“Well, that might be hard to do today. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring them when I come down there this week.”
“Okay. Did he leave us a lotta eggs?”
“Yes.”
“All different colors?”
“Yes.”
“LL. Come here! Hurry up! Aunt Marilyn said the Easter Bunny is real and he left us some candy and eggs at her house and she say she bringing ’em when she come!”
I can hear him jumping up and down and howling with pure joy in the background.
“Where’s Lovey?”
“Her sleep.”
“How’s she doing, Tiecey?”
“She still be just doing the same old thing.”
“What’s that?”
“All she do is eat and sleep and watch TV.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s not there?”
“Nope.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“She didn’t tell you what time she’d be back?”
“Her just said it would be late.”
“What time did she leave?”
“Late.”
“Well, when did she leave?”
“I just told you. Late.”
“So you mean this was last night?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“And she hasn’t called at all?”
“Nope.”
“Did she ever get her cell phone turned back on?”
“Nope.”
“Tiecey, don’t you ever get scared?”
“Scared of what?”
“Of being there by yourself?”
“I ain’t by myself. LL here and so is Grandma Lovey.”
“Do you know what to do if there’s an emergency?”
“What emergency?”
“Like if the house caught on fire or Lovey got really sick or something happened to LL and you couldn’t help them. What would you do?”
“Call 9-1-1.”
“That’s right.”
“But what if I got drowned or something, who would call 9-1-1 for me?”
That’s a good one. I know LL doesn’t know how. And Lovey might not remember. “As soon as you felt like you might be drowning, you could tell LL to call 9-1-1 because he always listens to you, doesn’t he?”
“He would if I was to be drowning.”
“Okay. Enough about drowning. Especially since you don’t have a pool, hallelujah.”
“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” she sings it.
“Is there something there for you guys to eat?”
“We already ate. We had cereal. But LL used up all the milk.”
“What about Grandma Lovey?”
“Her had oatmeal.”
“Okay. I’m going to do this. I’m going to wait a few hours and then call back to see if your mother comes home.”
“Okay.”
“But if she gets back before I call, would you have her call me?”
“Okay.”
“Wait a minute. I changed my mind, Tiecey. You know how proud Aunt Marilyn is because you’re such a smart little girl, don’t you?”
“I do now,” she says.
“Well, this is what I need you to do. I need you to write my phone number down.”
“Just a minute,” she says, and I’m waiting for the phone to hit the floor like usual, but it doesn’t. I hear her running away and I hear her running back. “What is it?”
I give it to her and ask her to repeat it. Which she does.
“Okay, Tiecey. As soon as your mother walks in that front door I want you to take the portable phone into the bathroom—anywhere she can’t see you—and call me. Can you do that?”
“Yes. But why you don’t want her to see me call?”
“Well, I’m a little worried that your mother might not be feeling so good and I don’t want to make her feel worse.”
“You mean she on them drugs again. I ain’t stupid.”
“I’m just concerned.”
“Me, too. That’s why come me and LL don’t like her when she act crazy. We know it’s from them drugs. They told us at school what drugs do to people’s minds. I told her what they said. I showed her the piece of paper they gave us, but I don’t think she read it, ’cause she just won’t stop.”
“It’s hard for some people to stop.”
“That’s what her always be saying. But if she don’t like doing something she should not do it. Ain’t nobody making her. Just say no!”
“That’s true. But sometimes people need to get a little help and then that makes it easier for them to stop.”
“Well, help her then, Aunt Marilyn.”
“I will. So you and LL just stay right there in the house, and keep an eye out on Lovey to make sure she doesn’t do anything to hurt herself.”
“Okay. But Grandma Lovey ain’t crazy. She just old and can’t remember stuff. Me and LL always help her remember.”
“That’s nice,” I say. “Give her a kiss for me. And I’ll call you in a few hours. Or you’ll call me, right?”
“Right. Bye.”
After I hang up I just sit there. My heart is beating too fast. I hope Joy hasn’t gone off the road again. For some reason, it feels like a good idea to go to church, even though Easter is my least favorite Sunday to go because it’s always packed with extra sinners, and most of the women’s faces are hidden by big bright hats, their bodies adorned by just-off-the-rack spring suits. They come late, and walk down the center aisle searching for a seat as if they’re vacationing runway models. I look for something churchy in my closet that fits and a hat that barely makes it over these braids.
Allen Temple is packed not simply because it’s Easter, but because it’s Allen Temple, one of the biggest Baptist churches in California. The minister preaches from his heart. I feel his energy travel over the ocean of hats and penetrate mine. I pray for my sister. That she be allowed to discover grace and find peace without drugs. That her hair grows. That some of her pain be driven from her and given to me because I think I can handle it. I pray for her kids. That they find they have a chance to grow up knowing they were loved. That Joy learns to surrender long enough to show them. I pray for my mother. That if she can’t ever recover what she’s lost or what she’s losing, that she not feel like she’s lost. I pray that we make her feel necessary and valued as long as possible. That she comes to know comfort, even if I can’t provide it myself. I pray for my children. That they stay safe and make good decisions. That they be happy, thoughtful, and caring human beings. That they have the strength to get up if they fall down. I pray that Arthurine and Prezelle live longer than they ever expected and love each other like they’re nineteen. I pray for Leon. That he finds what he needs. And for myself, all I want is for You to understand that even though I may not appear to be listening to what You’re whispering in my ear or seeing what should be obvious, know that I am trying to find my way, even when it appears like I’m deaf and blind.
I wait until I get in the car to check my cell phone for messages. I don’t have any. I start the engine. The phone remembers the last number I called, so I press SEND. It rings once twice three times, and by the fourth, I’m worried. I hang up. Dial manually this time. On the first ring, Tiecey picks up. “Is she there?”
“Who?”
“Your mother, Tiecey.”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“What took you so long answering the phone?”
“I was washing Grandma Lovey’s hair in the bathroom.”
“Oh. Where’s LL?”
“Playing video games.”
“Is that all he ever does?”
“Yep.”
“Can he read?”
“I don’t know.”
I know this is not the time to ask these questions but I don’t know what else to ask right now. I can’t sit around the rest of the day in that big-ass house waiting by the phone. I just can’t.
“I’m driving down there,” I hear myself say.
“Will you bring our Easter egg candy?”
“Yes. Now, if your mother comes home and she’s acting like she’s been doing something, don’t tell her I’m coming, okay?”
“Okay. Do you have the candy right there?”
“I certainly do.”
“Goody goody. I’ma run and tell LL right now!”
“Wait!”
But she’s already hung up.
Of course I don’t have any Easter egg anything. But before I hit the freeway I stop at home and get out of this corny dress. I put on my lavender sweats, a pair of sneakers. I stop by the drugstore and buy three big bags of shiny green nests, a few bags of jelly beans, some with little white speckled eggs full of malted candy, and two giant chocolate bunny rabbits. I run inside the nearest grocery store and there are a few cartons of dyed eggs left. I buy one with glitter and one that’s plain pastels.
It’s almost four o’clock when I get on the freeway not far from my house. The first hour is bumper-to-bumper because all the folks are heading back to L.A. When I hit the stretch of highway where I got caught in the parade, it feels like smooth sailing, until I get to the 99 and I’m right back in the holiday traffic again. I’m only about forty or fifty minutes from Fresno, but at the rate I’m going, it might take two hours. My temples are jumping. I’m trying not to be so impatient, but something in me is making it hard. I pick up the phone again. This time I hear Lovey’s voice. “Hi there, Lovey!”
“Hi there to you, too!” she says.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling just fine. And you?”
“Lovey, this is Marilyn.”
“I know who this is!”
I think I hear some kind of commotion or something going on in the background, but I can’t tell what it is. “Lovey, where’s Tiecey?”
“Oh, she’s back there crying and what have you, talking to them policemen.”
“What policemen?”
“The ones that’s in the house. The ones that came to tell us that Joy done went and got herself kilt but this time it’s for real.”
“Lovey you don’t know what you’re saying so let me speak to Tiecey or one of the police officers, right now!”
“Kojak? Come get this phone and tell this girl that my daughter is dead as dead can be. Wait a minute. I forgot to tell her how it happened. She was walking across the street and…wait a minute. Here, Kojak. You tell her.”
I pull the car over onto the emergency lane and put my flashers on. I’m praying that this is either a bad joke or a big fucking mistake. That Lovey is really just hallucinating because she used to love watching Telly Savalas: “That is one sexy white man,” she’d say week after week after week, each time sounding even more astonished than the last.
“Hello, ma’am. And you are?”
Hearing a strange man’s voice on the line is startling. “I’m Lovey’s daughter and Joy’s sister, Marilyn. Who are you?”
“I’m Officer Daryl Strayhorn, and I’m here with your mother and Ms. Dupree’s two children. The little girl told me you’re on your way here, driving from Oakland.”
“Wait a minute. What are you doing there? And tell me what my mother just said isn’t true. She’s got some kind of dementia so she probably got this all wrong. Now please, tell me what’s really going on.”
“Well, unfortunately, what your mother has told you is pretty accurate. Your sister was crossing the street when a drunk driver ran a red light.”
“A drunk driver hit her?”
“Yes. He was going about sixty miles an hour. I’m very sorry, ma’am.”
“So you mean my sister is really dead?”
“I’m afraid she is, ma’am.”
I sit here and watch the blur of speeding cars whiz by. It feels like I’m at the movies. The drive-in. But I don’t like this ending. And why do taillights have to be red? I roll the window down to let some air in. I inhale deeply and then slowly blow it out. “When did this happen?”
“Last night, about nine.”
“And we’re just now finding out?”
“Well, your sister didn’t have any ID on her. But someone at the scene told us later what he thought her name was. It took some doing to locate your family.”
“And who was this person?”
“Well, all I know is his name is Earl. Your sister was leaving a Narcotics Anonymous meeting but apparently a couple of people knew her.”
“And my sister is dead?”
“She is.”
“Where is she right now?”
“Well, she’s at the morgue.”
“The morgue. So she’s not in jail. Not in rehab. Not at the store. Not at McDonald’s. But at the fucking morgue!” I hit the steering wheel so hard that my palm stings and immediately starts throbbing.
“For what it’s worth, I can say that she didn’t suffer any even though the impact of the vehicle at that speed threw her more than thirty yards, her death was instant. I’m very sorry.”
“How are the kids?”
“They seem to be holding up okay. I know this is tough, but we’re going to need you or another family member to go down to the morgue to identify her as soon as possible. How long before you get here?”
“I don’t know. An hour. Or less. Traffic is bad. I don’t know.”
“Well, would you mind stopping there first to get it over with?”
“You mean go down there tonight?”
“You won’t have to see her physically if you choose not to. They can show you a photograph from her shoulders up, probably just her face.”
“I don’t think I can do this tonight. It’s too much.”
“Based on my experience, ma’am, the longer you have to think about it, the more difficult it gets. I know it’s like a bad dream, but these kinds of tragedies always are.”
“I don’t believe this shit. She was trying.”
“I don’t know if this will make you feel any better, but there were enough witnesses who saw the whole thing and apparently the fella who was driving tried to flee the crime scene but some good citizens actually followed him because the front end of the ambulance was pretty messed up and his tire was flat. They called us and that’s how we were able to apprehend them.”
“You mean an ambulance driver hit her?”
“Yes.”
“Was their siren on?”
“Witnesses claim that was the case.”
“So they were on their way to go help someone, then?”
“Well, that’s not quite clear to us at this moment. It’s being investigated.”
“You mean they weren’t going to save someone’s life?”
“I’m not in a position to confirm or refute that, ma’am. But you’ll find out the truth soon enough, believe me.”
“So there were two of them?”
“Yes. The driver is a paramedic and the emergency technician with him is female.”
“Where are they now?”
“They’re both in custody.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“I know it’s a lot to handle all at once, but there’s no easy way to tell someone.”
“I’ll try to get there as soon as I can.”
“Please don’t rush. Pull over and take some deep breaths if you need to.”
“I’ve already done that.”
“Good. Do you know how to get there?”
“Isn’t it downtown by the courthouse, near the Fulton Mall?”
“That’s correct. We’ll have one of our officers stay here with the children and your mother until you get here.”
“Thank you. May I speak to the little girl, please?”
“Yes. Here she is right now.”
“Tiecey, Aunt Marilyn is so sorry to hear about this. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you okay?”
“Yes. So Mama ain’t coming back then, is she?”
“No, it doesn’t look like she is.”
“I knew this was gonna happen one day.”
“And just how could you know it, Tiecey? Please tell me.”
“I just did.”
“Well, you go try to comfort LL and Lovey and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You didn’t forget our candy, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
I hang up and for the next ten minutes I drive like I’m drunk. But I can’t afford to lose it. Not out here. And not right now. The farther I go, the more I realize that I can’t afford to lose it anywhere or anytime.
“Get a grip, Marilyn,” I say out loud as I pull over again and take a series of deep breaths to slow my heart down. When it seems like it has, I open the ashtray and feel for the piece of scrap paper I scribbled the number to Leon’s resort on one day when I was thinking of calling him but changed my mind. I dial it, but nothing happens. I’m out of range. I get back on the freeway and drive a few more miles. Try again. Still no service. I do this every few miles until I hear a ring and to my surprise, a young woman with a Southern drawl answers, apparently from the front desk. “Yes, hello, I need to get in touch with Mr. Grimes, please.”
“Excuse me, did you say Mr. or Mrs. Grimes, ma’am?”
“I said mister. I’m Mrs. Grimes.”
“But I just saw you in the gift shop across the way just moments ago, didn’t I?”
“What did I look like?”
“Pretty. Tall. A body I’d kill for.”
“And how old would you guess me to be?”
“Thirty-two or four tops.”
“It wasn’t me. I’m his wife calling from California and I’m overweight and forty-four years old so would you mind relaying this message to him for me, please?”
“Oh, my! I sincerely apologize for my error in judgment. I may very well have made a mistake.”
“No worries. Just tell Mr. or Mrs. Grimes—I really don’t give a shit which one—that Leon’s mother eloped in Reno last week and married her seventy-one-year-old boyfriend, Prezelle, a retired mortician, and she moved out of the house and now lives on the ninth floor of a senior citizen complex with a three-bridge view. He’ll just be thrilled.”
“What great news! I’ll get this to his bungalow right away, although I think he’s in session right now.”
“Wait. I’m not finished.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grimes. Go on. I’m writing this all down.”
The Interruption of Everything Page 30