Destiny Lingers

by Rolonda Watts

  “Y’all ready for breakfast?” I ask.

  Mother, Daddy, and Aunt Joy are already standing around the table, waiting for Garrett and me to join hands in prayer.

  “Yes, DeeDee, everything looks wonderful.” Daddy beams. “Let’s eat. Where’s Garrett?”

  “He’s coming,” I say. We stand for a few beats, which seem like minutes. Still no sign of any movement from Garrett. “Well, let’s just go on and say the grace,” I say, trying to make light of the situation. “He’s such a slowpoke. Don’t worry; he’s coming.”

  “Well, just how long are we supposed to wait for King Garrett?” Mother is clearly agitated, as she hates rudeness—and Garrett. “You work all morning on this nice meal for the whole family, and he can’t even show his appreciation—much less respect—by just showing up for breakfast on time? It’s not like he has to drive across town. He’s in the bedroom, for God’s sake!”

  “Mother, I thought we were going to try to make this a peaceful weekend.”

  “Well, we could certainly use a bit more consideration from your husband,” Daddy snaps.

  “Pass the spots, and stop all this yapping,” interjects Aunt Joy as she spoons a heap of hot grits on her plate. “Don’t let nothing take your joy like this. Eat. Garrett will be out when he’s good and ready.”

  We eat the delicious spots in silence. This is certainly not the joyous morning feast I had envisioned. Everyone is tense, seemingly ready to pounce on any sound or sign of Garrett. Finally, we hear the bedroom door open, and Garrett nonchalantly strolls into the room.

  “Good morning,” he announces.

  “Morning,” Mother and Daddy murmur without looking up from their now half-eaten meal.

  “Grab a seat. You’re missing these wonderful spots your wife cooked especially for you this morning.” Aunt Joy motions to Garrett’s place at the table.

  “Thanks, baby,” he says and squeezes my hand as he takes a seat. “Looks good.”

  “I hope you like them, Garrett,” I say with a slight smile, still feeling sad and small.

  “So when’d you go fishing, Dee?” Garrett attempts humor.

  “I didn’t go fishing, crazy. I got up this morning and went to the docks while you slept. I was lucky to get any. The funniest thing—the police chief had bought every last one of them for some big Memorial Day fish fry they’re having on the island, but I convinced him to share.”

  “Oh, yes, the police department’s big annual event that kicks off the summer. I tell you, that Chief Chase is a good fellow.” Aunt Joy winks my way. “And a good catch too, if you ask me, just like these fine spots. Thank you, my dear.”

  “Anything for you, Aunt Joy.”

  I chuckle, as I know my spry aunt Joy has probably been flirting with that local police chief, but in this case, I know why. He is amazingly handsome and quite a southern gentleman, and he did provide our breakfast fish for free this morning. I blush at knowing how great he looks half naked, running on the beach in the Topsail sunset. I laugh quietly at how ludicrous it is that the back of his squad car reads “To Protect and Service.”

  “Baby, baby …”

  I snap out of my musings to Garrett’s nudging my elbow.

  “Baby, pass me some hot sauce.” He points across the table.

  “Please,” I tease.

  “Please. Now, come on, baby. Stop playing around.”

  I reach over and pass the sauce.

  My breakfast is obviously a big hit, as everyone has earned his or her membership into the Clean Plate Club. I am happy to have fed my family this morning. They all seem content. While they’re still not speaking to Garrett, they’re not trying to kill him either.

  After the dishes are cleared away, we all retire to the front porch with another cup of coffee. We are screened in from the flies and mosquitoes and shaded from the sun. It is cool here, and the ocean breezes and the sound of the waves bring heaven to earth on my family’s porch.

  “So, Garrett, how’s business?” My father is always asking Garrett about business. We are just starting out and not making a lot of money, so we live in Harlem, where we feel we get more for our money. For the first time for both of us, we live in a black neighborhood and are a part of our own community. Daddy does not understand, much less approve of that.

  “I raised you in the suburbs,” he often reminds me. “I worked hard to provide for you and your mother, so neither of you would ever have to worry about living in a ghetto. Now, this fool comes along and marries you, and where does he take you? Right to the ghetto!”

  Daddy is always trying to give us money too, in his unsuccessful but repeated attempts to get us to move out of Harlem. Garrett refuses to take a dime. It assaults his pride. It’s as if Daddy’s offers make him feel impotent. We would starve on the streets before Garrett would take Daddy’s money. Garrett says he’d feel owned. And although he knows my dad is just looking out for his baby girl, Garrett still resents the “how’s business” question every single time Daddy asks.

  “You making any money yet?” my father persists.

  “Nope,” Garrett answers frankly. “They’re kicking my ass on the overnight desk. I mostly cover the wires in case anybody dies. If they do, I produce the obit by morning.”

  “How morbid.” Mother rolls her eyes.

  “Every once in a while a big story breaks, and I get to cover it,” Garrett explains. “But no, I’m not making a lot of dough right now. Just trying to keep my foot in the door.”

  “Well, we shouldn’t let that get in the way of your providing a safe home for my daughter,” Daddy surmises. “I think we can all agree that after her life was in such danger up there this week, you need to reconsider my offer to help you get out of there. With the good advice of some of my real estate friends up North, I can help you find a suitable place much farther downtown. I will, of course, help you monetarily as well.”

  “Oh, no.” Garrett shuffles in his chair. “Doc, I have told you time and time again, no. I don’t want your money. We don’t need your charity. We’re fine.”

  “Oh, you’re anything but fine. What if Dee wants to take time off from chasing ambulances to have a baby? Can you afford that?”

  “W-wait a minute. What’s a baby got to do with this? Look, Doc, you really need to back off me right now. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Romance without finance is nonsense and a nuisance,” Mother singsongs.

  “I advise you not to look away so fast from a gift that’s staring you right in the face, young man. Especially when it can also help you get my daughter out of the ghetto.”

  “Harlem is more than ghetto, Doc. We’ll make good money soon enough. You’ll see. But for now, we’re cool. You can keep your money.”

  My father’s jaw drops.

  Mother glares at Garrett. “So … when do you think your midnight shift with dead people is going to end?”

  Garrett rolls his eyes. “I have no idea, Barbara.”

  Daddy, apparently ignoring Garrett’s brush-off, continues to press the issue. “I just wish you would take my advice—”

  “I don’t want your damn advice!” Garrett snaps. “Doc, I’ve told you. Stay out of our goddamned business!”

  “Garrett!” Aunt Joy blurts in surprise at my husband’s profane outburst.

  “You watch your language in my house, young man!” my father booms.

  “Then keep your nose out of my business!” Garrett retorts.

  “Now, you wait just a minute, Garrett!” Mother struggles through her caftan to jump up from her rocking chair. “Don’t you dare speak to my husband like that! Who do you think you are? Have you lost your mind?” Mother is so angry, she is red in the face, trembling, and looking as if she’s about to explode into a million little pieces. “How dare you disrespect us!” she spews.

  “Oh, dear,” Aunt Joy gasps a
s she begins to fan herself and rock her chair faster.

  A dead and deafening silence fills the air as the ocean waves continue their violent pounding and crashing to shore. I hear Aunt Joy’s rocking chair squeaking against the wooden porch planks. I bow my head and close my eyes, praying this is all a bad dream. My parents are looking at each other in that silent language between them—a language only the two of them know, but everyone can see the looks of shock, outrage, and disgust on their hardened faces. I know they find Garrett’s behavior unacceptable. He knows my parents consider any kind of cursing in their home as the utmost disrespect.

  As if in slow motion, Mother and Daddy put down their coffee cups and, in suspended silence, head back into the beach house as smooth as ghosts. On the way out, Daddy stops and locks eyes with me. In a low, steady, and serious tone, he informs me that he and Mother do not at all approve of Garrett’s volcanic behavior. Daddy speaks to me as if Garrett is not even in the room.

  “This is a disgrace,” he says. “Anyone who will disrespect your parents like this is just a heartbeat away from disrespecting you—if he hasn’t already.” Daddy scowls at Garrett. “My little girl may have been fool enough to marry you, but it doesn’t mean I’m fool enough to let you disrespect her family or our home. If you don’t like it here, can’t stand us, and refuse to respect me and my rules, then you can pack your bags and leave my house right now.”

  “Fine!” Garrett spits. “I will.”

  “No, you won’t, Garrett! Daddy!” I exclaim, trying my best to calm down the two men I love the most, but Daddy storms off into the beach house after Mother. Garrett angrily grabs the keys to the rental car.

  “Garrett! Where are you going? Honey, wait! Sit down. Please!” I reach for Garrett’s arm, but he jerks away from me.

  “Get out of my way, Destiny, I gotta get outta here!” Garrett angrily storms past me and out the screen porch door. It slams with a whack behind him.

  “Garrett, please!” I yell after him as he flees down the stairs, but he won’t listen. He is fuming. Aunt Joy and I stand there on the porch of our beach house named Tranquility and see all but that playing out around us. We watch in disbelief as Garrett speeds off, swerving around the corner, and skidding onto the highway in a dusty haze of sand and seashells.

  There is nothing but silence left amid the ocean’s roar and the occasional squawks of hungry seagulls. And then, there is the squeak-squeak-squeak of Aunt Joy’s rocking chair again. It is squeaking faster than usual now as she shakes her head and bites her nails while looking out over the boisterous sea.

  “What in the world has gotten into this family?” she asks. “I just don’t understand it.”

  “I give up,” I say as I plop down in the rocking chair beside her. She takes my hand, and we rock in silence, not knowing what other surprises this day may bring.

  Chapter Twelve

  It is well after noon, and Garrett is still not back. His luggage and plane ticket are still here, so I guess he’s coming back eventually. But I am getting stir-crazy, cooped up in the house, waiting for a husband who stormed off hours ago and still hasn’t returned. I am also angry with my parents for pushing Garrett’s buttons. I am pissed at him for letting them. And I am mostly mad at myself for believing that this would actually be a blissful holiday. What happened to our dream of a peaceful weekend at Tranquility?

  Mother comes waltzing on to the porch, dressed in a pair of bright yellow linen knickers, matching top, and espadrilles. She holds a wide-brimmed sun hat with a long, flowing yellow scarf neatly tied around its crown. Her purse is embellished with seashells and an ornate bamboo handle. She looks like a resort fashion model.

  “Come on, Diddle-Dee,” she coos. “Let’s get out of this house for a bit. You’ll drive yourself and everyone else crazy if you stay here pent up and peeping off the porch like a sea widow all day. C’mon.”

  “Mother, I think maybe I should be here when Garrett gets back. I don’t want him fighting with Daddy again. You know how they are.”

  “They?” Mother inquires with a raised eyebrow. “Hm. Well, your father is sound asleep. He’ll be in dreamland for a while, thank God. You know how he escapes. Now, come on. Garrett needs to know that you’re not just sitting around here moping all day, waiting for him.”

  Mother cocks the brim of her sun hat over her right eye. And then, and as if appearing before a crowd of fans, she cascades down the beach house steps, yellow scarf flying in the breeze, and gets in her car. She impatiently honks the horn for me to hurry.

  “Go on,” Aunt Joy says, nudging me. “It’ll be good for you to get out and sightsee the island for a while. It’ll also give me a chance to have a word or two with Garrett when he gets home. Maybe I can finally talk some sense into one of those men.”

  I give Aunt Joy a big kiss on her cheek. “I love you so much, and thank you, Aunt Joy.”

  “I love you too, kiddo!” She winks.

  Mother and I tool around the island for a while, marveling at all the new houses and carefully keeping our conversation bright. Neither of us dares mention Garrett or the family’s breakfast battle.

  “I tell you, those damn Yankees are buying up everything down here,” Mother says. “Who knew it would one day be so busy on Topsail.”

  While we’re out, we decide to stop by Food Folks, the only supermarket on the island, where cross-sections of the different residents meet. We are pushing our shopping cart through the store when mother sends me off to get paper goods while she haggles with the butcher over a couple of whole fryer chickens.

  I am standing in the paper section, trying to decide on the best deal on paper towels. I choose the big pack at the lowest price and drop the bundle into the shopping cart. I then turn to move down the aisle—and I surprisingly run into the police chief again. This time, he is off duty and in civilian clothes. He wears shorts, a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. Instead of the police chief of Topsail Island, he looks more like a Hawaiian chief of Big Island.

  My heart skips a beat, and I have to catch my breath. He is at the other end of the same aisle with an older woman who is picking out dinner napkins. I struggle over whether to say hello but instead decide to turn my cart around and scram back to Mother as quickly as I can.

  And then I hear his voice.

  “Hey, you!” Chase calls out from the other end of the aisle. The chief starts walking toward me. “Hey, there. How you doin’?”

  “Oh, just fine,” I lie.

  “I see you twice in one day—must be a lucky one.” He grins wide, his teeth white and his eyes as pale green as the sea. “Did you eat all those spots yet?”

  “Yes, yes, I did—I mean, we did. My whole family and me.”

  “Well, save some room for more tomorrow. You’re still coming to the fish fry, right? Bring your whole family.”

  “I’ll certainly try,” I say politely. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

  “Chase? Let’s hurry on now.” The older woman walks up with her shopping cart.

  The handsome, sun-kissed police chief in the Hawaiian shirt turns to me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even get your name.”

  “Destiny,” I say with a shy smile.

  “I’m Chase, Miss Destiny,” he replies. “And this here is my mom, Fern McKenzie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McKenzie,” I say and politely extend my hand to Chase’s mother, who, to my surprise, doesn’t take it. Instead, she busies herself rearranging the few items in her shopping cart. She does not even look at me, appearing to have no interest in meeting me at all.

  “Destiny, why does it take you so long to buy paper towels?” My mother comes marching around the aisle with two big fryer chickens in her hands. I am relieved to see her.

  “Mother, this is the Topsail police chief, Chase McKenzie, and his mother, Mrs. Fern McKenzie.” I try to be as pleasant and polite as po
ssible through my growing discomfort. I don’t know why I want to impress Chase’s mother so much when the woman doesn’t even want to shake my hand.

  My mother takes one look at Mrs. McKenzie and suddenly freezes in her tracks. Her face morphs into stone. “Fern McKenzie …” she mouths in slow motion.

  Mrs. McKenzie frowns at my mother and purses her ultra-thin lips. The two are locked in what appears to be a stare-down. No more southern niceties here. Abruptly, Mother takes the chickens she just picked up from the butcher and slams them down into the shopping cart.

  “C’mon, Destiny,” she snaps. “Let’s go right now!” With one last hardened look at Chase’s mother, she snaps her head under her wide brimmed hat and tornadoes away.

  “I said, let’s go, Chase,” Mrs. McKenzie barks and marches her cart off in the opposite direction.

  Chase and I stand here in the middle of the middle of the paper goods aisle, looking at each other in total shock, confusion, and embarrassing dismay.

  “What in the world was that all about?” Chase seems just as dumbfounded as I am.

  “I have no idea,” I respond, feeling dazed, “but I’d better go. My mother’s waiting.”

  “Yeah, mine too. But what the …?” Chase shakes his head. “I swear that was the weirdest thing I’ve seen. What just happened there?”

  “I have no idea,” I again respond. “But something happened somewhere. I apologize, Chase, for my mother’s rudeness. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. We had a long morning—and she’s already a bit on edge. Just family stuff, you know?”

  “No, no, no, I apologize for my mom,” Chase insists. “She’s just acts old and bitter sometimes. Let me go find her. Hope I’ll see you later, Destiny.” Chase dashes off down the aisle.

  By the time I make my way through the checkout line, Mother is already sitting outside in the car, fuming.

  “What in the world was that about, Mother?” I ask. “Don’t you think you were a little rude to Mrs. McKenzie?”

  Mother doesn’t answer me. She stares out the car window with her arms crossed, breathing heavily with squinted eyes.