Queen Bee Goes Home Again (21 page)

Skeptical, Mama went to open the refrigerator, then stood for a few seconds in the cold air before retrieving her sweet tea and mine with Splenda. “I want to hear all about it,” she said as she put ice in two flagons, then served up the tea.

I took mine with gratitude. “Thanks.”
Focus on the gratitude, not the annoyance,
my better self advised.
And set reasonable boundaries
.

So I simply didn't respond to her previous comment.

“So,” Miss Mamie deflected. “What do you have on for this afternoon?”

“Tommy and I had talked about taking Daddy and Uncle Bedford over to Sonny's Barbecue after the lunch rush dies down. They keep talking about how much they miss good barbecue.” I paused, then confessed, “We thought about bringing it to the Home, but decided they'd like going out a whole lot better.”

Miss Mamie's eyes widened in alarm. “Lin, do you think that is wise?”

“Mama, it's little enough, if it makes them happy. And Sonny's is only a couple of blocks from the Home. If Daddy and Uncle B aren't doing well, we'll postpone, of course. But if they're having a decent day, we'll try it.” With some backup medications, should they have one of their psychotic breaks.

Guilt ravaged my mother's expression. “Y'all shouldn't have to be the ones to do this. I know I should have gone to visit your father and Bedford, but I couldn't bear to see them there, caged and drugged like animals. I'd never get it out of my head.”

“Mama, it's not your fault.” How could I lift that terrible burden from her? “It's their disease. And their genes. We all knew there would come a day when we couldn't care for them at home.”

Though her back remained ramrod straight, tears welled in Miss Mamie's eyes. “I know I should pray for God to take him, but I can't. It's so selfish of me.”

Whoa. Time to lighten things up. “Trust me, Mama, it's a lot easier to love him now that he's not here. You hang on to the good memories. But he's still homicidal, and he's focused a lot of his anger onto you, which is really common, they tell me, so you're doing us all a favor by staying home.”

She tightened her trembling lips into a determined line. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

The front door slammed, and Tommy strode in, red as a beet. “That's it for today. I'm done.”

“So you didn't find anything,” I declared, wet blanket that I am.

Tommy grinned in spite of me. “Yes I did. I found a lot of old construction debris about two feet down”—no wonder the lawn never did very well—“four cast-iron elbows, tons of minnie balls, and a broken plow that I left where they were, and a smushed pewter pitcher, which I dug up to have restored. I think it's Confederate.”

Just what we needed: more broken treasures from the past. But I held my peace.

Tommy fixed and gulped down his own sweet tea, then headed for the back hall. “After my shower, we can go over to pick up Dad and Uncle B.”

Maybe it wasn't prudent, but I wanted to try it, at least.

 

Thirty

Half an hour later, with the help of three aides, we loaded Daddy and my uncle into the minivan and buckled them up, then headed for Sonny's.

“Hah,” Daddy said, poking Uncle B's shoulder. “We're gonna get us some Texas Toast and barbecue. And fries. And beans. And decent sweet tea.”

“Barbecue,” Uncle B said, wooden.

Once there, they got out with surprising ease and led the way inside like normal people. As I'd hoped, there were only a few customers inside.

Daddy flirted with the hostess. “Hey there, good-lookin'. We're starving. Put us in one of those big booths, and bring on the food.”

He winked at Uncle B as she led us to a long booth. “Fine woman, that one,” he blared behind her back as if she couldn't hear him.

I steered Daddy into the booth first, while Tommy did the same with Uncle B, the two of us saying almost in unison, “You go in first, so we can fetch you more food.”

Conditioned by a lifetime of manners lectures from my mother, including booth etiquette (the lady goes in first), Daddy balked a little, but the promise of more food convinced him to go along.

The waitress came with her pad, winking at Daddy. “Hey there, honey. What're y'all drinkin'?”

“Three sweet teas, and one unsweet, no lemon,” Tommy ordered. Sonny's served their excellent tea in quart glasses, just like Mama. “And we guys'll have three pulled-pork plates with beans, slaw, fries, and extra toast.” He looked to me. “Lin, what'll you have?”

I restrained myself, hard though it was. “Smoked dark-meat chicken with tomato and cucumber salad. No other sides.”

So far so good. Daddy started joking with Tommy like the old days, and Uncle B was at least behaving, albeit a shadow of his former self.

But he livened up when the food came, and so did Daddy. The two of them chowed down like a couple of teenaged boys.

Grateful for every uneventful moment that passed, Tommy and I watched them enjoy their food and their freedom.

Everything went perfectly till we were all finished and the waitress brought our check.

Who should walk in but Connor Allen, all by himself. He came over immediately. “Well, hey there, Lin. Tommy.” He looked at Daddy and Uncle B. “And who are these fine gentlemen?”

Tommy stood, ticket in hand. “Let me introduce you. Daddy, this is our new next-door neighbor, Connor Allen. Connor, this is my father, Thomas Breedlove, but everybody calls him the General.”

Daddy nodded, then pointed to Uncle B. “That's ma baby brother over there.”

“My Uncle Bedford Breedlove,” I added.

Connor finally noticed Tommy's grim expression, so he nodded and said, “It's an honor. Perhaps we'll have time to visit another day.”

Uncle Bedford peered at him, as if trying to place him. “I know you!” he said with the first spark of recognition I'd seen in days. “Used to watch you preach on TV every Sunday evenin' from that place in … somewhere.”

He didn't recognize his wife and daughters, but knew Connor from TV. I mean, really.

Connor smiled in acknowledgment.

Tommy counted out the cost of our dinner and tip from his wallet, then stood to say, “Come on, Daddy. Let's take a ride.”

Uncle B let out a fierce, “Wait a minute! We can't leave yet.” We all froze, including Connor.

Then, with everybody in the place watching—including the cooks—Uncle Bedford pulled out his uppers and
licked
them clean with a caved-in smile of satisfaction.

“Aggggh!” Everybody who saw it gagged, including Daddy.

“Whoa there, little brother,” he warned, “that's not kosher in public.”

It wasn't kosher
anywhere
.

Uncle Bedford bowed up and glared at Daddy. “You're not the boss of me!” He replaced his teeth, then shot an impressive left jab in Daddy's direction that, of course, didn't even reach halfway across the table.

Stupidly, I turned to Connor with, “He used to box at Tech and in the navy.”

Perfect. Could I
be
more inane?

The General scrambled out of the booth loaded for a fight. I managed to get between him and Uncle B, but he pushed back with alarming strength.

Connor had the good sense to step out of the line of fire.

Uncle Bedford took another swing at Daddy, coming close that time.

Please, no! Dear Lord, please bring peace to these men. You made them feisty. I know You can soothe them,
I prayed as I reached into my pocketbook for the Haldol injections, but they'd gone to the bottom, of course.

Desperately rummaging through sunglasses, cell phone, readers, lipsticks, calendar, pens, checkbooks, spare keys, frequent buyer cards, and Splenda packs, I finally found them just as Uncle Bedford let out a cackle worthy of the Wicked Witch of the West, then nudged me toward the door as if everything were just fine.

Thank You, Lord!

Suppressing laughter, Tommy motioned me to chill out. “Come on, Lin. Let's take these two fine gentlemen for a ride by the ballpark.”

“Okay.”

I glanced back to see that Connor had gone to a table in the far corner of the restaurant.

I do not appreciate this, God.

Mortified, I forced myself to focus on the positive. I put my arm around Daddy and gave him a hug as we left. “I love you, Daddy. Thanks for protecting us all these years.”

He nodded in pride, his arm tightening across my shoulders. “It's my job. I'm your daddy.”

“Well, you've done it well.” Back outside in the heat, I helped Daddy into the seat behind mine. Tommy led Uncle B to the other sliding door, then helped him in, too.

While I was buckling Daddy in, he drifted away again, soft as a cherry blossom petal on a warm spring breeze that wafted over the thick, black wall of his dementia.

Uncle B retreated into delusion.

Neither of them had ever liked wearing seat belts. Maybe that was why they'd checked out.

There I went again, trying to make sense of insanity, just what I'd criticized Aunt Glory for doing.

Judge not, lest you be not judged,
the spirit of my Granny Beth said inside me, adding a wry
sometimes for the very same thing
.

I prayed I wasn't going crazy, too. That was the last thing Tommy and Mama needed: one more nutcase to take care of.

Before I backed out of the handicapped space, I whispered to Tommy, “Were you serious about taking them to the ballpark? It's way down in Buford.”

Tommy smiled. “No. But I had to get them back in the car before they started duking it out in front of Connor Allen.”

The lies we tell to protect ourselves and those we love. And
from
those we love.

“Back to you-know-where, then?”

Tommy nodded. He notified the Home with his cell, so two aides were waiting with wheelchairs when we drove up.

I unlocked the doors, then opened both back sliders with a press of the buttons overhead. Sending up another arrow prayer that we could get them back to their room without incident, I unbuckled Daddy and helped him out. He was still absent but breathing.

“How'd it go?” Shalayne asked as she turned Daddy around so he could sit in the wheelchair.

“Really well, except for—” I started, but Tommy interrupted.

“It went great,” he said. “They both ate a lot and seemed to enjoy it.”

“Beans?” a wary Shalayne asked.

Tommy grinned. “Lots.”

Shalayne and the other attendant exchanged pregnant glances. “Wal, I'm just glad I don't work the night shift tonight,” she said. “If you git my drift.”

As if on cue, Daddy let out a belch worthy of a grizzly bear, and just as foul.

I looked down my nose at Shalayne as I returned the unused syringes. “Please make sure the night shift is alert to their bathroom needs.”

Tommy nodded. “If I get here at six tomorrow morning and find them in their own mess, I'll report it to the regulatory board.”

The threat wasn't an idle one. He'd already sicced state inspectors on the place two times.

Not that the attendants cared. Shalayne responded to the threat with an indifferent, “I'll make sure to tell them.”

Not that it would do any good.

On our way back to Miss Mamie's, I asked my brother, “Do you think we should move them? I've got a sneaking suspicion the night shift consists of one nurse napping, and one attendant with a flashlight doing bed checks from time to time.”

“It wouldn't help to put them somewhere else,” he said. “You'll find the same problems everywhere we can afford. We just have to stay on top of the staff. The squeaky wheel gets the oil.”

For how long? I couldn't help wondering. Then I scolded myself for essentially wishing them dead with such a thought.

Guilty, I offered, “Maybe we'll find those Krugerrands so we can get them private nurses.”

“Maybe,” Tommy muttered without conviction.

Though it was only four
P.M.
when we pulled into the garage at 1431 Green Street, I told Tommy as we got out into the heat, “I am going upstairs to bed. Do you want me to tag along to the Home tomorrow morning at six?” Frankly, I'd rather go there than back to the attic.

Tommy shook his head. “Nope, but thanks. That's kind of our time together, now.”

I nodded, too weary to speak. Then I summoned the strength to climb the narrow stairway to my hidey-hole apartment upstairs. Inside, I pulled the shades against the glaring light, then ran the thermostat down to sixty-eight, shucking off my clothes where I stood, mirror be damned.

Naked in my bed under nothing but the sheet, I thanked God for taking care of Daddy and Uncle B, but couldn't resist,
That Connor thing, though. That wasn't fair.

The still, small voice asked me with authority,
Fair to whom?
(God doesn't make mistakes in grammar. Ever.)

I was too tired to argue.
I'm sorry. You're right. The ways of God are not the ways of a person.

The next thing I knew, the alarm was going off at four-thirty
A.M.

Shower. Coffee. Eggs. Attic.

I forced myself erect, found the shower, stood under a tepid spray, then came out to see myself in the mirror, dyed blond hair plastered to my head, giant circles under my eyes, and old.

Thank goodness there wasn't anybody there to see me that way.

With any luck, there wouldn't be.

At least till after Christmas,
my inner hedonist whispered seductively.

Ignoring her, I pressed the button on the coffee maker, donned my pink seersucker robe, then went down the stairs to retrieve the
Gainesville Times
from the grass.

Four shiny scrambled eggs, the Jumble and crossword puzzle, and three mugs of coffee later, I drank a cold bottled water with my daily meds and vitamins, then dressed for the attic, not Connor Allen.