“Understandable. I certainly think you’re headed in a fantastic direction. So, where’s that lunch you promised?”
Shit. “Still have to put it together. Let’s see what we can scrounge up.”
Over a lunch of bachelor gourmet, Uncle Robert conducts one of his legendary informal interviews. He pretends to be making innocent small talk, when really he asks leading questions, strategically employs silence, and reads your face like a professional investigator. If he’d ever had children, they would never have pulled the wool over his eyes. Lord knows I’ve been on the receiving end of his methods more than I care to admit. By the time I was in high school I knew some of his techniques and could dodge him a bit, but I’m rusty and before I know it, I’ve spilled the basic details of whatever Heather and I have going on.
“So I have her to thank for this?” he asks.
“Suppose so.”
“I see. And has she suggested you begin mending fences with your family? If you’re going to stay in Mobile, you’ll have to eventually face them.”
“I have faced them, and they turned away. What am I supposed to do, open a vein?”
He shakes his head. “They needed time. They’ve had it. If you make an effort, they’ll reciprocate.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. In fact, why don’t you come over to your mama’s for dinner tomorrow after church? Bring Heather if you like.”
I swallow my iced tea before it has a chance to spray out. “Are you insane?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, first, she’s the daughter of our family’s mortal enemy. Second, we’re not dating but everyone would think we were. And third, if her mama ever found out she was in the enemy’s lair…I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Isaac, please channel your flair for the dramatic into your music.”
My mouth pops open but nothing comes out. My thoroughly proper seventy-five-year-old uncle has basically told me to stop being a drama queen. I shake my head and laugh. “Point taken, Uncle Robert. What would I do without you as the voice of reason?”
“So you’ll come?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s a start, I guess. Would it help if I told you she was fixin’ to make fried chicken and greens with bread pudding for dessert?”
“You,” I say, pointing my fork at him, “don’t fight fair.”
“Just stop by. I’ll tell them you’re coming so there’s no extra theatrics. Your mama misses you. Every day is precious and you never know when it could be the last time you see her.”
“Way to send me on a guilt trip. Is she sick or something?”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking about your Aunt Angela more than usual. I lost her in the blink of an eye, and even though we made the most of every day we had together, it wasn’t nearly enough. I’d hate to see you waste the time you’ve been given. You’re young now, but time has a way of slipping by when you’re not paying attention.”
“Point taken, Uncle Robert.”
“See you tomorrow, young man.”
I don’t answer, but I do walk him to the front door and watch him pull out of the driveway. I wave, but he’s already lost in a world of his own, no doubt listening to Mobile’s classical station. There’s not another human being alive who knows me as well as Uncle Robert, not even my mama. After Daddy died, she had her hands full with three kids and a job. Sure, she knows everything about me and tries to understand her black sheep, but it’s only my uncle who knows what it is to have a dark heart and heavy conscience. I honestly do not know what I’d do without him. If he wants me at my mama’s tomorrow, I owe it to him.
I saunter back into the house, clean up our lunch, and then wander into my new living room. I spend the rest of the afternoon composing, and well into the night. When it comes time to flick on my new lamps, I’m amazed once again at the new ambiance of the room, how just a few pieces of wood, animal hide, and paint can so completely transform a space. But then, that’s an oversimplification.
The truth is that the room is now imbued with the essence of Heather Swann who, for better or worse, has wormed her way into my life. Not sure what to make of that. Are we dating? Surely not. Friends? I guess. Fuck buddies? Definitely. I’m honestly not sure what the protocol or proper etiquette is on taking one of those to your mama’s house for Sunday dinner. Better to not complicate things when I don’t even know how I’ll be received. On the other hand, she could act as a buffer. No, that would be using her and it would be the cowardly thing to do. The old Isaac would use her as a human shield, but this new thing emerging from the wreckage needs to stand on his own two feet.
Chapter Nine
Sunday dawns bright and humid, hinting that full-blown summer is just around the corner. In just a few weeks, I’ll have been back in Mobile for an entire year. A few weeks after that, and I’ll have known Juli for an entire year.
I stand in front of my closet, trying to choose which button-down shirt is most likely able to repel harsh looks and ugly words. After a ridiculous amount of time, I close my eyes and grab a random hanger. White with narrow blue stripes. Good enough. I match it with dark blue dress pants and a leather belt. After I roll up the sleeves, I check the mirror one last time and put my battle gear in place. It’s go time.
A quick stop at the grocery store—since no more respectable place is open on a Sunday—and I’m armed with three small bouquets. The roses are for Mama, the tulips are for my sister Tiffany, and the lilies are for Christie, the oldest. I figure it can’t hurt to butter up the firing squad before it takes aim.
Thank goodness, Uncle Robert’s car is already in the carport when I pull in. It never ceases to amaze me how you can grow up somewhere, spend each of your most impressionable days in a home, and yet when you return as an adult, the place might as well be a castle in a foreign country. The outside is still brick with the same shade of off-write trim, hanging ferns adorn the front porch, and I swear Mama even plants the same flowers she did twenty years ago, but it’s not my home. Not anymore.
The only familiar thing about the place is the scent wafting from the screen door and into my open sunroof. Oh, Lord, when I’m on my deathbed and they ask what I want as my last meal, I hope they’ll make my mama’s fried chicken recipe and puree it so I can suck it through a straw or put it in my IV bag. Honest to God, it’s the closest thing one can get to culinary heaven. After a deep breath, I gather the flowers off the front seat, squeeze my eyes shut, and send up a silent prayer that I’m doing the right thing.
Uncle Robert holds the door open for me. “How did you know, Isaac? Roses are my favorite. Your mama’s, too.” He winks and lifts his chin at the figure standing in front of the sink. Her back is to me, but I see it stiffen when my name passes Uncle Robert’s lips. She slowly turns off the water, grabs a towel to her left and dries her hands, all without turning around or acknowledging my presence.
I stare at the back of the mostly gray head belonging to the woman who raised me, who was both mother and father after Daddy died. I wonder if she still says a prayer for me at night, or if she’s convinced her little black sheep has wandered too far from the fold to ever return. Perhaps she’s decided I’ve turned into one of the wolves that lurk on the periphery. When I see her shoulders shake, I know it’s not true.
“Mama?” I cut a glance at Uncle Robert and he nods, so I take a few tentative steps into the kitchen and closer to the crying woman gripping the sink. “I brought you these.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want those,” she sniffs. “I want my son.”
“I’m right here, Mama.”
She covers her mouth with a shaky hand, but I gently pull it away so I can give her a proper hug, one that tells her how much I missed her and that I’m sorry for causing her so much hurt. After what she went through when Daddy died, she deserves to spend her days carefree and surrounded by adoring grandchildren. Just like with Juli, I am not worth her tears.
“Don’t you ever stay away that long again, you hear? Now help me pull the chicken out of the oven.” And just like that, I’m forgiven. I raise an eyebrow at Uncle Robert, who just grins like the Cheshire Cat while removing a vase from the china hutch in the dining room. He fills it with water while I don oven mitts and remove the already-cooked, battered and fried Southern ambrosia from the warm oven. For once, I’m drooling over thighs and breasts that have nothing to do with blondes or redheads.
Uncle Robert places the flowers in the center of the dining room table, while my nieces and nephews finally notice my presence. My heart breaks in two when they stop dead in their tracks and stare up at me. I’ve never been that great with kids, but I love these little ones, so I crouch down to their level, hold out my arms and smile. In a flash, they’ve smashed their little faces into my shoulders and chest, while tiny fingers grip my neck.
“I missed you, Uncle Isaac,” says Jayne, my oldest niece. She’s dark-haired with blue eyes like me, but she’s also shy. Maybe this is why we get along so well.
“Missed you too, Baby Jayne. Thanks for the hug. Is your mama around here somewhere?”
“Yeah, she’s upstairs changing John. He pooped again.”
I chuckle. “Little brothers have a way of doing that, huh?”
“He’s gross.”
“All boys are gross. You remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about we play catch after supper? Sound good?”
Her eyes light up and she nods before bouncing away to tell her daddy. The younger kids wiggle away and toddle off to whatever they were playing with before they noticed me. Only Brent remains a few feet away, standing with his little hands in his pockets.
I acknowledge him with a nod. “You doing okay, little man?”
He sticks out his lower lip. “My mama’s mad at you.”
“Brent,” Uncle Robert warns, but I hold up a hand.
“No, it’s okay. I understand that she’s mad and she has every right to be. I did something bad and it disappointed her. Do you ever do anything to disappoint your mama?”
He narrows his eyes at me and turns a little red. “Yes, sir.”
“Like what?”
He kicks at a chair leg before answering. “Last week I cut the hair off my sister’s toy horse. Mama got real mad and Angie cried.”
“Oh, I see. Well, when you grow up, you try not to do things to disappoint people, but sometimes it happens. What was your punishment for hurting Angie’s horse?”
“Had to tell her I’m sorry and then I got sent to my room.”
“Want to know a secret? I got sent to my room, too, except I got sent to my house. Had to stay there by myself and not talk to anyone. It’s no fun, is it?”
Brent shakes his head, while Uncle Robert grins down at us.
“Well, now it’s time for me to apologize, too. That’s what you do when you hurt someone you love. Can you tell me where your mama is so I can tell her I’m sorry?”
“I’m right here.”
My legs are numb so I stand and face my sister Tiffany. Unlike me and Mama, she’s a tiny thing with light brown hair. Her size, however, does not in any way diminish the blood-curdling look of disapproval she’s aiming at me. Brent—wise kid—scurries away. Even Uncle Robert shrinks back into the kitchen.
“Brought you these.” I’m still wearing oven mitts, so I clumsily pick up the small bouquet of tulips and present them to her with a goofy grin. She puts her hands on her hips, but I can see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Thank you kindly for the flowers, but they don’t change anything,” she says.
“No, they don’t. I’m the only one who can change things and I intend to. I’ll start by apologizing for my behavior and any…hardship it may have brought upon you or your beautiful little family. Now will you please stop looking at me like that and give your baby brother a hug?”
She rolls her eyes but tucks her head under my chin and wraps her arms around my waist. Tiffany has always been the enforcer in our family, even though she’s only two years older than me and another two years younger than our oldest sister.
“What’s with the oven mitts?” she asks.
“Mama let me help her take the chicken out of the oven.”
“Whoa.”
“I know. She must’ve really missed me.”
“I’ll let you get back to your honorary sous chef duties while I round up the kids. They missed you. Wes did too. Wants to go fishing with you soon.”
“Sounds great,” I tell her, making a mental note to avoid my brother-in-law’s invitation. Nice enough guy and treats her well, but boring as hell. Still, it’s nice to know he doesn’t hold a grudge.
Back in the kitchen, the meal is coming together. Mama instructs me to place the chicken on a platter while she and Uncle Robert arrange the fixings and take them to the table. The din grows louder as everyone crowds into the small room where hundreds of Sunday dinners have been served over the years. Tiffany pours drinks for the little ones, while our oldest sister Christie settles baby John into his high chair. So far, she hasn’t even glanced at me.
I whisper to Jayne, “Sit by me, okay?”
She smiles and nods, her blue eyes lighting up. On my other side is Uncle Robert, who sits in his well-earned place at the head of the table. Next to him and across from me is Mama. Both of them look like proud peacocks ruling over their roost.
“Here we are, all together again,” he says. He grabs Mama’s hand and squeezes. Next he reaches for mine and we all follow suit, bowing our heads. Baby Jayne hangs on to my other one for dear life. I gently squeeze back and wink. She giggles before closing her eyes.
Uncle Robert clears his throat. “Dear Lord, we thank you for the abundance with which you’ve graced our table and our lives. We are grateful for our food, our family, and most of all, for your forgiveness. May we keep that forgiveness in the front of our minds as we go forth this week. Help us to do your will and spread your love in a manner that is pleasing to you. Amen.”
“Amen.”
With a final squeeze, I release Uncle Robert’s and Jayne’s hands, and sneak a peek at Christie. He head is still bowed and her lips are pressed into a fine line. Clearly, the prayer was aimed at her and it looks like I have some groveling to do after dinner.
As expected, the chicken nearly makes my eyes roll back in my head. Mama beams when I reach for my third piece, but Christie huffs while trying to convince little John to settle for pureed sweet potatoes. Her husband Aaron shrugs and shoots a “better you than me” look my way. I’ve seen it before. It’s the one he gives when someone else screws up and he’s relieved it’s not him she’s got in her sights.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Christie, but she’s got a wicked temper and doesn’t take crap from anyone. Tiffany is the enforcer, but Christie is the one who always gave the orders from on high. Being four years older than me automatically put her in charge when Mama wasn’t around, which was often since she had to work so much after Daddy died. We used to call her Little Mama to piss her off. I’m thinking I need to refrain from using that particular term of endearment if I want a chance at any type of relationship with her. The bastard in me snickers.
I nudge Jayne and motion to her mama. Then I line up one of my peas on the edge of my plate and flick it catty-corner at Christie’s head. It misses, hits her chest instead, and disappears into her shirt. I quickly take a bite of chicken and look around the room while Jayne giggles.
This can’t end well. I know it can’t, and yet watching Christie’s pulse jump in her neck and seeing her face redden turns me into a twelve-year-old pest bent on making his sixteen-year-old sister’s life hell. Jayne’s giggling is fuel for the fire.
“Do it again, Uncle Isaac,” she whispers.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart. I’m just enjoying this fine meal.
How’s your chicken? You need some more greens?”
“No, but I could use some more peas, please.” This kid cracks me up.
“Sure thing. Here ya go.” I spoon some onto her plate and help her line them up.
“Ready,” I whisper.
“Aim,” she counters.
“Fire!” We both flick them at her mother, but Aaron intervenes, holding up a hand to deflect them before they are lost in the cleavage of his hot-headed wife. No matter, Christie is three shades of purple and pissed. Good. At least she’ll be forced to acknowledge me.
“It’s not enough that you’ve disgraced our family? You have to teach my children bad manners as well?”
“Hi, Christie. I’ve missed you too.”
“This is not the time or place,” she says, as ice settles over the table.
“No? You going to ignore me forever?”
She slams her cloth napkin onto the table. “Aaron, please finish feeding John. Isaac, come with me.”
I wink at Jayne, her face betraying her fear for my safety. Little does she know I’ve been needling her mama my entire life. Christie stomps into the front room and closes the pocket door behind her, like that’ll drown out the tongue-lashing she’s about to unleash.
“What exactly is your problem, Isaac? Didn’t get enough attention as a child so you have to create drama?”
“Are you referring to the pea stuck in your bra or my relationship with Juli Casquette?”
She sucks in a breath and draws herself up to her full height. “Help me understand,” she says. “I just don’t know what to think. Some days I’m so mad at you I don’t ever want to see you again. Others I’m merely disgusted. Do I need to worry about you around Jayne? Are you attracted to young girls?”
“Jesus H. Christ, Christie, no! It’s not like that at all. God, I can’t believe you’d even suggest it! Juli is not a young girl. Yes, she was seventeen. Yes, it was wrong in most people’s eyes, but there is nothing childlike about her. That girl was forced to grow up faster than anyone I’ve ever met and she entered into an adult relationship with me with her eyes wide open. You won’t believe it, but she came after me.”
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