Wouldn’t Change a Thing (25 page)

“Aunt Mavis…”

“Don't Aunt Mavis me! Ray is right. You've used what we did as an excuse to be selfish and deny you have family. Bad enough you lived that close to us and never once tried to visit your own mother.”

I hold her arm, but she frees herself from my grip and goes back to her mini group. She whispers something to Ray and he shakes his head. I start my engine so I can go back home and wait for Jordan to arrive. There's time for me to pack and get on the road to Atlanta. My damage is done in Sparta.

I don't make it out of the parking lot before a commotion ensues. Aunt Mavis flags me again. “You can't leave right now, Toni. They found Greta.”

W
e arrive at Dobson's Farm in Springfield. A massive, brick ranch sits in front of a fish pond and livestock holding pens. A sign in front of the farm advertises chickens, cows, goats and pigs for sale. A yellow storage unit with painted black bees and a large honey jar is nestled on the right side of the farm. The sign above the bees reads “The Honey Hole.” An ambulance whizzes past us and drives in back of the farm. I am vaguely familiar with this place. The greater mystery is how Mama got this far from where we live. On foot, this would have taken her at least two hours to walk.

A man wielding a shovel over his shoulders approaches us. Although the five of us and Whiplash stand together, several people from the search drove to the farm as well.

“That's Andie Dobson,” Aunt Mavis whispers to us. “Been knowing us, especially your uncle, for years.”

Mr. Dobson looks like he's skipping Christmas too. His overalls and hat have mud stains. He pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket and slips them on. He takes Uncle Ray's hand as a peace offering instead of a handshake.

“Ray.”

“Where is she, Andie?”

He points in back of the house toward the holding pens. He leads us toward the pigs. I don't want to see my mother's dead body. I want to remember her as she was in the church.

“How long has she…” My voice trails off as I address Mr. Dobson. Whiplash yips but isn't barking as she usually does.

“How long has she what?”

Willa takes my hand and picks up the conversation. “We don't want to see her dead.”

Mr. Dobson scratches his head beneath his Dobson Farms cap. “She's not dead. She's being stubborn, that's what she is.”

I blink several times, unsure if I heard him correctly. “She's not?”

“Darndest thing. I did a run to Crawfordsville yesterday to deliver two cows and my last five pigs. Got a pretty penny for all of 'em. I woke up this morning to some noises but ignored it. My nephews double as my farm help, so I thought they were playing their radio and being silly. I tossed and turned because the noise wouldn't stop. About forty minutes ago, I crept back to the hog troughs and there she was, laying in repose. I thought she was dead until I saw her chest rising and falling.” He turns to Uncle Ray. “I been knowing y'all for years, but she damned near scared the life outta me.” He wipes his forehead with his gloved hands.

Uncle Ray moves closer. “Did she say anything?”

“She said the Lord and somebody else was coming to pick her up after the legion got out of her body. Said something about keeping commandments. She babbled on and on from subject to subject but would never let me move her.”

The five of us head back to the pens in time to see the paramedics lifting her body from a trough. She is kicking and screaming, saying Jesus and 'Halia spoke through the pastor. She says her demons will go into pigs and she will be free again. Some members of the search team gawk; others turn away.

“Who's riding with us?” the paramedic asks.

Everyone looks at me. I climb in back of the ambulance with my mother. Although the paramedics cover her body with a sheet, the bottom of her gown shows. It is muddy and holds the stench of the animals, as do her dirty feet. She reaches for my hands, but I jerk back. Anger consumes me. I am angrier at the set-up at church instead of my mother, but the circumstances make it difficult to embrace her.

The paramedics ask perfunctory questions as I watch her play an imaginary piano. She bangs the keys as the organist did at church. We arrive at Oconee Regional again. Same ER. Same situation. The rest of the family joins me. We wait for such a long time for them to call us back. A kind nurse brings us coffee and a few snacks from the vending machine. I sip the coffee but pass on the food. Uncle Ray walks Whiplash in the parking lot while we wait for the news.

The same nurse points us out to an on-call doctor, who joins us in the waiting area.

“Family of Greta Williamson?”

“Yes,” we say in unison.

He flips a chart. “Mrs. Williamson is no stranger to us here. The inconsistency of her medication has caused another break. The good news is she has requested a voluntary admission to GMH.”

Willa holds my hand. “Are you sure?”

“She asked to speak to her daughters. That's why I came down. She's in room three-one-one.”

Aunt Mavis, Don, and McKenna give us permission to go with their eyes. We take the elevator, afraid of what Mama will do or say. We enter her room and she is sedate. Her eyes are red, but she smiles at us.

“Come sit down with me.” We sit on her bed and take her hands. “I'm out of apologies.”

“Mama, it's Christmas. We can talk about this another time. We're glad you're okay. You gave us a scare,” I say. For the first time since the ambulance ride, my heart softens toward her.

“I'm sick like my mama and I'm not getting any better. I don't want to keep putting you all through these changes.”

Willa speaks for us now. “We all have to give it time.”

“I've given it over thirty years, and look at me. I don't have straight thoughts until I'm medicated.”

“Things can change,” I say.

“Not without me doing things to hurt everybody else. I had my reunion with you two. It's time for me to go back to GMH.”

“Mama, the home-house is ready and you still have the job lined up at Ray of Hope.”

“If it's for me, it'll be there when I come out for good. For now, I need to go back. Andie almost had a heart attack when he saw me, and I can't erase the memory of being upset about you taking my pills from my pocket.”

“I've moved back to help you. Will you give it another shot with me?”

“I don't think so, Gumdrop.”

Willa tries to change her mind. “Mama, you have to try a variety of things. You need the meds and therapy. Toni and I will help you.”

Mama faces me. “Why, Toni? I understand why Willa didn't want to have anything to do with me. Why did you turn your back on me?”

“There's no particular reason.”

“I believe there is.”

Willa waits for the answer as well. I refuse to address anything with Mama about our past.

“Toni, whatever it is, I'll rest better knowing how I offended you. The two of you keep talking about being here for me. At least tell me what happened all those years ago. Why did Mavis and Clayton take you away?”

I don't want to do this. Russ and Clay got me past this, and I hate revisiting it. I'm better, thanks to Russ, but it feels awkward.

“Mama.” I remove my coat and place it across the chair. I start with the top button and work my way down. When I open my blouse, Willa touches me like Russ touched me at the engagement party.

She traces the cuts on my stomach. “Toni, no,” she says.

I face my mother full-on. “I wanted to feel what you felt, Mama, so I created my own pain. I fired up the front unit on the gas oven, warmed up the tip of a knife, and made small cuts at first. Each cut made me feel closer to you. The night before I moved away, Aunt Mavis caught me cutting my stomach. I dropped the knife on the floor, but by then it was too late; I couldn't deny it. The next day, I was riding shotgun with Clay to Atlanta. They had been talking and whispering about a lot of things for a while, saying my dependence on you was too much. That my desire to protect you was unhealthy. When I got to Atlanta, Russ mixed coconut, shea, and tea tree oils and rubbed my stomach for months until it got better. I don't wear bikinis, I've never made love with the lights on, and I avoided PE in high school after a few girls dubbed my stomach Alcatraz wire.”

They stare at my stomach before Mama speaks. “I don't feel worthy to have you as my daughters. I don't feel worthy.”

I quickly rebutton my blouse, leave the room, and sit in a small waiting area. I vowed never to let Mama see my stomach, my missteps. My message alert tings. Two texts have come in. Jordan wants to know where I am and Evan wishes me Merry Christmas.

I fire off a text of my own.

Aunt Mavis, I'm going to the home-house. I'll stop by later for dinner.

J
ordan's stomach is so big, she looks like she's carrying twins. How else can a belly grow that fast, unless two children are chomping at the bit to get here. I'm careful as I embrace her and invite her inside. She does a slight waddle and sits down on the sofa.

“Mr. Stewart wasn't working today, so I had to find my way back to the home-house by memory. Pregnancy brain is real. I'm already starting to forget things.”

“He's not working because he helped with the search for my mom.”

She rubs her bundle of joy and takes a deep breath. “How is she?”

“She's fine. She's in the hospital now. When she's discharged, she's voluntarily going back to GMH.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Yep, surprised us all.”

“I really wanted you to bond with her.”

“So did I. I'm considering moving back to Sparta for good to help her out. I've been running for years, and it's time to slow down.”

“Where will you live?”

“Here. My dad made sure the house stayed in the family. Where I'll work is a different story.”

“Not so fast. I called earlier because I saw an ad.” She opens her bag and fans my face with the paperwork. “Reynolds Home-A-Rama is seeking interior designers and architects for their spring show. You have a great portfolio of work. Give it a shot.”

“I've been wanting to do a Home-A-Rama for years. Had too much on my plate.”

“This gives you an opportunity to showcase your unique style and drum up new clients. Have you tried working since you've been here?”

“No. I miss my clients. Evan told me there are great thrift and decorating stores in this area.” Jordan's stomach growls. “Come with me to raid the fridge. Your belly just twerked.”

“I know you don't think I'm eating your cooking.”

“Why not?”

Her smirk sums up her feelings. “We starved because of your kitchen screw-ups.”

“My cooking wasn't that bad.”

The second smirk is more severe. “If you give my baby food poisoning, our friendship is done! Kaput.”

“I'll make my mother's fish for you. Have a seat at the island.” I dress filets and make coleslaw the way Mama showed me last month. Jordan is impressed as she gobbles down the food. We sip mock-tails and gorge on Mama's ambrosia. The doorbell startles me.

“Wait here.”

I peek through the front window curtains. Aunt Mavis gives a slack wave. She is alone and carries a Bible. I open the door, half-expecting her to report more drama about my mother.

“Come in.”

“You have company?”

“My friend, Jordan, drove down from Atlanta. She doesn't know it yet, but she's coming to dinner with me at your place later, and she's spending the night. Come meet her.”

Aunt Mavis follows me, but discomfort crowds her face. She is pleasant enough, but something troubles her.

“Aunt Mavis, this is my best friend, Jordan.”

“It's nice to meet you. Toni's told me a lot of good things about you. Glad you've been there for my niece all these years.”

“Would you like something to eat, Aunt Mavis?”