Mama B - A Time to Mend (Book 4) (4 page)

“Look, I’m your neighbor. I’m
not gon’ leave you here on this floor until your husband comes home. Let’s get
your drawers up first.” I sent Jeffrey away so he wouldn’t be exposed to some
body part that might send him into a giggling fit. Then I grabbed under Julia’s
armpits and scooched her out of the tight spot she’d gotten herself into
between the toilet and the tub. She fixed her underclothes.

I got myself into a squatting
position to protect my back. “On the count of three,” I said. “One. Two.
Three.” Together, we got her back on her feet.

She swiped at the bathroom
counter to clear a spot for her hands, which sent medicine bottles, a
screwdriver, scraps of paper, and a pair of headphones to the floor. “Thank
you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Julia pulled her hair back.
“Sorry about the mess.”

In my book, a mess is a
spilled cup of milk, a bed not made, or maybe a basket of laundry not folded.
This
house wasn’t no mess.
This
was a hurricane! I could tell Julia was
embarrassed, though, so I didn’t give her no lecture. At least not directly.
“Honey, you gon’ be fallin’ left and right every day if you don't get this
house in order.”

“Thank you, Beatrice,” she
said with a snip in her voice.

I knew she was more
embarrassed than angry. Who wouldn’t be with all that junk everywhere? How she
find clean clothes to wear every day? How she brush her teeth? Cook food? And
why she spend all that time presentin’ herself like she got it together on the
outside when the inside of her mini-mansion look like she got drunk hyenas
livin’ in there?

“Now, Julia, I ain’t tryin’
to be the boss of you, but I can’t keep comin’ down every time you trip—”

“Then don’t come.” She turned
her neck sharp and looked at me.

“Let me finish,” I pressed
on. “I was gon’ say that I don’t want to come down here on account of you
trippin’ over all this stuff. I got some ladies on the Mother’s Board with me
down at my church. Now, we can’t clean up the
whole
house, but we can
come and make sure your bedroom and your bathroom is a little more…livable. For
your safety sake while you recoverin’.”

Ophelia and Henrietta would
probably come mighty close to throwin’ me under the altar for volunteerin’ them
for this job. But it wouldn’t be the first time we had to step in and help a
young lady learn how to manage a house. Everybody didn’t learn it from they
Momma.

“No, thank you, Beatrice.
That’ll be all.”

She teetered a bit trying to
grab her crutches. I helped her so she wouldn’t fall again.

“Thank you.”

“What about Jeffrey?” I
asked.

“He’s fine,” she said. We
walked the few steps to her bed, wiggling between magazines and a microwave.
A
microwave? Last thing she need is food in the bedrooms, Lord have mercy.

She opened the microwave door
and took out a dish she must have started heating before her bathroom accident.
She opened the box and extracted her food. Again, I tried to help. “I’ll throw
that away on my way out.”

“No, thank you.” She tossed
the box onto a pile of books and packing boxes.

“It’s trash. I can get rid of
it,” I repeated.

“I’ll throw it out later,”
she said with all sincerity in her eyes.

Hmph.
She probably been tellin’
herself that same lie for years, and ain’t threw out nothin’ the whole while.

“You mind if I take Jeffrey
back to my house and feed him dinner? You probably need your rest after that
fall.”

Julia didn't look at me. She
selected a plastic fork from a box of disposable utensils. “That’s fine.”

I found my way back to the
front door, calling for Jeffrey because I could not even imagine myself trying
to locate him in that maze of a house.

“Yes, Mama B?” He found me.

“I’m gon’ take you to my
house so you can eat dinner, all right? We gon’ give her a chance to rest.”

He nodded and followed
obediently.

And to think, these past few
days, I was prayin’ for Julia’s strength to deal with Jeffrey’s problems when
it should have been the other way around.

Chapter 5

Frank didn’t object to me
helping with Jeffrey, but I could tell he wasn’t too happy about me getting
involved with the Allens altogether.

When I suggested we bring
Jeffrey to church with us, Frank advised me to slow down. “B, your heart is as
good as gold. You’ve got to learn to let people be themselves, though. As long
as they’re not breaking any laws—”

“I’m pretty sure that house
is illegal,” I cut him off, which was something the Lord had done already told
me to stop doing with my new husband.
Help me, Father
. “I’m sorry,
Frank.” Havin’ somebody else be the head of my household again was gon’ take
some gettin’ used to.

He parked in the lot of Mt.
Zion. Since it was first Sunday, we were attending my church in order to
partake of communion. Me and Frank was still prayin’ on how to settle the
church membership dilemma. My first husband was one of the founding members of
Mt. Zion and I was an active member, so I couldn’t imagine leaving my pastor
and his wife, my friend Ophelia. Good thing Frank wasn’t pushy about things.

Another reason for
worshipping at Mt. Zion was I told Son I wanted to talk to him about the house.
Of course, we could have met at Frank’s, but I don’t think Son was ready for
all that yet.

Me and Ophelia hugged before
service began. Her Bible, handkerchief, and tambourine was holding my usual
spot on the pew, with a little extra space for Frank.

“B, I must say, you are
practically glowing,” she observed with a wink.

“Stop all that, Ophelia. It’s
good to see you, too,” I sidestepped. I don't know why Ophelia always had to
make like we was sharin’ some special womanly secrets now ‘cause we got married
again. Like we schoolgirls giggling in a bathroom. Her sleepin’ in the bed with
Pastor Phillips wasn’t something I cared to think about no way.

Poor Frank had to sit there
almost like a third wheel, scootin’ aside so folks could lean over him to hug
me. The ushers, the choir members, the children, the women’s ministry ladies.
Oh, my church family is so wonderful. I ain’t got nothin’ against Frank’s
church. They good people, I just feel like I don’t
know
any of ‘em.
Church dismiss and they walk out in the hallway like a herd of cattle that
ain’t even from the same pasture. Plenty folk know Frank and they talk to him,
but they got too many people in there for it to feel like family to me.

I don’t know what we gon’ do
about this.

Clive warmed up the organ,
which made us all sit down. Ophelia, of course, had to sit on the pew closest
to the pulpit. For some reason, Henrietta got it in her mind she’s supposed to
sit right next to Ophelia all the time.

So even though she was
fifteen minutes late into the service, she come walking straight up the center
aisle and took her spot front and almost-center while Angela was makin’ the
announcements.

Now, me and Henrietta had
been gettin’ along mighty fine since I married Frank. She made some side
comments here and there, but since she decided I wasn’t shackin’ no
more—which I never was in the first place!—she piped down a bit.
Come to find out, one of the reason she slipped into that diabetic coma the
previous year was because she was havin’ little mini-strokes and forgettin’ to take
her medicine properly.

Over the months, some of her
sense had returned, but not all. I don't know that she
ever
had it
all
,
really.

Henrietta made it through the
offering before she turned around and gave me and Frank a good once-over.

“Hello, Henrietta,” Frank
said since she was starin’ so hard.

“Mornin’,” she said, still
lookin’ at us like we was visitors.

“I like that hat,” I
complimented her, hoping she would snap out of that rudeness.

“Last time I wore it, you
said the shade of green didn’t match my dress,” she recalled in error.

“I said no such thing,
Henrietta.”

“Well,
somebody
did,”
she fussed behind her church fan.

Whoever
did
say it was
absolutely right, but it wasn’t me and I told her so again.

She dropped the topic. “We
havin’ Mother’s Board next week?”

“Yes. And be sure to bring
your Bible.”

“Whoop! I always carries my
Bible with me, rain, shine, sleet or snow!” she protested indigniantly. “I been
in the church all my life!”

I don’t know what possessed
me to remind Henrietta about this. I suppose I forgot how easily offended she
get. Good thing folk was too busy walking around the offering table singing
“You Can’t Beat God Giving” and checking out each other’s clothes to overhear
our conversation.

When it was time for our row
to give, Frank and I took our turn around the buckets and, again, I waved at
everybody including Pastor. He looked real healthy and happy up there, I have
to admit. He was so hurt when Geneva passed, I feared he might go on after her.

Ophelia was good for Pastor,
though. Geneva would have approved.

The choir sang one of those new,
fast songs with a beat that I didn’t too much care for, but the young folk was
givin’ God praise, so I got over myself and stood up. Frank stood, too. Even
though he can’t hold a note in a bucket, he lifted up his voice with the rest
of us.

And when church was over,
Clive come over and asked Frank if he wanted to join the men’s choir.

I put my hand on Clive’s
shoulder and was just about to tell him that Frank wasn’t no kind of singer
when Frank surprised me. “Let me think about it. When do y’all rehearse?”

 “The men’s choir only
sings three or four times a year. It’s more about fellowship when we practice,”
Clive happily explained.

“Sounds good,” Frank said.

They exchanged numbers and
Clive said he’d text Frank when they had their next rehearsal.

Well, shut my mouth, y’all!

Chapter 6

Me and Frank ate at one of
them restaurants in Peasner that’s done popped up next to the interstate. This
one got a name you better not say too fast – Fuderrucker or something
like that. The food was good, but with a name like that, I ain’t buyin’ nobody
no gift card there.

We went back to my old house
and met up with Son to discuss the rent situation. From the sound of our
initial conversation, he was more on Frank’s side.

Anyhow, the men sat down to
catch the last of a football game first.

I caught up with Son’s wife,
Wanda, in the kitchen while I whipped up a batch of cookies for my great
grandson, Cameron, who was spending the weekend with them. Cameron acted like
he was too big for my kisses, but he was more than happy to give me a hug for
baking him something sweet.

“Mama B, how come you don’t
have much food in the house any more?” he fussed, standing in front of my
refrigerator wastin’ all my electricity.

“I live with Mr. Frank now,
Cameron. We’re married.”

Cameron tore his eyes from
the ice box and squinted at me. “You married
for real
?” His chubby
little brown face reminded me of Son so much, felt like I was having a
flashback.

“Yes, you were at to the
ceremony,” Wanda said. “Don’t you remember Mama B and Mr. Frank standing at the
front with Pastor Phillips?”

Cameron scratched his head.
“Don’t you have to be like maybe twenty-five or thirty years old to get
married?”

“No siree, you surely don’t.”
I walked over to him and closed the refrigerator door before he let out another
dollar’s worth of cooling power. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“My momma says she wants to
be married by the time she gets thirty or else she’s not getting married at
all,” Cameron told my granddaughter Nikki’s business. “She said nobody over
fifty should get married ‘cause it’s too old.”

“Oh, Cameron, when did she
say that?” I chided him.

“At your for real wedding,”
he informed me as he sat at the table. He had no idea he was even close to
stepping on my toes.

I didn’t want him to feel bad
for talkin’ to me, though. Sometimes, when little kids say crazy stuff we got
to act like it don’t bother us none so they won’t clam up and stop talkin’ when
they get older. “Well, thirty may be your Momma’s goal, but it’s not a limit,”
I cleared that up.

Wanda sent Cameron to the
living room to set with Son while the cookies was in the oven. “Don’t pay any
attention to him, Mama B. Nikki needs to watch her mouth around him. I’ll have
a word with her.”

“Don’t worry with it, chile.”

My feelings was hurt, though.
After all I done for my Nikki-Nik, for her to say something like that about me
and Frank, even in a roundabout way, didn’t make no sense. She thought I was
too old to get married again, but I certainly wasn’t too old for her to come
live with me when she was running away from her trigger-happy boyfriend.