Slow Way Home (12 page)

Mama Rose waited for me to look the other way, but I only bit my lip like I was fixing to cry over the grief.

“Peace Corps? That bunch Kennedy drug all over the world?

Well, they’re nothing but a bunch of communists.” The thick eyelashes swatted her skin. Before she could ask any more questions, a station wagon with an Ohio license plate pulled up.

As Josh showed the guests some of his favorite things on the stand, Beau moved closer. In a stage whisper he said, “Don’t mess with Mama Rose. She’s a natural born nut, and a mean one at that.”

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Watching Mama Rose smile and wave her hand across the table full of smoldered merchandise, I thought of the warning Poppy had given me about fishing in weedy places. A water moccasin will give off a musty scent right before it strikes. With Mama Rose the only scent she gave off was day-old perfume.

Eight

B
y the time Santa Claus appeared in the middle of the river on an airboat, we had settled into a normal routine. He landed out of the blue one Friday afternoon and looked as out of place as a flying saucer. As we were passing through downtown, Nana pointed at a snowman sitting on a small boat clutching a fishing pole. “Look, how cute.” No matter how much she tried to pretend, I could see her finger twitching as she pointed to the plastic figure.

Nana’s nerves always got keyed up whenever it was time to call Uncle Cecil.

When we pulled up next to the gas station, Nana slipped out of the truck and used a washcloth to wipe down the receiver of the pay phone. The other washcloth held the necessary change for making a five-minute call to the construction company where Uncle Cecil worked. Every Friday afternoon at four-thirty we stopped at the gas station to make the long-distance connection back to our past. The old man who ran the gas station had gotten used to us by now. Whenever we pulled up, he raised his arm to wave, just high enough so that a roll of pasty skin showed underneath his shirt.

The conversation was always one-sided, with Nana listening to updates that Uncle Cecil might offer. Standing around the pay phone, Nana and Poppy would rotate with the shifting wind that delivered the smell of aged urine from the nearby bathroom.

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“How you and the kids getting along?” Nana asked. She wrinkled her brow and nodded. Before the operator could come on and warn her that two minutes remained, the phone was passed to Poppy.

“Hey, son. The mortgage note come in on the farm yet?” Poppy used the toe of his boot to push a piece of gravel deeper into the dirt.

“Well, just keep yourself a record, and I’ll wire you the money.”

“I want to talk to Uncle Cecil.”

Nana shook her head. “Poppy’s talking business right now.”

No matter how many times they called Uncle Cecil, the phone calls never lasted longer than five minutes. Conversation was kept polite and censored like greetings being passed along to an acquaintance in the grocery store. Time was too valuable to pass along descriptions of the good life down in Florida.

Christmas day, I woke up as soon as Poppy opened the camper door.

“You better get on up. It looks like somebody left something for you out here.”

A spray of morning sun fell on me like a spotlight. I rubbed the stickiness out of my eyes and was grateful that Poppy did not try to claim Santa Claus had stopped by.

Nana was clasping her hands and bouncing to an invisible beat of excitement. Next to her was a brand-new bicycle. A green one with wide handlebars. Just like the kind Beau had gotten for his birthday.

Jumping out of the door dressed in my underwear, I grabbed the silver handlebars. Their laughter was loud, and Poppy threw his head back.

Touching the cool metal, I knew it was real.

Riding up and down the driveway of the campground, I pictured my old bike back in North Carolina. I was sure Mac was mining it for spare parts by now. It was only right. The bike was his to begin with and came to me only after Aunt Loraine bought him a new one. As I dipped down into another washed-out place in the road, it hit me.

They probably thought we’d never come back. Our things would be picked over and tossed around until some family on welfare would
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benefit from our departure. I pictured Mama walking through the house claiming my things and storing them up for my return.

In the truck to Beau’s house, the new perfume Poppy bought for Nana competed with the smell of sweet potato pie. Pulling up to the house, Poppy was still talking about how happy he was that Mama Rose would be spending Christmas day with her other son. “Even if she is Johnny’s mama, the poor old thing runs her mouth too much.”

I fought to lock hold of the happiness I had felt whenever I saw the sparkling clean bike. But try as I might, the thought of my own mama stayed near. Walking inside the door draped in gold tinsel, I decided that if Johnny could put up with his mama not being with him for Christmas, I could too.

Looking at the colored bowls covering Bonita’s kitchen table, Nana served my plate. “You want some ham?” she asked, and then without waiting for an answer she moved to the platter of turkey.

“Oh, yeah, you don’t like it when it’s cold.”

I wondered if my mama knew that. Would she be eating ham with her new rich boyfriend in a fancy restaurant? Or maybe she was too busy driving around town in the new car he had given her. One with a convertible top so that she would have to wear a scarf on her head like a movie star.

“Now I know you want some of this corn,” Nana said. She never looked at me as she dipped the spoon into the bowl.

Johnny’s hand was heavy on my head. “This is good eating. You better try it all.” He moved around to the end of the table and motioned for Beau to try a piece of sausage.

Watching the Rileys pass bowls of food like they’d known us their whole entire lives, I wished that my mama would stumble on people like Johnny and Bonita. During the blessing, I silently added a request that a similar woman with a matching beauty mark like Bonita Riley’s would walk into her new beauty shop.

The day after Christmas, Beau, Josh, and me had covered downtown and the side of the river twice. Nana had warned me not to ride my bike on the highway, but I did it anyway. Besides, it was the only 84

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way to reach Mama Rose’s stand. She had promised Josh that she would give him a bike flag for Christmas. Beau and me would get one too if we promised to help her move boxes down from the attic.

Mama Rose used a small key to unlock the door that led up to her attic. “You never know what kinda valuable treasures you might have sitting around in a bunch of dust.”

By the looks of it Mama Rose could’ve opened up a whole new chain. Every square inch of the floor was covered with boxes that looked liked they had been painted with dust. One tiny window let us know that it was still daylight outside. Specks of dust that hadn’t yet decided where to settle danced in a ray of sun. The stale smell of un-wanted gifts passed along one too many times filled our lungs.

“Now while I’m setting up the twenty-percent-off table, you boys go ahead and straighten up. Then I want you to bring these boxes down to the counter.” Mama Rose pointed to a stack of boxes with dried-up electrical tape dangling from the sides.

While she watched, we began dragging the boxes to the edge of the stairs. The thick air made our breathing sound like that of the girl at school who missed PE on account of her asthma. I dared not speak until I had heard Mama Rose’s footsteps and the closing door down below. “She sure does have a lot of junk.”

“Maybe junk to you, but it’ll be a treasure to one of them Yankees.” Josh repeated the line he had heard Mama Rose say until he had it memorized.

“Nobody’s gonna buy any of this junk,” Beau said, the front of his hair now darker from sweat.

“They will so.” Josh was wearing a gold necklace with an odd-shaped medallion. “Hey, what about this? It’s genuine gold.”

Beau brushed sweat from his eyes and moved closer. “That ain’t gold.”

“Is so.” Josh pulled away when Beau tried to reach for the necklace.

“What’s that thing hanging off the end?” I asked.

A cross like the one Nana wore was in the center. There were
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four symbols, one in each corner. Small misshapen symbols like I had never seen before.

“Where’d you find this thing?” Beau asked.

Josh pointed to the box with its side caving in. “Personal” was written across the top in uneven letters.

“Dog,” Beau said. He pulled a thin white dress from the box. The sleeves were wide and an image of the medallion was stitched right over the heart.

Snatching it away, Beau flung the material in the air as if setting up a tent. “Must be some big fat woman’s dress.”

Looking inside the box, I saw the edges of crumbled, yellow certificates. The kind like I had gotten when I had graduated from kindergarten.

Beau brushed against my shoulder and dug his hand deep inside.

“There’s more stuff down here,” Beau said.

The white hat was folded in half. Beau pulled the top, and it stuck up like a dunce cap. A long flap fell forward. Two circles were cut out for eyes, like a homemade mask someone might wear for Halloween.

“This thing’s creepy,” Josh said.

Beau cast his eyes towards me. A half smile formed across his lips.

He held the hat by its pointy tip. “I heard about this. It’s one of them ghost hats. Mama Rose probably bought it from some dead man’s family. Some dead man kept it stuffed in his closet and wore it to spook people. But then Mama Rose showed up and bought all the man’s clothes. This probably got picked up in the deal.”

When Beau cast his eyes towards me again, I picked up my cue.

“Yeah. Some man who got his head cut off.”

Wide-eyed, Josh turned to look in the direction of the door.

“The man’s ghost wore this hat ’cause he didn’t have a head. You couldn’t pay me to put that hat on. Beau, I don’t think I’d even be touching it,” I said.

Beau’s smile widened, and I could tell he was pleased with my performance. Josh picked at the leg of his pants and shuffled his feet.

Just when he turned to walk towards the stairs, Beau threw the hat on 86

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the floor. “Ooh, I see blood right there on the side. Hey, look, Brandon. Ain’t that blood?”

Using a pool stick with a piece of spider’s web hanging off of the end, Beau picked the hat back up. The white hat dangled from the pool cue.

I craned my neck, but kept a distance. “That’s blood, all right.

Pure blood from a dead man.”

Stepping backwards, Josh was pinned in by the boxes. The light from the window made his face look even paler.

Beau stretched the pool stick out towards him. He held the stick like a fishing pole and the bait moved closer to Josh. “I’ll give you two dollars if you put that hat on.”

The sound of Josh’s sneakers brushing up against the box made me flinch and look over my shoulder.

Beau laughed and moved it closer. “Scaredy cat. It ain’t gonna bite you. Just a little blood from a dead man is all.”

As I watched Josh pinned in against the boxes, part of me wanted to tell Beau to stop, but the part that won out tingled at the idea of the fear Josh was feeling.

Josh’s eyes bulged and when the tip of the hat brushed up against his neck, he went into a screaming fit, twitching and breathing harder than ever. His arms swung wildly and boxes began falling to the floor.

Before we could grab him, the nose of a stuffed bobcat behind the boxes touched his arm. The high, piercing scream that he let out was sharp enough to crack the tiny attic window.

“We’re just kidding. We’re just kidding,” Beau kept repeating, but Josh was too far gone. All he could do was scream and swing his fists.

His right fist landed on Beau’s chin and caused him to land against the box marked “Personal.” When the box landed on the floor, yellowed stained certificates and old newspaper clippings spilled out.

“I hate your guts,” Josh screamed. He picked up the pool stick and lifted it high above his head. The anger in his eyes raged as hot as a grown man’s. Before he could swing at Beau, I moved behind him and locked my arms around his elbows. “Let go of me, you ol’ orphan!” He twisted and turned, trying to bite me.

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“What in sand’s hill is going on up here?” Mama Rose stood on the top of the stairs with her mouth hanging open and her wig twisted to the side.

Before Beau could put the scattered contents back into the box, Josh was pointing at the hat. “They was trying to put that dead man’s hat on me.”

“What?” Mama Rose followed Josh’s point to the white hat that had landed on top of the stuffed bobcat.

Red streaks appeared on her neck, and she blinked so fast I thought the heavy false eyelashes would leave bruises. She clutched the hat the way a veteran’s wife might clutch the flag that had been draped over her husband’s casket. “Beau Riley! You keep away from my things.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll put it up,” he said. “We shouldn’t be playing with your stuff. I’m sorry.”

But Mama Rose was immune to Beau’s wide smile. “Have you no respect for honor, Beau Riley? Oh no, why should I think something as no-count as you would have any sort of respect like decent people.”

She pulled Josh to her side, but he remained stiff, staring at the white hat that hung over her arm.

Beau and I busied ourselves with picking up the contents. Even with our backs to her, I could feel the stare piercing through my shirt.

If she thought Beau, the president of our class, was a no-count, I could only imagine what she thought of me.

“Is that really a ghost hat?” Josh asked.

“No such a thing, precious. You don’t pay any mind to these boys.

This belonged to my second husband.” She picked up the white dress that was crumpled in a pile and straightened it out. “He was a great man. Made it up the ranks all the way to Wizard.”