Once in a Blue Moon

by Vicki Covington

  “And that gets me into territory I know you don’t want to hear. Like the pro-lifers who believe life begins at conception. They stand by the entrance door to the clinic, picketing. But they also stand outside the exit door, where they tell each woman not to worry, that her baby is in God’s hands, and they’ll be reunited after the woman herself dies. I know you don’t run with these nuts, but don’t you believe in the same God? Or maybe there are two Gods, a liberal one and a conservative one. Who the hell are we? Why are we here? Is this a dream? If God is real, why didn’t he give us some clues, like a pathway of breadcrumbs to show us the way to his place? If you and my daddy can make this intellectual surrender by believing, why can’t I? Have I not suffered enough to be relieved of this horrific loneliness of a nonbeliever?

  “Don’t for a moment think I don’t want to be like you and Daddy. But I can’t. I used to think that religion was for ignorant people. Then I met you. Then Daddy got saved. That forced me to question both myself and you. I’d give anything to be able to believe. But it isn’t possible. Not if I’m honest. Not if I use my brain. I don’t like fairy tales. I never have. My mama says I’d whine when an animal talked in a storybook. So, what? I’m a realist? Is that what I call myself? I don’t want to label myself as an atheist or an agnostic, even. I’m just Abi.

  “And another thing that bothers me is when people say they’re able to give you the date, the time, the moment when they ‘saw the light.’ Like it’s an actual light going on. With a time stamp and all. Well, like I said, it’s an intellectual surrender I can’t and won’t make.”

  Abi had stood holding an unlit cigarette during the entire rant. Now, spent, she lit it.

  “So, what kind of food are we going to take to the Kasirs’ house?”

  “I’ve made a casserole,” Landon said.

  Abi drew hard on her cigarette. “I’ll go over to where I work and steal some yeast rolls.”

  “That’ll be great. I know how good they are. Will your boss mind?”

  “He won’t even know. I’m cozy with the bread maker.”

  “I’ve already talked to a florist. The card will be from all of us.”

  “You’ve been quick, haven’t you?”

  “It’s the way I cope. Food and flowers. Did you know that Mr. Kasir changed his will just a few months ago, gave his properties to Jason after his grandmom dies? He didn’t want Abe Jr. to inherit them, ever.”

  “Jesus,” Abi replied. “So Jason’s life is about to change, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It broke me up when he told me he was going to be the kind of landlord his granddad was, that he understood sometimes people don’t have the money in hand to pay the rent, that he’ll work with them, with us, just like Mr. Kasir did.”

  “I’m going on over to the restaurant. You have that casserole ready. Then we’ll take it all over to Mrs. Kasir. I don’t know if you’ve ever been around them, but she took care of Mr. Kasir. She adored him. And they were married forever.”

  “You know,” Landon said, just realizing, “I never went to Mr. Kasir’s house. He always came by ours.”

  “What did you and he talk about when he would come over?”

  “He talked about the war,” Landon said. She burned to tell Abi about Carissa. But she owed Mr. Kasir her silence, even though he was gone.

  Abi got her keys, wallet, and cigarettes.

  “I’m going. I just . . . This is all I can do. Rolls. That’s all I have to offer.”

  Landon thought of the story in the Bible in which a widow gave only a couple of coins for church. And Jesus sat down and began observing how people were putting money into the treasury, how many rich people were putting in large sums. But the poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which amounted to a cent. He called his disciples and said that the poor widow put in more than all the other contributors. She gave all that she had.

  But Landon wouldn’t in a million years tell Abi the story.

  For a moment, Landon thought of Will’s tiny blue Testament. He was still doing well in remission. She missed him.

  “Why am I doing this?” Abi asked before heading out the door. “Fetching some food.”

  “It’s just what we do,” Landon replied.

  ABI

  Abi sat on a stool in the kitchen and watched Henry the bread maker at work.

  “So, who passed?” he asked.

  “My landlord.”

  He nodded and dropped small balls of dough onto a baking sheet. After Henry filled the sheet, he put it in the huge oven, washed his hands, and pulled over another stool to sit beside her.

  “Okay, sweetness,” Henry said, moving his stool close to hers. “Now, tell me. I wouldn’t expect a tenant to be so moved. Tell me what you loved about him,” he said.

  Abi looked down at their hands. She was afraid to look him in the eye because she might get choked up. The rant she delivered to Landon had left her depleted, exhausted, and more than a little embarrassed.

  “His name was Abraham Kasir. He wasn’t like most slumlords.”

  Henry interrupted. “You don’t live in a slum, do you?”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “I’m just being cynical. It’s how I deal with shit.”

  “Okay. You do what you need to do, sweetness.”

  “It’s just that nobody in the neighborhood has much money, and he understood that. He didn’t have a greedy bone in his body. It’s like he wanted us to be a family.”

  “And is that the way it is in your neighborhood? A family?”

  “Yes. We all need each other that way.”

  “Most folks single?” Henry got up and opened the oven door to make sure the yeast rolls were rising.

  “I’m going to miss him so much,” Abi said.

  “‘I go and prepare a place for you,’” he replied.

  “I guess that’s from the Bible.”

  “Sure is.”

  She had no arguments left in her. She took Henry’s hand, put it to her lips, and kissed it. He pulled her a bit closer, put his arm around her, and cradled her head.

  When the bread had risen and baked, Henry took out the sheet and brushed each roll with melted butter. After they cooled a bit, he got two baskets from one of the cabinets and lined them with cloth napkins. Then he carefully covered each basket with other napkins.

  “Won’t they miss the baskets and napkins?” she asked—they being the owners.

  “Nah. They don’t know, they don’t care.”

  Henry walked Abi to her Volvo and opened the door for her. He kissed her on the forehead.

  “This is a small, good thing you’re doing,” he told her. “And life’s about doing one small thing for one small person. That’s all that matters.”

  She nodded, told him thanks, then goodbye. She put the baskets in the passenger seat, turned on the radio, and drove in the direction of home, crossing the mountain that separated the haves from the have-nots.

  JET

  Jet sat on Sam’s couch. She was wearing her black stockings and a denim skirt. Her long, dark hair was pulled back with a clasp that looked like a giant spider. She had taken off her cape and laid it beside her. Sam had been playing an Xbox game when she arrived, and she could tell by the way he kept glancing at the screen that he might want to keep playing. But of course, he was hospitable and loaded a bowl. She crossed her legs slowly and watched his eyes slide over her. For a moment, she believed she might be able to find some desire in him, but he averted his gaze to the TV again. He had muted the sound.

  When he got up to get her a beer, she followed him to the kitchen and looked out the back, where the dumpster was overflowing in the alley. He was handing her the bottle when they heard a knock at the door.

  “Is it Tanya?” she asked, a bit alarmed, even though nothing was going on.

  “No, she’s still at work.”

  When he opened the door, Jet saw Landon. She wasn’t wearing a smile.

  “I’m glad you’re both here,” she said. �
��I don’t like being the bearer of bad news.”

  “What is it?” Jet asked her.

  “Mr. Kasir died.”

  Sam remained standing, as if in respect for the dead, and didn’t sit until Landon told them what she knew—that Mr. Kasir went to bed last night and didn’t wake up this morning, that Jason had come over just an hour or so ago with the news. Since Jet didn’t know what to say, she waited. Landon told them in a hushed voice that he had died in his sleep.

  Jet looked down at the carpet, as if she had not heard the news. Finally, she whispered, “When’s the funeral?”

  “I don’t know yet, honey,” Landon said.

  “It hasn’t been so long ago that I had to bury my daddy.” Jet rose as if in a stupor. “I’m going to bake a pound cake.”

  “That’s perfect,” Landon told her. “I’ve got a casserole, and Abi’s gone over to where she works to nab some fresh-baked yeast rolls. A cake is great. I can take the food over soon as the cake is done.”

  Jet nodded. She was neither happy nor sad. She kept looking at her hands—palms up, then palms down, then clasped and unclasped, as if she had lost a ring, not Mr. Kasir.

  “What kind of casserole?” Jet asked Landon.

  “What?”

  “What kind of casserole did you make?”

  “Veg-All.”

  “Did you use Ritz crackers crumbled on top?”

  “Yes,” Landon replied.

  Jet managed a smile. “Then we can bury the dead.”

  Back at her apartment, Jet lit a black candle for Mr. Kasir. She went to her vanity, sat down, and brushed her hair, one hundred times in all. She had read that this was the way to have healthy, vibrant hair but had found that it also relieved stress. She watched the black wax until the first drop spilled over the tip and ran down the height of the candle to pool in the lip of the candleholder. She needed a bit of time before she started baking.

  The first time she met Mr. Kasir, she was still living in the Episcopal halfway house. Father Patrick was with her that day on Cullom Street. They sat on the porch and signed the lease right then and there. Jet wasn’t sure why Mr. Kasir took a bet on her. She was still trying to shake her time as a prostitute, her anger and her fear. But Mr. Kasir was kind. He treated her like a granddaughter from day one. That was why she had called him to tell him about getting arrested. She knew he would be nice—and he was, of course. He didn’t chastise her or dismiss her. He simply wanted to know who had paid her bond. He told her that if she was in financial trouble, she could be late on the rent. He knew the story of her life, and he didn’t want her going backward.

  The first time Stephanie and Caroline came to Birmingham, shortly after the arrest, Jet called Mr. Kasir to come meet them. He had been his gentlemanly self. Jet introduced him to Caroline, who seemed suddenly shy. Stephanie had asked him questions about his family, his properties, even where he went to church. Jet could tell that Mr. Kasir was impressed by her. A smile never left his face as he answered her mannered questions. Jet had been aware of how stunning Stephanie was in that moment, how she held herself, how she talked a bit louder than usual after she noticed his hearing aids.

  Now, Jet reached for her phone and called Stephanie. She didn’t answer, so Jet left a message that Mr. Kasir had died. It still didn’t seem real to her. But it was time to bake.

  Cooking was like one hundred brush strokes to Jet; it was soothing. She got two sticks of butter, two cups of flour, one cup of sugar, four eggs, and vanilla extract. It was amazing that she had every ingredient she needed. She preheated the oven, greased and floured the pan, then beat the butter and sugar with her electric mixer on high speed. She added the eggs one at a time, splashed in some vanilla, and gradually added the flour. That was it. She put it in the oven and set the timer.

  She found one of the blank note cards her mother had bought for her when she almost got married. They were intended for thank-you messages but of course had sat unused since Jet called off the wedding. Today, she was glad she had saved them. She wanted to write to Mrs. Kasir.

  Dear Mrs. Kasir,

  I’m so sorry about Mr. Kasir. He was the kindest man I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine life without him, and I’m sure you must feel that way. We’re all so happy to know that Jason will be our landlord. I hope you will be comforted by his presence. He’s just like his granddaddy. When I found out a few minutes ago about Mr. Kasir, my thoughts went immediately to you. And they will remain so in the coming days.

  Love,

  Jet

  She didn’t say she’d be praying for her because that would be a lie. She wasn’t praying. She was baking.

  She put the note card in an envelope and got a stamp from the box—her mother had also provided postage for the never-to-be-written thank-you notes. A picture of the flag was on the stamp. That was fitting, she thought. Mr. Kasir was a patriot.

  She went to the porch to leave the note for the mailman, securing it to her box with a clothespin. She knew that Landon was going to take the food to Mrs. Kasir later that day, but she wanted her note to arrive in a couple of days, after the initial shock had subsided.

  She sat on her steps and looked up and down the street at all the houses that held Mr. Kasir’s tenants. It was as if his spirit was still around. Every time the wind swept through the leaves of the hickory tree in Landon’s yard, she felt him. A butterfly landed on the ledge of the porch. It was an orange monarch. It, too, seemed to herald Mr. Kasir nearby.

  “I love you,” Jet said aloud, as if Mr. Kasir were there to hear her. She listed for him all the times he had helped her. She wasn’t talking to God. She was talking to Mr. Kasir.

  When she heard the timer go off in the kitchen, she went inside and used her hand mitts to pull the cake from the oven. It was perfect. It wasn’t going to fall.

  Cakes can fall and have to be made all over again. Leaves can fall and carpet an entire yard. People can fall and get back up again.

  LANDON

  Since Abi and Jet both had work, Landon ended up taking the food to the Kasirs’ alone. She arranged the casserole, cake, and yeast rolls in an oversized picnic basket that once belonged to her mother. She loaded the car and took the high road over the mountain.

  The Kasirs’ yard was big. A gazebo on one side had climbers that somebody had trained to grow up to the top. She guessed that maybe Jason kept the lawn mowed and that Mrs. Kasir planted the flowers, some of which were still blooming, despite the first frost. She pulled the big basket from the passenger seat and carried it to the front door. She was surprised by the lack of cars on the street. She had assumed the house might be packed with church friends or family. But when she rang the bell, only Jason greeted her and invited her into an empty living room. She handed him the basket.

  “Grandmom!” he called.

  He led Landon to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Kasir stood up from the table and hugged Landon. “How sweet of you to drop by,” she said.

  Landon had met her once before, but it was late one frigid night during her first winter at the apartment, when Mrs. Kasir had driven her husband around to make sure all the tenants had left their faucets dripping. That night, Landon had walked around to the driver’s side to say hello, but it was dark and she didn’t have a good look at Mrs. Kasir. Now, in the light of day, Landon took her in. Her hair was dyed a golden strawberry blond. Her eyes were hazel. She did not look old, even though Landon knew she was almost ninety. It was as if she were surrounded by an aura of grace, the way she took Landon’s hands and smiled.

  Landon caught sight of the spread of food on the table and reasoned that friends or family had been there earlier to bring their offerings.

  “Please stay for tea,” Mrs. Kasir said.

  She accepted, hoping Mrs. Kasir wasn’t just being hospitable. Sometimes, Landon recalled, it was the unexpected person, rather than those who had to come calling, who brought the most comfort.

  “Jason, could you fill the teapot for me, hon?”


  He did what his grandmother asked, then took the food from Landon’s open basket and set it on the table with the rest.

  Landon sat at the table and thanked Mrs. Kasir for asking Jason to deliver the news in person. Mrs. Kasir’s hands were folded on the table. She was wearing a bright blue dress and a string of pearls. Landon was certain that she wanted to present herself as a woman in charge of her feelings.

  Mrs. Kasir peeked under the foil at Landon’s casserole. “Oh, a Veg-All. Nobody else thought of that.”

  Landon told her the cake was from Jet and the bread from Abi.

  “I love the smell of yeast rolls, don’t you?” she asked Landon.

  “I do,” Landon replied.

  Mrs. Kasir turned to Jason and said, “Hon, use the Earl Grey teabags.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Isn’t he the best boy in the world?” she said.

  “Oh, indeed, he is,” Landon agreed.

  They drank their tea while Jason munched on the rolls.

  “I have to show you something,” Mrs. Kasir said, smiling. “Go get the ledgers, Jason.”

  Jason disappeared into another room and returned with Mr. Kasir’s stack of spiral notebooks.

  Mrs. Kasir laughed as she told Landon how every renter had his or her own private ledger. “But they are more like journals,” she went on. “He made these entries that seemed superfluous. Oh, Abe—he was quite a character, wasn’t he?” she said, and shook her head.