Remembrance

by Mary Monroe

  The band had been playing since we walked in the door and the dance floor stayed crowded, but we had danced only two times. There was a huge, fake white Christmas tree near the bandstand, and there were other holiday decorations everywhere I looked. Every waitress wore reindeer antlers, and the musicians were dressed as elves. Mistletoe had been placed on every table.

  When Eric started snoring, I picked up the mistletoe and tickled his face. He yelped and jerked like he was having a spasm. “What?” he asked with a dazed expression on his face.

  “Give me the car keys,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  “Huh? Why do you need the keys? Are you ready to leave already? It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “You got me all dressed up and dragged me to this place, now we’re going to stay and have a good time. Shoot.”

  “All right, then. But if you go back to sleep, I’m going to douse you with my drink and leave your sleepy behind here,” I threatened, waving my margarita in his face. After that, Eric remained alert. We even danced a few more times. And during a slow, romantic song, he nibbled on my ear and held me so close it felt like we’d been glued together. “You’re getting a little too frisky,” I teased.

  “What do you expect? I’m with the most beautiful woman in this place tonight.”

  “If you’re going to start acting silly, we’d better leave before you embarrass us both.”

  “Well, in that case, I’m ready if you are.” Eric sounded relieved, but I insisted on finishing my drink. During those few minutes, he nodded off again.

  As soon as we got home, he went straight to bed. I went into our bathroom to remove my makeup. When I entered the bedroom just a few minutes later, Eric was snoring like a bull.

  * * *

  When I got up Sunday morning at seven a.m., I found a note he had left on the kitchen counter telling me that he’d gone fishing with one of his buddies.

  I spent the next hour purging books from my shelf in the living room; I planned to donate them to Goodwill. I didn’t take a shower and get dressed until eight-thirty a.m. I had turned off my cell phone on the way to the club last night and had forgotten to turn it back on. A few minutes before noon, Daddy called our landline. “How come you don’t answer your cell phone?” he barked.

  “Good morning, Daddy. We went out last night and I turned it off. How come you’re not at church?” Eric and I hadn’t been to church in two weeks. My parents never missed a Sunday service, unless they were out of town or sick.

  “What’s wrong with you, girl? Where do you think I’m calling from?”

  “Oh. Um, is everything all right?”

  “It is on our end. I was calling to make sure everything was all right with you. Last night, your mama tried to call you to tell you we decided to go on that senior citizens’ Christmas cruise that the church organized. James and Lana Banks had to cancel, and we’ll be taking their place.”

  “Oh? How long is the cruise?”

  “Seven days. We’ll leave out of Long Beach on Christmas Eve and end up in Mazatlán, Mexico.”

  “That’s nice, Daddy. Mazatlán is one of my favorite cities. Too bad you’ll have to miss my Christmas dinner . . .”

  “And your birthday celebration. We got you something real nice for both and I’ll drop it off when I get a chance.” Daddy paused, and I heard several people in the background talking at the same time. “I have to go now, sugar. The choir is getting ready to cut loose and they want me to do a solo. I’ll talk to you again when we get home.”

  After Daddy hung up, I dialed each of my three kids’ phone numbers, landlines, and cell phones. Every single call went straight to voice mail. I didn’t even bother to try Camille’s number, since I knew she wouldn’t be at home. She and Nick had breakfast at a high-end restaurant every Sunday before they went to church. I wasn’t even sure I could count on them to show up for my dinner. She’d been dropping hints about spending the holiday in a luxury hotel suite in Santa Cruz with Nick. Now I wondered if anybody would come.

  I felt better after drinking a glass of wine. I tried to watch a few programs on TV, but nothing held my interest. I got sick of getting voice mails every time I tried to call up somebody, so I spent the rest of the day looking for chores to redo just so I’d have something to keep me busy. But no matter what I did, the house felt still like a tomb.

  I couldn’t wait for Monday morning to come so I could return to the soup kitchen. At least I wouldn’t have time to get bored there.

  Eric didn’t return until ten minutes after five o’clock. He shuffled into the kitchen with a bucket that contained only five fish, but it smelled like a lot more. “You spent most of the day at the marina and that’s the best you could do?” I teased, holding my breath and nose.

  “Yeah. So what? Since it’s just you and me now, five is enough for dinner this evening,” he whined.

  “But I was going to grill the steak I defrosted,” I whined back.

  “We can eat that tomorrow.” He set the bucket on the floor and strolled over to me with a mysterious look on his face. The next thing I knew, his arms were around my waist. “In the meantime, I just want to hold you for a few moments. It’s been a long time since we just cuddled.”

  And that was exactly what we did for about three minutes. When I attempted to move away, Eric tightened his embrace. “Turn me loose now. I need to clean those fish before they stink up the whole house. We can cuddle some more later,” I told him. That put a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER 12

  Eric went upstairs immediately after dinner and I cleaned up the kitchen. Half an hour later when I got upstairs, he was asleep. I pinched and poked him, but he remained as stiff as a log. I had been looking forward to cuddling with him some more tonight. I loved my husband dearly, but there were times when he was so dull I wanted to scream.

  I went back downstairs, stretched out on the living-room couch, and read a few chapters of A Sinful Calling. It was the most recent book I’d purchased by Kimberla Lawson Roby, one of my all-time favorite authors. When I attempted to call up my kids, I got nothing but voice mails again. It was so hard to believe that they had become so aloof. Just as I was about to pour myself a glass of wine, my cell phone rang.

  “I’m glad I didn’t get that annoying voice mail recording,” my mother snapped.

  “Hello, Mama,” I replied. “Where is Denise? I sent her a text and left a voice mail this morning.”

  “She left about an hour ago on her way to Reno with some of her friends. Something about a bachelorette party for one of the girls in her cooking class. Why anybody would want to get married three weeks before Christmas is a mystery to me. Oh, well. At least the girl won’t have to worry about her husband forgetting their anniversary date.”

  “Daddy told me about the cruise.”

  “Uh-huh. I can’t wait to get on that ship! Are you still planning on throwing another big holiday shindig this year?”

  “That’s a good question. Some folks haven’t even responded to my invitation. I don’t even know if the kids are coming.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Have you ever thought that those children are tired of spending holidays with you and Eric?”

  “I always thought Christmas was the main day in the year for families to get together.”

  “That’s true, but some folks don’t want to spend every Christmas with family. And the same is true for all the rest of the holidays.”

  “Are you telling me that you are one of those people?”

  Her response caught me completely off guard. “Yup! That’s why I jumped at the chance to go on that cruise this month. I think I need to let you know that Harry and I don’t want to eat dinner with you and Eric and a bunch of other bored-looking folks again any time soon. I’m sorry I took so long to tell you. I wanted to do it years ago when I saw how obsessed you were becoming with Martha Stewart. And because I took my time, you
’re at the overkill level now.”

  “I had no idea,” I whimpered.

  “Now you know.” Mama sucked on her teeth for a few seconds before she went on. “Sweetie, everybody already loves you. If you back off a little, everybody will still love you. Well, now! I’ve said all I wanted to say on this subject for now, so I’ll let you go. Have a blessed evening, baby.” Mama hung up before I could say another word, and I was glad she did. I didn’t know how to respond to her outburst.

  When I went to bed an hour later—Eric was still dead to the world—I thought a lot about what Mama had said. “Overkill” was such an ominous word. It was even more disturbing when it was used—by my own mother—to describe something I’d done. Maybe I was trying too hard to please some people. There was one thing I knew for sure: the people who operated Sister Cecile’s kitchen and the people I helped feed would never get tired of my humanitarian efforts.

  * * *

  I got up Monday morning a few minutes before six a.m. Eric was still out like a light. While I was getting dressed, he came back to life. “Bea, how come you didn’t wake me up when you came to bed last night?” There was a plaintive tone in his voice.

  “Pffft! I tried, but you were so out of it! You would have slept through Armageddon,” I snickered as I zipped up my dress.

  “Oh. Well, you’re looking mighty nice in that blue frock. It’s a shame I have to be at work by seven this morning, otherwise I’d spend my day looking at my beautiful wife.”

  “You smooth talker,” I said with a laugh.

  “I’ll make up for last night, tonight, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Let’s wait until tonight gets here.”

  Eric didn’t have time for breakfast or a cup of coffee, so I didn’t fix any. On my way to work, I stopped at the first Starbucks. I drank a large cup of coffee, finished reading Kimberla Lawson Roby’s book, and started the latest one I’d bought by Fern Michaels.

  When I arrived at the kitchen a few minutes past eight a.m., Charles and I approached the entrance at the same time. He held the door open for me. He looked more handsome than ever. The thought of a man who seemed so nice spending Christmas at a soup kitchen, or holed up in that shabby tent, made me cringe. I had a notion to invite him to spend the holiday with us. That notion didn’t stay on my mind long. Eric would have a fit if I invited a homeless person into our house. Besides, I didn’t know Charles well enough to extend such a personal invitation anyway. I didn’t think I should get too friendly with him. I needed to be professional while at the kitchen. It was important for the soup kitchen patrons to have as much consistency as possible.

  “Good morning, Miss Bea,” Charles greeted, giving me a wall-to-wall smile. I was the only person I’d ever seen him smile for.

  “Good morning, Charles.” I moved to the side so other people could enter. He moved with me. We stood in front of the Christmas tree, which looked even more festive now. Somebody had attached a few cards, and more bulbs and tinsel. “You don’t have to be so formal. Call me Bea like everybody else.”

  “I’m sorry. My grandmother was very particular about the way I addressed ladies.”

  “Did your grandmother raise you?”

  He nodded. “I was only eight when she took me in.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My mama died, and my daddy was a member of the Black Panthers, so he led a very busy life. He stopped coming around when I was six. None of the relatives I had left wanted to raise another child,” he said sadly.

  “That’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.” I sucked in some air and glanced around the room. Most of the people who had come to eat looked as if they were hungry enough to bite each other, so I was anxious to start serving. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work. We’re serving grits this morning.”

  “I know. One of the cooks told me last Friday that he’d be cooking grits and eggs for breakfast this morning. That’s why I came so early today. I wanted to make sure I got here before they ran out. It was my favorite meal when I was growing up, and still is.”

  “Mine too.” I smiled awkwardly. “Well, you enjoy your breakfast, Charles.” I was about to walk away when he started talking again.

  “What about you, Bea?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have any relatives in the Bay Area?”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t have any siblings, but my parents live in San Francisco. I have my husband here, and a slew of cousins, aunts, uncles, and in-laws all over the state. Plus, I have three grown children who live around here too.”

  Charles did a double take. “You sure don’t look old enough to have grown kids.”

  “Thank you, Charles. You just made my day. Why don’t you go get in line, I’m sure we’ll start serving in a few minutes.” I winked at him and added in a whisper, “I’ll give you an extra helping of grits.”

  “Thank you, Bea. You just made my day.”

  After the weekend I’d had, being greeted so warmly by a man as charming as Charles was like a shot in the arm. I didn’t realize how big the smile on my face was until I went into the coatroom to put my purse and jacket away.

  “What are you smiling about, Bea?” asked Sandra, one of the other volunteers.

  “Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about something nice that happened to me.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Charles left right after he finished his meal, but he returned in time for lunch. This was the first time he’d come to eat two meals in the same day. I had been too busy to chat with him some more. Even if I hadn’t been, I didn’t want to encourage him to talk to me too often at work. I didn’t want anyone to think I had favorites. But on his way out the door after he’d eaten lunch, he acknowledged me with a smile and a nod. I smiled back.

  When I arrived Tuesday morning an hour late, almost everybody had eaten and left. I assumed Charles had come and gone already, or decided to eat at a different facility.

  I went to Iola’s for lunch with Gayle and Reyes. They got their orders to go because they had a few errands to run. I took a seat at a table near the entrance. When I finished my coffee and tuna sandwich, I picked up a newspaper that somebody had left behind. A few minutes after I’d started reading Dear Abby, I scanned the room and saw the last person I expected to see sitting at a table a few feet from mine reading a newspaper: Charles Davenport. He had on the same flannel shirt and blue jeans he’d worn yesterday. I was pleased to see that every time I saw him, he was neat and clean-shaven. Before I could look away, he glanced up and our eyes met. The next thing I knew, he was at my table.

  “It’s getting kind of crowded up in here and I didn’t want to hog a whole table by myself. Do you mind if I sit with you? I’m only going to be here a few more minutes,” he said. There was such a pleading look on his face, I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “I don’t mind.” I motioned him to the seat across from me. “You must really like this place. I’ve seen you in here several times.”

  “I do. The food is delicious, and the prices are reasonable. I eat here, and a few other places, when I have the money.” He added quickly, “I don’t expect to get all my meals for free.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by that—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He gave me a dismissive wave and chuckled. “I made a few dollars helping a dude move some furniture yesterday. I’ve been doing odd jobs for a while.” I felt a little awkward, but he seemed completely at ease. “Standing on the street in a day labor zone is not a walk in the park, but I do what I have to do.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Just from the conversations I’ve had with some of the people we serve, I know that most of them would be glad to work if somebody would give them a job. Only a few get into a rut and get so comfortable that they don’t try to get out of it.”

  A weary expression crossed Charles’s face. “Well, a ‘rut’ is not a comfortable place for me. Things happened to some of us that we couldn’t control and that’s the only
reason we fell so far off the grid.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding. Charles didn’t seem like the kind of man who wanted anyone to pity him, so I made a conscious effort not to convey that. But I had a lot of sympathy for him anyway. “How long have you been—”

  “Homeless?” He didn’t let me finish my sentence. He blinked and scratched the side of his head. “Since last month, the week before Thanksgiving. I had a hard time adjusting to it. I’m used to it now, and to tell you the truth, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. It’s better than being dead or in prison.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I sniffed. “Uh . . . if I’m not being too nosy, can I ask what happened for you to end up homeless? You said your mother died when you were a little boy?”

  Charles gave me such a hopeless look, I thought he was going to cry. He blinked rapidly a few times and rubbed his nose. But the hopeless look was still on his face. “My mother was murdered in our own house, just a few miles from here.”

  “Oh, my God,” I mouthed. Now I thought I was going to cry. I exhaled and said in a strong tone, “As much as I love the Bay Area, sometimes I wish I lived in a little country hick town. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about a bunch of cold-blooded maniacs going around killing folks for some of the stupidest reasons.”

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d lived in a little country town. My mother’s boyfriend was responsible for her death, not the place.” He paused and took a very deep breath. “Like so many women, she got involved with the wrong one after my daddy took off. The new dude was the jealous type. He got violent when he was drunk—and he drank like a fish almost every day. Mama loved him so much, she put up with all that and more. No matter how well-behaved I was, he hated my guts. He’d beat me for no reason and would always hit me in places where nobody could see my bruises. He threatened to kill me if I ever blabbed to my mother. I told one of my friends that I was going to run away from home as soon as I got old enough. That kid told my mother, and that same day, she finally stood up to him. She made him pack his stuff and leave. He called a few days later and tried to make up with her. When she refused to resume the relationship, he came over the following Sunday and kicked in our front door while we were getting dressed for church. He shot her, right in front of me. My mama died in my arms. I begged him to kill me too, and I think he would have if one of our neighbors hadn’t got to me in time.”