A brown door, paint scratched through, seems to be the only entrance around here
Sister J knocks. “This is LaQueesha’s entrance. Nicest apartment in the building. The rest are like closets. But where else you going to live for fifty bucks a week?”
The door opens and a woman wearing a robin’s egg blue sequined cowboy hat stands in the doorway. “Sistah J? How you doin’?” She swings the door wide. “Come on in! It’s been too long, uh-huh.”
“Heck yeah, it has. This is my friend Heather. She’s a volunteer.”
“Come in, come in, uh-huh.”
We climb the three concrete steps and enter a dim hallway lined with frames surrounding copious cutouts: ovals, squares, and each one contains a school photo, a snapshot, or a ticket stub. She leads us toward the front of the building, past a couple of bedrooms—one set up as a prayer room with a kneeling bench and a crucifix—a bath, then a kitchen, all lined up along the corridor. And pow! Into the front room we emerge like spelunkers from a cave. Heavy venetian blinds accordion near the tops of the tall, narrow windows, and almost everything is light blue, matching LaQueesha’s outfit, a sky blue mohair poncho over a shimmery tank top, jeans the denim god must have exhaled onto her, and turquoise cowboy boots with silver heels and mirrored decorations.
LaQueesha must love hoops! Ten heavy gold hoops lower each ear farther down beside her thin neck bound up with necklaces of gold and silver. Bangles, rings accent her graceful hands. She jangles and smells like peaches. I wasn’t this feminine on my wedding day.
“Have a seat, have a seat. I’m just about to head downtown to the beauty parlor, uh-huh.” Hands land on hips in a slouchy, runway fashion. So slender too. “Can I get you a ice tea?”
“Thanks, doll, that sounds good.” Sister J sits on one of those wicker fan chairs Pier 1 sold back in the ’70s when it was more the garage sale of the Orient than a trendy boutique anchoring upscale strip malls. This one is decorated with crystal beads that catch the sun coming through the window and throw tiny rainbows on Sister J’s cheek.
“You look like a saint in that thing.” I choose a seat near her on the couch, a cream-colored leather sofa running the length of the room. “Nice!”
“I love my couch. Now some tea for you too, uh-huh?”
“Please.”
She walks into the first doorway off the hall.
Sister Jerusha taps her nose. “If anybody knows where Krista is, it’s LaQueesha.”
“What’s her story?”
“Her grandmother owned this building. LaQueesha is one of the smartest businesswomen I know. Keeps the building up better than most landlords around here, although I wouldn’t want to spend a night here if I didn’t have to. Other than here at her place. Now this is styling, isn’t it?”
“It’s amazing. So nuns like a little sparkle when left to their own devices?”
“This nun does.”
“Do you ever bemoan the fact that you’ve led a life of poverty?”
“You mean that I missed out on all the good things of life?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Not one bit. Don’t know any different. I went into the convent when I was nineteen. I was the youngest in my family—fourteen children. We didn’t have much, but nobody abused us or neglected us—of course, we only expected a few minutes a day from each parent, so we had lowered expectations. So I don’t know what I’m missing. And you know there are all sorts of good things in life. Maybe not things, but people, and places, and deeds, and families, and children. You know, life itself.”
She folds her hands across her stomach and sighs.
“And then some days, you get to sit in LaQueesha’s apartment and have some of her iced tea.” She raises her brows. “Uh-huh.”
“I heard that!” LaQueesha steps out of the kitchen with a tray of tea glasses rimmed in gold. She laughs. “I’ve tried to rid myself of that ‘uh-huh’ for years, and I just can’t.”
“It’s who you are, doll.” Sister J reaches for a glass and sips. “Ahh, best iced tea in Baltimore.”
I take mine, sip, and by golly, she’s right! “What’s your secret?”
“One mint bag in with three regulars. Does it every time. Lots of sugar, uh-huh, and got to put in a good amount of lemon.”
I raise my glass. “I’ll remember that.” Even Leslie Summerville would approve of this brew.
LaQueesha sits next to me. “So what brings you round today?”
“Krista’s disappeared.” Sister J sets her drink on the glass coffee table.
“Again?”
“Yeah. I thought she was gonna make it this time. I really did.”
Our host’s brows knit. “Oh, Sistah J, I wish I was as hopeful as you, uh-huh. But I seen that little girl for a year now, just struggling every day, and if you can’t help her, I don’t know who can, and the dear Lord knows that’s the truth.”
“Have you seen her, then?” Sister J leans forward. Her upper lip quivers so slightly I can hardly believe I noticed. And it hits me. She loves this girl. She loves Krista more than someone like me is able to give her credit for.
“No. I’m so sorry. I haven’t seen her for a week.”
“Any talk?”
“No, but I been busy, you know, uh-huh. I’ll ask around.”
Sister Jerusha leans back. “Something about that girl pulls at my heart, LaQueesha. God’s marked her. I can see it like I could on you, like I can on Knoxie.”
LaQueesha just nods and turns to me. “Sistah J was the first person to realize I could sing, Heather. I sing all over the place now, uh-huh, for Jesus too.”
“Sister J, can you really see God’s mark on people?”
“You bet I can. Don’t know how or why, but there’re some that get a special mark from God to do great things.”
LaQueesha points a finger at her. “Now I seen you get it right nine times outta ten—yes, I have. But I think you missed it with Knoxie, Sistah. You have most definitely missed it with that man, uh-huh.” She wipes a hand in disgust. “And you and I are the ones left picking up his pieces, we are.” She points to me. “You stay away from him, Heather, if you know what’s good for you. Don’t ever talk to him outside the Hotel. Ever. You hear what I’m saying?”
I nod.
Sister J sighs. “It’s good advice. I love my godson, but he’s a dangerous man. What can you do?”
Is there a mark on me? No way am I going to ask. Both answers contain major drawbacks.
An hour later after various interviews on the street, including Zeke with his droopy pants, we return to the kitchen.
“I loved that lady! She’s wonderful.” I raise a bag of bread off the yellow plastic bakery tray and set it on the worktable. Garlic bread to go with Jimmy’s “minestrone,” which means cans and cans of vegetables dumped into water with some bouillon cubes, macaroni, and kidney beans. Donations have been on a diet lately.
“You gotta love LaQueesha. I’ll be in my office if you need me, doll.”
She turns and trudges through the doorway, flips on the lamp, and shuts the door.
Sister J is the Atlas of the North Avenue area. It’s easy to say, “The poor aren’t my responsibility. They got themselves there, they can get themselves out.” And most people do say that, if not by their words, then by their actions. But then people like this woman give their lives, like Jesus did, to whoever will reach out and take them. Not because they deserve it, but because she has so much life to give away.
Serving God makes little sense down here at the Hotel, the last stop on the line for many people. But there has to be that last stop, doesn’t there? And Jesus is here too. He can’t help but be.
I had so many theories there on the hill, and none of them felt like bone or bled like skin. None of them were once an innocent little baby who cried out in pain or laughed in amusement. None of those ideas looked out of eyes glistening with the wet of life, looked out over used syringes and condoms and men like Knox Dulaney, eyes filled wit
h anger because any other emotion costs too much.
* * *
My bed feels better and better these days. I’m preparing to leave for Minnesota in just a few days. Already it’s almost too late in the year for the trip we’re making, but it has been a warmer fall than usual up north, so Jolly and I may be just fine.
Jace climbs into bed looking like a once-wet dog now dried by a trek in the hot sun and ready for a long lie-down on the porch. I don’t know how he does it. “How you doing, hon?”
“Tired. What you got going tomorrow?”
“Actually, a lighter day. And I’ll go to the Hotel for a couple of hours in the afternoon.”
I curl my fists around the top of the sheet. “Krista disappeared and we can’t find her anywhere.”
“I thought something was bothering you when I called earlier. No idea where she is?”
“LaQueesha’s going to ask around.”
He leans up and looks over at me. “LaQueesha?”
“Yep. She loves blue.”
“Hopefully they’ll find her soon.”
I lean up on my elbow. “Why is it so hard for some people, Jace? I mean, here you’ve got kids born into the right family, all the right circumstances, and the only reason they amount to anything is because their parents buy their way out of their troubles until they’re old enough to get with the program. And then you’ve got the people who come into the Hotel. I swear, they’re not that different. They just never had the cushion.”
“No. You’re right there.”
“I wish I knew what the answer is.”
“If you figure it out, tell the world.” He smiles. “You’re the answer, Heather. Surely you see that, don’t you?”
And yeah, I’m just one woman and all that. But maybe he’s got a point.
Okay, he does have a point.
We can only change the world by changing ourselves. I guess that’s always the very first step. Sister J tacked a Gandhi quote above her desk. “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” Michael Jackson sang about starting with the man in the mirror. Good thought, even if the messenger creeps me out. And Jesus, my Jesus, said, “Inasmuch as you’ve done it to the least of these, you’ve done it unto Me.”
Why must it be so simple yet so difficult?
* * *
I lie in the darkness listening to Jace’s deafening snore and staring at the ceiling.
My grandmother, God rest her, used to say this to me.
Only one life t’will soon be past.
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Granted, she enjoyed a platitude spirituality, but she raised my father, so she did something right.
So here’s the bottom line. Do I want to stand before God’s throne and say I kept a clean house, I made sure my child was athletic, musical, artistic, and got good grades, I was present at all the important church activities, and I changed the oil in my car every three thousand miles because I was such a good steward of my blessings?
Is that all I will have to show for the gift of life?
Dear God, I hope not.
I won’t be able to sleep with the hound dog next to me, so I throw back the covers, tiptoe downstairs, and pull out a fresh spiral notebook. It’s inventory time. One column for blue dots, one for green, and one for yellow. And I begin to take a closer look at my possessions. I set out the cereal boxes, bowls, spoons, and milk on our island. Gone are the days of bacon or sausage, eggs and biscuits. No creamed chipped beef or French toast.
And they’re surviving just fine.
Who knew?
Will enters the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. He takes it black. I wish I was half as cool as he is. Now if I could just get him to remember to put deodorant on every morning, we’d be doing even better.
“Did you put deodorant on?”
“Sheesh, Mom! Of course!”
I cock my head, and he sets down his cup and runs up the steps.
Okay, so he’s not above the occasional lie. But neither am I, especially when Carmen corners me.
He rumbles back down the steps a minute later. “Okay, there. I was just prophesying before.” He grabs the box of Cocoa Krispies and pours some into a bowl. “So what’s going on today with you?”
“Last-minute trip preparations and then I’m going to take a quick run down to the Hotel to drop off a few things.” Okay, more than a few, but they’re going to sell some of this stuff on eBay.
He pours the milk, then, grabbing the bowl and spoon, heads into the family room.
I take a mental inventory of the purged items. Christmas China, sixteen place settings by Lenox. That’ll fetch a pretty price, and honestly, does having holly and bows around your food make it taste any better? It would be one thing if this stuff had been passed down, but all my dad ate off of until the day he died was Corelle.
“And you know!” Will hollers from the couch. “I was wondering if you could maybe change one of your volunteer days to Saturday. That way I could come with you.”
“You’ve got a lot going on Saturdays, bud.”
“I know. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”
And he clicks on the TV to watch Good Morning America. He loves that show.
THIRTY-EIGHT
This morning the Petersons and the Curridges met at Patterson Park. In broad daylight. Near the pagoda.
Laney opened up the Scriptures, we shared Communion, Jace played his guitar, we prayed. Afterwards we ate cake and drank iced tea made with LaQueesha’s special mix.
Church happens, I learned today. It doesn’t always have to be programmed and planned, pulled out of the Body like a splinter from raw flesh, leaving bits behind to fester in its wake. The Holy Spirit put in a visit too. I know that because I’m a Christian, and sometimes, we just know these things.
* * *
Jolly brews me a cup of Red Rose tea. We sit at his kitchen table, opera music filtering in from the hi-fi stereo in the den.
“I never knew you liked opera, Jolly.”
“Helen hated it. So I figured I might as well dig out my old seventy-eights. That’s Caruso right there. Isn’t he something?” Jolly’s face lights up. “My father loved opera.”
“Mine hated it!”
“Maybe he should have married my Helen.”
“Okay, Jolly.” I reach into my purse and pull out his ticket. “Here’s your flight itinerary. I’ll pick you up on Wednesday morning at 4:30 a.m.”
He raises his brows. “That’s cow milking time!”
“I know. But we have to be at the airport two hours before our flight these days with all the security.”
He flips open the flap. “That so? Never been on an airplane before.”
“Nothing to it. It’ll be fun to do together. Now is there anything you’ll need? We’ll have to take a canoe ride to Xavier’s place. The girl at the library found out the general proximity of his parcel. So you’ll want to pack warm. Do you have a suitcase?”
“I do. In fact”—he points toward the door—“I’m already packed.”
An army green duffle bag rests on the floor.
“Oh, Jolly. I’m so glad you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.” I can’t help myself—I throw my arms around his neck and give him a giant hug.
“Now, now!” he says. “Now, now!”
“You’re just a treasure.” I pull back.
“I was wondering if I might come with you down to that hotel of yours sometime. See if they might need an extra pair of hands.”
“How about tomorrow?”
He scratches his cheek, the scritch-scritch of his stubble sounding like small maracas. “Well, now. I think that can be arranged. Of course, I’ll need to check my overflowing social calendar first.”
I do believe I see a sparkle in those eyes. Tiny, yes, but right there.
“Hey, Jolly. What happened to most of the dolls?” At least three-quarters of them didn’t show up for duty today.
“I sent the o
nes I’ve always disliked to a doll museum. Helen’s gone, Heather. And I never found her compassion for those ugly things.”
“I don’t think she’d mind.”
“You kidding? She’d have had a fit.”
* * *
I dial Carmen. “Hey, girl!”
“Heather! How are you?”
“Good. Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“Me either. So here’s the deal.”
I tell her about the paint from the Summerville Foundation just sitting there. “What do you think? Would the women of St. Matthews want to take a day and paint? It would be good PR for the school.”
“Oh my gosh, yes! Are you kidding?”
My eyes blink of their own accord and my head is thrown back with the force of her enthusiasm. “Really?”
“Absolutely. You know, it’s not that we don’t care, Heather. We’re clueless, not callous.”
Well, that sure sounds like a different song than what they were singing awhile ago. I like it.
“Okay, then! Well, good. I’m going away for a week to find an old friend, so let’s plan for something after that?”
“Great. I’ll get the buzz going.”
See, Carmen’s not so bad. I don’t know why I have such a hard time giving people a chance.
Okay, she deserved every bit of it, but still.
* * *
Jolly called at least four times today and came over twice, body taut with anticipation. His one duffel found a mate who came to the marriage with brand-new clothes from Target. Will is trying not to let his natural excitement show through the unnatural sulk. I watch him inspect and approve Jolly’s purchases, see the longing in the movements of his sensitive hands, and I’d love to take him out of school to come with us. But I can’t let him witness what might happen. It’s my penance, my sin, and my time to face the consequences.
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