Twang (28 page)

“First off, Tonilynn, even if it is worms in there, and I said
if
, which I do not believe it is, it’s been blessed, and blessed food is food that’s good for the body. Says so in the Bible. Furthermore, I saw on PBS, or maybe it was a National Geographic show, there are some societies what eat rats and grubs, and if rats and grubs are good enough for them, and let me tell you, they sure looked healthy to me, then I don’t see what the fuss is. Thirdly, it is rude to complain about something somebody has fixed for you. It’s bad manners to point out anybody’s shortcomings.”

Tonilynn was sitting there twisting her gold bracelet around on her wrist. Jennifer’s eyes were cast down and Bobby Lee was texting away on his cell phone. When no apology was forthcoming, I looked directly into Tonilynn’s eyes and said, “Don’t you think there’s something you need to say to me?”

She reached across the table to pat my hand. “Please forgive me, Aunt Gomer. I didn’t go to insult your cooking or hurt
your feelings. Jennifer’s a vegetarian, as you know, and I didn’t want her to offend her own conscience.”

Well, I must say I felt right good about that explanation, though I cannot for the life of me understand why a person would want to be a vegetarian. And then, what about Tonilynn and Bobby Lee’s excuse? But the Bible says to forgive and forget, so I said, “Bobby Lee, put that casserole dish down for Erastus, and I’ll go perk us a pot of coffee.”

While I was waiting on the coffee, I shook the Pecan Sandies out onto a nice plate and carried them to the table. Then I felt like a waitress at the Waffle House, serving mugs of coffee and cream and sugar on my silver tray. I was worried that the mood was broken, but we all sat around the table laughing and visiting until after eight and polished off that whole bag of cookies.

I awoke from a heavy sleep to find myself lying on a lumpy mattress in a fetal position. A full moon was shining through the window at my feet. For a while I lay motionless, trying to remember where I was and how I’d come to be there. Gradually, I realized I was on Cagle Mountain. It wasn’t so bad until I recalled what had happened the night before, and just the fleeting thought of that flung me into a state of shock. Eating the worms (I’d consumed half my serving of casserole before Tonilynn alerted us) was a picnic compared to purposefully revisiting the genesis of “Daddy, Don’t Come Home.”

I thought I’d been a mess after my conversation with Mike at Panera. But this was like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. How in the world had I let my guard down far enough for the fullness of
that
memory to get out? What was it about these people that made me spill stuff? Did I really know them? Could I trust them with my baggage? When it came down to it, could I trust
anyone
with my baggage?

I blinked in the murky dark and rubbed the crust of drool off my cheek with that awful memory dancing around in my head, particularly nauseating when I considered what an idiot I’d been that next day—the years of anguish my foolhardy
reaction had spawned. My heart hammered so I could hardly get a breath.

I wrapped my arms around myself until I was calm enough to swallow. Thank goodness the music had not called me home to other events lurking in my past. I would sooner die first. I lay there awhile, until I could ignore my full bladder no more, so I wrenched myself out of bed and crept down the cool plank floor of the dark hallway. I shut the door to the bathroom as quietly as possible, tugged the string to turn on the lightbulb overhead, used the toilet, then closed the lid before flushing and stood at the lavatory until it had finished making noise. I decided I’d tiptoe back down the hallway and crawl into bed, wrap myself in the quilt and wait until the sun was up to go find Tonilynn. I’d ask her to take me home. I knew already what I needed for my peace, my sanity. I needed the Cumberland River.

I jumped when I stepped out of the bathroom, and Aunt Gomer grabbed my arm. “Morning, honey child,” she said. “I heard you up, and I figured you were chomping at the bit. I’ll perk us some coffee to carry outside.”

Dazed, I followed her to the kitchen. In the sink, I saw the big glass Pyrex casserole dish from last night’s supper, upside down and sparkling clean.

“Reckon you’re excited about watching God’s morning show.” Aunt Gomer ladeled coffee into a percolator.

“Oh, well, sure.” I’d forgotten about seeing irises in the sunrise. I stood there a while, listening to the coffee gurgle and belch, a rooster crowing right outside the house. It was five forty-five by the oven clock.

“Nobody up but us chickens.” Aunt Gomer teehee’d as she poured two cups of dark steaming brew. “Come on,” she said, putting one into my hand, “let’s make sure we get front-row seats.”

I followed her out onto the gray porch, where she sat down in a rocker and patted the one beside her. “I’m so tickled we can share this together.” She took a noisy slurp of her coffee and began to rock gently, back and forth, her chin lifted as she looked out expectantly toward the horizon. “I sure do enjoy experiencing the world before it wakes up, don’t you?” she asked. “Everything all fresh and clean and new. It just makes a person feel like so much is possible.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, but all I really felt was impatient. I could hardly wait for the sunrise to be over and done with so I could get home.

“On that rise yonder is my iris bed.” Aunt Gomer pointed somewhere in the pearly half-light of the moon. “They love full sun. My grandmother grew all kinds of what she use to call ‘bearded irises.’ When I was up at her house, I would go stand over them just looking for their beards. Only thing I ever saw that resembled a beard was this little dark patch of bristly stuff in the middle of the bloom.” She laughed. “Granny loved the white irises called Immortality the best. Said they reminded her of spring and new life. She used to make the loveliest arrangements for her church with the Immortality.

“My favorites are the Mary Franceses and the Savannah Sunsets. Savannah Sunsets are bright orange and the Mary Franceses are lilac, and they are absolutely beautiful when you plant them beside each other.”

I just sipped my coffee and rocked, listening to the excited chatter of birds in some nearby trees.

“Sleep all right?” Aunt Gomer looked over. “You’re mighty quiet. You must not be used to sleeping on a feather bed.”

“It was fine. Guess I’m just not used to being up this early.”

“Well, hon, you’ll be glad you gave up a little shut-eye for this. I’ve seen thousands of sunrises in my life, and I never get
tired of ’em. Every one is different. Words can’t hardly do them justice. I lose myself in the whole production.”

“Really?” I said after a bit because it seemed as if she were waiting for my response.

“Mm-hm.” She took a deep, satisfied breath. “My Mama used to say it’s darkest right before the dawn, and I do believe she was right.”

I feigned a smile. How much longer would it be until the sun did its thing and I could excuse myself?

Aunt Gomer’s old voice took on a dreamlike quality. “One summer I put some foxglove in the back of my hardy border, and Canterbury Bells right in front of them. That following June, they bloomed, and it was the loveliest combination you ever saw. Bloomed two whole weeks. I’d lose track of time just sitting out here looking at them. I ever tell you about how one year I planted blue larkspurs next to orange zinnias? Every soul who came up here was beside themselves at the beauty.”

We rocked in tandem a while, and just as I was entertaining thoughts about how maybe this was some crazy-old-woman thing to do, the sun peeked over the horizon. Golden rays broke through misty clouds and splashed onto the earth. I was so surprised at the heartbreaking wash of pinks and yellows spilling over the swell of Cagle Mountain, I stopped breathing. A glorious blur of pomegranate and lemon against robin’s egg blue and cottony white, the light on the yard radiant, throwing long velvety shadows.

Aunt Gomer rocked back, an “ohhhhh” cascading out of her mouth, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks as the tender, rosy light of new day began to spread.

Then we were witnessing the glorious colors of the Mary Franceses and the Savannah Sunsets as the sun moved up to shine behind them. I gazed out, lost in reverie, biting back my own tears. I knew what Aunt Gomer meant by losing herself.

All of a sudden, the front door swung open and out bounded Erastus, making a huge racket. He bounced down the steps and scurried through the yard, smelling here and there, racing around and around the clumps of flowers, stopping to lift his leg on a stump for what seemed like forever. I didn’t even hear Bobby Lee roll up beside me.

“Morning, Jennifer,” he said, and I jumped, turning to look at him. His hair was wild, and he was wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, gray sweat pants, and no shoes.

“Good morning.” I couldn’t help smiling. Wasn’t long ago that being so near this man in a wheelchair made me feel shy, uncomfortable. But now I hardly noticed Bobby Lee was without the use of his legs.

“Mercy!” Aunt Gomer almost fell out of her rocker. “Boy, you scared the daylights out of me! What in heaven’s name are you doing up so early?”

Bobby Lee laughed. “Figured I’d eat breakfast, then go see about that job before I get to fishing.” He was looking at me the whole time.

Aunt Gomer yelled, “Hallelujah!” and threw her hands up in the air.

He raised his eyebrows. “Mama doesn’t seem too excited about it.”

“Tonilynn’s up?” I hopped to my feet.

“Yep. But I’d let her finish her Diet Coke if I was you. She’s kind of grumpy.”

“I don’t mind. I need to talk to her about something. Y’all excuse me, please.”

Tonilynn sat at the kitchen table where a lone iris drooped over the side of a jar. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed as she drank straight from a two-liter bottle. The space where Bobby Lee generally sat had some playing cards laid out in a half-finished game of Solitaire.

“Morning, Tonilynn. Mind if I talk to you about something?”

Tonilynn looked at me. “Have a seat,” she said in a clipped voice, nodding at the chair across from her.

“I mean somewhere private.”

She shook her head.

I was shocked. Never had I found Tonilynn to be anything but agreeable and accommodating when it came to lending a listening ear. “Please? I need to go somewhere we can be private. Hey! How about while you’re driving me home?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Would you please drive me home? I’m scared to death to ride with Aunt Gomer. On the way here she kept switching lanes without looking, and people were honking at us like crazy.”

“Oh, good grief. Guess it’s time to take her license away.” Tonilynn sighed. “Listen, I’ll drive you home. We’ll talk, but it’ll have to be later. There’s something I need to hang close for.”

I knew what that was, but if I was going to survive, I had to stand my ground. “Please. I really need to talk to you in private. Now.”

Tonilynn got to her feet, hugging her two liter, and using a nod motioned for me to follow. We stepped out the back door onto a footpath winding past a tin roof on four poles that was Aunt Gomer’s car shelter, then a small shed with no door where I saw garden tools lining the walls, then a leaning chicken coop where it looked like they stored firewood, and finally to this old barn I’d noticed before but never really
seen
. It was half-hidden behind a row of azalea bushes on one side and a massive oak on the other. There was no door, and we stepped over a threshold into a large musty-smelling place. The walls were ancient logs laid one atop the other with cracks big enough to slide a flattened palm through, and the roof sagged here and there, and a few patches of sky were visible.
Several mule collars hung from pegs, and in one corner sat a dilapidated sawhorse.

Tonilynn sat down on the wide-planked floor, settling the two-liter between her knees.

“How old
is
this place?” I whispered.

“Aunt Gomer claims it’s over a century. Her great uncle put it together without nails. You don’t have to whisper. Nobody ever comes out here.”

I sat Indian-style, facing Tonilynn, and before I could figure out my opening statement, she said, “I know, hon. You’re upset about the worms.”

“No. Honestly. I just need to—”

“Well, me too,” Tonilynn cut me off, something else that shocked me. “Last night was
proof
she doesn’t need to be alone. The woman’s losing her grip and doesn’t need to be by herself, and here she is pushing my boy to go out and hunt for a job! I could just about wring her neck! If I hear her saying, ‘Tonilynn, you’ve got to stop babying Bobby Lee,’ one more time, I’m liable to snap!” She made a fist and pounded the floor.

I sat there looking at Tonilynn’s face, wishing I knew what to say. Bobby Lee seemed excited about finding a job.

“You’d think she’d understand that having Bobby Lee here will mean she doesn’t have to go to an old folks’ home. Aunt Gomer’s a proud, stubborn woman.”

Tonilynn was pretty stubborn herself. She liked to claim she’d laid her past out there for all the world to see, but she hadn’t exactly been Miss Honesty when it came to revealing Bobby Lee’s father to Aunt Gomer. She raised the two liter to her lips, threw back her head, and guzzled it down. I’d never seen her like this. I could literally feel the fury spilling out of her. She didn’t say anything for quite a while and this gave me time to decide on my opening line.

“You know how we were discussing my new image a few days ago?”

“Yeah, right,” she answered in a distracted voice.

“How I was going to talk with Mike about it, and you were going to make me over to be flirty and fun?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, Mike said I needed to see a shrink.”

“What?” Tonilynn banged the empty two-liter down beside her.

“Basically, he trashed my idea, just like you said he would, and then he said I needed to talk to a professional. He thinks a shrink can help me deal with my traumatic memories.”

Tonilynn nodded. “Listen,” she said, “I knew he’d pooh-pooh all that career makeover stuff. Man knows his business. And I don’t think he’s off the mark wanting you to talk to a shrink either.”