“Jesus, where have you been?” Silence. “I feel like you’ve been gone forever. No one visits me anymore.”
’Halia floats from the piano to a spot next to me. “You been doing all right?”
I nod. “I miss you coming to visit me.”
The blue tint of her robe sparkles like the water around us. She turns away.
An eternity passes before Jesus takes my hand, leads me to the edge of the world. It’s like a huge cliff. I look down and see flowers, trees, houses, people, and cars. They are small ants, moving at a rapid pace.
“Do you love me?” He asks.
“Of course, Jesus.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you keep my commandments?”
“I will.”
He guides us away from the cliff and we are seated near ’Halia again. I look into his fiery eyes.
“If you love me, us, and want to see us again, don’t take your medication. It makes it difficult for us to visit with you.”
I touch His wooly hair and concede, “I understand, Jesus. I understand.”
Chapter 23
Mama went to sleep with Mahalia Jackson on her tongue, and she awakens with Jesus on her mind.
She jerks and claws the dashboard. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” Her chest heaves as she gasps for air. “Where are we?”
“Home.”
She touches her feet. “They’re dry. After all that water, how can they be dry?” She taps the CD player. “What happened to the music?”
“I turned it off so you could sleep.”
She eases back into the seat and gawks at the house and yard. “Nothing’s changed.”
She hops out of her seat and roams the yard. She runs her hands over the plants, the garden fountain, and the yard light pole. May and Ray avoided drive-bys to the home-house when they picked her up. Said the memories would overwhelm her. The memories must be fond because her face brightens as she trots from one end of the yard to the other. She folds her hands behind her back and slows her pace. She disappears to the backyard. I’m sure she’s in search of the old well and the fish cleaning table.
Aunt Mavis rings my cell. “How are things so far?”
“She’s in disbelief. She’s really shocked the house is still standing.”
“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“If she takes her meds and improves, we can discuss transferring ownership back to her.”
“Aunt Mavis, I’m taking this one day at a time. Make that one hour at a time.”
“I like that attitude.”
“Are you and Uncle Ray driving out tonight?”
“No. You two need to bond.” Whiplash barks and yips. “Go drink your water, Whiplash.” After a moment of silence, she returns. “Has Willa changed her mind?”
“Not yet. I’m working on her, though. Maybe she’ll come to the fish fry we’re having.”
“Call us if you need anything.”
“Thanks for helping me bring her home.”
I end the call as Mama walks around the side of the house. I join her and we walk arm-in-arm toward the steps. She drags the potted mother-in-law tongue next the food.
“Whose food is this?” She digs through the bags and the box. “These collards are fresh.” She thumps the leaves. “And hardy, too. First frost fell on them well.”
“They’re yours.”
“Who left them?”
“Family and friends. Let’s take them inside.” We enter the house and she stops in the foyer.
Her eyes find Mr. Juggles. “Juggles is still giving out fortunes, huh?”
“He is.”
She lifts his head and fishes around for a fortune. She plucks one out and reads it aloud. “Courtesy is contagious.” She puts the fortune back and walks into the living room.
“Let me put these bags in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
After dropping the bags off, I walk back to the living room. Her countenance has changed again and she flashes a look of anger.
“Who took the plastic off my furniture?”
“Mama, no one ever sat in here.” I remember my role as co-conspirator with Aunt Mavis and add, “I had it steam-cleaned. Go ahead, touch it. Sniff it, even.”
She sniffs and relaxes. She sits down on the sofa and kicks her feet up on the coffee table, a move forbidden when we lived here.
“Hand me those photo albums in the bottom drawer.”
Unsure if Aunt Mavis moved them, I proceed with caution and crossed fingers. I slide the door open and breathe. They’re still here. I pass them to her.
“I’m going down memory lane a while. You sitting with me?”
Aunt Mavis rings my cell again.
“Let me get this. Be right back.” I take her call on the porch. I nestle in the glider and cross my legs. “Did you forget something?”
“Some flowers arrived for you. Do you want me to drop them off?”
I bolt upright. Maybe Lamonte’s apologizing. He owes me that much. “Is there a card with them?”
“Yes. Do you want me to read it?”
She may as well hear what he has to say, too. “Sure.”
She pauses a moment, then reads, “Toni. I’m back from Italy and saw the article. Call me when you’re ready to talk. I’m always here. Friends forever. Jordan. She sent a large colorful bouquet. These would make a beautiful display on Greta’s dining room table. I’ll keep them fresh until you pick them up.”
“Thanks, Aunt Mavis.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought they were from Lamonte.”
“Not to sound harsh, but he’s moved on. So should you. You have a lot on your plate, but we can always watch Greta while you carve out some me time.”
Mama sticks her head out of the screen door. “I’m going to clean the greens so I can cook.”
“Aunt Mavis, let me call you back.”
She practically staggers as I fall in step behind her. Nurse Whipple had explained the extended dosage would kick in after a few hours. The effects are evident. I guide her toward the guest bedroom and sit her on the edge of the bed.
“You are a good daughter. I’m sorry about the things I said about you in the paper.”
Her speech isn’t slurred, but it is slower, more pronounced.
“You need to sleep. I wanted to talk to you about the fish fry, though.”
“We’re still having it, right?” She grabs a pillow and cradles it, groggier now. “What’s it for again?”
“Celebrating your homecoming and your new job at Ray of Hope.”
“That’s right.”
“A few people are coming to say hi. They won’t tucker you out. They’ll just say hi, eat a little bit, and go home.”
She waves her hands and sings, “…Will be always howdy howdy, and never goodbye. ‘Halia taught me to sing it just like she does.”
She’s down for the count. I take her shoes off and scoot her body closer to the head of the bed. I fluff the pillows.
“Who’s coming?” she asks.
“Cousin Edwina and Walter, Lorene, some of the ladies from St. John’s.”
She yawns. “Who else?”
“May, Ray, and Whiplash.”
“I love Whiplash. She is May and Ray’s granddoggy. Who else?”
I clear my throat. “Willa, her husband, Don, and your granddaughter, McKenna.”
She turns her back to me. Through a Depakote-induced haze, she says, “Hide my food when Willa comes. Wrap it up in aluminum foil and put it in the microwave.”
I rub her back. “I will, Mama.”
Chapter 24
Mama swigs her second goblet of muscadine wine as she dresses catfish filet, tilapia, and perch. Aunt Mavis offered to help us prepare the food, but Mama insisted on cooking since the fish fry is in her honor. The November weather warrants an inside fish fry. Truth is, she still balks at the idea of someone else’s hands near h
er food. She leans over the sink rinsing red potatoes for her loaded potato salad as I squirt Woeber’s honey mustard in the beef baked beans.
“Don’t forget to crumble up the bacon in the beans,” she says.
She is in her element. This is the mother I craved as a child, the mother in whose lap I’d curl and inhale her Chanel No. 5. She dons a sassy apron, the one she’s worn the past two weeks, and fires off cooking commands.
“Mama, check the pound cake.”
“You do it. Got my hands full. All you need to do is turn the light on and peek inside. Constantly opening the oven door will flatten that poor baby for sure.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, put the decanters out. I’ll mix passion punch in one and half and half in the other.”
“I missed your passion punch.”
“Thank to Whipple, I do it with a strawberry lemonade mix now instead of powdered Kool-Aid. Gives it a better flavor.”
She tears a huge sheet of aluminum foil from an industrial-sized box and covers two baking sheets. “Pass the lemons.” I give her lemons I’d emptied from bags earlier. “Did you squeeze them?”
“Forgot.”
“The secret to good fried fish is the lemon juice. You don’t need seasoning on the fish; that’s why you let the juice marinate in the fish for an hour and season the cornmeal. Cut those lemons in half and squeeze the juice.” She wipes her hand on her apron and demonstrates. She swipes a lemon from the bowl and glides it across the counter with her hand, running it back and forth until it softens. “See. It’s soft now. Squeeze-ready.”
“Please tell me who gave you the apron.” The smart-alecky quips have me in stitches.
“May gave it to me years ago. You like it?”
“Sounds like all the women in our family.” I read some of the sayings aloud. “Get your hands off your hips. You don’t know what tired is. Wear clean underwear in case you have to go the hospital.”
We laugh at the last saying because Aunt Mavis shared ER stories of ripped undies and stretched bras. I take the stainless steel bowl of lemons and press them.
An incoming call from Willa interrupts my lemon rolling. “Taking a call. Be right back.”
“Are you close?” I ask as I walk to the dining room with the bowl.
“Getting off on exit one thirty-eight. You need anything before we get to the sticks?”
“Oh Progressive One, two bags of ice would be nice.”
“Anything else?”
“A better attitude.”
“You know I’m nervous about this. I’m doing this for you.”
“Don’t do it for me. It has to be for you. You have to be the bigger person.”
“I don’t want to be the bigger person. Midget is my middle name.”
“Wouldn’t you want someone to take care of you if you were sick?”
“Yes.”
“Mama is sick. We have to look at it that way.”
“She never accused you of poisoning her, though.”
“She didn’t mean it. She was sick then and she’s sick now.”
“Has she taken her medicine today?”
“I made sure she did.”
“How do you know?”
“I stood outside the bathroom door and waited until she finished.”
“If she says one thing out of the way, I’m going back to Birmingham.”
“Toni, are you done with the lemons?” Mama calls from the kitchen.
“We’re dressing the fish. I’ll see you when you get here. I love you, Willa.”
“Love you too, Toni.”
My hands are red from squeezing as I take the bowl back to the kitchen. The cake cools on a wire rack. I reach for a knife, slice the lemons, and squeeze them over the fish. Mama grabs a brown paper bag from the pantry and scatters meal and seasonings inside. She drops the fish in a bag and puts the dredged pieces side by side on the baking sheets.
“Spread some Saran over the fish and put it in the fridge. I made us some lemonade so we can sit on the porch while the fish marinates.”
“It’s chilly out there. Let’s sit in the den.”
She takes a tray of lemonade and finger sandwiches to the den. We sit on the sofa and chat about different subjects. Curiosity drives her conversation.
“You never told me about the guy who dumped you.”
I try not to take her comment personally. Aunt Mavis told me she would say or do things that weren’t polite and to go with it.
“His name is Lamonte. He’s an architect and lives in Conyers.”
“Hmm, sounds like a good job.” She sips her lemonade. “Does he have his own house?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But you had your own place too, correct?”
“I do.” She makes me nervous as she draws small circles on her legs. A far-off gaze overtakes her and her neck snaps.
“He sounds like your father. See, the world tells women to find a man with all these material things. But what about staying power? What about a man who’s willing to weather storms with you or be there for you when you’re not yourself?” She points to a saying on the apron and repeats it. “Buy a man a pair of shoes and he’ll walk out on you.”
She wants an amen, but I continue listening.
“I’m not saying those things don’t matter. Shoot, it’s a sorry dog that won’t wag his own tail. I’m saying you need more than things to make a marriage work.”
Tears stream down her face and I take her lemonade. “Let me take your apron while you get a nap.”
She jerks her shoulder when I touch her. “You all are always trying to put me to sleep or dope me up with medication. Let me enjoy myself for a change.”
I glance at my watch. “Willa should be here in a few minutes. She called when they got off the exit.”
She follows me to the front porch. She grabs a jacket from the hall tree and paces near the oak tree. I bite my bottom lip when I see Don navigating their SUV over the hill. I didn’t tell Willa the party starts at four. I said one. This gives us time to talk and relieve tension before the crowd arrives. He parks in front of the oak; Mama runs back to the porch and stands next to me. Don opens Willa’s and McKenna’s doors. Their steps are slow as they head toward the porch. I make eye contact with Willa and telepathically communicate, Bigger person, bigger person.
Mama meets Willa halfway in the yard. Willa hugs her and they fall into a loving embrace.
“Look at you. All grown up now. Thirty-eight years old and you don’t look a day over twenty-five. Turn around.” Willa unbuttons her fleece coat and exposes her casual outfit. “Still got those baby-making hips.” She turns to Don. “Bet that’s why you married her, didn’t you?”
They both blush. “I married her because I love her and she’s a good woman. The beauty was an added bonus.”
Willa punches his arm. “Mama, this is my husband, Don, and my daughter, McKenna.”
Mama reaches out to McKenna. “Come hug your grandmother.”
McKenna is a statue. Willa pokes McKenna’s side and tilts her head toward Mama. She finally takes two steps and wraps her arms around her grandmother.
“You sure are a pretty little thing. Your mother looked the same when she was your age. I heard you’re into sports.”
McKenna shifts her stance and unthaws. “I’m in traveling soccer and I want to play volleyball. Mom and Dad want to me concentrate on academics, though.”
“Whatever you do, give it all you’ve got,” Mama says. She is quiet, reflective. She disappears from us briefly with an odd look. She comes back to us and says, “It’s good being here with you all.” She points to the front door. “Let’s have some lemonade.”
McKenna’s phone is hidden today and her attention is focused on family. Mama directs everyone to the den and continues chat ting. She pours cups of lemonade and offers everyone sandwiches.
“You all live in Birmingham, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been in Alabama since—”
Something inside Mama clicks. She cups her lemonade, rocks back and forth, and tilts back on the sofa. “Go on and say what you were about to say, Willa.”
“Since I moved away. Birmingham’s been good to us.”
Mama wrings her hands and jumps up. “I need to check on the food in the kitchen.”
Stunned, we sit in silence. I give them an apologetic look. “I’ll go in and see about her. Give me a second.”
The low mumbling of Mama’s voice seeps from the kitchen. She paces back and forth. Aware I’m near, she continues. “Told you she couldn’t be trusted.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The poison. She has it in her pockets. ’Halia told me.”
“She doesn’t have anything in her pockets.”
“You don’t see it because she can make it invisible. She has that arsenic and those D-Con pellets.” I reach out to her. “Don’t put your hands on me! The longer she sits in here, the better chance she’ll have to kill me. Look at all this food. She can come in here and take us out like an assassin!” Her voice raises several octaves.
I back away from her and call Willa. The three of them come quickly from the den and stand in the kitchen doorway.
I walk toward Mama. “Do you really think she’d drive three hours with her family to poison you?”
“I sure do. She came back to finish what she started all those years ago.” She moves toward Willa and the kitchen door, away from me, but I can’t let her leave. I don’t want her to harm herself or Willa.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Come sit down and talk to me about it. I’ll get the poison from Willa and make sure I cover your food the whole time she’s here.”
“See how you’re defending her? You’d pick her over me!” She points to Willa. Don kneads her shoulders, and the three of them assume their leaden stance.
“I’m not taking sides. We can sit down and talk about this.” Aunt Mavis and Cousin Clayton’s premonitions come full circle. I can’t handle her break from reality.
“Yes, you are. You see she is trying to kill me and you don’t care. I thought you were the good daughter, the one who had my back!”
She stalks to the refrigerator, bends down, and rises with a jar of pickles. She hurls the jar at me and I duck. It narrowly misses my ear and crashes on the cabinet. Glass and pickle juice surround me.
Wouldn’t Change a Thing Page 13