Score

by Shay Violet

  With two of his sons in jail awaiting trial, the stress contributed to our father having a mild heart attack, leaving him unable to work.

  After that, my freshman year took a disastrous turn, with my grades plummeting from straight As to barely passing.

  I quit cheerleading, stopped singing, and withdrew from my real friends, and started hanging out with girls who were nothing but trouble.

  It was decided that for my sophomore year, I needed a new environment, so I moved from St Helena Island to live with my cousins from Charleston.

  It was an adjustment, enrolling at a school where nobody knew me or my brothers, a bigger, faster place, but I found my footing and eventually tried out for school musicals and got my grades headed in the right direction, C's and B's, but not yet the A's I knew I could achieve.

  * * *

  Early on the first day of summer break, a knock on the door woke me up.

  "Zaliya, somebody here is asking for you," my cousin Dre called out. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and stumbled to the front door, only half awake.

  "Zaliya?" a small woman standing on the porch asked me. "You're kin to Otis Dupree?"

  "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I don't think so. I don't know that name," I explained.

  "Oh, child, forgive me. I should have said Doctor Wren," she said with a smile.

  "Yes, he's my great-uncle," I answered. "Do you need a root?"

  "Everybody needs a root now and then," she said. "But today I'm just here looking for you. Your great-uncle is an old, dear friend of mine. He told me you might need a job this summer. Is that so?"

  I hadn't considered a job. I expected to wind up back on St. Helena Island hanging out with my friends, working on our dances, chasing boys, and trying to beat the heat. If I was to earn any money it would be from my great-uncle, acquiring ingredients he needed from the swamps, marshes, and beaches on and around St. Helena Island.

  "I guess I might, I mean, I don't know. I've never had a real job before."

  "You know, you're just as pretty as your momma," the stranger said. "Same eyes."

  My stomach seized at the mention of my mother.

  "Did you know my momma?" I asked. I was only seven when she passed. I had vivid memories of her, but with each passing year, I feared forgetting things like the sound of her laugh or the way she smelled.

  "I figure one way or another, I know most everybody in the Lowcountry. I've cooked for most all of them," she said. "But yes, your momma was one of the kindest, and prettiest, ladies in all of Charleston. She'd be very proud of you."

  "She would?"

  My adjustment to life in the city hadn't been easy, but my father didn't feel capable of giving a teenage girl the guidance and support she required, especially with what was happening with my brothers, so he'd sent me away. I felt like I was treading water in my new environment more than doing anything to make anyone proud.

  "I checked your grades. Yes, she'd be very proud of you." Another smile.

  Checked my grades? What the…?

  "I'm sorry, what do you mean 'checked my grades'? I don't even know who you are."

  "That's Miss Sadie, dummy!" My cousin Dre called from across the room, where he was fidgeting with his Xbox.

  "Sadie Wilkins," she said, extending her hand. "I own Sadie's BBQ."

  And that's how I came to work at Sadie's, first doing prep work in the kitchen and washing dishes before graduating to working the takeout window, and eventually becoming a full-fledged waitress.

  The job has helped me pay for my classes at Palmetto Women's College. I'm halfway through a degree, even though I haven't declared a major or figured out what I want to pursue as a career.

  Now all that's missing is a man strong enough to make it past the defensive line of my father and brothers.

  Nieces are great, and I love spending time with little Keshawn when Mya needs me to watch him, but lately, I've had some serious baby fever. Which goes hand in hand with the "stable man" fever I've also been experiencing. Too many women in my life have hooked up with guys who were all too happy to do the fun part of giving them babies. But they were not nearly as excited about the prospect of sticking around for the hard work of being fathers.

  So, yeah, I'm looking for a man, not just some guy.

  3

  Turns out, that big meal those Palmetto alums had with their boyfriends, husbands, and fiancés didn't only mean a record-setting shift as far as tips go. It meant big things for Sadie's BBQ as well.

  A reporter for the local paper caught wind of the fancy cars in our parking lot that afternoon, and after some digging, he reported that we'd hosted a lunch for some very wealthy and powerful people.

  I read the article the next day. PWC Alums Host Power Lunch at Sadie's BBQ was the headline.

  If you drove past Sadie's BBQ last week, you may have noticed a collection of high-priced vehicles in the parking lot, the story opened. The automobiles, including a Bentley and Ferrari, brought together a group whose net worth would be the envy of most of Charleston's high society down South of Broad.

  The article described the meal as a reunion of five Palmetto Women's College alums who were joined by the men in their lives, which included:

  Graham Flanagan, a former professional soccer player who'd become a celebrity chef and restaurant owner on two continents.

  Ezra Brannigan, the man who ran the company that bore his name; Brannigan Oil and Petroleum. He was a billionaire. Yeah. With a B. And apparently, money isn't the only thing Ezra Brannigan has going for him. He lives in a world where Presidents, current and former, as well as prime ministers and royal families from all over the world, are just a phone call away.

  And finally, Lincoln Rawlings. Of Rawlings Holdings, which is a real estate developer or something that apparently owns the state of California. I knew I recognized him from somewhere (He's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen, and I don't just mean in person, I mean on TV or anywhere. Tough to forget him. I didn't place him until I saw the newspaper article Miss Sadie brought in.

  Ezra Brannigan declined to be interviewed for the piece, but the other two men were both quoted as saying how much they loved the food and the staff and Miss Sadie herself and that they couldn't wait to return.

  The article found its way to the national news wire. Suddenly our regulars were rubbing elbows with lots of unfamiliar faces, many with deep pockets, and we were busier than ever.

  Miss Sadie herself was interviewed by several news outlets, including a major London tabloid newspaper, who sent a photographer to take pictures for the story.

  Sadie's had always closed for the week between Christmas and New Year's to allow everyone to spend the holidays with family, but for the first time, I was disappointed at being off work since the money had been so good.

  I put the extra funds to good use, replacing not just the bald tire on my car, but also another that was really worn down. I even had some minor maintenance issues addressed. I got caught up on my power bill and put some money into my tuition account. With the rest, I made sure everybody had a memorable Christmas.

  I got new shoes for all three of my nieces, Nia, Gabrielle, and Mariah, as well as two cute outfits for each of them. Jerriah's daughters, Gabi and Mariah, are both 13 now, each living with single moms and multiple half-siblings. My brother is in the middle of a four-year sentence on drug charges, and according to his letters, all he wanted for Christmas was for me to do whatever I could for the girls. I put money on his commissary anyway.

  He's still my brother, and I love him.

  I get along fine with Mariah and Gabi's mommas and respect the effort they put in, but I wish I could do more to give those sweet girls a more stable environment.

  Nia, my third niece, just turned 9. She's Steffon's daughter. Her mother and my brother have such a volatile relationship that I can't blame her for always being cold to me. Either way, Nia's mom couldn't stop me from being Zaliya Claus and filling in the gaping holes beneath her Christmas tree.


  I went over to Mya's in the afternoon on Christmas Day, bringing Keshawn a bunch of Ninja Turtle stuff. His contagious smile reassured me that Christmas was still magical, and that Santa was undoubtedly real.

  Sadie's BBQ re-opened on January 1st with the traditional Gullah dish of Hoppin' John featured free with every meal. It's a rice dish with black-eyed peas and some form of pork. Miss Sadie and Shayla had ham hocks marinating for days ahead of time. Cornbread and collard greens complete the dish, although the cherry atop the sundae was a penny under each plate to complete the magical good fortune each dish portends for the upcoming year.

  When we opened the doors, the line of Sadie's BBQ enthusiasts braving the rain and wind stretched past the edge of the parking lot and around the corner. Some of those people wouldn't get in for an hour, maybe two, but they didn't mind.

  First in line, like always, was my great-uncle, Dr. Wren.

  He was dressed in a dark blue suit and blue skull cap, with his small round spectacles (Don't make the mistake of calling them "glasses," to him they're spectacles.) He carried a gnarled walking stick and moved slowly but with a purpose. Before anyone else was let in, he walked to each corner of both dining areas and the kitchen, shaking his stick, whispering blessings, and sprinkling goofer dust on the floor.

  The ingredients in the dust are a closely guarded secret, but it contains powerful juju. Miss Sadie wouldn't dare open the restaurant for a new year without Dr. Wren delivering some.

  In the past, I've helped him source some of the ingredients, which include ash from burning sage and twigs taken from the grounds of Angel Oak, a magnificent world-famous tree out on Johns Island. Crushed eggshells from wren's nests are needed, and my brothers and I became accomplished tree climbers in our youth searching out their nests, which we monitored throughout the Spring. We waited until the little wrens flew away and retrieved the broken pieces before they were scattered by the elements.

  Once Dr. Wren solemnly completed his tasks, his demeanor changed, and he warmly greeted all of us, wrapping me in a hug and kissing both my hands. Miss Sadie had a plate of Hoppin' John waiting for him at her table, and they sat down to enjoy lunch while Mya and I let the rest of our customers in.

  Later in the afternoon, when things had died down a bit, I got a chance to catch up with Mya. She revealed that she had, indeed met up with Carlos, the guy from South Carolina State, over the holidays. He lived a hundred or so miles up the road in Sumter, but he came down to Charleston two days after Christmas, and the two of them caught a movie, had dinner, and he wound up staying the night.

  "He was almost too big," she confided in me with a mischievous smile. "Almost."

  "Mya!" I exclaimed.

  "Girl, if you aren't jealous, you ought to be," she laughed. "He doesn't go back to school for two more weeks. I'm going up to Sumter to visit him in a couple days. He has plenty of friends… want to come along?"

  "Ha. No. I told you, my New Year's Resolution is no more hookups. No more college guys. I'm not getting down with anybody again until it's serious."

  "Oh, Zaliya, trust me, it's serious," she said, laughing, holding her hands a foot apart.

  I threw a wadded-up napkin at her. "Keshawn's gonna wind up with a baby brother if you aren't careful."

  "I'm getting that itch anyway," Mya replied. "Keshawn is getting all grown up and independent. I miss having a baby."

  "Mya, he's three!" I replied.

  "You just don't get it," she responded. "A baby baby is just different."

  "Oh yeah," I replied. "I remember how excited you were to change diapers and make bottles and stay up all night and all the rest of that fun stuff."

  "See, that's why you should have one, that way I can hold her and let her fall asleep on my chest and then give her back before any of the… unpleasant stuff," Mya joked.

  "I'll have to double-check with my professors next time I'm back in school, but I'm pretty sure human reproduction still requires a man and a woman," I said. "And I'm short a man at this point."

  As if on cue, the front door to the restaurant opened and in walked three athletic men, one black and two white, each more handsome than the next, dressed in black tracksuits with red and gold striping and a small insignia with two lions on the left side of the chest. The way they looked around told me it was their first time.

  Interesting.

  4

  "Welcome to Sadie's," I said, and scooped up three menus.

  "Hello," said one of the men, with a hint of a Euro-accent. He was the tallest by several inches and had short, spike blonde hair. The other two men smiled and waved.

  I led them to a table when Mis Sadie approached from behind. "Happy New Year!" she announced. "I'm Miss Sadie, and this is my place. First time?"

  "Yes, Ma'am," the brother said, stepping forward and accepting her outstretched hand. His accent sounded Texan to me.

  "You might just be from around here," Miss Sadie said and turned to face the blonde man, "But I heard your voice, and you're not." She gave the third man a close look and said, "But I haven't heard you say anything yet, so I just can't tell." He stepped between the other two and shook her hand. It was my first good look at him, and my heart skipped. He had short, dark hair, a chiseled jaw covered in coarse stubble, and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. If it wasn't love at first sight, it definitely became so when I heard his voice.

  "I'm a local," the man insisted as he shook Miss Sadie's hand, but his faux-Southern accent dissolved into laughter. "Okay, actually, I'm not. I'm from a bit further south."

  His accent was pure Australian. I bit my bottom lip and clenched my thighs.

  The taller man shook Miss Sadie's hand as well. "I'm German," he said. "We all live in Germany, so now we're all German."

  The men all laughed. "I'm a Texan," the younger, lighter-skinned version of Shemar Moore said. "But, yeah, we all play football in Germany. Oh, sorry, soccer."

  "Well, isn't that wonderful," Miss Sadie lit up. "What brings you to Charleston?"

  "It's winter break, and then we have training in Florida," Mr. Texan answered. "We had a couple days off, and we wanted to go somewhere new. So, here we are."

  "And I saw the article on the BBC about this place, so I insisted on Charleston," the tall German added.

  I was close enough to read their tracksuits. "Bayer Leverkusen." I had no clue, but once I got into the kitchen, I intended to do some research.

  More customers came in behind the soccer players, a pair of couples I recognized as regulars. Mya stuck out her tongue at me. They were nice people, but never tipped much, and I suspected she wanted to flirt with the guys at my table anyway. Sorry, not sorry, Mya!

  Once they were settled in and Miss Sadie returned to her perch near the kitchen, I introduced myself and handed out menus.

  "I'm Zaliya, I'll be your server today. Since it's New Year's Day, we have a special. Hoppin' John is free with every meal." They looked baffled, even the American. "It's a local dish, made with rice, bacon, and black-eyed peas. It's meant to bring good luck for the new year."

  "I'm sorry, "Hopping who?" The Aussie asked.

  I smiled back and explained that nobody knew how the name originated, just that the dish came from our local Gullah culture and I hoped they enjoyed it.

  "Forgive my intrusion," the voice came from over my left shoulder, and a hand touched me gently on the arm. "I couldn't help but overhear." My great-uncle, Dr. Wren, sidled up to the table. "You are asking about a man who lived many years ago, in fact, just after the War."

  I knew that when Dr. Wren spoke about "the War," he meant the Civil War. Even though my uncle was born over sixty years after the Civil War, it was one of his idiosyncrasies. He spoke of things that happened long ago as if he had been there. He treated the people in his stories like they were contemporaries of his. Maybe, in some odd way, he could commune with them. I don't know. I was raised to have faith in the root doctors in our community. I'd seen and heard some of them do and say things that bordered
on the supernatural. But I stopped well short of believing my great-uncle was a time traveler.

  "An old man, a freed slave named John, John Jeffcoat, used to sell peas and rice on the streets of Charleston. Even to white folks. He could get the peas and rice from the plantation out in Moncks Corner where he'd lived. The house was gone by then, but the fields still produced. So, to support his family, he harvested the peas and sold them. He was hobbled by years of working in the fields, so he walked with a sort of a sideways hop when he pushed his little cart. Folks got to calling him Hoppin' John.

  "And when the children would see him coming, they'd be so excited they'd get to hopping, so everybody started calling him Hoppin' John. That's where the dish got its name."

  The athletes were captivated by my great-uncle. "Are you a local historian, then?" the German asked.

  Dr. Wren laughed. "No, I'm no historian, although I've been around a while, and I reckon I've seen a few things."

  "Don't let him lie to you," I interjected. "He's my great-uncle. And he's never happier than when he's telling a story. If you listen to enough of them, you might even hear one that's true!"

  Everyone laughed, and they asked me questions about items on the menu as Dr. Wren hovered nearby.

  They settled on a platter the menu claims is large enough for a family of six, including fish, chicken, sausage, and brisket, along with the Hoppin' John, cornbread, and a variety of sides.

  I returned with drinks, cornbread, and three plates of Hoppin' John. "I'm going to place a penny under each plate, it's a tradition meant to bring good fortune for the upcoming year."

  "Ought to give Reg two pennies," the Aussie said, pointing to the Texan. "He's out of contract at the end of the season. He needs all the help he can get."

  As the men bickered good-naturedly and dug into their food, my great-uncle approached the table again.

  "How long has that knee been bothering you, son?" He asked the Aussie.

  "My what?" He asked, spreading honey butter on a hunk of cornbread.