“I’m just relieved we put this to rest,” he says. “I hate having people mad at me.”
“Maybe now you can come down for a visit,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” he says. Then he gets real quiet.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“There’s sump’n else I need to tell you. I wadn’t sure if it was a good idea when we talked earlier on, but I think being truthful is the right way to go.”
I swallow hard, wondering what in the world he could be talking about.
“I went out with somebody the night before you ended up back in the hospital.”
“Whatcha mean by somebody?” I ask.
“Like a girl,” he says, “but listen, now, ’fore you get upset, it’s good news.”
“Good news?” I cry. “Since when is being cheated on good news?” And my brain rushes into all kinds of terrible thoughts about Mama being right and men being untrustworthy by their very nature and Jackson being just like my daddy.
“It ain’t like ’at,” he says. “Let me explain. See, Mama kept ridin’ on me to go out with other girls. She kept on saying we’re too young for a long-distance thing and making a big deal about the difference in our ages. And I just went right on ignorin’ her. But then, that night, I came home from work and my old girlfriend was there.”
“Your old girlfriend?” I believe I’m about to have a seizure.
“We used to go out ’fore I met you, but we split up right before my dad died. Anyhow, like I was saying, Mary Elizabeth was there at the house.”
“Mary Elizabeth?” I whine. Somehow that name conjures up images in my mind of the perfect little woman, not just a kid like me. Needless to say, I pale in comparison.
“I ain’t sure if Mama invited her or if she just showed up. But at that point my choices were to set with her and my ma all evening or to take her out.”
“You could have said no,” I whimper.
“You’re missing the point, girl. I did it like an experiment. And see, what I found out was, well, what I feel for you is sump’n special.”
“You didn’t already know that?”
“I did. But Mama had me all mixed up. It was like I had to prove it to myself. So I’d know once and for all she was wrong.”
“And just how did you do that?”
“At the end of the night, when I kissed Mary Elizabeth good-bye—”
“You kissed her?”
“Wait, now. Listen. It was a good-bye kiss, ’cause I told her I wadn’t interested. And the thing I’m trying to tell you is ’at it was like kissing a sister or an aunt. I didn’t feel nothin’. So you see, it made me get it how what we got is special.”
The thought of him kissing somebody else is just too much. “I believe I better go,” I say real quiet. Then, for once, it’s me that clicks off. I reckon it’s for the best he told me now while I’m under medical care. You see what I mean about bad juju?
I must have cried myself to sleep, ’cause I wake up when I hear Mama coming back in the room. Lord, it’s nearly dark out!
“That’s a lot of fresh air,” I snap. What if I’d needed her? What if the doctors had wanted to do something more than my regular treatments and she wasn’t there? She never leaves me alone so long in the hospital.
“You said you needed to sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you,” she explains.
But something about the way she’s trying to look busy folding clothes tells me that right there is a fib. Somehow that old goat has caught her attention. Yuck!
“You actually like him?” I ask.
“He’s friendly enough,” Mama replies.
“Oh, yeah, he’s a real peach,” I say, thinking back on how he threatened me with calling the cops. “If you’re okay with leaving me alone so long, maybe you ought to get on back to work.”
“Now, Van, a couple of hours is different than being gone all day.
Besides, I told the nurses where they could find me if anything came up.”
“You’ll lose your job again,” I fret. “Just explain it to your boss.
He’ll understand.”
“He’ll have to trust me without explanations. I ain’t opening the door to nobody’s pity. Now why are you looking so forlorn?” she asks.
“No reason,” I say. “No reason a-tall.”
The next afternoon, I wake up from a nap to hear Mama yelling on the telephone. She is steaming mad. She done lost her job. It’s the same every time I get hospitalized. Why wouldn’t they fire her if she doesn’t show up to work all week and refuses to give any explanations? Here we are trying to talk it through, when who strolls in but Mr. Caterpillar Mustache, handing Mama a lunch bag he brought for her, which I guess is a lucky thing, ’cause she was irritating me earlier, so I didn’t share my hospital lunch with her like I usually do.
“Hey, there, Savannah, how you feeling?” he says, all too cheerful.
I give him the stink eye, ’cause frankly, I ain’t got time for his shenanigans today. But Mama slaps my thigh, so I smile all fake at him.
“Swell,” I say.
They don’t even notice my tone, ’cause now he’s staring all googly-eyed at her and she’s blushing and turning away. I’m telling you, it is just disgusting. Can’t she see what a slimeball he is? He’s smelly and aging poorly. Plus, I can’t rightly stand the way he twirls his old caterpillar mustache when he’s ogling her.
Lord, does she have bad taste in men! Holy hell, it’s going to get worse, because all the sudden, the room starts to swaying around, and the feeling that comes over me is that these two are in it for the long haul. I imagine what Mama might look like in a wedding dress, and she sure would be beautiful, but then I picture him up there with her, his balding, cigar-smoking, caterpillar-mustache self. Ugh! I close my eyes and try to blot out the image.
“No, sir!” I yell right out loud. “I will not have it!” Course they ain’t got a clue what I’m hollering about. If she wants to marry someone, couldn’t it be some nice young dude her own age, who at least has a full head of hair and doesn’t smoke cigars or douse himself in cheap cologne?
“Savannah, where are your manners?” Mama chides, bringing me back to the present.
“Mister, I think you better go. I’m not feeling too well,” I say. And then, honest-to-God, I throw up my lunch right there on the bed.
Everybody starts to rushing around. Mama’s getting all upset. She’s calling the nurses. They’re calling the doctor. ’Cause they all know, there ain’t no reason for me to be hurling like that, unless something’s gone wrong with my meds or whatnot. Mr. Caterpillar Mustache slinks on out the door.
When things settle back down, Mama says, “That was thoughtful of him to bow out when things were getting messy. Prob’ly didn’t want to embarrass you.”
The calm doesn’t last long. ’Cause next thing you know, I’m running to the bathroom and cramping something fierce. Come to find out, the chicken they served for lunch was bad, and half the patients are puking their guts out! Some freaking hospital!
Mama’s gloating ’cause Mr. Caterpillar Mustache brought her an egg salad sandwich he made himself. The smell of it sends me into a state of constant stomach contractions.
I wake up drenched in sweat and dizzy. I ain’t never felt this bad in my whole entire life. It must be late, ’cause the ward is actually quiet. Mama’s sleeping in the recliner, but the TV is showing reruns of Scrubs. I still feel like I might throw up, but there ain’t nothing left in me to heave. I ought to sue this dang place.
Mama must have heard me stirring, ’cause next thing I know her hand’s stroking my hair. “Lord, darlin’, you’re wet as a dishrag.” She gets a warm washcloth and starts sponging my face. But it feels all clammy.
“I wanna go home,” I say, and even I’m surprised how weak my voice sounds.
“Soon enough, baby girl,” she says. “Jackson called while you were sleeping.”
I try to sit up, but my head is swimming. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I
moan.
She looks kind of stern at me. “You weren’t in no condition to talk. He said to tell you he’s real sorry and he hopes you feel better soon. You want to tell me what it is he’s sorry about?”
“No, ma’am,” I reply.
“All right, then,” she sighs. “I got some other good news, too.”
Jackson’s coming to visit! That just has to be it! Lord, I could use a little good news right now. He must want to make it up to me.
“Denny’s offered me a job.” She’s smiling like she’s all proud or something.
“Denny’s?” I ask. That’s the good news? “You hate waitressing, Mama. Don’t settle for that.”
But she starts in to laughing. “Not the restaurant! Denny! You know, the man that saved your life?” She looks all shocked that I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Mr. Caterpillar Mustache?” I say.
“What? Lord, Savannah, Denny Johnson, from the paintin’ job.”
None of this is making any sense. Mama is going to take the job from the yellow sign that was meant for Jackson? “You gonn’ paint houses?”
I don’t like that she keeps laughing about everything. Excuse me for being a little confused. I have spent the entire day puking my guts out after being poisoned by the hospital, in case you forgot.
“He offered me a job in the office, you know, filing, typing, secretarial work.”
“You ain’t qualified for that.” I know this, because that’s what she’s been told every durn time she ever applied for a secretarial position.
Now she looks all huffy, like I insulted her. “He said he’d teach me what I need to know.”
“I bet he will,” I murmur.
“Now, just what do you mean by that?” she barks.
I’d like to retort, but I ain’t got it in me.
“Never mind,” she says. “Just think about it, Van, a job where the boss already knows about your asthma. He done promised he wadn’t offering out of pity, that he’d excuse my absences when necessary, long as I make up my hours.”
Make up the hours, huh? I’m sorry, but my mind is in the gutter on that one.
“Please, baby, be happy for me on this.” Her voice sounds pathetic.
“We’ll even get full health benefits.”
“Oh, Mama,” I say softly, knowing just how much that means.
“That sure is great.”
Before I drift off to sleep, I say a silent prayer. “Thank you, Lord, for blessing Mama with a new job with medical coverage, and please, Lord, don’t let her marry Denny Caterpillar. Thank you, amen.”
21
When we come home from the longest four-day stay in the hospital I’ve ever had, my bike is waiting for me on the front steps. I reckon Denny Caterpillar brought it by from the construction site. I ain’t at all sure how he knows where we stay at, but I’m glad not to have to go fetch it and all. Meanwhile, Mama hasn’t said word one about the fight we had before I ran off. Neither has she apologized for slapping me. We sort of stepped right around it and moved on.
No sooner do we get into the house than Stef ’s on the phone. Before I can even say hello, she’s off on a rant about Jimmy the Great. I take the phone to my room and lay down on the bed.
“His Bible group is coming to town tomorra! The preacher is choosing out which visitor stays with which of our church families, and—”
“Our church? Since when do you go to church?” I ask, never having known her to attend one.
“Shut up! I been going down every Sundy.”
“Since when?”
“Since a couple weeks ago.”
“Since you found out his Bible group is coming to town more like.”
“So?”
“So the preacher’s choosing the families,” I say, leading her back to her point.
“I’m just flat out worried he won’t place Jimmy with us ’cause I seemed too interested. What’ll I do then?”
“You’ll just make yourself a friend of whosever house he’s at,” I say. Duh!
“Vannah, what if y’all sign up,” she says, sounding all excited.
“Pardon me?” I ain’t ready for some Bible thumper staying over and judging us.
“Please. Hardly nobody with kids our age signed up to host. If y’all do it, I’m positive you’d get him.”
Oh joy. Just what I need, a weekend of recuperating with Jimmy the Great staying at our house and Stef hanging all over him. Between the inhaler treatments I’ve got to do, oral steroids making me irritable, and feeling worn out, I just want to be left alone. I’ve got to stall for time. “I’ma have to check with Mama. She’s pretty tired from being at the hospital with me all week and she’s starting a new job and . . .” I’m fixing to tell her about the gross flirting going on with Denny Caterpillar, but that ain’t ready for public consumption just yet. I’m sort of embarrassed about Mama going after him. She’s so pretty and he’s so, well . . . old. He looks like he’s nearing fifty!
“Please, Vannah, I’ll do anything.”
“There ain’t no guarantee we’ll even get Jimmy.”
“I know you will. I just know it.”
I sigh, feeling stuck as a hog in a bog. “I’ll see if I can talk Mama into it.”
“You are the best friend ever! I swear I’ll return the favor someday,” she blubbers.
“I ain’t promising anything,” I explain, feeling guilty that here I’ve been such a lousy friend since she got back from camp and she’s praising me as if I deserve it.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she squeals.
Part of me wishes I could talk to her about what Jackson did with Mary Elizabeth. Stef has always been the one to give me advice about guys. But I’m just too embarrassed, too worried about what it might could mean about me and Jackson’s future. Instead, I say bye and hang up.
Least Mama ain’t likely to go for Stef ’s request. I head out to the living room.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Ironing, what’s it look like?” she says, as if she does this every day.
“Since when do you iron?”
“Since I got me a quality job.”
Quality? Filing papers for Denny Caterpillar is quality? What is the world coming to?
“You want something or not?” she snaps.
Oh, yeah, Stef. I’ve got to present this in such a way that it seems like I’m trying (I owe Stef that much), but without actually making it work (I ain’t that crazy). Mama has begun whistling a cheerful tune.
“Stef called. Her boyfriend from camp is coming to town with his Bible group. Apparently, our church is looking for families to host the Bible-group folks. And Stef wants to know can we sign up. But don’t worry, I know how busy you are getting ready for the new job and you’re tired from being at the hospital and all. So, it’s okay if—”
“No, honey, that sounds real nice. You go on and sign us up.” And she starts in whistling again!
“Pardon me?” She ain’t helping with this here plan at all.
“I said okay.”
“Why?” Can’t she tell a half-assed request when she hears one?
Mama laughs. “I think it’s a nice idea.”
“We might ought to have to go to church with ’em and all,” I warn, praying she’ll change her mind.
“That’d be great. I been thinking about getting more active in the church,” she says. That iron is zooming across skirt after skirt. I had no idea she had so many.
“Have you gone crazy?” I ask.
Her smile creeps me out. “Denny and I had some time to talk about, well, God and this and that while you were in the hospital and it got me to thinking, is all.”
“Just how much time did y’all spend together?” I ask.
She tries to hide a smile. “Aside from the times you saw him come by, he visited a few more when you were resting, called sometimes after you went to sleep at night.”
Ugh. I believe she may actually like the dude.
> “What?” she asks, perhaps noticing my wrinkled-up nose.
“What can you see in him?” I blurt out.
“Savannah!” she scolds. “He done saved your life. I expect better of you.” When I don’t say nothing, she adds, “He may not be much to look at, but he’s awful kind and real thoughtful, too.”
It sure is something hearing her be so positive about a man. I mean, I’m happy for her, but I can’t help wishing she’d chosen someone younger and cuter and maybe without a temper that causes him to threaten somebody with calling the cops just for trying to help out a friend.
“It ain’t like we’re getting married or nothing!”
That image of her in a wedding gown lurks in my mind, making me feel like I may just throw up again.
“He makes me feel like . . . never mind.” She goes back to ironing.
“Like what?” I ask, real quiet, wondering what it is she’s embarrassed to say.
“He just makes me feel special is all. He brought me food and little gifts to the hospital, took me out, made me laugh. Ain’t nobody ever done that in all these years of hospital visits. And there’s just something about spending time with a person during those intense moments in life that’s . . . different. Listen to me ramblin’ on. Anyhow, we had some time talking and he got me thinking about the church and God.”
Dog slams in through the front door. “Did I just hear Mama say she been thinking about God? You going through the change or something?”
“Dog! Good night! How old you think I am? Alls I said was, I been thinking about being more active in the church. Wouldn’t hurt neither one of y’all to spend a little more time there.”
“Looky here,” Dog starts, “you going through some kind of life crisis, you go right on ahead. But you leave me out of it.”
Mama turns all red and blotchy. “Don’t you dare be disrespectful to me! I done raised you and fed and clothed you! I expect better than that, young man! You go on to your room and you can just stay there until supper!”
“What the hell?” Dog is clearly confused by Mama’s new Denny-inspired persona.
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