“When’s the last time you had a checkup?”
“I had my yearly,” she said vaguely.
Blanche was not big on doctors, though I had convinced her a few years back that she’d best take care of her health if she was going to be raising grandchildren from now on. I had enrolled Blanche and her family in our company health plan when I first went back to work. Don’t ask why I hadn’t done it when Walter was alive or why he hadn’t suggested it, either. I just don’t have an answer.
“That’s not the kind of checkup I was talking about.”
“I don’t see the point. He’s jus’ go’n tell me to lose weight.”
Well, I knew better than to go down that road, so I just let the issue drop.
We stayed on the porch for a little while longer, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the occasional passing car.
When Patrice and I finally sat down to discuss the will weeks later, I had formulated a plan of sorts, but I wanted Patrice's thoughts on the whole thing. We talked at length about the details and, when we were done, I felt confident of the decisions I made.
Howard put me in touch with a good business broker and the insurance agency was sold within a month. I was surprised at the bottom line on the income from the sale, but Howard was not. We followed Walter's lead on a good bit of the estate planning, but we made a few changes. We increased the coffers of the scholarship fund quite a bit and set up another charitable remainder trust to offset the taxes on the sale.
What Patrice did not know about my will was that I planned to leave my house to Blanche for as long as she was alive. She probably spent as much time at this house as she had at her own, and I was certain it felt like home to her. After that, it would be sold and the proceeds sent to the scholarship fund, which Patrice had agreed to run after my death or when I could no longer handle my affairs. That was a huge load off my mind. Of course, she would now know how her own education had been funded, but I suspect she knew it all along anyway.
There was a monthly stipend earmarked for each of the twins. They were successful in their own right, but what I set out for them would make their lives a little more comfortable and it made me feel good to know that.
Grace's children would be able to attend the college of their choice. They were good kids, good students. I wanted to make sure nothing would stand in their way. Blanche would always have income, a retirement plan of sorts - enough for herself and enough to take care of Shawn and Rochelle.
As much as it tore my heart out, I did not leave anything for Grace. If we could even find her, the money would only go to drugs. I resigned myself to knowing we had already lost her. We lost her long, long ago and we were partially to blame.
Twenty Eight
As I said, 1998 was not a good year for me. My childhood friends were dropping like flies. I never expected to outlive as many people as I did, but if it's any indication how many funerals I attended, I bought four new dresses that year and all of them black. I've never been terribly vain, but I still held to a few social standards, even in my old age. I didn't want to be seen in the same black dress every time I turned around.
Poopsie died on a fishing trip out west. God love him, he went out with a bang, doing what he loved most. They had a time getting his body shipped home for burial, but Clara Jean handled all the details and got it straightened out. She was devastated, of course, and I'm not sure she's over it to this day.
The hardest thing for me, the worst day of my life, came in late November of that year. We had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner. Patrice and the twins cooked the entire meal in my kitchen and the house was brimming with food, friends, family and a whole lot of love. We all ate too much, but Blanche complained the most about it. She said she just felt full all over. Danita and Curtis drove her home afterwards, taking Shawn and Rochelle back to their own house to play with their cousins.
When Blanche didn't show up the next morning, I knew it was not good. I forced myself not to panic as I called a taxi to take me to her house. I decided not to call the children first. I didn't want to worry them in case I was wrong. On the other hand, if I was right...well, if I was right, I would be the one who found her.
She didn’t answer the door when I rang the bell, but I knew she never kept it locked. She always left it open, just in case Grace came home. I opened the door and entered the house, which had not changed much in the years since I came to take Patrice shopping. I could hear Blanche's snoring in the back bedroom and I breathed a sigh of relief. I figured she must have overslept, though she'd never done it before. I laughed at myself for overreacting and headed for her bedroom, scolding the whole way.
“Blanche, you old fool, you scared me to death!" I spoke loudly so I wouldn't startle her when I entered her room. “Blanche!" I repeated as I cleared the doorway. She was lying flat on her back, the covers kicked to the side and one arm hanging limply off the bed.
She didn't respond at all. She just laid there, air moving noisily in and out of her chest. I picked up her arm and shook it a little.
“Blanche, wake up," I said, shaking harder when she did not move. I think that‘s when I knew she was gone from me. I picked up the phone on her bedside table and dialed Patrice's number. I explained where I was and she said she would call the ambulance and be right over.
I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. It seems ridiculous now, but that's what I did.
When I went back to Blanche's room, I carefully placed her hands on her stomach and pulled the blankets up to her chest. Then I crawled into the bed beside her, resting my head on her shoulder and one hand over both of hers. I watched my hand rise and fall with each breath, the sound rumbling in my ear.
I didn't move again until the ambulance arrived. I never heard the sirens. All I remember hearing was the sound of the teakettle screaming on the stove.
Patrice came in right behind them and we comforted each other as the paramedics tended to Blanche and hustled her into the ambulance. Patrice drove us to the hospital, calling her sisters from the cell phone in her car.
Blanche lived another two weeks, though she never regained consciousness. In hindsight, I wish I'd never called a soul. I'd rather have just stayed right there until it was over, than to see my dear friend lying in a cold, sterile hospital room like that.
I've made up a new lie and I tell it to myself every day. Blanche died in her sleep, there in the house where she raised her children, amongst all her memories and all the things she loved. Marcus was there, and Grace, too. Grace, full of life and hope and promise. We were all there, me, Eddie, the twins - the whole family, there to tell Blanche goodbye and send her off to be with her husband again.
I've never been afraid of dying. I don't know what will happen when I do, but I have to believe I'll be with Walter again. I have to believe that I'll have another chance to tell him everything I did not know when he was on the earth and in my living room.
Twenty-nine
Grace did come home for the funeral, which went by in a blur for me. I remember so much about my life in those last twenty years, but I only barely recall being there for the service. The girls were inconsolable, I remember that. Blanche was 59 years old, far too young for the girls to be losing their mother to the stroke that ultimately took her life.
A week or so after the funeral, Patrice convinced Grace to get help for her drug addiction and, wouldn't you know, she started out at Lifeways downtown. She's been in and out of rehab ever since, though I heard she was doing well since her last relapse a few months ago. Patrice has been raising Grace's children for the most part, but Grace sees them often. She lives in Blanche's old house, which Patrice has fixed up quite a bit since her mother's death.
And now, here I am again. It is 2001 and I am preparing for yet another funeral. I'm too old for this, I've decided, and I'm never going to another funeral except my own after we bury The Pecan Man. I just can't do it anymore.
The last was one I had taken the first Christmas Blanche and her girls spent with me. Gracie grinned from her perch on Eddie’s lap. Blanche sat on the couch with one arm around Patrice and the twins at her feet. Chip and Clara Jean were squished together on the couch beside Patrice. Chip was smiling awkwardly at the camera, but Clara Jean was looking up at him with the same adoration I had seen in the earlier pictures of Walter and me. The floor was littered with wrapping paper and shiny bows. It was a bittersweet time for all of us, and the photo made me a little sad.
The small stack of letters was tucked into an envelope embossed with Jeffery Thatcher’s return address. There was Eddie’s Last Will and Testament naming me as the Executor of his estate, such as it was, and a letter from Eddie addressed to me. He must have thought I’d live forever, or at least longer than he would. It was the first time I’d known for certain that he was not illiterate, as I’d often assumed. The writing was child-like but the spelling was good and I could read the words he wrote. I could tell he had put a lot of thought into what he wanted to say. There were two letters from Tressa Hightower, addressed to Eldred Mims in care of the prison, with a return address in Alabama.
The instructions for Eddie’s burial were simple. Arrangements had already been made and his daughter had been called. I learned more about Eddie in the few days after his death than I had in the years preceding it. He was not quite as poor as I had expected, but was frugal with the meager income he did have. As such, he didn’t wish to have his body sent to Alabama, but preferred the pauper’s burial the state would provide, even if it meant that he would be laid to rest in a town that would forever remember his name with a mixture of horror and sadness, however wrongly imagined. The box came the day before Eddie’s funeral and I made several phone calls to assure that he did not leave this world without a proper goodbye.
Thirty
Chip and Clara Jean Smallwood arrived the next day at 1:00 p.m. and took me to the graveside service out at the county cemetery. I recognized the chaplain from the prison. He had aged since the last time I saw him, but I remembered him as a kind man and one who genuinely cared about the souls of the inmates.
He was standing by the casket, speaking with a woman I had not met, but knew immediately. She was as dark as Blanche had been, but the opposite in stature. Tall and thin, Tressa Mims Hightower was an imposing figure, strikingly beautiful with sharp, intense features that did not immediately reflect the ready smile that greeted me when I introduced myself.
“Miz Beckworth, at last.” Tressa’s voice was as smooth as her mahogany skin.
“You’re Eddie’s daughter,” I said.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Tressa Hightower.”
“I have his belongings. He had two pictures of you, and a couple of others. Would you like to have them back?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I would. We don't have many photographs of my family in the early years.”
I nodded. It was yet another thing I took for granted. I searched for something to say.
“Will you stay in Mayville for a while or are you leaving after the memorial?”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. I have to stop in Montgomery before I head home.”
“Business?” I asked.
“Always,” she smiled. “I’m an attorney.”
“Oh,” I failed to keep the surprise from my voice. “Eddie didn’t…Eddie never…”
“That’s quite all right, Miz Beckworth,” Tressa smiled again. “I didn’t speak of him much either.”
“I knew your father to be a good man,” I said, suddenly a bit defensive.
“At times he was,” she agreed. “I owe him a great deal.”
“But?”
“Buts don’t matter now, Miz Beckworth. It was what it was and it’s over now. You’re very kind and I appreciate what you tried to do for him. I know he appreciated it, too.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. And it was not the time or place, regardless. I’d like to think it was kindness that I extended to Eddie, but I can’t look back to a single thing I did for him that was selfless in any way.
A car pulled up beside us breaking the brief uncomfortable silence that had just taken hold. All four doors opened at once and Blanche’s girls appeared, solemnly at first, but unable to disguise the smiles that were meant for me alone.
“Miz Ora!” Grace cried and bolted into my arms, causing Clara to clutch my elbow to support me.
Grace was rail-thin, almost emaciated. What frightened me the most was that Patrice told me how much better she looked now that she had been clean for a few months.
It was as if I were still holding that tiny broken child I took from Blanche’s arms so many years ago. I wanted to go tuck her into bed and hide her wounds with soft chenille and a mother’s sorrow.
“Let me look at you,” I said and, forcing a smile, pushed her away from me and held her at arm’s length.
“Miz Ora,” she cried again, her tears flowing freely.
“Stop, or you’ll make an old lady cry,” I grumped.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just been so long.”
“Too long,” I agreed. “And who are these other women with you? My heavens, your sisters are getting old!”
Danita and ReNetta moved forward, each kissing me soundly on opposite cheeks. Patrice stood back, smiling like a mother with her brood. Blanche had been dead for only three years, but Patrice had always helped raise the other girls. It was Patrice who stayed in touch and kept me up to date with their lives. It was Patrice who continued to visit Eddie in prison when it became too difficult a journey for me to make. She saw him only two weeks before his death, took him a pound cake baked by Dovey Kincaid’s daughter, who was now Patrice’s best friend. The Lord works in mysterious ways, I’ve always thought.
Tressa Hightower cleared her throat behind me.
“Oh, goodness,” I said. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Girls, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I brought Tressa into my circle of family and made the necessary introductions. “These are Blanche’s girls, Patrice, ReNetta, Danita and Grace. Girls, this is…” I hesitated only for a second. “This is your Aunt Tressa."
I’m not sure who was more stunned by my revelation. I hadn’t intended to tell the girls until after the funeral. But, in that brief moment of introduction, truth compelled me like it never had before.
I explained, as briefly as I could, what Eddie's letter had revealed. We would talk more of it later, but for now it was only fitting and proper that the girls know for whom they were grieving and honor their grandfather for his life and for his sacrifice.
While everyone stood in open-mouthed silence, the chaplain called for the memorial to begin. The chaplain’s words were kind, but rather generic, I thought. He spoke of Eddie’s gentle nature, how he never caused trouble in his ward and how he was often called on to pray for others. He told of the pictures Eddie kept on his wall and how he must have truly loved and missed his family. He spoke of God’s forgiveness and I felt comforted by that. By God’s grace, I would one day be redeemed for my own shortcomings and that day had never seemed closer than it did when they lowered Eddie’s body into the earth. I decided not to bury my lie with him, no matter what the cost.
And so now you have the complete and total truth. Bless Clara Jean’s heart, she has sat and taken dictation for hours on end as I told my long and ragged tale. She has assured me her ears heard nothing that her mouth could ever tell, but her sure and able fingers
would set down for me to disclose as I see fit.
Eldred Mims had not run away from his life in Alabama as much as he came home to his family in Mayville when he showed up here in 1975. When Blanche was born, Eddie left to join the new all-black Air Force in Tuskegee, Alabama. He said he always intended to come back, but time went by and he started a new life with another woman. Not wanting to make the same mistake, he married the mother of this child, the one they named Tressa.
I think Eddie really wanted to do the right thing, but addiction is sometimes stronger than the person it holds. And sometimes, like Eddie said, it’s just too late to go back. I don't know why he never told Blanche, but I almost think she knew. My Lord, Blanche knew everything - everything. Always.
I should have told Grace the truth after her mother died, but I didn't and there are more reasons why than I have time to tell. For now, Clara Jean is helping me pack. I don't know if I'll be going to jail or to a nursing home, but I can no longer live by myself regardless, so I'm going to one or the other.
I'm going to do the first selfless thing I've done in years. I'm giving my home to the girls, outright, free and clear. Well, not precisely free, but that's a tax issue that Howard worked out. But, they're paying only enough not to consider it a gift, but a purchase.
Patrice is handling the details of my confession. I didn't ask and I really don't want to know what the process will be. My goal is to clear Eddie's name and to admit what I did to help conceal who really killed Skipper Kornegay. As I said when I first began this story, I reckon there will be a few who wish I had kept my mouth shut. The ones who would truly be impacted are dead, though, and can surely rest in peace. As for me, I've not had a moment's peace since the day my first lie was told. I'm determined to go to my grave with a clear conscience, and I just can't do that until I tell the truth about Grace.
The Pecan Man Page 15