Hatteras Girl (Heart of Carolina Book #3) (18 page)

Part of me wants to apologize for leaving him at the restaurant that night, for lying to him, for not desiring to get to know him. The other part of me just wants to pick up the wet paper towels from the floor, stuff them inside a trash can, and hurry home.

I watch him push his cart away, stop for a block of cheese, and continue walking. I hand the roll of towels back to the butcher.

I’m halfway down the baking aisle, face-to-face with Betty Crocker’s brownie mixes, when I realize I left the patch of soggy paper towels on the floor. As I round the corner, I don’t see Douglas, and there is a cashier with red lipstick and a pleasant smile ready for me. “How are you today, sweetie?” she asks.

I can’t risk going back now.

When I get home, Minnie is on the phone. She quickly snaps shut her LG flip phone as I enter the kitchen with the groceries. I set the bags on the counter and wonder about her secrecy. I sure hope she and my Outer Banks relatives aren’t arranging another blind date for me.

She watches as I put cans of tomato sauce in the pantry. “Will you go with me to see Mom this Sunday after church?”

“What about dinner at Sheerly’s? Aren’t we all going there?”

“Well . . . yeah.” Minnie moistens her lips with a quick movement of her tongue. “Sheerly told me to pick Mama up. Ropey can’t do it.”

I wonder if Ropey has an appointment to test drive Casey’s boat that he wants to buy. Minnie and I have picked up Irvy before. Minnie has a hitch to attach her mother’s wheelchair to the back of her car, but it’s quite a challenge for Minnie and me to lift Irvy into the backseat and get her into a comfortable position with her legs bent and her arms at her sides. Then comes the seat belt; Minnie always tells me I secure it much too tightly.

Zane darts into the room, pretending he’s an airplane. “Hi,” he says and then, “What did you buy me?”

“Ice cream.”

“What kind?”

“The good kind.”

He smiles. “I like the good kind.”

“What kind would that be?” asks Minnie.

“I’m thinking chocolate,” Zane says with vibrancy.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take it back, then.”

Zane gives me a questioning look.

“Because I didn’t just get chocolate. I got chocolaty chunky chocolate.” I draw out each word as a smile breaks across Zane’s cheeks.

Zane tosses his hand in the air, and we high-five each other.

“Don’t worry,” Minnie says after Zane leaves the kitchen. “On Sunday, we’ll get someone else to take him from church to Sheerly’s so we’ll only have Mama to think about.”

Already I am grateful for that someone else. Bless his or her heart.

Later, after dinner and a bath, Zane has snuggled with Popacorn in his bed. Minnie and I turn on a cooking show. The chef is making egg rolls; they sizzle in a large frying pan. I think of Mom’s egg rolls, almost tasting the ground beef, garlic, cabbage, and onions she puts in hers.

During a commercial, Minnie says, “I saw a grandmother and grandson today at Wendy’s. I guess he was about two. He called French fries ‘fire flies’ and she kept smiling each time he did.” She yawns and stretches her arms above her head. “I like seeing you delight in Zane.”

Delight in Zane! I’m glad I’m not drinking soda, for surely it would be spewing from my mouth right now.

I massage her shoulders and back before she stretches out on the sofa like a cat and drifts off to sleep. “The grandmother was so amused by her grandson,” she mumbles in a groggy voice. “She kept laughing at the way he said, ‘I want a cheeseburger and fire flies.’ ”

She’s snoring before she’s able to finish her thoughts, but I know what she wanted to say. She wanted to tell me she wishes Zane’s grandmother was able to delight in him.

Last week when Minnie and I visited Irvy in the nursing home, Irvy was not in a good mood. She spoke only two words when Minnie stroked her cheeks: “Dear Eleanor.”

Minnie’s face drained. “What, Mama? What did you say?”

Irvy pursed her lips together and repeated, “Dear Eleanor.”

“Mama, I’m not Eleanor.”

I tried to come up with who Eleanor was. Did Minnie know? I sat there quietly, breathing in the aroma of Pine-Sol and boiled potatoes. The rest of the visit was spent with Minnie talking to Dicey about her mother’s condition. I patted Irvy’s hand and smiled, but the woman let her stare settle somewhere over my head.

After we told Irvy good-bye, we walked toward the parking lot. I was swinging my arms to make sure they could move when Minnie said, “She taught me how to crochet.”

“I remember.”

“And now she can’t recall my name.”

“I know.”

I reached out just as she was lifting her arms out to me. Our arms bumped against each other before we circled them around each other’s shoulders. We stood hugging in the parking lot with the summer sun beating upon our heads.

As we drove home in silence, I wondered if the dementia came first and then the stroke, or did the stroke lead to the dementia? Whatever happened, Irvy is only a shell of who she used to be. Once, she taught piano to fifteen students each week. Once, she gave a piano concert of her own that was praised by the chamber of commerce. Once, she gave me the courage to play my flute, even though my music teacher didn’t think I had any talent. Irvy told me I had passion and, coupled with discipline, that was enough.

I practiced for three hours and ate dinner alone that night. Mom came in to make sure I was all right. “My daughter practicing reminds me of my grandfather when he play his flute. You have his blood in you.” There was pride in her voice. I felt if Irvy believed in me, I could be Godzilla and conquer every enemy.

After church, instead of heading directly to the nursing home, Minnie says she first needs to get something from our duplex. When her cell phone rings, she tells the caller she’ll call him or her back soon. She doesn’t disclose who the caller was, but once she unlocks our front door, she bounds up the steps to her bedroom and shuts the door.

As I walk past her room to mine, I hear her phone ring again and her soft voice. I change from my cotton skirt into a pair of faded blue shorts and my frayed UNC-Charlotte T-shirt. The humidity is cruel today. If I’m going to have to lift Irvy and her wheelchair, I plan to be comfortable.

Immediately, when she sees my outfit, Minnie suggests I wear something else.

I try to laugh it off by saying, “Minnie, I’ve never changed clothes just to pick up Irvy. You’re joking, right?”

“Well . . .” She has no answer.

In the car, I talk about Davis, saying he wants to take me to Arlington one day soon. Just for laughs, I explain how I ran into Douglas at the grocery store, and that’s when I see that Minnie has pulled up to the Grille. The Grille is closed on Sundays. The parking lot is empty, as if an invisible shroud has been pulled over the marked lines. “What are we doing here?” I ask.

Without looking at me, Minnie replies, “Irvy likes the pudding here, so I’m picking her up a pint.”

“Pudding? The Grille doesn’t serve pudding.” I know; I’ve memorized the menu.

Minnie gets out of her car with her classic don’t-bother-me-I-know-what-I’m-doing attitude. I’ve seen it before when she tried out for cheerleading and when she sent her wedding photo to
Brides
magazine.

“Minnie,” I call out to her as I open the passenger door. “How are you getting inside?”

“Betty Lynn said she’d let me in.”

That is absurd. I know the manager doesn’t trust Betty Lynn with a crate of glasses, let alone a key to a restaurant. “She doesn’t have a key.”

Minnie stands at the front door and gives me a lopsided smile; for a moment, I think maybe Minnie is losing her mind, too. If she does, what will happen to Zane?

Rushing out of the car to her, I place my hand on her back. “Minnie, what are you doing?”

25

Minnie pushes open the door
to the Grille with determination. I follow her into the cool interior, breathing in the faint odor of fried fish—yesterday’s special. Confused as to why the door is unlocked, I wonder if the place has been robbed. Minnie shocks me sometimes. She’s adamant that I carry a can of Mace, yet now she’s willingly entering a dark, empty place.

Then, suddenly, there are cries from within the room. “Surprise! Happy birthday! Surprise!”

Lights flash on overhead, and people emerge from behind chairs, the counter, and Zane even jumps out from under one of the tables.

Relief spreads over me, replacing uncertainty.

There they are. Mom, Dad, Ron, Sheerly, Tiny, Ropey, and Beatrice Lou, all in front of me, smiling like proverbial Cheshire cats. Buck is here, too.

Ropey draws me to himself with a strong hug and then kisses my flushed cheek. And suddenly, I know this is why Minnie has been so secretive. My birthday is in two days, on Tuesday, and this group has planned and carried out a surprise party for me.

Across the room I see Betty Lynn, and over by the counter stands Aggie. There’s no need to pick up Minnie’s mom; Irvy is already here, seated in her wheelchair, wearing a mauve cotton dress, a string of fake pearls, and a pair of electric-blue fuzzy slippers. Her eyes look glazed.

I hug Dad and then Mom. I breathe in Mom’s perfume—Elizabeth Arden’s Green Tea—a fragrance she has worn ever since I can remember. Looking back and forth between them, I gush, “When did you get here? It’s great to see you!”

“Surprised?” asks Dad. He has a piece of yellow paper sticking out of his shirt pocket; I know it’s a list of some kind.

I nod.

Mom says, “We got here just a while ago.”

“Can you stay with me? With us?”

Dad answers, “Sheerly asked us to stay overnight at her place. We have to head back home tomorrow.”

It’s funny; they look older today and yet as familiar as when I was six and wishing for a pony. I wish they would stay with me, but then again, I’m not sure I could handle Zane, Minnie, Mom, Dad, and myself all under the same roof for long.

“Thanks for being here.” I kiss Dad’s cheek.

Mom’s smile is wide as she says, “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Ron sheepishly approaches me and gives me a solid embrace. “It’s all about you today, so enjoy it. This kind of attention is only yours once a year and now that you’re thirty, I’m not sure how much longer you’ll be alive to appreciate it. Thirty’s ancient.”

Buck is by his side, just as he always was in middle and high school. He hugs me. “Happy birthday, Hatteras Girl. Personally, I don’t think thirty is all that old.”

“Thanks.” I note that even my baby brother is dressed nicely for the occasion, wearing jeans instead of his usual cargo shorts. I now wish I’d listened to Minnie and put on something more festive than my ragged T–shirt and faded shorts.

L. J. opens the door with a bang and carries in a gold gift bag. She takes off her sunglasses and smiles at the gathered group. “Am I late?”

“No,” says Sheerly. “Right on time.”

“Great!” L. J. brushes strands of hair and perspiration from her cheek. “I had two batches of bacon cornbread in the oven that were taking their sweet time to get done.”

We’re ushered by Sheerly into the room in the back reserved for private parties.

Eight tables are covered in white linen cloths. In the center of each table is a creamy white vase holding sprigs of baby’s breath and stems of zinnias and Gerber daisies. One long table pushed against the wall has been filled with food. On a smaller one, surrounded by paper plates, napkins, and forks, is a square chocolate cake decorated in rainbow-colored plastic kites. I wonder who made it; my relatives are not known for their baking skills.