Easier Said Than Done

by Nikki Woods

  Cleaning only took an hour and that included watering the plants. My grandmother certainly didn’t pass on her meticulous genes to me. For the most part, I just dusted, scrubbed, or mopped dirt visible to the eye.

  Mama Grace’s room was last. Everything was exactly as it was when she was living—as if she had just run across the street to the neighbor to borrow some cho cho and would soon be back.

  The steel-frame twin beds were neatly made, her many French perfumes and scented powders arranged in alphabetical order on the oak dresser. One lonely dress was flung carelessly over the door as if my grandmother had returned late from a cocktail party and was too tired or too tipsy to hang the floral creation in the closet. I spun and looked in the opposite direction. The armoire consumed an entire wall. I ran my hand over the intricate detail of the dark stained wood, and peeked inside at the impossibly small space where I played hide and seek as a child. My Uncle Peter built and fashioned it inside the bedroom as his final project for carpentry school two weeks before he was shot and killed in a robbery gone wrong.

  Even years later, Mama Grace’s chest would puff with pride when telling the story. It was his most inspired and only finished piece. The armoire now belonged to me, but I’d have to take it apart piece by piece to get it out of the house. I guess like me, Uncle Peter, thought Mama Grace would be around forever and there would be no need to remove the armoire from her space.

  Finally, I made it to the desk. Pa-pa spent much of his days and nights sitting at this desk reviewing invoices, scratching off number after number, and adding them up again until the totals were correct. Some of the grooves and indentations, reminders of his frustration, were fat enough to hold my ring finger. A cubbyhole was added later and each compartment held a myriad of office necessities: paperclips, rubber bands, and erasers.

  An old quill pen rested next to a dried pot of black ink faded to a dark gray. My grandfather wrote his first letter with that pen. My mom said it took him two days to get one paragraph on paper and frustrated him so much he never wrote another letter. I opened the top desk drawer and then slammed it shut. Guiltily, I glanced over my shoulder, feeling like a five-year-old in danger of being caught stealing.

  It was too damn quiet, almost eerie; so I turned on the old radio that had kept my grandfather company every day. It was still propped up on three yellowing Perry Mason novels. He must have gotten it at the turn of the nineteenth century. It was still set to the same news station.

  As expected, all of my grandmother’s papers were in order: bills, receipts, tax information, all filed according to the date. A manila envelope lay on top of the desk and with shaky fingers, I pulled out the letter and unfolded it carefully as if it might disintegrate if handled too roughly. The familiar scrawl tugged at my heart.

  Did she use Pa-pa’s quill pen or just grab a regular, everyday ballpoint? I really wanted to believe she used the quill pen. The letter was dated more than a year earlier.

  November 1, 2010

  My Dearest Kingston, First let me apologize if this letter is hard to read. The worse thing about getting old is you don’t have control over things anymore. My hands are shaking. I can’t get my eyes to focus, but I’m not complaining. I’ve lived a good life.

  Kingston, I know that I’m dying. The doctor says it’s cancer. I’m not sure how long I have to live so I want to start taking care of my affairs now.

  I have chosen you; and though I know that you don’t quite understand why as yet, I hope as you look through my papers and read my instructions, it all will be made clear. Know that I have every faith that you will execute my wishes fairly, wisely, and with love.

  My attorney has my Last Will and Testament and is to contact you immediately following my burial. Many of my closest friends and family, including my children will be vexed with me at first. But then, Kingston, they will be vexed with you because you will have the power. They’re just looking for a handout and I’m not going to be the one to give it to them. They have done nothing to deserve it. They’re going to feel slighted. It’s human nature, I guess; and you will have to be strong. Ya’ hear me, girl! If they try to fight it, fight back. Stand your ground, Kingston. I remember when you were three. You were such a stubborn little thing, following your Pa-pa everywhere and for the life of you, just could not understand why he wouldn’t let you drink out his favorite cup. You asked once and he told you no. So you watched and waited. The first time he turned his back – there you were. I have never seen a three-year-old so drunk up before. You got so sick and then you never looked at the cup again. Kingston, I need you to be that stubborn now.

  I did the best I could, Kingston, but my family has not turned out quite the way I thought they would. I had high hopes for each of my children. Your mother is the only one that didn’t disappoint me. I think God was punishing me by taking her away so early. I think he was vexed because I did not do as well with my other children. In turn, they did a poor job with their own children. I love all my children dearly, Kingston, despite their faults, but I don’t like them very much. If I could do it all over again, I would be much sterner, try to give them some backbone. But I guess that is just the foolish wish of an old woman. I can only try to make my wrongs right in the best way I know how.

  Also, you’re going to hear many stories. Some of them will be true, but most of them will be lies. It’ll be hard for you, but remember who you are. What people say can never change that. You have strong blood running through your veins, Pickney. There is one thing though that I want you to hear from me. All the whispers you’ve heard about your Pa-pa’s other women and illegitimate children are true. It’s true, but it’s okay. I loved your Pa-pa with all my heart and he loved me. I have no doubt about that. He was a good man that took care of his family. And Kingston, he loved you more than anything in this world. Don’t let the mistakes of a simple man change how you feel about him. He was a man of integrity.

  I am going to close this letter. Thank you for indulging an old woman’s ramblings.

  Kingston, I will always be with you. If you need me, just look to the sky.

  My love always,

  Mama Grace

  I was absolutely still. I re-read the letter, waited, then read it again, my shoulders sagging at the thought of what lay ahead. If I didn’t love my grandmother as much as I did, I would have left right then, gone back to Chicago. If the trouble to come was only half of what my grandmother predicted, things were gonna get ugly.

  Uncle Winston snored loud enough this time to wake himself up. He stood up and stretched, then walked in the kitchen and rumbled through the refrigerator, Toy skipping at his heels. I stuffed most of the papers still scattered on top of the desk back into the drawer and tucked the letter in the back pocket of my shorts.

  “I’ll have to send Queenie to the store. Nothing in here to eat attall’.” What Uncle Winston really meant was that all the Red Stripe was gone.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage,” I said with more gusto than I actually felt.

  “I’ll still have her pick up some things. We can’t have you starving, now can we?” Uncle Winston shoved on his baseball cap and hiked up his pants. “You sure you and Bianca going to be okay here by yourselves? Maybe Queenie can sleep over ‘till after de’ burial just to keep you company.”

  “No, really, we’ll be fine.” I followed him to the front door.

  “All right then. Queenie'll be here in the morning and will still come every day to take care of things until we figure out what’s gonna happen to the house. If ya’ need anything else just let her know. We’ll settle up with her when you leave.” Just like him to put someone off—to not even consider that Queenie might need her money now.

  “Have all the arrangements been made for Mama Grace’s funeral?” I asked suddenly.

  “Yah. Mama had taken care of everything long before she got sick, y’know. Paid for it and everything. They just followed her instructions at the funeral parlor. The burial is the day after tomo
rrow.” Uncle Winston jiggled his keys in his pocket and started down the steps. “All right then, Kingston, I’ll check on you tomorrow; going to head up the hill now, don’t wanna vex your auntie by being late for dinner.” And with that, he was gone.

  I turned and went inside the house, never feeling more alone.

  Chapter 8

  After I unpacked my bags, not much was left to do but wait for Bianca. I left a message for Mama Grace’s attorney before plugging up my laptop and making sure my cell phone was on the charger. Sitting on the verandah, I prayed for a cool breeze and tried to concentrate on reading my book again, but even James Patterson couldn’t capture my attention. Too many thoughts parlayed back and forth inside my head. I checked on the dogs, then wandered aimlessly around the garden. After a few minutes I gave in and headed back inside with purposeful strides, Toy right on my heels. Work was the only thing that could possibly help.

  Phone calls to Scooby and his manager proved fruitless, so I powered on my laptop, and still amazed that my grandmother had ventured into the 20th century – logged on to the wireless internet connection. I plopped onto the floor and soon Toy was curled up against my leg, her butt propped up against my thigh. I rubbed her belly as I opened up my email account. As expected, it was full but at least I had something constructive to do that didn’t require too much brain-power. Five emails from Jonetta were marked “URGENT” so I opened those first.

  “Yes, please schedule all of my appointments for the following week.” I mouthed the words as I punched them out on the keyboard. “Yes, please let Mr. Mansini know that I had to leave town for a family emergency and if he needs to contact me he can do so by email. Yes, it is important that I talk to Scooby. Have his manager email me with a good time to call later today.

  No, I’m not sure when I will be back in the office so direct all urgent matters to Mr. Mansini.” I typed in my grandmother’s phone number before clicking the send button. I quickly deleted all of the junk e-mails before sending messages to Essence and Keela just to let them know that I made it safely. I almost e-mailed a “Dear John” letter to Randy, but what would be the point? After a few more quick replies, I was done. I grabbed a pillow off the couch, lay down on the floor and smiling brown eyes danced into focus.

  Damon: just one more thing to figure out. Too proud to get the scoop from Uncle Winston, I had to work things out on my own. But with nothing to go on, my imagination was running wild. With Damon in such close proximity, I was bound to bump into him. We might have to be in the same room, maybe even talk. Was I ready for that? A blinding flash of red burst through my brain at just the thought of our eyes meeting and I swore with frustration. Even with a lifetime of preparation, I wouldn’t be ready for that. Not after what he did.

  The phone rang and I jumped off the floor, dragging my laptop with me. The familiar voice sent a surge of warmth through me.

  “Keela! How are you? I just sent you an e-mail.” I sat down at the small desk and cradled the mustard yellow phone with my shoulder.

  “I know, I just got it. That’s why I’m calling, silly. I had to send the kids out to recess before I could call you back.”

  “You’re calling from work?”

  “Where else would I be calling from, Kingston?”

  “I guess my point, Keela,” I said, “is that this is a pretty expensive call. Your principal might not appreciate your making it on their dime.” I wrapped the phone cord around my finger and opened up a game of solitaire on my laptop.

  “If they figure out it’s me, I’ll just pay for it. No big deal.” Keela paused. “So how’s everything?”

  I clicked on the deck of cards and sighed. “Pretty much as I expected. There’s not one person here to pay their respects and that blows my mind. I thought a few of the closer family members would show up. But then this is my family we’re talking about. So it’s quiet, I’m bored, and ready to get back to my life.”

  “If you need me to come out there, I will. My thong’s already packed. I’m sure the school can get a substitute for the substitute.” She giggled.

  “You in a thong? I’ll pass.” Chuckling, I dragged the ace of spades to the top of the screen. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it. One of my cousins is going to stay with me and kind of go through some of Mama Grace’s things.” I looked at the small pictures that lined the desk. One was of my mother in pigtails climbing a tree. Another of me, also in pigtails, at about the same age. It took my breath away how much I looked like her.

  “What else is wrong, Kingston? I know you’re sad because of your grandmother, but it seems like there is something else.” Her gentle prodding was all I needed. The barrier broke and I sobbed out the tale of Mama Grace’s letter making me the executor of her will, the animosity from the family, and Randy’s betrayal in one long breath. Keela listened, inserting comforting sounds at appropriate intervals.

  “Poor baby,” she said when I was done. The tears had gradually dried up and I felt better, cleared. I appreciated Keela’s friendship in times of crisis. Whereas Essence tended to approach situations like a volcano spewing lava, Keela was calming. But when she was sure I was properly subdued, she got mad.

  “I can’t believe that trifling jerk would do this to you. And with that white girl,” she spat with venom. “I always knew something wasn’t right with him.”

  I grabbed a tissue from the Kleenex box on the antique curio cabinet and blew loudly.

  “His loss. He doesn’t deserve you.” It was the typical best friend answer, but I was glad she said it. I didn’t realize that I needed to hear I wasn’t to blame until she uttered the words.

  “I know, I know.” I wiped my nose again. “It’s just been a lot all at once, you know?”When tears threatened again to blur my vision, I attempted to lighten the conversation. “So, what’s going on at home? I know it’s only been four hours since I left but I miss you guys already!”

  Keela sucked in her breath and I could practically hear her hopping around in her seat. “ Girl, you missed it. Henry and Darryl had to throw this ghetto chick out of the salon while I was getting my hair highlighted. You didn’t tell me they got down like that? I felt like I was on someJerry Springer type show.”

  “All this time, Henry’s been my neighbor and doing my hair, I’ve never even seen him raise his voice.”

  “Well, he certainly did this morning. Apparently the girl thought Darryl had been looking at her boyfriend the wrong way when he dropped her off for her appointment. She was fussing about it the whole time until Henry called her out and then it was on. She got to hollering and cussing and calling Darryl all out of his name. All I heard was Darryl, HIV and young black men and that was all she wrote. If she thought Darryl was a soft, she doesn’t think so now because he picked her up about fifteen feet off the ground and tossed her out the shop.

  “You are lying!”

  “Kingston, if I’m lying then may lightening strike me right now. I’ve never seen anything like it. And you know she called the police. But everyone vouched for Darryl so they took a complaint and left it at that.”

  “Never a dull moment.”

  “And, girl, Essence is tripping. She called from Ohio or wherever the hell she is and I could tell from her voice that she’s up to something. She says she’s on a buying trip for the salon, but do you really need to go out of town for scented oil and nail polish remover?”

  “I haven’t heard from her, but she's been particularly sneaky lately.”

  “It’s a man!” we said at the same time. “It’s gotta be,” I added. “It’s just like Essence to take the dick on a road trip. Any idea who it is?”

  “Not a clue. She hasn’t said a word about anyone new.”

  “Well, she’s going through quite a bit of trouble to keep this one undercover.” I could hear the faint ringing of a school bell.

  “Uh oh. That’s the five-minute warning bell. I don’t have much time left so enough about her, what about you? Have you gotten your pipes oil
ed yet?”

  “I’m not here for that, Keela,” I replied almost too quickly.”

  “That don’t mean you can’t get some while you there. Girl, you in Jamaica. You betta find you a Dexter!”

  “Keela, I’ve been here exactly four hours. You think men just walk around with their penises slung over their shoulders looking for women to service? Besides, I’ve had more than enough Dexters in my life; thank you very much!” I grinned. I knew what was coming next.

  “You can never, and I mean never, have too many Dexters!”

  I refocused my attention on the solitaire game, moving the queen of hearts to the king of clubs. “You are not going to worry me, Keela. You’re starting to sound more like Essence everyday!”

  “Well, Essence ain’t sleeping alone every night either. And for the record, if I recall correctly, it’s been almost one year since you last got you some good stuff and two years since you had your last orgasm! Randy has been hell on your sex life.” Keela continued through my protests. “Look, I’m your best friend. Who knows you better than me? I’m trying to help you out. You go without good sex for too long, not only will your stress level shoot way up, but your skin will break out! And a diva can’t have bad skin.”

  I glanced at the clock. “Girl, this is going to be the most expensive therapy session you’ve ever conducted. They’re burying Mama Grace the day after tomorrow and I figure a few days after that, I’ll be ready to come home.”

  “Aiiiiight! Let a sistah know and she may come get you from the airport.”

  “You got it.” Then, my voice dropped to a level just a notch above a whisper, even though I was alone in the house. “Keela?”

  “Yeah, girl?”

  “Damon’s here. He helped take care of Mama Grace before she died.” I closed my eyes as Keela drew in a breath out of surprise. “What? Are you sure?”