The Pirate Queen (7 page)

“Aren’t you supposed to radically change your diet?”

“Coffee and a pastry are therapeutic. Here’s cash. Go down to that grocer’s and get me some croissants and a bag of coffee.” He pulled out his BlackBerry and started phoning his assistant, Nalia. He made sure she understood she was to expertly hand off his surgeries for the next two weeks to his partner, Sam Werther.

Before Saphora left again, she said, “Does that mean we’re only staying here two weeks?”

He was already engaged in his business with Nalia but told her, “I told you already, Saphora. Don’t play games. I’m too tired for them.”

Saphora was examining the fresh tortillas in the ethnic food aisle when Sherry called. Her five-year-old son had come down with
chickenpox. He had been exposed through his cousins who had come in the week before.

“What exactly is it Dr. Warren has?” she asked.

Saphora hesitated between the black beans and pinto beans. “It’s cancer,” she said.

Sherry was quiet. Her son was crying in the background. Finally she said, “Knowing Dr. Warren’s condition, I can’t bring any diseases into the house.” She kept apologizing until she was nearly crying. “They say pox can be carried in your clothes. And Malcolm’s so sick. I’ve never seen him crying and clinging like this. I just couldn’t leave him with his grandma.”

“I’ll manage. Truth be told, Sherry, I need to do something with myself. If I had you here doing everything for me, I’d be lost.” She wanted to sound sincere so as not to place guilt on Sherry. She wasn’t about to admit to Bender she was already feeling the pressure to keep the beach house as organized and efficient as Sherry would.

“I know how you hate cooking. This is awful,” Sherry said, and then said it again. “This is awful.”

“I’m not a bad cook. Why does everyone think that?” asked Saphora, laughing.

“Is he bad sick?” she asked.

“They did some tests at Duke. We’ll know more in a couple of days. Don’t worry. Bender is the comeback guy.” It wasn’t a total lie. Bender was known for his sporty zeal in his days playing on the semipro golf circuit. His happiest days had been at a tournament he won in Southern Pines. But he had gone on to lose the next tournament just short of the nationals.

Saphora was still holding a package of tortillas when she spotted a man tucking what appeared to be a can of oysters into his pocket.
“Hold on, Sherry.” She managed to move in closer to see if his pocket was bulging. It was. She looked around to find the nearest clerk. But being in such a small town, she would be lucky to find one nearby in the middle of the afternoon. “I’ll be fine, Sherry. I’ll call you back,” she said.

The man rounded the corner, disappearing out of her sight. Finally she spotted a clerk whose name tag read Bernard Newman. He was pricing yellow cake mix on the end cap. She hissed, “Bernard, come here.”

When he did not respond, she hissed again. “Look, Bernard, over here!”

“You talking to me?”

“I’m Mrs. Warren, Bernard,” she whispered. “There’s a pickpocket in the store.”

“Did someone steal your money, Mrs. Warren?”

“Not a pickpocket. I mean a shoplifter, Bernard. I just saw a man put a can of oysters in his pocket.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Warren? The only other customer in the store is a minister. I seriously doubt he’d steal a can of oysters.”

“I just saw him, I swear, Bernard.”

At that instant the oyster thief walked past Bernard. “Have you got any soup crackers?” he asked.

Saphora mouthed, “That’s him.”

The thief smiled at Saphora although he did not make direct eye contact.

“Do you mean oyster crackers?” asked Bernard.

“Sure, that’s what they’re called,” said the man.

That had to be a ploy. There he had oysters in his front pants pocket and could not remember oyster crackers?

“Little round crackers? You sprinkle them over soup,” said Bernard to the man.

“Do you have any?”

“Down aisle eight, Pastor.”

The minister disappeared, the bulge in his right pocket still obvious.

Saphora asked Bernard, “Aren’t you going to ask him what the bulge is in his pocket?”

“That’d be rude. Guys don’t ask other guys things like that.”

“I saw him do it, Bernard. He’s stealing oysters.” Now that she thought of it, it was the perfect crime. Who would accuse a minister of stealing and, of all things, something as high priced as oysters? “If you’re not going to say something, I will,” she said.

“Don’t you think God takes care of things like that, Mrs. Warren? I mean, if he did steal it, shouldn’t I give it to him anyway? Turn the other cheek?” He was playing her, it seemed, by the smirk on his face.

“He should know better, Bernard.” She decided right then that she was going to confront the thief. She left her shopping cart next to the ethnic foods and brushed past Bernard and around the corner. She passed aisles five and six, and then seven, until she nearly ran straight into the pastor coming out of aisle eight.

“Excuse me!” he said.

Before he could walk around her, Saphora said, “Excuse me. I’m Saphora Warren.”

Without waiting for any more details from Saphora, he said, “I don’t think we’ve met, have we? I’m Pastor John Mims, the pastor at First Community Church down on Church Street. Call me Pastor John. Do you attend church, Mrs. Warren?”

“Sure I do.” It had been a few years, but that wasn’t the point. “It’s just that I saw you put that can of oysters in your pocket.”

“Oh!” He laughed. “It’s this right hand of mine.”

“You blame your hand for stealing?”

“No. It’s paralyzed. I didn’t want to push a cart around for two items. So I shoved the oysters in my pocket.”

“You’re paralyzed?” All color drained from her face.

“It’s an old injury. I’ve learned to live with it,” he said. “I’m sorry you thought I was stealing. I thought I was the only one in the store.”

Bernard called from the checkout aisle, “You need any help, Pastor?”

“I’m fine, Bernard.”

By this time Saphora was feeling flush. “I’m so sorry, Pastor. I feel like an idiot. Will you forgive me?”

Bernard was actually laughing. The nerve of him!

“On one condition,” said the minister.

“Anything.” And she meant that. She prayed the linoleum would split open and swallow her whole.

“Next Wednesday night we’re holding a fund-raising dinner at the church for a children’s fund. Will you come?”

“I promise. I know how to find your church.”

“I’ll look for you, Saphora,” he said. He met Bernard at the checkout.

Bernard was smirking from behind the counter.

She mouthed, “You knew!”

She finished filling her cart and then waited behind a display of canned peaches until she saw Pastor John leave the parking lot. If she was lucky, he would forget about her and she would disappear into Bender’s cancer.

4

Gwennie’s flight ran late. Saphora stopped for a coffee and then parked in the pickup lane in front of the Raleigh-Durham airport. Just as the airport cop looked about ready to ask her to take a lap, Gwennie burst out the door lugging her bright red suitcase.

Her hair was swept up into a ball cap. She looked younger than the last time she came home. She was either thinner or just bare faced enough that Saphora could imagine her again as a twelve-year-old girl playing soccer. Gwennie played sweeper throughout her high school years for the Davidson girls’ soccer team.

Saphora met Gwennie on the sidewalk and helped her with her luggage. Gwennie hugged her, but it wasn’t her usual quick hug, her let’s-get-on-with-things Gwennie hug. She held on to Saphora until she was sobbing. Saphora relished Gwennie’s sudden need for her, never having wanted to let go of Gwennie from the day she packed up her small car and moved to New York.

“I got you a coffee,” said Saphora, drawing back to look closely at Gwennie.

“You look terrific, Mama,” said Gwennie, more quietly than her normal tone. “I expected you to be falling apart.”

“Have you had breakfast?” she asked.

“You know I skip it,” said Gwennie.

Saphora drove them to just outside the city limits, where she found an exit with a pancake house. “Well then, how about some comfort food before we head to Oriental?”

“If we’re going to cheat, it has to be chocolate chip pancakes,” said Gwennie.

Saphora agreed. Everything she said was making Gwennie cry.

Gwennie pulled off her ball cap. Her hair tumbled down to her shoulders.

“Your hair is red,” said Saphora.

“Some blond, some red. I couldn’t decide.” She combed it out as she pulled down the mirror in the visor to apply mascara.

They parked and went into the pancake house, where they were seated in a corner with a loudspeaker playing country music overhead.

“Have you gotten settled into your new place?” asked Saphora.

Gwennie had talked about buying a Manhattan flat near enough to the office that she could walk or ride a bike. When a small two-bedroom condo came open, she had called saying she was praying that God would help her close on it soon. She’d started attending one of those downtown churches where the pastor looked as young as Turner and preached in sandals.

“I’ve got a view over Manhattan. I’m painting it on the weekends.” She opened her purse and pulled out cardboard paint samples. “See?” She handed them to Saphora. Then she turned on her telephone and showed her a picture of her kitchen and then her bedroom. Sitting at her kitchen table was a young man, blond and tanned.

“Anyone interesting come into your life?” asked Saphora.

“I’ve dated a few guys. No one interesting. The guy sitting here is from across the hall. Bill is infatuated with me. He’s a plumber,” she said, but then added quickly, “not that there’s anything wrong with that. Don’t look at me like that. He’s one of those guys comfortable in a pickup truck. Dad would never approve.”

“Dad’s not going to be married to him.”

Gwennie had always sought Bender’s approval since she was four years old and playing in her first soccer league. Saphora complained that she was too young. She thought Gwennie would have more fun in a gymnastics center. But Bender wanted all of his children in team sports to hone them for the real world.

Saphora wondered if Gwennie would have wound up in a stiff Manhattan law firm if she had started out in ballet slippers instead of a jersey. She somehow thought she would have.

They finished up their breakfast and got back onto the interstate for Oriental.

“Your dad got his call from his doctor friend at Duke this morning, Gwennie.”

“Turner told me Daddy’s getting a second opinion.”

Bender was in the shower this morning when Jim called. He turned off the water and asked Saphora to hand him the phone. One arm came up onto the ceramic wall in the shower, his forehead resting against his arm, when Jim told him the tumor was the size of a peach.

“The tests in Davidson were right. There’s no new news,” she said.