by Anne George
"When you think about this later, and you will, be kind." I removed my hand slowly. "Now, what is this about you wanting to look up your family history?"
"What?" Fred looked confused.
"You told Meg Bryan you wanted to look up your family history."
"Oh, that." Fred turned on the right turn signal for our exit. "I think it would be nice to know something about my family. Wouldn't you like to know where you came from?"
"I came from Mama and Daddy and Nanna and Granddaddy. And Grandmama Alice. That's enough."
"But think of all the people whose genes we carry. For instance, where did Haley get her olive skin? Strawberry-blond hair and olive complexion. Not your usual combination."
"But beautiful."
"Of course it is. But where did it come from?"
' The hair came from me. And Sister has olive skin. I'm sure you're in there somewhere, though."
"She was having a great time, wasn't she?"
The conversation had taken another ninety degree
turn. After forty years, it's no problem following. "Great."
Haley is our youngest child and has been widowed for over two years. She and her husband, Tom, had married right out of college, but put off having a family while they established careers. Haley is a nurse and works in cardiac surgery; Tom was heading up the corporate ladder at one of Birmingham's largest engineering firms. At thirty-two, they were just beginning to think about a baby when a drunk driver put an end to everything. For a long time Haley was so immersed in grief, we wondered if we would ever see our laughing, happy daughter again. But in the past few months, she had been more like her old self. When we saw her enjoying herself like she had been today at the wedding, it did our hearts good.
We turned onto our street, a nice old neighborhood with sidewalks and porches. Leaves on the trees, just emerging, cast a green glow.
"Alan and Lisa aren't back, yet," Fred said. "They probably won't be back until late." He reached over and patted my leg.
"Then you've got time to go to the grocery for me," I said. "I've already got the list made out."
Fred tightened his hold on my leg and squeezed. "I don't want that produce man saving you those special grapefruits." Farther up my leg and a good squeeze.
We went into the house laughing.
Later, when I took our old dog Woofer for his afternoon walk, I thought about Debbie and Henry, how much they would learn about each other. How much they would never know about each other. But maybe that's the secret of a happy marriage, depths still there to plumb. Surprises. And a whole lot of luck. I shared
this with Mitzi Phizer, a neighbor and old friend, who was out in her yard picking a bouquet of tulips.
"Nope," she said. "I plumbed all Arthur's depths at least thirty years ago and I'm still fond of the old fellow. The luck part I agree with, though." She handed me three red tulips. "Here. For your kitchen table. Now tell me about the wedding. I can't believe Barbara chose today to move, and I had to keep the baby." She pointed to the monitor beside her on the walk and smiled. "Listen to him snoring. He's so precious."
Mitzi is like a lot of people in our generation whose children have postponed parenthood. By the time you get grandchildren, you are overcome with the miracle of it. Our Alan and Lisa have two boys that we adore, but they came at the usual grandparent age, and I was still much involved in my teaching career. I'm beginning to see that there's something akin to awe, though, in these older grandparents. I also realize that's probably how I'll feel when Haley has a baby.
I told Mitzi about the wedding. She listened to me with one ear and to the monitor with the other. The dress, the music, flowers, cake. The helicopter.
"Oh, my. Debbie went whole hog, didn't she? I wish I'd been there."
"It was quite a wedding," I agreed.
A tiny chirp from the monitor sent Mitzi scurrying. "Got to go. When Mary Alice gets the pictures, I want to see them," she called.
"Save a whole day!" I unwrapped Woofer's leash from my legs and woke him up. "Come on, lazy."
A car pulled up beside me. "Hey," Sister said. "Get in."
"What are you doing here? I thought you might still be at The Club."
"I just came from there. Everybody left at one time. One minute there was a big party going and next minute it was just me and the waiters. I started home and then decided I wanted to do a postmortem."
"Who died?"
"What do you mean 'who died?' "
"A postmortem?"
"On the wedding. You know." Sister looked a little down. Tired.
"I'll meet you back at the house," I said. "I'll be there in a minute."
Mary Alice nodded and drove off. I don't know why I was surprised to see her looking sad. After each of my children's weddings, I've had to go to bed for a couple of days. All the excitement and planning and then it's over. An emotional roller coaster. And things are never the same again.
Mary Alice was sitting at the kitchen table and Fred was getting each of them a beer when I walked in.
"You want a Coke?" he asked. I nodded that I did.
"Gatlinburg?" he said, handing Sister her beer. "They flew to Gatlinburg?"
"They went to Gatlinburg?" I asked. I was surprised. Read Sunday's Birmingham News and you'll see that fifty percent of the newlyweds go to Gatlinburg for their honeymoon; forty-nine percent go to Panama City, Florida. Occasionally a couple, either very imaginative or moneyed, will opt for someplace exotic like the Virgin Islands. Somehow the helicopter had hinted strongly at this one percent.
"Debbie's car was at the airport," Sister admitted. "And Gatlinburg's fine."
"Of course it is," I agreed.
Sister sighed and took a long swig of her beer. ' 'It's where Philip and I went on our wedding trip." She
frowned. "Or maybe it was Will Alec." Another swig. "Anyway, it's a nice place for a honeymoon. Where did ya'll go? I can't remember."
"We didn't," I said. "No money. Two dollars for the license and ten dollars for the preacher did us in."
"Y'all should go on a honeymoon. A cruise. I know a wonderful travel agent I could fix you up with."
Fred changed the subject. "Where's Meg Bryan?"
"Haley and Philip took her home. Richardena and the twins, too. The babies were getting tired and Meg said she had some work to do."
"She told me she wanted to do some research while she was here," I said.
"She's a sweet lady," Mary Alice said. "I think it would be interesting being a professional genealogist."
"It's a dog-eat-dog world."
Sister and Fred both looked at me, surprised. I explained to them about Camille Atchison's anger, what Meg had said about people stealing information, about Henry Hudson's great grandfather, about Meg's pitbull look and being a big dog. "And how do you get to be a professional genealogist, anyway?" I wanted to know.
"You do it for a living?" Fred surmised.
"No, that's not it," Mary Alice said. "She told me she went to school at Samford and earned a professional certificate. It's a complicated business."
"Dog-eat-dog," I said.
"A degree in looking up ancestors?" Fred finished his beer and stood up. "Whoever heard of such."
"Something like that," Mary Alice said. "Get her to tell you."
"I will. I told her I might do some research into
my family history, and she said she would show me how to get started."
"You want to find out about your family?" Mary Alice looked innocent, but Fred was suspicious.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie."
"What dogs?"
"The dogs that eat dogs." I couldn't resist.
Fred raised his eyebrows at me, got another beer from the refrigerator, and went out the back door.
"Now," Mary Alice said. "Let's get down to the postmortem."
The dresses, the flowers, the gum-chewing. Haley and Philip Nachman. Yes, indeed, Sister had noticed,
and twenty years was not much of an age difference at all. The food, the cake, the dance with the twins, and no, I didn't think Mama would have thought that was tacky or the white dress either (we both knew I was lying through my teeth).
We hashed it all out. I even found out that the elderly man Sister had been dancing with was the CEO of the biggest bank in Birmingham.
"Buddy Johnson," she said. "Didn't you think he was handsome?"
"Maybe fifty years ago." The remark went unnoticed.
The sun was getting low in the sky. Alan and Lisa must have joined Freddie and Haley for an afternoon of partying.
"Seventeen yards in the train," Sister was saying. I looked out of the kitchen window and saw Fred sitting under the peach tree with Woofer beside him. He wasn't doing anything, maybe talking to Woofer. But just sitting on the ground is not like Fred. The slight alarm I had felt at the church became a clang. Something was not right with my husband.
Three
I feel fine," Fred insisted when I confronted him. I had all but pushed Sister out of the door promising to call her later. "I'm just sitting here enjoying the weather."
"You've never just sat and enjoyed the weather in your life."
"Sure I have. Look how that peach tree is fixing to bloom. I hope we've had our last frost."
"Don't hand me that. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I promise. I'm just a little worried about the business."
The business. My heart slowed its racing. This I could handle.
"No pains in your chest? Shortness of breath? Nothing hurts?"
"Just my pride." Fred smiled. "Calm down, Patricia Anne. You're going to have me around for a while."
I sank down beside him. Woofer came and put his head in my lap. "Tell me," I said.
"It's nothing. Really. At least I hope not. Universal Satellite has quit sending us any of their business. I
... 32 ...
called, and they said we'd been taken off their approved supplier list."
"Why? They've always been your best customer."
"Damned if I know. I'm trying to get some answers."
"It'll be okay," I assured him. "I'm sure it's just a mistake."
"I hope so. I don't think we can get along without their business."
"Hey," I said. "We'll eat, and the house is paid for. Metal Fab isn't a vital organ." The last statement I wasn't sure about. The company Fred started and has nurtured for thirty years is vital to him. "It'll be okay," I said again.
"Sure it will. I'd like to hang onto it for a few more years, though, and sell it so we can retire with nothing to worry about." He got up and reached for my hand to pull me up. "Come on. It's too pretty a day to sit here moping."
"But why didn't you tell me?"
"There's not a thing you can do."
"I can worry with you."
"That's why I didn't tell you. I don't want you worrying."
Alan's car pulled into the driveway.
"This is between us. Okay?"
"Okay," I agreed.
Lisa leaned over the fence. "Hey, you two lovebirds. We've brought the biggest pizza you've ever seen."
It was nice having the two of them for a quiet visit. They live in Atlanta, as does Freddie, our oldest, and when they come they usually bring the children. But this weekend their boys were on a camping trip with the Scouts in the Smokies.
"I cried," Lisa said, "when I put them on the bus. They're growing up too fast."
"You need to think about having another one," I said.
Lisa and Alan both laughed. "It's Freddie and Haley's turn, Mama," Alan said. "Speaking of which, we've been at Haley's apartment watching basketball, and the ENT was there, Pop."
"Ah. The power of prayer." Fred reached for another piece of pizza. Worry hadn't affected his appetite.
About two o'clock in the morning, though, he was up taking Maalox.
"You're sure you're okay?" I mumbled.
"I'm fine. I promise. Go back to sleep, sweetheart."
And I did.
The wedding was on Saturday. Sunday was a quiet day. Lisa and Alan left around three to go back to Atlanta. We rented a movie at Video Express, and I opened a can of chicken noodle soup for supper. Fred didn't want to talk about Metal Fab, and Mary Alice didn't make one of her usual pop-in visits. It wasn't until Monday that, as Mama always said, the fit hit the Shan.
It started peacefully. Mary Alice called and asked if I would like to have lunch with her and Meg Bryan at the Tutwiler, that Meg was going to the library and she, Sister, thought it would be nice to take her out to lunch and the Tutwiler was so convenient and so elegant since it had been completely remodeled that Meg would be impressed, surely, since she, Meg, remembered the old Tutwiler, the one that hadn't even been at the same place and what had been where the
Tutwiler was now had been the Ridgeley apartments. Did I remember when the only drugstore open at night in Birmingham was the one in the old Tutwiler? Right in the middle of town and nobody ever robbed it, did they?
"What time?" I asked.
"Quarter to twelve. I'll pick you up."
I spent the morning straightening the house, changing the sheets, and doing a couple of loads of wash. I skipped my usual peanut butter and toast mid-morning snack so I could splurge on an elegant lunch, and got out the beige spring suit I had bought last year. The weather was holding, and Vulcan was mooning Shades Valley when Woofer and I had our walk.
Sister blew the horn right on time, and when I got in the car, I saw that she and Meg had dressed up, too. Sister was in a navy suit with a navy polka-dot blouse. Meg Bryan looked frail and lost in a bluish-gray linen jacket over a pale flowered dress. Skin, hair, and material all seemed to blend together. It made me wonder if I had imagined the pit bull.
But, no. She had come prepared with two briefcases, one of which contained her computer. The other contained documents that the CIA would have had trouble getting their hands on. At lunch, these briefcases occupied the fourth chair at our table. Occasionally, Meg would reach over and pat them. Shades of Jimmy Stewart and Harvey.
All in all, it was a pleasant lunch, though. We had just ordered a piece of strawberry cheesecake to be cut in thirds when a deep voice behind me made me jump.
"Meg!"
Meg jumped, too. Then, "Hello, Bobby," she said.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to my cousin's wedding. I'm going to do some research while I'm here."
"Where's Trinity?"
"At home."
The man had moved up behind the chair on which the briefcases rested. I half expected Meg to grab them. Instead, she introduced us.
"Mrs. Hollowell, Mrs. Crane, I'd like you to meet Judge Robert Haskins."
The judge acknowledged the introductions, though he clearly wasn't interested. "What are you researching?" he asked Meg.
"Don't you wish you knew." A smile flitted across Meg's face. Or was it just a curl of the lips?
"It's the Fitzpatrick thing, isn't it?" The judge was a small man with a pinched face. His small glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them up.
"Nothing important," Meg said. "Just a Mobile family."
"Did you finish the Whitleys?"
"Yes."
"Ah hah!" The judge pounded the back of the chair. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"Why?"
"You just think you have." He was actually chortling now. "You just think you have, Meggie, my girl."
"What do you mean?" Meg's face was as pink as it could ever be. More pale purple.
"I've got something in my office you need to see, Meg."
"What?"
"It'll cost you."
"Cost me what?"
"A look at Vincent Fitzpatrick."
Meg thought for a moment.
"Excuse me," the waiter reached around the judge to put our cheesecake down. "More coffee?"
"Please," Mary Alice and I said.
"Hand me that front briefcase, Bobby." Me
g said. She took it from the judge and riffled through it, drawing out a manila envelope. "You show me yours and I'll show you mine."
"My office is right over at the courthouse, Meg. Just across the park."
"Let's go." Meg Bryan pushed her chair back. "I'll be in the Southern Department at the library in a little while, girls. Probably by the time you finish your coffee. Would you mind meeting me up there with my briefcases?"
Mary Alice and I looked at each other.
"Fine." Meg Bryan and Judge Haskins exited the dining room.
"What the hell was that about?" Sister wondered.
"Who knows? Here," I cut Meg's cheesecake in half, "there's more for us."
"Your anorexia's better, isn't it?" Sister said. Sometimes I think she really believes I'm anorexic.
"I'm forcing myself."
Mary Alice had recovered from her slight bout with empty-nest syndrome and was in a good humor today. "What do you suppose is on that computer?" She pointed toward the chair.
"Nothing we would recognize if we saw it." I held the last bit of cheesecake on my tongue, savoring it. "Do you think this is Sara Lee?"
"Don't be silly. They make their own desserts here."
"Well, it could be. Sara Lee's great. Put your own topping on it and everybody thinks you made it yourself. Henry says a lot of restaurants do that."
Sister shrugged and looked thoughtful. "Maybe we ought to let Meg look up our family tree."
It was my turn to shrug. "You and Fred. And you know what you're going to find? Horse thieves. Murderers. You'd be as unhappy as that woman was at the wedding. That Camille Atchison. Who was she, anyway?"
"I have no idea. Somebody from Henry's list." She took her last bite of cheesecake. "It still might be fun. I'll bet we have all kinds of interesting ancestors. I wonder how much she charges."
I was chasing graham-cracker crumbs around my plate with my fork. "Meg? A lot. Probably by the hour."
"That's okay."
"Maybe for you, Miss Moneybags. Fred's going to do his own." I gave up on the last of the crumbs. "Come on. Let's go over to the library. See what's available."
We collected Meg Bryan's briefcases and headed for the Southern Department on the third floor of the research library. The downtown Birmingham Public Library should be added to the list of things that surprise people who come to the city for the first time. Actually two large buildings connected by a walkway over the street, it boasts the largest circulation of any library in the South. So much for stereotypes. Ala-bamians read.