Gettin’ Merry

by CATHY L. CLAMP; FRANCIS RAY; BEVERLY JENKINS; MONICA JACKSON; GERI GUILLAUME

  Rachel’s gaze landed on Anne and flickered away. She gave a shrug.

  “That’s all right,” Anne said sweetly. “Since this is one of the rudest women I’ve ever met, I suppose that’s all we can expect.”

  Rachel gasped. “Are you calling me rude?” she demanded.

  “The description seems to fit you quite well,” Anne answered.

  Trey looked down at Anne in surprise, but his arm curled around her waist and pulled her close in support.

  “Are you going to stand here and let this woman insult your mother?” Rachel asked Trey.

  Trey studied his mother a moment before answering, his face carefully bland. “Since you’ve done a good job of insulting her so far, I’d call it tit for tat,” he said.

  Anne figured that a person pretty much decided how other people treated her by what she put up with. She’d had about enough of putting up with Rachel, and it was time to nip it in the bud. “I don’t appreciate you calling me fat,” Anne continued. “Don’t do it again or I’ll be calling attention to some of your own physical flaws.”

  “Trey!” Rachel cried.

  He took Anne’s hand. Anne felt his support and caring through the strength of his fingers intertwined with hers. “I’m not going to rescue you, Mom,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this is between you and Anne.”

  Rachel took a deep breath.

  “It’s all about respect. Treat me with it and it’ll be returned in kind,” Anne said.

  A newfound regard mixed with caution shone from Trey’s sisters’ eyes as they studied Anne.

  Rachel turned on her heel and walked rapidly away.

  “She’ll be OK,” his sister Tess said. “She’s been upset over a promotion she lost at work and she’s been having problems with her boyfriend, Ralph. I think your breakup with Renee brought it home. Ralph called it quits with her.”

  Trey frowned. “I don’t think Ralph is any great loss.”

  “Me neither, but you know how Mom is. She has to have some man in tow, even if it’s just a piece of one.”

  His other sister nodded. “Give her some time,” she added.

  “We’d better be going,” Tess said.

  “I’ll see you two later,” Trey said.

  Tess nodded at Anne and Tina’s gaze touched hers. “Good-bye,” they chorused.

  For the first time Anne felt acknowledged, along with the beginnings of a glimmer of respect between them. She realized that she didn’t really care anymore if Trey’s family liked or accepted her. Trey was who mattered. She couldn’t go on basing her self-esteem on other people’s actions, especially when they so often had problems and agendas of their own.

  She laced her fingers through Trey’s. “Let’s go get something to eat,” she said.

  Three days later, Anne was in the kitchen making a sumptuous brunch. Trey had left for the community center to help prepare for the last day of Kwanzaa celebration, the karamu party. She couldn’t wait to wear the African costume that Trey had helped her pick out, a beautiful robe and matching head wrap made of brightly colored kente cloth.

  She’d just slid the muffins into the oven when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Is that you, Anne?”

  “Papa? Yes, it’s me.”

  “We need you home right away,” he said.

  Fear iced through her veins. “What is it?”

  “Grammy’s had a heart attack.”

  Anne’s eyes closed and an involuntary moan came from her throat. “Is—is she . . .”

  “She’s alive. But she’s not doing well and she’s been asking for you.”

  “I’ll be on the next plane out,” Anne said.

  She replaced the phone on the cradle, picked it up, and punched in the number to the community center.

  “May I speak to Trey Fraser?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?” Anne asked, feeling panicky. She needed him.

  “He went to buy some items that we need. He just left and he’ll probably be gone for a couple of. hours. May I take a message?”

  “This is Anne. Tell him—tell him that I have to go back home to Boston. I’ll call him later.”

  She replaced the phone on the receiver, her hands shaking, and then raced to the bedroom to throw her clothes in her suitcase. Her fault, her fault, her fault. The words echoed through her mind. Why hadn’t she called Grammy? Why had she run away instead of working it out like Grammy had asked her? If Grammy died, she . . . she didn’t think she could bear it.

  Chapter 12

  Grammy looked way too small in the ICU bed with all that machinery blinking, whirring, and beeping around her. Silent tears poured down Anne’s face as she watched her. She approached the bed and took Grammy’s hand.

  Her eyes opened and her gaze focused on Anne’s face. “My baby,” she said, her voice full of love. Anne’s throat felt as if it would close with grief and guilt.

  “Grammy, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I wanted to talk to you before—” Grammy coughed, a cough so feeble that it sent tendrils of fear through Anne.

  “Don’t talk. Please, please just concentrate on getting well. Save your strength.”

  “Listen to me, child. Papa and I did you wrong and we realize that. We wanted to make amends. We bought a ticket to Atlanta for that Kwanzaa cow-a-moo party and we were going to leave today and surprise you. Unfortunately, this happened.” Grammy sighed. “You should have seen the African outfit I bought.”

  “You bought an African outfit?” Anne asked, surprise replacing some of her grief.

  “Yep. Head wrap, too.”

  “Oh, Grammy.” A smile glinted through her tears at the thought of Grammy in African garb. “I can’t wait for you to get well so I can see you in it.”

  Grammy squeezed Anne’s hand. “You’re going to have to be strong,” she said.

  “No, no.” Anne shook her head, unwilling to hear.

  “You’re a strong girl. We made a lot of mistakes raising you, Papa and I. If I had it to do over, I’d do it differently. I needed to let you know that and this, too. Despite everything, we must have done something right, because I’m proud of you. Always have been.”

  Anne leaned over and laid her head in her favorite place on Grammy’s stomach, right below her ample breasts. Since she was a toddler, it was the place where she’d run when she needed comfort.

  She lifted her head and looked in Grammy’s eyes. “You’re going to get well. I’m back for good. I promise not to leave you again. Just get well soon and come back home.”

  Grammy smiled at her, a sad smile. “Don’t promise not to leave me. We all have to leave sometime. It’s a part of life. When it’s time to go, we have to move on.”

  Anne buried her head again, smelling her grandmother’s familiar sweet scent, and her tears started afresh.

  “We’re a part of each other, child,” Grammy said. “That’s one thing that can never change.”

  “What do you mean, she said she’s gone back to Boston? Is that all she said?” Trey asked Betty. People bustled around them, busily preparing for the karamu celebration tonight, the last day of Kwanzaa.

  “She said she’d call you.”

  Uneasiness filled him.

  “I’m going home,” he said to Betty.

  “But—”

  “If Anne shows up after all, let her know that I’m home waiting for her.”

  When he walked into his home, the first thing he did was head for the guest bedroom. He stared into the empty closet. She was gone. Back to Boston, she’d said. He didn’t know how to reach her in Boston.

  They’d gone so fast, he’d forgotten for how short a time they’d known each other. There were so many gaps, gaps he thought he’d have all the time in the world to fill in. But all Anne had promised him was Kwanzaa. Maybe he should have taken her at her word.

  It was
one of those particularly bleak days in Boston that varnished everything gray, even people’s faces. A day to match the state of her heart, Anne thought. A fitting day to bury Grammy.

  Ever since Grammy died, it was as if Anne had turned into a shadow, a mere wraith drifting through the hours and days. Losing Grammy was losing the only mother she’d ever known. It was the hardest thing in her life that she’d ever had to endure. She expected to see Grammy at every turn, to hear the sound of her voice.

  Anne stared at the image of Grammy in the casket, waxy and cold, like a statue, covered with lilies, her favorite flower. She couldn’t hear a word the minister said. Was it grief that seemed to have numbed and deafened her or the tumult of guilt and remorse rushing through her? Was it her fault that Grammy was gone?

  She’d left with barely a word and when Grammy asked her to come back, she’d shut her out. She’d met her father’s family, but it was Trey who had consumed her and turned her thoughts away from what she’d left behind.

  Her grief consumed her, and guilt prevented her from reaching out to the man she loved and craved with every cell of her body. Maybe soon the emptiness would fill and she could go to him. But this time she had to give wholly to Grammy. She at least owed her that.

  After the funeral, Anne moved through the house, saying the right things to the mourners, adding platters of food to the overloaded dining room table. As she carried another casserole she thought she heard a voice.

  “Anne.”

  She turned toward the familiar voice, her eyes focusing on the tall black man who stood there. Trey.

  “I just found out about your grandmother,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  The sight of him sent a flood of emotions through her, slicing through the numbness that had descended since Grammy died—grief, not empty and gray and numb, but sharp and cutting with ice-cold pain, guilt, overwhelming and suffocating, regret, and longing washing over her, drowning her.

  The casserole crashed to the floor and she ran.

  Instead of running away, she ran into the warmth of Trey’s open arms. He cradled her, and the comfort of his embrace crept through the shroud of grief and guilt that cloaked her.

  “I was going to call, Trey, but I had to take care of Grammy first. I had to take care of Grammy.”

  “I know, baby. Her death wasn’t your fault. You have to realize that.”

  Suddenly she heard her Grammy’s voice as clear as her memory: “Don’t promise not to leave me. We all have to leave sometime. It’s a part of life. When it’s time to go, we have to move on. We’re a part of each other, child. That’s one thing that can never change.”

  Her past was a part of her, and despite everything, it had made her strong. But her future held her in his arms. It was time to move on.

  “My entire life, I wondered what was missing,” Trey said. “Then I met you. I can’t ever let you go, girl.”

  Looking for her heritage, she had discovered herself. She also found what her parents had found—something that had no color, no race, and no boundaries. She’d found love. She looked into Trey’s eyes. Without words, the love shimmered between them with an almost palpable magic. That was all that really mattered.

  Anne touched his cheek. “Take me back home, Trey.”

  Epilogue

  A year later

  The tables were laden with African-inspired dishes. Laughter filled the community center, and children ran and played. People dressed in bright colors chattered and mingled while African drums played in the background. Kinaras filled with seven green, red, and black candles burning brightly were scattered throughout, lending a glow to the festive decorations. It was New Year’s Day and the Kwanzaa karamu celebration.

  Anne stood at one of the tables with a plate in her hand, trying to decide whether to get the fried chicken drenched in country-style gravy or the tomato-based African chicken and rice dish. She decided on a little of both. Suddenly an arm circled her waist from behind and a hand sneakily grabbed a country-fried chicken wing off her plate.

  “Trey! Quit it. You’ve eaten enough food to feed an army.”

  Trey moved to her side but didn’t let her or the chicken wing go. He grinned down at her. “It’s impossible to get enough of those chicken wings. Mmm-mmm good.”

  “This plate is for Papa. Keep your paws off.”

  Trey cast a glance over to Anne’s grandfather, who was flanked by three women but had his attention fixed on an overflowing plate of food.

  “My father-in-law seems occupied. I’d say the last thing he needs is another plate.”

  Anne looked over at him. “He wanted more chicken. I guess he got it for himself while I was helping Helen rehearse her song for the Kwanzaa show later.”

  “He’s quite the man with the ladies,” Trey said, eying the older women surrounding her grandfather.

  Anne nodded. Papa had grown quite popular with the ladies and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy being chased. She wondered what Grammy would think of the black churchgoing lady Papa was seeing back in Boston. Who’d have thought it?

  If she were granted one wish, it would be to see Grammy again. It wasn’t fair that Grammy would never know how Anne had bridged the gap between two totally different families who’d suffered the bitter losses of their children, her parents. Grammy would never see how they’d all grown to know and respect one another. She’d never witness the miracle that was the love that Anne and her husband shared and the new family they were creating.

  Life had given her more than she’d ever dreamed, and if she could see Grammy one more time, her happiness would be complete. She missed her so much.

  Trey read the sadness on her face. “Your grandmother wanted the ones she loved to be happy. Even Papa and his new girlfriend.”

  Anne opened her mouth to reply, but the sounds in the room seemed to fade away. She caught a glimpse of a woman out of the corner of her eye and turned toward her. A plump older woman with brightly colored African robes smiled at Anne. Her blue eyes were full of otherworldly light, radiating wisdom and love mixed with a sort of perfect acceptance and affection. It was Grammy.

  “Anne, what’s wrong?” she heard Trey’s voice, sounding as if it came from a great distance away.

  Anne’s gaze flickered to Trey’s face. “Look,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with wonder.

  When she looked back at the spot where Grammy had stood, no one was there.

  But where sadness lingered, joy now filled, as she was sure her grandmother had intended. Grammy was finally celebrating Kwanzaa.

  “We’re a part of each other, child. That’s one thing that can never change.”

  Anne’s fingers intertwined with Trey’s, and she tilted her head upward, looking into his eyes. The love she found there reached down to her heart and held it firmly.

  Grammy had come to remind her that while the past no longer existed, love could never die. A smile touched Trey’s lips and it was if their future had rushed up to meet them, shining bright with love and promise.

  The Seventh

  Principal

  BY GERI GUILLAUME

  Chapter 1

  “I’m not telling you how to run your school, Mr. B. After all, you are the boss man, the big cheese, the head honcho, the—”

  “Something you want to tell me, Norah?”

  Wednesday morning Norah Gilbert stopped me in the hall and passed me a stack of messages from the school attendance assistant. As far as I was concerned, it was waaaay too early in the morning for my assistant principal to be looking so glum. The students hadn’t even begun to arrive yet. And she had called me Mr. B. Norah only did that when she wanted to warn me that Big, with a capital B, trouble was brewing. Any other time she addressed me, it was just Paul.

  For a moment, I felt just like the guy from that television show Boston Public—besieged by his intense but well-intentioned AP. Only difference was, I had a sinking feeling that the problem Norah was bringing to me this morning wasn’t going to be solved as qui
ckly as that television show’s running time.

  “I think you need to see these.”

  “What are these?” I asked, taking the pink stack from her and flipping through them as I continued down the hall.

  “What do they look like?” she returned.

  Norah had a habit of answering a question with a question. She fell into step beside me. The clompity-clomp of her sensibly heeled shoes echoed loudly in the nearly empty corridor as her slight, five-foot-two frame somehow managed to keep up with me, over a foot taller than she was, moving a little more quietly in high-topped cross-trainers.

  Still in my workout clothes, I was on the way to the boys’ shower room after my morning run when she stopped me. Every morning, rain or shine, I wake up before the sun and try to make at least six miles around the school’s jogging track if I don’t walk the twelve miles from my house to here. Gets me to school early, tired and sweaty—but the health benefits are worth it. Being compared to that larger-than-life actor/principal on that television show wouldn’t have been flattering.

  “All of these kids can’t be sick,” I muttered, noting the hastily scrawled messages that were supposedly from the parents of the afflicted students. “The school nurse would have told me if we had some kind of epidemic on our hands.”

  “Ms. Campitelli is very efficient—on top of every sniffle, every sneeze, that goes on around here. She can smell a fever from two floors up and is usually on the phone to the parents before the digital thermometer finishes ticking off the degrees. Some of these messages were on the answering service. That means that some came in last night. And this is only a few of the messages that came in. I’ve got another stack sitting on my desk.”

  “So what’s really going on here?” I asked, looking at her.

  “You’re in the wrong place to be playing dumb, Mr. Barrett. You know what’s going on around here,” Norah said, her tone insistent.

  “No. . . . Come on.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me in answer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stopped in midstride, folding my arms in front of me and glowering down at her.