Mattie's Call (4 page)

“Marilyn, I said nothing about ending the relationship. I'm freeing my house for my mom. My sisters aren't willing to take her in, so I'm doing what I have to do for my mother. She's miserable at that place. I can't believe Gigi put her there.”

“I can help with your mother.”

“Come on, Marilyn, it was obvious she annoyed you when she was here.”

“She peed in the bed.”

“She's elderly, Mare.”

“She insulted my cooking.”

“Her dietary needs have changed over the years, Mare. She can't eat spicy or salty foods without upsetting her stomach. You made her enchiladas and filled them with jalapeño peppers.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “Our parents sacrificed so much for us, and it's time for me to give back.”

“Give back all you want! Best believe it will be without me.” Marilyn jumped from her seat, knocking it to the floor. She grabbed the ring box and marched toward the stairs.

“Mare, don't do this.”

She continued her brisk stride as he followed her. She headed toward the guest bedroom where she'd put a few items in the closet. It made sense to bring clothes and leave them here when she spent the night. His house was closer to Savannah State than hers, and he said he didn't mind.
If he didn't want me, he shouldn't have led me on,
she muttered as she plucked her business suits from hangers. Angrier now, she voiced her ire with each yank.

“I'm not getting back out here on this dating scene with these non-working, trifling men.”

She stuffed clothes in a box she found in the bottom of the closet.

“Always trying to move in on you when you're not looking.”

Camisoles.

“Wanting to have a baby and can't take care of themselves.”

Stilettos.

“Don't know a salad fork from a dinner fork.”

Two coats.

Joshua stood in the doorway watching her. He loved her, but he wasn't ready to take the next step. He approached her gingerly, wanting to assist with the clothes and calm her.

“Let me help.”

“You've done enough!”

In one swoop, she raked jewelry on the dresser into the box.

“Mare, calm down.”

She faced him. “This is the last time I'm asking. Will you marry me?”

He saw the love and sincerity in her eyes, but wouldn't yield. “Marilyn, I can't.”

She hoisted the box from the side of the dresser where she dropped in the last pair of earrings. “You had your chance. After tonight, don't call me, don't email me, don't get in touch with me. I'm thirty-seven years old with a time clock ticking louder than Big Ben. I've wasted almost a year with someone who doesn't even think I'm worthy to be his wife.”

“Marilyn, proposing to a man is too modern for my tastes. If you'd be patient, we can continue our relationship to see where it goes.”

Marilyn's steely look chilled Joshua. Marilyn spat in her hand and slapped Joshua so hard his face burned.

“Fuck you, Joshua Benson. Fuck you!”

5

“W
e don't need organized religion to be connected to God.”

“Hallowed Beryl, we should call the authorities. We could get some of the—”

“Are you raising your voice at me?”

“No, I only meant—”

“That's what I thought. I'm still the head of this household. Don't you
ever
forget your place!”

Alice nodded in deference to her husband, glued to the spot where the berating began. As Beryl's chest rose and fell, she attempted to suppress his anger with, “your dinner is getting cold. You need to come eat.”

“Warm it up for me.”

Alice headed to the kitchen and took Beryl's plate from the table. Though they owned a microwave, she was forbidden to warm his food in it. After their short-lived membership with the Friends of Sinai, Beryl mistrusted microwaves, said they were another way the world conspired to fill bodies with toxins and cancer. He believed food was best warmed in the oven, covered with foil and heated through, or reheated on top of the stove, covered in foil, over a pan of boiling water. He demanded his non-alcoholic drinks have seven ice cubes, because seven was the biblical number of completion. Alice rarely used the icemaker; Beryl stood over her as she filled the old-fashioned ice cube trays to assure she manually released them in his glass. She pressed the preheat button on the oven to 325 degrees and stood against the island. They adhered to a strict bedtime of nine o'clock, so she had less than an hour to heat the food, wash the dishes, and take a shower. She removed two juicy ribeye steaks from his plate with tongs—Beryl said meat lost its flavor if pierced with a fork—and laid them side-by-side. She covered his jumbo baked potato with fresh foil. Joshua had called her two days ago with news of Emma Jelks's passing and funeral arrangements. The few times she interacted with Ms. Emma in her mother's room, she was grateful for the friendship that developed between the ladies. When she asked if she could attend the funeral, Beryl only stared. She wanted to confide in someone about her feelings, but she didn't feel comfortable speaking the truth. No one knew the emotions growing inside her, not even her acquaintance, Synaria, from the library. She massaged her temples and played the feelings in her head like a short film. The longing for her parents, Gabrielle, and Joshua grew stronger each day. She missed the laughter they shared, even the bickering. She missed her parents' Jesus and the Sunday morning pilings into their Chrysler minivan. Joshua kicked off the backseat singing with “Jesus Loves Me.” Both laughed at Gabrielle's tone deafness, but she didn't care. They sang at the top of their lungs as Mattie and Daniel beamed with pride. Daniel always nudged Mattie's knee and said, “We're training them up the right way.”

Mattie smiled and retorted, “They'd better not depart from it.”

Alice jumped when the timer beeped. She slid the food in the oven on a cookie sheet and closed the door. In the thirteen years she'd been married, their latest crisis made her contemplate something she never imagined: divorce. The Bensons were not divorcing people. Daniel made her promise him to keep their marriage Christ-centered and seek counseling if things got rocky. The agreement went well when they were Christians; now she wasn't sure what she was. Or what they were. She looked down at one of the six frumpy dresses she'd purchased from Goodwill; she was grateful Beryl had given her fifty dollars from her paycheck; her normal weekly allowance was thirty dollars. She didn't make as much money at the library as she did with the government job she held when they first married, but during their short stint with the International House of Praise, the elders of the church convinced Beryl a wife's place was in the home; only part-time jobs were allowed. She didn't seek full-time employment after getting a floater position at the library. Like clockwork, he picked her up from the Bull Street branch on Fridays, drove to Chatham County Federal Credit Union, and pulled into the first parking space closest to the door. Alice signed the back of her check and turned it over to Beryl because he spurned the notion of direct deposit. They strolled up to Shelby's window, the teller most familiar with them. He asked for thirty dollars and handed it to Alice. The rest was deposited into an account with his name only. Same thing. Every Friday.

“I don't have all night to eat! I'm hungry.”

Alice blinked back tears. “It should be warm enough,” she called into the living room.

His movement was swift as he entered the kitchen. “You know better than to address me that way! Try it again.”

Alice watched her husband walk away. Ten years her senior, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Savannah when they married. Although he worked by day in management at Georgia Pacific Savannah River Site, he was known throughout the region for his business, Parker Trolleys. Beryl Parker supplied transportation to Savannah's booming tourism industry. Gone was the tall, robust man who women gave triple-takes when they dated. His back bent a bit, his warm, dark eyes lost the sparkle they once held, and his love for jazz, restaurants, and sex diminished with each church they joined. The crisis they faced left his eyes rheumy and his gait slower. He was too young to be so sullen. She exhaled and walked in the living room.

“Hallowed Beryl, your food is ready.”

She walked five paces ahead of him, taking care to reach the dining room table before he entered the room. She pulled his chair back, waited for him to be seated, and gently placed a napkin across his lap. She joined him, taking a seat to his right.

Clanking silverware was their conversation. Beryl devoured the meal, dousing his steak with A-1 and heaping his potato with butter, sour cream, and bacon.

“Hallowed—”

“Don't start.”

“It's not about the situation.”

“Good.” He chewed, considered the glower on Alice's face. “What is it, then?”

“Well, we were all invited to the Christmas pageant at Grand Oak. I didn't commit to Mama, but it would be so nice to go. The food, Christmas carols, it would be like old times.”

“Old times for whom? We don't participate in those affairs.”

“What's the harm?”

“I said no.”

Mattie's face flashed in Alice's mind. An uncharacteristic surge of courage coursed through her veins and danced on her tongue. “Have you ever thought of what your life would be like without me?”

Beryl took a long swig of lemonade. “My Smith and Wesson holds enough bullets to help anyone rest easy. Always has, always will.”

The threat made Alice shiver.

To solidify his point, Beryl offered, “Where would you go? What would you do? Selfish Gigi doesn't even let you all in the house. You'd have to move out Joshua's women to stay at his house. All it takes is for me to make a few phone calls and you couldn't rent an apartment, buy a house, or secure a divorce lawyer in this town.”

Her shoulders slumped. She wished she could summon the moxie of the old Alice, the one who shopped, loved clubs, and defended herself against anyone who disrespected her.

“Did you hear me? You're not going anywhere.”

“Yes, Hallowed.”

“And another thing.” Beryl pointed his steak sauce-filled fork toward Alice's face and waited for her to repeat the mantra.

“Husband first. Always.”

6

K
aren tried to lift Mattie's funk with no luck. She had smuggled Mattie's favorite peaches from the cafeteria along with three cinnamon packets. The cups of untouched peaches sat on the table, along with a warm cup of cranberry ginger ale. Karen sat next to Mattie on the bed.

“Ms. Mattie, is everything okay?”

“Not right now, but it will be.”

“Is it about Ms. Emma?”

Mattie shook her head. “I'm not sad. I'm happier than I've been in a long time.”

“You sure could've fooled me. Looking lost and sad. This is not my Mattie.”

“If you want your Mattie, loosen up my curls some. I asked Kennedy to keep them tight for the pageant tonight. I want to look good when I join in the songs.”

Karen removed the scarf from Mattie's head. She found her favorite plastic pick in the top drawer and gently fluffed out her curls. Mattie took great pride in her appearance; her hair was thicker than a lot of the women at Grand Oak. Some of them envied Mattie because she didn't wear a wig.

“Am I loosening your curls for singing, or Mr. Kauthon?”

“Who?”

“Don't act like you can't tell he's sweet on you.”

“Kauthon is my TV buddy, nothing more, nothing less. He's a good guy and tells a lot of funny jokes. As innocent as he looks, he tells dirty jokes sometimes, too. He's just a friend to pass the time away.”

“Mmm-hmmm, Ms. Mattie.”

“He is. Agatha is the one who's sweet on him, but he said she gossips too much. He needs a more discreet lady friend. You know Grand Oak is nothing but a little Peyton Place.”