Slow Way Home (16 page)

Moss hung from the oaks like chandeliers in the finest New York City store. An American flag discovered at a VFW was the latest find.

It flapped in the soft breeze next to the pole that Alvin had set up.

“I’m just so proud to live in the U. S. of A.,” Mama Rose said each time the sound of flapping nylon caught her attention.

I ran my finger down the plastic girl dressed in a bikini. Her blonde hair and long eyelashes reminded me of Miss Travick. And as 110

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much as I didn’t want it to be so, her wide smile was too much like Mama’s. Beau pinched the pointy breasts and laughed until Mama Rose stopped staring at the flag. “Quit fornicating over that doll.

Hand me that thing,” she said. “I swear, Beau Riley. You come by it natural, don’t you. Sorry as that mama of yours just as sure as the day is long.”

Beau twisted his mouth until his chest bowed out. His soiled nails dug into the red construction paper that covered the display tables. He was still staring at the paper when the music caused us to look up. The Impala drove past and then stopped at the next street and turned around. Sensing trouble had become second nature to me. “Mama Rose, you might need to check on Josh,” I said. “He was looking inside some of those boxes you said for us not to get into it.”

She continued wiping off the Florida-shaped key chains and never looked up. “Nobody likes a tattletale. You just finish unpacking that box.”

The steady beat of the drums made Mama Rose look up before Sister Delores had parked the car. “What in tarnation?”

“Hey, babies,” Sister Delores said as she struggled to walk up the hill towards the display tables. Beau looked at me, and the fear in his eyes matched the way I felt.

“Uh . . . hey,” Beau said. “Mama Rose, I think the phone’s ringing inside.”

“I don’t see how you can hear anything over that hoochie-koochie music roaring.”

Sister Delores tilted her head and smiled. “How you doing? We met when your son passed. I’m Sister Delores. Harvey, down at Nap’s Corner, is my husband.”

Mama Rose squinted her eyes until specks of powdered makeup crumbled. “Yeah, well if you see anything you like, I don’t give credit.

Cash and cash only.”

Sister Delores laughed. “Oh, baby, I just stopped by to speak is all.

You know if you don’t have plans this Sunday we’re having . . .”

“Here,” Beau said. He grabbed the doll by her breasts and lifted it towards Sister Delores. “You might want to buy a surprise for Harvey.”

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Rolling her eyes at Beau, Sister Delores laughed even louder.

“Little man, you know I got no use for a baby doll. I just stopped by to tend to my flock. See if there was anything y’all needed or something.”

“Tend your flock?” Mama Rose had her hands planted firmly on the sides of her bony hips.

“Sister Delores,” Josh yelled. He came running out of the house with a red, white, and blue streamer flowing in the breeze.

“Hey, baby. How you doing?”

“You know her?” Mama Rose pointed at Sister Delores.

“She’s our preacher.”

Mama Rose bugged her eyes like she might curse for everything she was worth and then fell straight backwards. Orange-shaped pencil sharpeners and key chains the shape of Florida were scattered on top of her.

We stood frozen while Sister Delores ran around the other side of the table, the part Mama Rose said was off limits to customers.

“Y’all help me get her up to the house,” Sister Delores said. When she leaned down to lift, I tried not to look at Sister Delores’s ivory-colored bra.

Beau fanned Mama Rose with the fifty-percent-off sign. “No, Sister Delores, I don’t think you ought to.”

“Little man, you best start lifting. As big as you might want to be, you can’t lift this woman all by yourself.”

Josh ran ahead to open the door. Mama Rose sank down as we lifted. The thick material of her jacket could no longer hide the bony arms. Halfway there, the wig fell to the ground and rows of bobby pins shined all through the gray hair.

Inside, Mama Rose moaned when we plopped her on the sofa.

Sister Delores rushed into the kitchen and came back with a wet dish towel. She pressed her finger against Mama Rose’s throat and nodded.

“Heartbeat is strong. Keep on fanning, little man.”

“Sister Delores, we got it. Really we do. I’ll call Uncle Alvin.

He’ll get her to the doctor. You go on now. Really.”

The way that Beau said the word
really
made Sister Delores wrinkle her brow. “Well I just hate to leave you boys with this.” She 112

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looked around the house and took a step backwards when she saw Mama Rose’s cluttered desk. A Confederate flag and a cross with the gold medallion hung like diplomas overhead.

Mama Rose moaned and licked her lips, struggling to get up.

When one eye landed on Sister Delores, she slid back down on the sofa. The crazed scream made us all jump. “Get that high-yella nigger outta my house!”

Sister Delores held up her hand and nodded. “Don’t get yourself excited now.”

“Out!”

Sister Delores never looked at us as she turned to leave. Even if she didn’t want us to see her face, there was a slouch in her walk that couldn’t be hidden. Standing at the door watching the Impala drive away, I pictured her in the car with the music cranked wide open.

Music to wash away the pain of yesterday and to shine on the promise of brighter tomorrows.

By the time the dogwoods started blooming and the wild lilies appeared in the ditches, a renewal swept into Abbeville right along with the warmer Gulf breezes. Miss Travick certainly caught the fever.

When we started studying about Florida wildlife, she talked the principal into letting us take a field trip all the way over to Wakulla Springs. She told us seeing a real-life alligator would make the pages of our books come to life.

Miss Travick must have thought it would help Bonita come back to life too. Beau came to school one morning reporting that Miss Travick herself had called to invite Bonita to come along. “Between her and Sister Delores, Mama is getting her head back on straight,”

he said.

The janitor hadn’t yet raised the flag before we started boarding the bus. Miss Travick wore blue jeans and a T-shirt with a globe of the earth painted on it. Her thick yellow hair draped down over her shoulders, and blood rushed my face when I tried to imagine what it
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would feel like to touch it. I tried not to stare as she greeted us at the bus door.

“Mrs. Riley. I’m so happy that it worked out for you to come.”

My face wasn’t any redder than Bonita’s. “Yeah, well, me too,” she mumbled.

As the bus jerked to gain speed, Miss Travick yelled over the steady roar of the engine. “Wakulla Springs is a natural habitat for all kinds of animals. Some found only in Florida. We’ll see fish and turtles and hopefully a gator or two. So listen up when we get there, because driving back I might ask some questions.”

Beau nudged me with his elbow. “You ever seen a gator?”

“Not a real one. But back at my old school we went to the Capitol one time.” Beau seemed unimpressed and turned to talk to the girl across the aisle. I wanted to knock his leg with my knee and tell him how I had stood on the floor of the Senate and got to sit face-to-face with the lady senator back in North Carolina. But the new script didn’t have any scenes for Senator Strickland.

A fancy hotel the color of beach sand stood guard over the spring.

As the bus circled to find a place to park, the rows of oak trees and grass the color of new money seemed just like a place Hoyt Franklin might show up at in his motor home. That’s why I didn’t ooh and aah like everybody else when Charlie the tour guide told us that movie stars had been to Wakulla Springs. Even Tarzan.

“Did you hear that?” Beau said and slurped back the spat of his excitement.

We stood on the dock and waited to board the glass-bottomed boat. Dense forest with cypress trees draped in moss greeted us on the other side of the water.

“Now everybody with Miss Travick’s group, step to the side and let the other folks get in first,” Charlie said.

While men and women Poppy and Nana’s age filed past, Miss Travick and Bonita shepherded us to the side of the boardwalk. Just when I turned to see how many people were in line behind us, I saw her.

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She was standing with her head turned talking to an older man with a white captain’s hat on. The teased black hair looked as fresh and kept as it had during the first reunion at Dairy Queen. Watching as she waved her hand in the air like she didn’t have a care in the world, I felt my knees lock, and I grabbed a hold of the rope that separated me from the water.

From the side, the white sunglasses put the official stamp on my fear. I looked around to see if I could slip away and hide back in the hotel reserved only for movie stars. Legs lined with varicose veins bar-ricaded a quick escape. Hearing a woman squeal, I turned my head only slightly and tried to brace myself for a headlock, slurpy kisses, and the familiar smell of whiskey and mouthwash. I pictured myself being drug away from Bonita and Beau and driven away in the fancy Cadillac that the rich boyfriend would have waiting for us in the parking lot. The braided rope vibrated against my hand as sweat trickled down my forehead.

The man with the captain’s hat rubbed the small of her back and then looked right at me. Spinning around, I ran right into Miss Travick.

The clear water below sloshed against the boat as the tour guide helped passengers board.

“Brandon,” Miss Travick said.

“I might need to go sit down up at the motel.”

Her hand was cool against the damp part of my neck. “You’re pale as a sheet. Here, let’s find you something to drink.”

“Hey, where you going?” I heard Beau but never looked back as Miss Travick guided me directly into danger. I tried to bow my head until a ring of skin rolled up to my chin. Maybe they would think I was fat and let me slip away. But just when we walked by the man, he reached out and touched Miss Travick’s arm.

“Miss, I couldn’t help but notice. Is everything okay here?”

Blood drained to my feet, and I almost reached up to grab a hold of Miss Travick’s hair for balance. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her again. This time she was turning to face us. Turning to find her son who had run off after that judge ordered him to stay put and live with her.

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Miss Travick’s words sounded slow, like the movies at school that get tangled in a jammed projector. “I think he might have gotten a little seasick. You know, with the dock rocking and all.”

I pulled away trying to run ahead, but her grasp was stronger than my determination.

“See to it that he sips a soda to help the nausea. The snack bar should have saltine crackers. That’ll help.”

When the woman looked down and pulled up the white sunglasses, I knew it was over. But the eyes. They were green, the color of the spring water below. “Poor thing. Getting sick and missing the boat ride. What a shame.” The voice was light and polished. No matter how much grooming, my mama could’ve never talked so sweet.

Fear let go of me, floated across the water, and got tangled in the Spanish moss of Tarzan’s jungle.

We sat high above the boat dock under an umbrella of live oaks. I sipped a Seven-Up, ate crackers, and tried to ignore Beau’s wave from the boat’s stern. I slid along the wooden bench until my shoulder rubbed against the faded bumper sticker that read “Love, Not War.”

Watching the woman who had tricked me into panic move closer towards the boat, I tried to convince Miss Travick that all was better.

She reached over and stroked the back of my hair. “But I can’t risk having you out on the boat. What if you get sick again?”

The woman’s laugh rolled up to the hill where we sat. She clutched the tip of the tour guide’s fingers. Then her black hair and white sunglasses were lifted onto the boat. Not even the cool touch of Miss Travick’s hand could put out the anger that flamed under my skin.

We spent the week of spring break in the inlet obeying Sister Delores’s command to “just cut up and be boys.” Ignoring Beau whenever he told me about the boat ride that I had missed, I kept my eyes on the murky water at my feet and my net on guard to latch a hold of the granddaddy of all blue crabs. But no matter how disciplined I was, whenever the cold water slapped against my jeans, I couldn’t help but 116

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wonder if that was how the light green water at Wakulla Springs would have felt. “This is cold now. You reckon God put a bunch of ice cubes in here last night?”

Beau slapped across the water and pulled his arms to help break free from the marshy mud. “Quit your whining. That’s how come we left Josh back at the house. I don’t need another baby.”

With the cuffs of our jeans flapping against the air, we rode our bikes back down the bridge and towards the marina. From the highest point, the marina’s white awning and blue sides reminded me of a birthday cake.

Arriving in the parking lot, I could see blue and yellow sparks flying off of a boat engine as the welder held the torch down below.

Poppy was standing by the Coke machine when we rode up. His gray overalls were patterned with engine grease. At the gate men with matching blue caps stuck cards into a time clock.

“How come all those men get to go home and you’re still working?”

Poppy brushed the sweat from the bottle and never looked up.

“They got no choice. We lost a contract today. They’re laid off.”

Waiting in line, the faces never raised to show any eyes. White and black, there were only eyelids that drifted past the green box as the men fed time cards into the machine.

At Nap’s Corner I felt almost ashamed to take Harvey’s money for the five crabs that scaled the walls in our bucket. The empty faces of the men at the marina seemed suspended in my mind. Beau stuck out his hand while Harvey dropped a stream of fifty-cent pieces. A fiddle’s whine from the jukebox and the rotating fan that hung from a corner beam struggled to be heard over the noontime chatter.