underwear, I won’t be wearing any at all!
Hannah’s face colored crimson from holding her breath. When she finally exhaled, she erupted into a full-blown, belly-laugh marathon. She held her sides. She rocked back and forth. She snorted.
Her coworker Madeline appeared at the lounge door. “Hannah? You okay? I could hear you from way down the hall.”
“Whoo. Whoo. Whoo . . . ” Hannah tried to reel in the out-of-control conniption fit.
Madeline smiled. “What in the devil has you so tickled?”
Hannah dabbed yogurt from the corners of her mouth, shook her head and held up a stop-hand.
Her coworker pulled up a chair and sat down. “I’ll wait. Has to be good to have you going like this.”
Hannah took deep breaths in through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth, closing her eyes. After a few moments, she felt composed enough to speak. “You know how I told you not to worry about me coming back to work so soon?”
Madeline nodded.
“How I was okay. Had it together and all?”
Madeline’s right eyebrow rose.
“I thought I was.”
Madeline leaned over and rested her hand over Hannah’s. “You need a few more days off. It’s okay. This place won’t fall apart if you need to take time for yourself.”
Hannah jerked sharply. “Dang! Now I have the hiccups.”
“Take a really deep breath, put your head between your legs and count to twenty-five,” Madeline said. “Then sit back up and exhale very slowly.”
Hannah followed the instructions. “Wow. I’ve never tried that before.” She took a shaky breath and continued, “Work is fine. Actually, it’s good for me to think of something else. It’s just—” Hannah covered her mouth like a four-year-old with a secret.
Madeline leaned forward. “What?”
“I just now discovered,” Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper, “I don’t have on a stitch of underwear.”
Madeline’s lips twitched. When Hannah started anew, her co-worker joined in, until their combined laughter echoed down the hall.
Hannah pulled into New Hope Cemetery and negotiated the narrow sandy lane between rows of marble headstones, finally stopping at the Mathis family plot. She allowed the engine to idle for a few moments before switching the key off and getting out. The occasional whoosh of a passing car sounded in the distance. The cry of a red-tailed hawk riding the thermals high above and the whisper of a gentle breeze through the pine trees added to the sense of repose. Her parents’ final resting place seemed cloaked in a reverent silence.
Hannah crouched, then sat cross-legged on the sun-browned grass in front of the granite-edged plot. The wilted floral arrangements had been replaced with silk flowers in weighted pots. She picked a dried stalk of Bahia grass and chewed on one end. Her left hand held a soft white handkerchief edged in pale green lace: part of Mae’s collection, now hers. Not common like a paper tissue. Perfect for tears. She finally had that detail right.
“Hi, Ma-Mae.” Her gaze slid to her father’s side of the plot. “Pop.” She felt the push of tears behind her eyes.
“I dropped by Rosemont yesterday to say hello to your buddies, Ma-Mae. They really miss you.” She chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe that dadgum Lucy Goosey. She’s all decked out in mourning attire—black with sensible pearls—and you’ll love this, a nice white linen hankie. A true lady. Maxine’s wondering how long they need to keep her in black. Couldn’t help her on that one, as I have no clue as to the official mourning period for geese.
“Michael Jack and Mili have set a wedding date in late March. Thank goodness, not during the summer. Missy’s redecorated. Got rid of those horrible couches. Helen’s . . . Helen’s just Helen. She’ll be okay eventually. Let’s see . . . Hal’s building a potting shed for me.”
She scanned her brain for any newsy tidbits. “Guess I don’t have to cram it all in at once, huh?”
Hannah felt her spirits lift. “You always told me to keep my sense of humor intact, no matter what. I had to stop by on the way home and tell you and Pop a good tale on your baby daughter.” She ran her hand down her side and felt the absence of a panty line. “You’ll be so proud.”
Hannah looked to the sky and smiled. “I can finally say that as of today, I am officially cathead crazy.”
It dawned on Hannah, sitting in this place of solitude and final rest. Until now, she had thought peace to be her ultimate goal, her fondest wish.
Slivers of tranquility might tuck into unexpected spots, but her life was about broken arms, runny noses, bear hugs, and belly laughs. About a sweet, sometimes clueless man with comb-over hair, about flawed friends, inconsistent teenagers, dirty dishes, and refrigerator leftovers sprouting fur. About noise and hormones and unexpected delights.
Hannah moved one hand to cup her rounded belly—something so new, she still marveled it could be true. Marveled that she—someone who prided herself on being reasonably intelligent and observant—had been so distracted as to shrug off the telltale signs. Soon as she got home, she’d tell Norman and the kids. For now, Hannah Olsen and her third child shared the secret.
“I’m pregnant, Ma-Mae. I know it’s a girl. And I’m naming her Joy.”
Peace could wait. She had too much living to do in the meantime.
About the Author
Rhett DeVane is the author of three published mainstream fiction novels: The Madhatter’s Guide to Chocolate, Up the Devil’s Belly, and Mama’s Comfort Food. She is coauthor of two novels: Evenings on Dark Island with Larry Rock and Accidental Ambition with Robert W. McKnight.
Rhett is a true Southerner, born and raised in the Florida panhandle. For the past thirty-plus years, Rhett has made her home in Tallahassee, Florida, located in Florida’s Big Bend area, where she is a practicing dental hygienist. Rhett uses a portion of her book royalties to support charitable causes.
A Few Words from Rhett
Ironic, how some of life’s best gifts flow from times of the greatest stress or hardship. For the final five years of my mother’s earthly existence, I grew to know her as a person, beyond her roles of provider and nurturer for her family. Her sense of humor and compassion shone through the most difficult physical and emotional challenges. Yet, there were instances when both of us stomped all over each other’s last nerve. We kissed and made up, then pressed on.
Other than the Bible’s commandment to “honor thy father and thy mother,” no clever handbooks guided me and my siblings. Bookstores held rows of manuals on childbirth and rearing, weight control, self-awareness, and spirituality. Where were the tomes on navigating end of life legal and medical issues, choosing care options, and balancing responsibilities while managing some level of personal peace and sanity?
Cathead Crazy showcases one woman’s bumpy journey. But it could be anyone’s. The anecdotes are based on truth, either personal or those shared with me by others. Though Mae has many of my mother’s traits, Hannah’s mother is much more cantankerous. Nor did I have two teenaged kids to add to the mix. Fiction demands drama, so I went all-out to torment Hannah. Poor dear.
In our reality, my family faced the sudden death of my sister Melody, six months before my mother made her own transition. I couldn’t put readers or myself through that; I barely made it the first time. Both women are reportedly doing well on the Other Side (as my brother and I have been shown in dreams); my mother drives a bakery food truck and my sister sings to those nearing death. They stay busy. No huge surprise.
Statistics show that over 10 million Americans are part of the sandwich generation, caring for both children and elderly family members. This group falls between
ages thirty-four and fifty-four and are of all cultures and ethnicities. Caretaking brings a crash course in legal matters, financial concerns, difficult medical decisions, and questions about housing. Add to that, finding time for the caretaker to rejuvenate before his or her own health and relationships suffer. Wow.
High time to open up, talk about this time of life, and help each other.
Discussion Points
1. Hannah acts out a fantasy in the first chapter, until she succumbs to reality. What kind of escape valve/fantasy do you have?
2. Hannah’s sister-in-law Suzanne offers wisdom and support. What friend/family member supports you in times of crisis or stress? What is her/his strongest quality?
3. On several occasions, Hannah experiences a role reversal with her elderly mother Mae. When and how has this manifested in your life?
4. Mae’s compassion shines through, in spite of her declining health. Where do you find instances of this in Cathead Crazy?
5. Hannah longs for peace, yet finds only glimmers of tranquility. Is there something you have hoped for, only to find it elusive or that you might not truly desire it?
6. Did your impression of Hannah’s husband Norman shift as the story unfolded, and why?
7. Lucy Goosey is a Mathers family heirloom of sorts. What things are valuable in your family, regardless of their true worth?
8. Mae repeatedly reviews her end of life wishes. Do you notice this tendency within your family, or with yourself?
9. What kind of living arrangements do you feel most beneficial for someone who can no longer live alone? Is this something you and your family discuss?
10. Missy Rodgers seems to possess the “perfect” life until the façade crumbles. Are there people in your life that you put on this pedestal, and why?