Fannie eyed her a moment. “Did he ever talk about me, or his father perhaps?”
Ibby looked down, trying to figure out how to answer without upsetting Fannie. “Well, no, not really.”
“Whatever do you mean? Either he did or he didn’t.”
Ibby fiddled with her napkin, then looked over at Fannie. “I could tell how he felt about you by the way he looked at your picture.”
“What picture?” Fannie tilted her head.
“The one he used to carry in his wallet.”
“Oh,” Fannie said. “And how was that?”
“In a loving sort of way.” Ibby added, “I think he missed you.”
“I’m glad to hear that, dear.”
Their conversation was cut short when four waiters approached the table with a large silver platter.
“A Baked Alaska for Mademoiselle’s birthday,” one of the waiters said before waving his finger in the air like a baton. “A one, a two, and a three.”
The waiters burst into a barbershop rendition of “Happy Birthday.” All eyes in the restaurant were on Ibby.
“Happy birthday, dear,” Fannie said, holding up her wineglass. In between two meringue doves perched on either end of the domed cake, Happy Birthday was sprawled in a swirly script. It was so pretty, it almost looked like a sculpture. Ibby was about to point that out when she noticed tears streaming down Fannie’s face. Fannie was whispering to herself, making no attempt to wipe them away.
“Fannie, are you okay?” Ibby reached over and touched her hand.
Fannie glanced in her direction, but Ibby could tell she was in a place very far away.
Chapter Seventeen
Doll could see Crow staring out the car window as he pulled the car into the driveway. Doll knew that look. It meant Miss Fannie was in trouble.
Queenie came up beside Doll. “Think Crow’s gone need some help getting Miss Fannie inside.”
By the time Doll got to the car, Crow was trying to get Fannie to move, but Fannie just sat there staring straight ahead, stiff and motionless, as if she’d turned to stone. Ibby was sitting next to her in the back-seat.
Crow touched Fannie’s elbow. “Come on now, Miss Fannie. Time to go inside. I know you can hear me. Let’s go on in the house.”
“Time to have cake and give Miss Ibby her birthday present. Ain’t that so, Miss Fannie?” Doll’s eyes met Crow’s.
Crow went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. “Let’s go on inside, Miss Ibby. Miss Fannie’ll be just a minute.”
Crow escorted Ibby to the back steps, where Queenie was waiting.
She took Ibby inside. “Go have a seat at the dining room table. We got a surprise for you.” Then she whispered to Crow, “What’s going on?”
“No need to whisper, Mama. I can hear you all the way out here,” Doll said. She had managed to get one of Fannie’s legs out of the car. At this rate, Doll thought, it would be tomorrow before she got Fannie inside.
“All I know, the whole way back from the restaurant, Miss Fannie kept talking about getting Master Balfour a birthday present, like he was in the car with us,” Crow said to Queenie.
“Balfour? Why she going on about Master Balfour? She hasn’t mentioned his name in at least ten years,” Queenie said.
Crow removed his cap and scratched his head. “Far as I can tell, Miss Fannie and Miss Ibby were talking about Master Balfour over lunch.”
“Oh, dear Lawd.” Queenie glanced over at Doll. “Better go on over there and help Doll get Miss Fannie into the house. Then we can decide what to do with her.”
Crow and Doll tussled with Fannie a good fifteen minutes before they finally got her out of the car. They led her inside, each supporting an elbow.
“Afternoon, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said as they came through the back door.
Fannie eyed the cake on the kitchen table. “Whose birthday is it?”
“Why, Miss Fannie, you remember. It’s your granddaughter Ibby’s birthday. She’s sitting at the dining room table now. And Doll here is gone bring down the present she made for her. Was your idea, remember?”
Crow had Fannie trudging along in a slow shuffle toward the dining room. “We getting there, sure enough.”
“I’ll be right back.” As Doll slipped past her daddy and up the stairs, she didn’t have a good feeling.
When Doll returned, Fannie was in her chair, and the candles on the cake were lit.
“Come on now. Let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday,’” Queenie said.
As soon as Ibby blew the candles out, Doll presented her with a life-size rag doll with brown yarn hair, a stitched-on face, and clothes that were an exact replica of the clothes Ibby had on, down to the Mary Jane shoes. Fannie, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly turned and pointed at Ibby. “That doll looks just like the little girl,” she said.
“Supposed to, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said.
Ibby stared at the doll with the oddest expression Doll had ever seen. After a few moments, Ibby leaned over and gave Fannie a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, Grandma.”
Ibby put the doll on the chair next to her, sneaking furtive glances as she ate her cake.
Doll motioned for Crow and Queenie to follow her into the kitchen. As soon as the door swung closed, she said, “She don’t like it, Mama. I can tell.”
“You done a mighty fine job on that doll. Looks just like her,” Crow said.
“Don’t make no difference,” Doll said. “Those weren’t happy-to-see-my-new-doll sort of eyes.”
“Oh, she gone like it,” Queenie said. “She just don’t know it yet.”
No sooner had the door closed than they heard a crash. Queenie and Doll rushed back into the room to find Fannie sprawled on the floor, holding her stomach and laughing. One of the cut-crystal water glasses lay shattered next to her.
Queenie motioned to Crow. “Come help get her up, then go and fetch the broom.”
“What happened?” Doll asked Ibby.
“Fannie knocked the glass over with her hand,” Ibby said. “Then she just sort of rolled out of the chair onto the floor and started laughing.”
Doll grabbed Fannie by the arm and tried to pull her up. “Come on, Miss Fannie. You’ve had a long day. We best get you to bed.”
Queenie took Fannie’s other arm, waving Crow and Doll away. “I’ll do it.”
“Need help getting her to her room?” Crow asked.
“We’ll manage just fine, won’t we, Miss Fannie?” Queenie said in a small voice, talking to Fannie as if she were a child.
Doll looked at her watch as her father went into the kitchen to get the broom. “Five o’clock. Lawd Almighty, how did it get so late?”
Crow returned with the broom and handed it to Doll. “That broom about worn out. Best pick up a new one soon ’cause you know it’s bad luck to buy a broom in August.”
Doll swept the glass into a dustpan. “This rate, Daddy, best buy two.”
“So what you gone call her?” Doll asked Ibby, hoping to distract her from all the commotion in the bedroom.
“Who?” Ibby asked.
“Your new friend here.” Doll nodded toward the doll in the chair.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ibby shrugged, staring down at the remnants of the cake on her plate.
“Been a long day. Why don’t you run on upstairs? I’ll be up in a minute.”
After Ibby left, Doll scraped up the last of the glass shards. When she got back to the kitchen, she found Crow digging into a piece of cake he’d cut for himself.
“She don’t like it.” Doll dumped the glass into the trash can.
“If I recall,” Crow said, “you and your mama were going on the other day about how Miss Ibby say Miss Vidrine don’t believe in birthdays. Could be no one ever gave her a doll before. Ever thi
nk of that?”
Doll said, “Maybe you right. Think I better go check on Miss Ibby.”
She was making her way down the hall when she noticed the doll still sitting in the chair where Ibby had left it. As Doll tucked it under her arm, she could hear Queenie in the bedroom, trying to calm Miss Fannie down. After all these years, listening to Miss Fannie when she got this way hadn’t gotten any easier. Doll wondered how a person could become so broken.
When she opened the door to Ibby’s room, Ibby was sitting on her bed.
“You forgot this.” Doll sat down next to her and handed her the doll.
“Oh, I guess I did,” Ibby said, setting it off to the side.
“Don’t you like it?” Doll said.
“It is supposed to look like me?”
“Yeah, supposed to.”
“Do I really look like that, with stringy hair and eyes that never close?”
Doll laughed. “No, baby. Fannie thought you might like someone to keep you company up here, that’s all. Don’t worry what it looks like. Was a silly idea, I guess.”
“Doll?”
“Yes, child?”
“I think I broke Rule Number Two at lunch today. I asked her who Balfour was when she brought up his name.”
Doll stroked Ibby’s hair. “Now listen, them rules just something my mama made up. You’ll learn soon enough there ain’t no rules as far as Fannie is concerned. Just got to roll with the punches. Now listen, before I go, did you find something?”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“Look under your pillow.”
Ibby reached under the pillow and pulled out a rectangular package wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine. She looked at Doll. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
When Ibby slipped off the twine, the paper fell away to reveal a small transistor radio.
“That’s from Queenie and me,” Doll said. “I know how you like music. Music makes everything better, don’t you think?”
Ibby stood up and hugged Doll around the neck. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. It’s the best birthday present ever.”
“Here, hand it to me. Let me see if I can find a station for you. Hard to get reception up here sometimes.” She fiddled with the dial until she found one. “There you go.” She set the radio down on the table next to the bed.
“Up next,” the announcer said, “a hit song by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, one we all love to sing along with, called ‘Rag Doll.’”
Doll grabbed the doll and started dancing around with it as the song played, then grabbed Ibby and got her up and dancing, too. When the song was over, they both collapsed onto the bed, giggling hysterically.
“See what I told you? Music makes everything better.” She kissed Ibby on the forehead. “Now I got to go. I’m sure Queenie’s downstairs waiting on me.”
“Doll?”
Doll stopped on the threshold. “Yes, Miss Ibby?”
“Is Fannie going to be all right?”
Doll scratched her head with her fingernail, trying to figure out how to answer. “Sure she is. She gone be fine. Just one of those days.”
Ibby was staring at Doll as if trying to decide whether to believe her. She got the same eyes as Miss Fannie, Doll was thinking.
“Now you get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Doll said.
As she went down the stairs, a thought occurred to Doll. What if Miss Ibby is like her grandmother? What if she got that crazy gene, too? Like Mama say, you can pick a fight, but you can’t pick your family.
Sometimes that was the part that hurt the most.
When Doll and Queenie arrived at the house the next morning, there was a low whimpering coming from inside the house.
“What is it?” Queenie asked.
“Miss Fannie. I can hear her—she’s in the bedroom,” Doll said.
“I best go check on her.”
Doll followed Queenie to Fannie’s room. Queenie twisted the knob, but the door was locked. They could hear banging on the other side.
“Miss Fannie. It’s Queenie. Open the door.”
There was no answer. Queenie went to the kitchen and returned with a key. When she opened the door, Doll let out a gasp. It looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the room. The dressing table was turned over and the mirror broken, pieces of glass were scattered over the floor, and the photos that had once stood on the dresser were ripped from their frames and strewn about. A white slip dangled from one of the arms of the ceiling fan and was swinging around in circles like a flag. Fannie had a mirror shard in her hand and was brandishing it like a knife as blood dripped onto the floor.
“Now calm yourself, Miss Fannie.” Queenie held her hand out in a conciliatory fashion. “Why don’t you drop that piece of glass and come in the bathroom and let me get you cleaned up?”
Fannie swung the shard around in the air as if she were looking for something to stab.
“Miss Fannie, ain’t no use getting all worked up.” Queenie took a step closer.
Fannie jabbed the glass in Queenie’s direction. Then she began to laugh. A few short laughs at first. Then she threw her head back and began to spin around in circles, her nightgown billowing out around her, her whole body shaking as her laughter grew manic. The dagger of glass fell from her hand. Queenie rushed up and kicked it aside, then grabbed Fannie around the waist and pulled her away from the broken glass on the floor. Fannie collapsed into her arms as if all the life had been stolen from her.
Queenie cautioned Doll to stay back. “Go call Doc Hathaway. Tell him to come right away.”
“You gone be all right in here with her?” Doll had never seen Miss Fannie this bad.
“Just go!”
A few minutes later Doll appeared at the bathroom door. “They coming now. Good thing Doc Hathaway’s on call this morning.”
“Thank the Lawd that hospital only a couple blocks away.” Queenie tied a washcloth around Fannie’s hand. “Help me get her up and dressed before they get here.”
She spoke to Fannie in a low voice and stroked her hair as Doll helped her into her clothes. Just as Doll slipped a shoe on Fannie’s foot, there was a knock at the door.
“Go answer it before Miss Ibby comes down,” Queenie said.
Doll returned with three men in white coats.
“How is she?” the doctor asked.
“Take a look around, Doc. See for yourself,” Queenie said.
Dr. Hathaway placed his bag on the floor next to the bed, took out a syringe, and gave Fannie a shot. Fannie didn’t move.
“Doc,” Queenie said, “this the worst one yet.”
“What brought it on?” Dr. Hathaway asked as he checked Fannie’s vital signs.
“Her son Graham passed,” Doll said. “That started it. Then a few days ago her granddaughter shows up with Master Graham nothing but a bunch of ashes in a jar. If that weren’t enough, somehow, over lunch, Master Balfour’s name came up. Afraid it was all too much for Miss Fannie. Too much.”
“I see,” Dr. Hathaway said.
When he gave the signal, one of the attendants put Fannie’s arm around his neck, grabbed her by the waist, and escorted her out of the room. These episodes happened frequently enough that Doll had a small bag for Miss Fannie packed and ready. She handed it to the other attendant.
“We’ll take her in, see how she does,” the doctor said.
What that meant was, Fannie would be taken to St. Vincent’s Hospital, where she’d stay until the doctor felt she wasn’t a danger to herself or anyone else. Could be a day or two, could be a couple weeks. Never could tell.
“Her hand might need a stitch or two,” Queenie said. “I got it wrapped up tight.”
“I’ll take a look at it as soon as we get to the hospital,” the doctor said. “Oka
y, boys, let’s go.”
“You be good now, Miss Fannie. Don’t you worry none about Miss Ibby. We’ll take good care a her until you get back,” Queenie said as the attendant escorted Fannie down the hall, with Dr. Hathaway following closely behind.
Queenie and Doll stood by the front door, gazing through the etched-glass panel as the attendants loaded Fannie into the ambulance. Ibby appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Where are they taking Fannie?” Ibby asked.
She ran down the stairs, pushed past them, and threw open the front door.
Doll put her hands on Ibby’s shoulders and drew her back. “They just taking her to rest for a few days.”
“But where? Where are they taking her?”
Ibby was waving at Fannie frantically, as though she might never see her again.
“They taking her to St. Vincent’s, Miss Ibby.”
“The crazy hospital?” Ibby asked.
Doll turned Ibby around to face her. “Now listen, baby. They got revolving doors for people like Fannie who need a place to go when the sadness gets to be too much. She’ll be okay. Don’t you worry. She be back soon enough. Now come on.” She gently pulled the girl away from the door. “You gone come to church with us this morning.”
Ibby’s head shot around. “To church?”
Doll put her hands on her hips. “Ain’t you never been to church before?”
“Never.”
“Why’s that?”
“Mama says church is a bunch of garbage.”
“Well then,” Doll said with a tight-lipped smile, “this morning you gonna see for yourself. Then you can make up your own mind about it.”
When Crow pulled up in the driveway about an hour later, Queenie got into the front seat as Doll and Ibby slid into the back of the Chevy Malibu. Doll saw Crow peering at them through the rearview mirror.
“Anyone gone explain what’s going on?” he asked.
“Miss Fannie, she gone off for a few days,” Queenie said.
“I understand.” Crow nodded as he backed out of the driveway. “Sure do.”
After a while, he asked, “Miss Ibby, she going to church with us then?”
“Yes, Daddy. She can keep Birdelia company. We need to go by the house and change into our Sunday clothes first, though.”
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