Song of Solomon (10 page)

Neil laughed, took his place on the opposite end of the table, and then said, “Let's not forget three very important things here, preacher man. One: we're only eight months apart. Two: you're trailing me two sets to one. And three: you were the one who called time out, pretending to be so interested in my personal life. So now that
you
have
your
breath back, let's do this thing.”

“Come on in, honey.”

Shaylynn was surprised by the woman who greeted her at the door upon her arrival at the split level home in Powder Springs, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta. She wasn't at all what Shaylynn had expected: not three hundred pounds, not eighty years old, and not wearing a duster and colorful hair rollers. Instead, Eloise Flowers was an average-sized, somewhat attractive woman with beautiful salt-and-pepper hair, who appeared to be in her late sixties. She used a cane for assistance, but other than her walking crutch, she seemed to be in relatively good health.

With an extended hand, Shaylynn said, “Hi, Ms. Flowers. I'm Shaylynn Ford of Shay Décor. It's nice to meet you.” Since the wrong business name had slipped out of her mouth during their phone call, Shaylynn figured that she'd stick with it for now, at least in her dealings with Eloise Flowers.

“I know who you are, honey. Come on in.” At her second invitation, Eloise stepped aside to provide more space. “And 'round here we don't shake hands unless it's with the insurance man.” She pulled her guest in for an unexpected embrace.

Hugging strangers, or anyone other than her son, wasn't a normal practice of Shaylynn's, but she found Eloise's warm reception surprisingly comfortable. During the brief embrace, Shaylynn's eyes did a complete scan of the living room space. The walls were ivory, very clean, but very bland. The furniture, while sturdy, had been outdated for years, and the plastic fruit, which Eloise had no doubt put in the bowl on the coffee table to bring color to the room, only added age to the space. There were no decorative vases, no live flowers, no framed art, no fragrant candles . . . nothing contemporary to match the spirit of the woman who dwelled there.

“And who do we have here?” Eloise said as her eyes darted downward.

“This is my son, Chase.” Shaylynn stroked the child's head, trying to make him feel at ease. His arms were so strong around her hips that Shaylynn was left temporarily immobile.

Eloise backed into the house and sat on the couch nearest her front door. “Come over here, sweetheart, with your handsome self. Ms. Eloise got something special just for you.”

Shaylynn closed the front door that the owner of the house had left open, and then looked down at Chase. He hadn't budged. She'd taught him not to gravitate toward strangers, and although she was standing right beside him, and Eloise Flowers looked harmless enough, Shaylynn was glad Chase hadn't immediately loosened his grasp and run to the unfamiliar woman's open arms. Instead, he hesitated for a long while, and then looked up at his mother, mutely asking her permission.

Shaylynn placed a tender hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge. “It's okay, Chase. Go ahead and greet Ms. Flowers.”

Still unsure, Chase put one unhurried foot in front of other until he made his way to the couch. Shaylynn watched his every move—and Eloise's—making sure all of the lady's intentions were pure. Chase came to a stop, still a safe distance away, but the woman brought him close to her and released a delightful moan as she cuddled him. Chase's arms dangled by his side, not pushing the woman away, but also not making an effort to return the warmth.

Shaylynn suddenly had the urge to moan too. Not from the feel of anyone's arms around her, but from the delectable aromas that massaged her nostrils. She closed her eyes and inhaled again. Shaylynn wasn't certain what the meal consisted of, but fried chicken was definitely on the menu.
Southern
fried chicken.

“I told you I would cook,” Eloise said. Shaylynn was discomfited that her reaction to the aroma was so obvious. “Smells good, don't it?” Eloise openly bragged with pride, adding an accompanying wide grin. “Are you hungry, Chase?”

Chase looked back at Shaylynn like whether he was hungry depended on whether she said he was. She had taught him not to accept food from anyone other than her and the workers who served in the school cafeteria.

With the help of her cane, Eloise stood, not even waiting for an answer. “Y'all come on in the kitchen, and let's eat while we talk.”

“You didn't have to go through all of this trouble, Ms. Flowers.” As she said the words, Shaylynn felt like she was floating behind the scents while they lured her into the small dining area.

“Oh, this wasn't no trouble at all, baby. I don't get many visitors besides when that young-un of mine stops in, so I'm glad when I have another warm body to cook for. My daughter will be here Saturday, and she'll be staying with me for a few days, so that'll give me more reasons to pull out the pots and pans. I love to cook, so it ain't never no problem to do it.”

“Can you tell us where to go to wash our hands?” Shaylynn asked.

“Uh-huh.” Eloise tapped the kitchen faucet with her fingertips. “You can wash them right here, and dry them off on one of those paper towels.” She pointed at the towel roll that was positioned on the countertop beside a George Foreman Grill that remained sealed in the box.

Shaylynn couldn't remember the last time she'd used a kitchen sink as a basin for washing her hands. Not since marrying Emmett, that's for certain. He and his family were far too prim and proper for that. Shaylynn allowed Chase to go first, and then washed her own hands.

“Would you like me to do something to help?” Shaylynn offered.

Eloise placed her cane in the corner by the refrigerator, then smiled and nodded toward the table. “I would like you to help yourself to a seat at the table over there with your boy and make yourselves comfy. What kind of host would I be if I put you to work?”

Without protest, Shaylynn sat, choosing the chair right beside Chase. She watched as Eloise maneuvered her way around the kitchen. Without the cane, her limp was a bit more pronounced, but she got around without it a lot better than Shaylynn had expected. One at a time, Eloise brought their plates to the table. Shaylynn could almost feel her mouth sweating on the inside in anticipation of tasting the delicious-smelling food. Aside from the crisp fried chicken, there were collard greens, macaroni and cheese (homemade, not out of the box like Shaylynn often cooked), and cornbread muffins. Shaylynn almost burst out laughing when Eloise brought Chase's plate to the table. There was enough food on it to feed a grown man. Chase was a finicky eater. He never ate in large portions.

“There,” Eloise said once she joined them.

“This looks delicious, Ms. Flowers. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Chase echoed.

“Oh, so there's a voice in there after all,” Eloise joked. The corners of Chase's mouth curled upward. “And your lips can smile, too? Oh my! You are a talented little boy, aren't you?” Chase's smile turned into a laugh. “Well, now,” Eloise continued, “in my mama's house, the man at the table always led the grace. Chase, can you pray over the food for us, please?”

It was the first request Eloise made wherein Chase didn't look to Shaylynn for permission. Shaylynn didn't expect him to. Saying the grace was a regular assignment for Chase when they ate together at home too.

“Thank you, Lord, for this food we are about to eat. Make it good for our bodies. Bless all the people all over the world who are hungry and don't have the food that we have. Provide for them so that they don't starve, and make us always thankful for your provision. Bless Ms. . . .”

“Eloise,” Eloise whispered.

“Bless Ms. Eloise for cooking it, and always keep her cabinets full. In Jesus' name. Amen.”

“Well, that's about the biggest blessing that I've ever heard a little boy say!” Eloise exclaimed. “Where did you learn that?”

“My mama.”

Eloise turned to Shaylynn. “Well, you taught him well, honey.”

Shaylynn's “thank you” was muffled by a mouth full of chicken. It was delicious, seasoned just right. Shaylynn had taught Chase good table manners, but he was stuffing his mouth too. She imagined that to Eloise, they were acting like two of the less fortunate hungry people that Chase had mentioned in his prayer.

“I'm trying to find you in him, but I don't see much.” Eloise looked from Chase to Shaylynn and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He might have your ears or something, but that face—”

“He looks like my husband.” Shaylynn smiled when she said it because she knew that saying so was indeed a compliment to her son.

“I figured as much.” Eloise paused, and then looked at Shaylynn. “I been seeing you looking around at my decorations, Mrs. Ford. What do you think?”

Shaylynn took a sip of the tea to wash down the macaroni she'd just put in her mouth prior to the question. The drink was much sweeter than she imagined. Too sweet, really, but she drank it anyway, and the sugar lingered on her taste buds even after she'd swallowed. “You have a very comfortable home, Ms. Flowers.” As Shaylynn responded, she slid her hands into her attaché case and pulled out a binder. “We'll walk around in a little bit, and if you just tell me what kinds of upgrades you want to do, I'll get them done for you. I have samples here that you might want to look at. I have some good suggestions in mind, but at the end of the day, everything is left up to you. We can do as much or as little as you like.”

“Upgrades.” Ms. Flowers chuckled when she repeated the expression Shaylynn had used. “I think that's the same word my young-un used. All y'all new generation folks think alike, I guess. Everything that's old fashioned has got to be modernized.”

Shaylynn smiled. “You only have one child?”

“Oh no, baby,” Eloise said, vigorously shaking her head. “I gave birth to ten. Seven boys and three girls.” Without being asked, she began rattling off names. “Ernest Jr., Alice, Jacob, Eugenia, Wayne, Lester, Evan, Sol, Val, and Clyde.” Eloise sealed the list with a smile that said she was proud of each and every one of her offspring. She placed her hand over her heart and added, “Eight of them are still living. They're all scattered 'cross the world, though, so I don't get to see them as often as I'd like; but we all get together once a year for our family reunion. I'm seventy-four years old now, and with every year God gives me, it gets more important for me to see my children.”

Eloise looked good to be seventy-four, and Shaylynn told her so.

“Thank you, baby. I don't feel my age either. That's what living for Jesus will do for you.”

Shaylynn's mind wandered, and she found herself trying to calculate how old her own mother must be now. She wondered if Lorene McKinley ever longed to see the daughter she abandoned.
Probably not
, Shaylynn deduced.

Eloise looked around her kitchen, and then through the entranceway that gave her a glance of her living room. “Well, I guess a little change won't hurt none. I want to totally change my living room, and this dining room needs some sprucing up too, I guess. But my kitchen, I want to keep the same.”

Shaylynn totally disagreed about the kitchen thing, but bobbed her head up and down anyway. The kitchen had a strong country theme that was far too rural for a home in the thriving metropolis of Atlanta. The walls were a nice, soft shade of blue, but everything that accented it, from the pot holders and dish towels to the stove burner covers and the area rug, were decorated with what Shaylynn viewed as an unsightly cow-print. One of the two pictures that rested on the kitchen wall was a faded image of people working in a cotton field as the sun beamed down on them from overhead. The other was an African American depiction of Jesus, wide nose, coarse hair, and all. Shaylynn hadn't seen one of those in years, and she'd never seen one quite like this one.

“My daddy drew that himself,” Eloise said when she followed the trail of Shaylynn's eyes.

“Very nice.” Shaylynn's compliment was genuine. Eloise's father had to be a gifted artist in order to pay such close attention to detail as he'd done with the “Black Jesus” painting. Once Shaylynn's fixation on the painting ended, she turned her attention back to the cotton field photo she'd spotted earlier. She gestured toward it and hoped that her next question wouldn't be taken as an insult. “Were you raised on a farm?”

Eloise nodded and smiled as if her mind were suddenly overwhelmed by fond memories. “Like me, my parents had ten heads of children, and all of us were raised up on hard work and long prayers. Farm life wasn't an easy life, but it was a good life. This space, my kitchen, reminds me of being at home with my parents.” Eloise looked closely at Shaylynn. “You're still young, so you probably can't 'preshate where I'm coming from right now. But when the time comes that you start to see your parents getting frail, or when they finally go on to be with the Lord, you'll want to hold on to things that help you keep them close at heart.”

“Not hardly.” The words jumped out of Shaylynn's mouth without her permission. She wanted to snatch them back, but it was too late, and now, Eloise was staring at her through eyes narrowed by disbelief and disappointment.

“That ain't a nice thing to say, Mrs. Ford, and certainly not in front of the boy.” She shot a look toward Chase, and then locked her eyes on Shaylynn once more. “Those are his grandparents that you're speaking bad about, but even more important is that they are your parents. You may not agree with everything they said or did when they were raising you, but—”

“My parents didn't raise me.” It really wasn't Eloise's business as far as Shaylynn was concerned, but if she left the house with the woman thinking she was callously disrespecting her “loving” parents, she'd lose a promising client for sure. No doubt, Eloise would deduce that she was some kind of ungrateful brat who'd found some level of success over the years, but didn't have enough common decency to give her parents credit for all of the sacrifices they'd made to help her get there.