But I didn’t. Randall was a warm lump behind me. I listened for his breath. The suitcase was propped upright next to the end table. I was starving. I went outside to get the mail to avoid having to walk down the hall right then. Outside, the air was fresh, cool, but a thick metal taste lingered too long in my stomach. I grabbed the mail.
Across the street, the mail lady called out, “Good morning.”
Now’s my chance, I thought. Tell her. Tell her what’s happened and she’ll know what to do.
Instead, I waved and ran back inside. Randall still wasn’t awake. I stopped just inside the door and looked at the envelopes in my hand. Sara Royale was written on the front. Somehow seeing her name meant she was real, and it gave me the courage to go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I was so hungry I ate a liverwurst sandwich and a pimento cheese spread sandwich and made extras for Randall. The warm, full feeling in my stomach made me sleepy, and I went to Randall’s room and fell asleep again.
I woke sometime in the afternoon to the sound of the toilet being flushed. Randall walked out of the bathroom. Dark circles shadowed his face. He looked old and tired. “Tupelo Honey,” he said. “We got to do something.”
“Come on. I’ve got to take this suitcase to Preston Brown. He’ll hide it for me.”
I dragged the suitcase three doors down and knocked on the door. Mrs. Brown answered. “Preston’s still at school, Tupelo Honey. What are you doing at home?”
I pushed the suitcase in front of me. “I need him to keep this for me.”
“What is it?”
“A lot of personal stuff.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then why don’t you keep it?”
“I can’t.”
Suspicion crept into her voice. “Why not?”
Tiny speckles of salvia flew out of my mouth as I blurted out the truth. “I think my grandmother died.”
There, I said it.
“You think or you know?”
“I think . . . I mean, I’m pretty sure. She won’t wake up.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, “Oh, no, Tupelo Honey.”
Mrs. Brown put my suitcase in the hall closet, swearing to take care of it for me until I found out where I would go. Then she put her soft, sweet-smelling arm around me and led me to the sofa. I sat down feeling very conscious of the fact that I hadn’t changed clothes in days.
“I have to go back down the street,” I said.
“Why don’t you sit here with me? I don’t think you need to go back just yet.”
She walked out of the room and I could hear her on the phone calling whoever you call when someone has up and died on you.
When Mrs. Brown came back to me she squeezed my hand and smiled so sweet I was happy not to have to go back just yet. Happy to sit here with my stomach churning. From where we were sitting we saw the ambulance, then an emergency vehicle. A police car cruised down the street. Then another. I watched from the sofa, hoping that everything was okay. It was like watching television. Then they left one by one. Mrs. Brown told me that she wanted me to spend the night at her house.
I shook my head. “I don’t want Randall to have to sleep there alone.”
“Oh, Tupelo Honey,” she said, unexpectedly hugging me tight. “You can both sleep here.”
I shook my head again. She wrapped her arms around me and for the first time I noticed that I loved the way Mrs. Brown smelled. Her hair, her clothes, her perfume. She was like God’s flower, every day bending in the sunshine of her prayers and faith. No wonder Preston loved her so much.
She took a deep breath and let go. “I’ll go with you. I don’t want you to go there by yourself.”
I nodded and let her take my hand.
The walk home was simple. We passed houses with their lights on. They were people I didn’t know. From where I was on the sidewalk I could see the living room light on at our house. Everything was strangely quiet. The concrete steps on our front porch seemed thicker, heavier, swallowing up the sound of our footsteps. Mrs. Brown opened the door and we listened. Silence in general was beginning to bug me. The living room was empty. My glance swept forward into the hall. It was so awful, but I had to see if she was still in there. I had to see if she’d woken up and was startled to find everyone standing around her bed. My feet carried me forward but I could feel myself holding my breath. I rounded the corner, and for a second sheer joy sprang to my mind. I saw a figure sitting on the edge of her bed, shoulders slumped forward. Then I saw that it was Randall, hunched over with his face in his hands. There was no one else in the room. I stood in the doorway, watching his back tremble.
Minutes passed. Finally he turned and looked at me with his tear-burnt face and said, “They took Mother away.”
Chapter 24
After they took my grandmother away Mrs. Brown knelt down in front of me and explained that she was going back to her house to “make arrangements.”
It sounded creepy.
Randall sat on the end of her bed and cried for three and a half hours.
I sat with him hoping to come up with some way to piece it all together. But then I had to go to the bathroom, and the smell was terrible in her room. On my way I called Time and Temperature. Then, as I sat slumped and exhausted on the toilet, my stomach growled so loud it scared me.
I needed a plan. My ears were ringing. I just wanted some food. A can of Vienna sausages, oyster crackers, tomato soup.
I dragged myself back down the hall to stand in the doorway. “Do you want something to eat?”
It took him a minute, but finally Randall shook his head. He moved just enough so that I could see his skin was splotchy and red. The front of his pants was wet with tears. Snot glistened on his upper lip.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” I sighed, walking back down the hall.
My grandmother had always made me soup, especially when I didn’t feel good. Suddenly soup seemed like a good idea. If I could just sit down and eat a warm bowl of soup then I would know what to do.
The pantry had enough food for us to survive on for about a week. Then we could go to the store and buy more and no one would have to know that my grandmother had died. Randall and I had been to the store by ourselves before, I reasoned. We could do it. We’d be fine.
The second shelf was dotted with about a dozen cans of soup. Tomato. Bean and ham. Beef with barley. Chicken and pasta. Cream of celery. I felt a little faint. Randall’s favorite was cream of celery. Mine was tomato. I located the can opener in the dish drain, opened each can, poured the contents into two separate saucepans, then snarfed down three pieces of liverwurst. I was so hungry. Once I felt strong enough to stand up again, I added milk to the soup and turned on the burners. My stomach grumbled for more food. Suddenly feeling very confident, I melted cheese on top of slices of bread. The smell of everything cooking filled me with hope. I stood at the oven, peering down at the glowing hot burners. The cheese melted and bubbled.
When I was done I put it all on an old tv tray with a rusted picture of a bowl of fruit on the front and carried it all to the bedroom. From what I could tell Randall hadn’t moved an inch. I tried to set the tray on the end of the bed but it was too lumpy and uneven. The soup sloshed over the edges of the bowls. I walked around and put it on the floor in front of Randall. His face was so red and swollen that it looked like someone had slapped him. A lot.
“I made some dinner,” I said, quietly.
His eyes drifted down to the tray, then back to his hands.
“It might make you feel better,” I offered.
His eyes narrowed at the edges.
“Or not,” I added uncomfortably.
Then I ate my toasted cheese sandwich. The sound of my chewing in the small, dark room was so loud. I thought eventually all of my lip-smacking goodness would bring back Randall’s appetite, but it didn’t. He just sat on the bed and stared down at his hands. Sometimes his face crinkled up, his breath caught in his throat and
tears rolled down his cheeks. The third time this happened, I laid my hand on his knee and cried too. My nose filled with snot and I had to stop eating.
Without warning the sound of the phone ringing ripped through the hall. It was so startling and loud my entire body went numb with fear. Then I realized, someone is calling. I jumped up and ran down the hall.
Ring. Ring.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
I lunged for the gossip bench. Praise Jesus. Hallelujah.
I snatched the received with both hands and pulled it to my face so fast that I clonked myself in the face with it. “Ouch,” I said. Then, “Hello?”
It was Preston Brown. “Hello? Tupelo Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Kind of.”
“I’ve got your suitcase. I put it in my closet.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
I exhaled, glancing down the hallway. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
I sat there a minute and listened to the sound of our breathing over the phone. I didn’t really know what to say. Well . . . kind of. I sighed big and deep wondering what word to start with.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Preston offered finally.
“It’s not that I don’t want to . . . ”
“I know.”
“I just thought she was sleeping.”
Silence emanated from the other end of the line.
“She was in her room when we came home and I just thought that she needed a nap. That’s all. So, I just left her alone.”
“How did you find out?”
“I thought she would be hungry after sleeping so long and I went into her room to give her some fried chicken.”
“Did you touch her?”
“Yeah.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Cold. Like branches on the ground when it’s really cold outside.”
There was a long pause, then Preston said, “My mom said you and Randall should sleep down here.”
“I know. She told me.”
“I have to go pray now.”
“Okay.”
“You can call me any time,” he said quickly.
“Even while you’re praying?” I managed a small, tight smile.
“Yeah.”
It was quiet for a second.
“Tupelo Honey?”
I started to speak, but my nose burned and fluid rushed to my eyes. I choked, and then swallowed. Finally I managed to blurt out, “What if I could have helped her?”
I heard Preston’s chin rub against the phone.
“I mean what if I’d gone in earlier and could have helped her or called someone,” I blurted desperately, articulating my worst fears. “What if I could have given her mouth-to-mouth?”
“I don’t know, Tupelo Honey.”
“What if I could have called someone to help her?”
“I don’t know,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him.
“Will you ask God why?”
“Yes,” he said. “I will. Call me tomorrow or tonight if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
When I hung up the phone that floodgate of emotion I’d dammed up for so long cracked and broke. I looked up at the ceiling and screamed, “Why? Go ahead and tell me why. Why would you take her away from us? She loved us. She loved me. Go ahead and tell me why.”
I stood upright. Tears flooded my cheeks, splashing down against my neck. “Why?” I screamed. “Why would you do this?”
When the ceiling didn’t part like the Red Sea and reveal the face of God, I wailed even louder, throwing my arms and fists against the wall. “Why?” I pleaded, angry. Sobs choked the rest of my words. My forearms hit the wall.
Then I felt Randall’s big bear arms wrap around me and hold tight. I threw my head back as far as I could and screamed louder than I’d screamed my entire life. Randall just took a deep breath and held on. I shook my fist and raged against the ceiling. He squeezed tighter and I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go.
“We could have helped her,” I wailed. “We could have given her mouth-to-mouth.”
For the first time in hours he spoke. “I don’t think that would have done us no good.”
“You don’t know that,” I insisted.
“No. I reckon I don’t.”
After a while it didn’t matter. We couldn’t change it back. It was already done. I pulled away from Randall and went back to the bedroom to eat my cold soup. With every mouthful I began to wonder if there was something in my magic book that could help me. I didn’t even know where it was.
Chapter 25
The next morning I woke to a knock on the front door.
It was the minister.
His eyes glowed bright in the morning sun. He removed his hat, laying it against his chest.
The minister knelt in front of me, looking me right in the eye. His skin smelled like Ivory soap. “Mrs. Brown called me.”
“I thought she was sleeping,” I said, trying not to cry again.
He raised an eyebrow. “And then?”
And then . . . I burst into tears and told him the entire story. It was awful. I’d never wanted to stop crying so bad in all my life. He just stayed there in front of me the whole time, shifting his weight from leg to leg, but always looking me in the eye. His brow knotted up early on in my story and stayed that way. His lips pinched together. I cried so hard I could barely speak. Patiently he laid his hand on top of my shoulder. After I finally managed to spit out my last, snot-filled sentence, he exhaled a long breath.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eleven . . . almost twelve.”
My birthday. I’d almost forgotten about my birthday. What about my party? What about my presents?
“Who’s making the arrangements?”
“For my birthday party?”
“No,” he said. “Your grandmother’s funeral.”
That stumped me. “The hospital, I guess.”
“No,” he shook his head. “They just send her body to the morgue.”
“The what?”
“The morgue.” He looked like he was about to explain, when he stood up, knees cracking, and asked, “Can I come in?”
That sounded good. I needed some company. I pointed to the sofa then ran down the hall to Randall’s room. He was in the bathroom peeing with the door open.
“Who’s out there?” he inquired, looking back over his shoulder.
“The minister. Make us some appetizers and coffee. Snappy.”
Randall groaned. “What’s the Jesus Man doing here?”
I ran back to the living room and sat down on the edge of a chair. I pulled my knees in tight, trying to look grown up. “Coffee will be served in a moment,” I announced.
The minister nodded.
Randall plodded down the hall to the kitchen.
“Did your grandmother have a policy?”
“A what?”
“A life insurance policy . . . Maybe we should wait for your uncle.” He hesitated. Then, he sighed and said, “On second thought, let’s continue. A policy would pay money to a beneficiary to cover her funeral expenses.”
My face was blank.
“Okay,” he exhaled again. “Did your grandmother have a special place that she keeps important papers?”
That was easy. “Yeah.”
The smell of coffee wafted down the hall. I walked into her room and looked under the bed and in all of her drawers until I found the three handbags that she kept all of her important papers in. When I looked up Randall had sneaked down the hall and was standing in the doorway.
“What’s the Jesus Man doing here?”
“He said he came by because Mrs. Brown called him.”
“Humph,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “Crook.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go back and make something to eat if you don’t have anything nice to say.”
The patchwork-square purse and the green quilted one had handles. The macramé one only had a broken strap so I carried it and slung the other two over each shoulder. They were kind of heavy. Halfway down the hall I put the macramé one on the floor and dragged it by its strap. The minister stood up from the sofa when he saw me and walked over to help. We took them over to the table and set each one down, careful not to let the contents dump onto the floor.
“Okay,” he reached for the quilted purse. “Let’s start here.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He pulled out a huge hunk of envelopes and papers bound together with rubber bands. Without saying a word he started opening each one. His eyes scanned the pages and then he started separating them into two stacks.
Uncomfortable with the silence, I said, “Aren’t you going to ask me where my mother is?”
He stopped, studying me a minute, then said, “Your grandmother talked to me a lot. We prayed together. I know about your mother.”
I wanted to ask him what he knew, but the tone of his voice said it all. It was so matter-of-fact that it surprised me.
“Do you know about me?” I asked.
Now, he laid a stack of papers to rest on his lap and said, “I know your name is Tupelo Honey and that you are a blessed little girl and that your grandmother loved you very much.”
“How?”
“Because every week she told me and Jesus and anyone else who would listen how much she loved you.” He picked up a stack of envelopes and flipped through each one.
Oh.
Randall brought a rusty TV tray with coffee, yogurt and cold Spam sandwiches to us and set it on the table. Then he rolled his eyes and left.
I devoured my Spam on white bread.
Patiently the minister sipped his coffee, flipping through each stack until he’d inspected all three purses. He held two envelopes up. “Tupelo Honey, did you know that your grandmother had two life insurance policies?”
I shook my head, digging white bread off the roof of my mouth with my tongue.
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