We Are All Welcome Here (14 page)

“That’s a good idea,” Peacie said, and a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding released itself. “Sometime your brain in good working order, give us both a shock. Go and get the curtain. And then go look out for Dell. When you see him, give a holler.”

“Okay,” I said, unhappy with the inadequacy of the simple phrase when my desire for service, for retribution, was so fierce. “I’ll do it now!” I added.

“I don’t believe I was talking ’bout you doing it next Friday,” Peacie said.

I headed for the bathroom and heard Peacie saying, “Paige?
Paige?
”

I stopped dead in my tracks until I heard my mother respond. “Are we there?” she asked.

“Lord, Lord,” Peacie muttered. “When that Dell
get
here?”

When I brought in the shower curtain and handed it to Peacie, my mother seemed more alert. “Get me a drink of orange juice, Diana,” she said.

“I’ll get it,” Peacie said. “I want Diana watch for Dell. I want him get the car ready, we gon’ take you right out. You gon’ be just fine.”

“Peacie,” my mother said. “Take care of Diana.”

“What you worrying yourself about? Don’t worry ’bout a thing. You know I’m gon’ take care Diana.”

“Don’t leave her alone,” my mother said. There was a reaching quality to her voice, the equivalent of a hand on an arm.

“I ain’t goin’ to! I am well aware of recent developments that should not have been undertook by certain among us.” Peacie looked over at me, her eyes like glittery black beads.

I stepped out onto the front porch, where rain drummed so powerfully I feared for the roof. Drops hit the asphalt hard enough to bounce up before they fell down again. Our yard was a gigantic mud puddle. Down the street I saw a van belonging to the hardware store coming quickly toward us, its windshield wipers thunking out a frantic rhythm. I knew that van—Brooks had used it to deliver our icebox to us. It had a ramp. We could roll her right up into the back and not have to transfer her from her wheelchair into a car seat.

“Dell’s here!” I yelled. “He’s got the van!”

“Tell him come in and help me lift her into the wheelchair,” Peacie said. “I can’t do it alone today.”

“I’ll help,” I said, waving at Dell and holding up my finger, telling him to wait one minute.

“Not this time you can’t,” Peacie said.

I hesitated, then motioned to Dell to come inside. He rushed past without even looking at me. It made me sick how that hurt my feelings, how even now I could not keep myself from the center of things.

The phone rang and Peacie yelled, “Answer it. Might be the doctor.”

It was not. It was Suralee, and I told her I’d call her back.

“When?” she asked, and I said I didn’t know, I had to go.

“Oh, come on, get over it,” she said.

I hung up.

M
any hours later, at Peacie’s house, I lay on her sofa, weeping. I cried about how my mother had looked when the nurses transferred her to the bed in the emergency room, her eyelids half closed, her brows knitted with the effort of breathing. I cried about how kind Dell had been, how when he’d come into the house, he’d leaned down and put his hand to the side of my mother’s face, looked into her eyes, and said,
Hey there,
so gently. He’d lifted her into the wheelchair by himself. Then, after he got her into the van, he’d jumped into the driver’s seat to take us quickly to the hospital, where he waited with us for hours.

I cried over the fact that LaRue wasn’t going to be home until tomorrow, and here I was with Peacie with no buffer at all. I cried over how sick I felt; my head throbbed, my stomach ached. But mostly, I cried about my selfishness and pride, which, to my mind, had brought this on. I hated the front of me and I hated the back of me.

Finally, I had no tears left. I sat up and looked around the tiny living room. In addition to the sofa, there were two armchairs, dressed with doilies. A small footstool sat in front of one of the chairs; an end table was placed between them. On the table was a worn Bible, an empty ashtray, and a small lit lamp with a ruffled shade. There was a rag rug and a wooden crate holding magazines. A framed photograph hung on the wall, some colored woman in a dress with a high collar. She wore rimless glasses, and she was not smiling. Rather, she wore a fierce expression much like the one Peacie often had, only worse. I stared at her face and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

I went into the kitchen, smaller than our own, but with a nicer-looking refrigerator. Peacie sat at a square metal table, playing solitaire. I sat opposite her and surveyed the cards. “Black eight on the red nine,” I said, pointing.

“I know that,” she said, and moved the card. Then she sat still, considering. I saw another move but kept my mouth shut. In a moment she saw it, too.

“Bet you’s bustin’ tell me ’bout that one, too.”

“Didn’t see it,” I said.

“Lie like a rug.” She leaned back in her chair and regarded me. “You ’bout done with your own private wailing wall?”

I nodded.

“Then get back in there and wring out that sofa ’fore it float away.”

I smiled at Peacie, grateful for her attempt at humor. Behind her, at the window, were some yellow curtains with little white polka dots, tied back with matching bows. I recognized them as having been in a recent donation bag. “Are those from us?” I asked.

Peacie looked behind her. “What? The curtains?”

I nodded.

“Y’all gave them to me. Y’all didn’t want them.”

“They’re pretty.”

“You ain’t taking them back. Ain’t from you, anyway. They from your mother.”

“I didn’t say I wanted them. I said they were pretty.”

She stood and pushed her chair in, leaned close to my face. “I see you coming and going, Diana Dunn.”

She was right. I did want the curtains back. When we’d given them to her, they were wrinkled and dirty, raglike. Now they seemed cheerful and sweet.

“You hungry?” Peacie asked.

“No.” We’d eaten from the vending machine at the hospital, chips and candy bars and packages of crackers and cheese.

“I believe I’ll check in on your mother, then.”

She was overly casual saying this; it made me worried. Peacie went to the wall phone and dialed a number, then straightened as she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Yes, I’m calling to inquire about a patient y’all have there, Miss Paige Dunn, room 507…Yes, ma’am.” She waited, her fingers drumming on the counter, then said, “Yes?…Yes, ma’am, I am a relative, I’m her sister, Betty Dunn, from New Orleans, calling long distance, so—yes…Oh, really, when was that?…I see…. Allright, then, I’ll try later.” Peacie hung up the phone, went to the already clean sink, and started wiping at it.

“What,” I said.

“What, ‘what’?” She wouldn’t turn around.

“What did they say at the hospital?”

“They say call back later, which I will do.”

“Why didn’t you talk to my mother?”

She didn’t answer.

“Peacie?”

She turned around. “Now don’t be carrying on. She went to the ICU. Cain’t talk to her now.”

I swallowed, then stood up. “Let’s go. I want to go there.”

Peacie came over to the table and pushed me gently back down into the chair. “Now look here at me. You know same as me we cain’t go in there. She gon’ be fine. She in the best place she can be at. You know she do this sometime, get all sick and then she come home fine as pie, ain’t nothing to it.”

“If she’s in the ICU, she’s
really
sick!”

“Well, where you want her to be if she that sick! The ICU! ICU mean…Instant Cure Underway, that is exact and precise what it mean.”

“It means Intensive Care Unit. And half those people never come out.” We stared at each other and then, miserable, I said, “When are you calling back?”

Peacie thought for a moment, then said, “Can you be a doctor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean can you call and act out you a doctor? Just like the play. Then they tell us how she is exactly.”

I was seized by fear, but in a calm voice I answered, “Yes. I can do that.”

Peacie handed me the phone and began dialing the number again.

“But what do I say?” I whispered.

She shrugged. “You the doctor.”

When the hospital operator answered, I lowered my voice and identified myself as Dr. Halloway, then asked for the ICU. When a woman there answered “ICU” in a quick and nearly breathless way, I said, “Yes. Yes! I’m Dr. Halloway, calling to inquire about my patient, Paige Dunn.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Uh…” I leaned against the counter, frozen and wild-eyed.

“How she doing,” Peacie whispered. “How she
do
ing?”

“How…is she doing?”

“She’s stable, Doctor. Spiked a temp up to a hundred and four, but we’ve got her on a cooling blanket and it’s down to a hundred one.

She’s a little tachycardic, but her pressure’s back up and the other vital signs are okay. Urine output’s fine. Sputum results aren’t back yet, of course.”

“Of course, of course,” I said. “And when do you expect she’ll come home?”

There was a pause, and then the woman said, “Well…that will be up to you, of course…. Did you say you were Dr. Halloway?” I couldhear her rifling through some pages. “Are you on staff here?”

I hung up. “Her temperature was high, but it came down,” I told Peacie. “She’s on a cooling blanket.”

Peacie nodded. “All right. Good. We call back later,
Doctor.
”

“I don’t want to be the doctor anymore,” I said. “You do it next time.”

“You should feel better, Diana. That’s the right direction she going in! That’s good news we got.” She laughed. “
Dr. Halloway!
Hey, Doctor, I got a pain in my Archilly heel, can you fix it?”

There was a loud knock on the door, and Peacie looked up at the kitchen clock. Nine-thirty. “Stay here,” she told me, and went out into the living room.

“Good evening,” I heard her say. “How you doing this evening?”

Good evening?
I went to the threshold of the kitchen to see who had come. It was Sheriff Turner at the door. His hat was far back on his head, and he stood with his legs far apart, his hands on his hips. He was a handsome man, but he always made me feel squirmy inside.

“LaRue around?” he asked Peacie.

“No sir, he ain’t.”

“Where’s he at?”

“He visiting his people.”

“Where?”

“I…don’t quite remember. I had some excitement with Miss Dunn today, had to take her to the hospital.”

“Paige is in the hospital again?”

“Yassuh. Sho’ is.”

Yassuh?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But I need to know where LaRue is, Peacie. I’m going to stand here and smoke a cigarette, and maybe it’ll come to you. If not…” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll smoke another one.”

I watched Peacie’s back for some give-away sign. Nothing. She stood silent, then finally bowed her head and said, “Meridian. Is he all right?”

“Well, that’s something I want to pass on to you, Miss Peacie. If he’s over there helping those college boys, he ain’t going to be all right, I can guarantee you that. If he’s helping those college boys, he might not come home at all.”

“He coming home tomorrow!” Peacie said. It shot out of her so fast, I wasn’t sure she meant to say it.

The sheriff leaned against the door frame. “Well, now. That’s what I was waiting for. That’s the kind of cooperation I want to see. When LaRue gets home, I want you to have him come and see me. I want to have a few words with him.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“You won’t forget now, will you, Peacie? You’ll tell him to come on over and see me right away.”

“Yassuh.” Her head bobbing, her back bowed. “I sho’ ’nuff will.”

The sheriff turned to go, then turned back. “Now, you know I like LaRue, don’t you? I got no ax with him.”

“Yassuh.”

“It’s just I don’t want to see him in no trouble with anybody else.”

“No suh. Me neither!”

He chuckled. “So you just—” He spied me and stopped talking, leaned around Peacie for a better look. My heart sank. I hadn’t done what Peacie had asked. “Who’s that?” he asked her.

Peacie spun around, murder in her eyes. But when she turned back to the sheriff, her voice was sweet and low. “Why, you know, that’s just Diana, Miss Paige Dunn’s daughter. I’m keeping her here with me while her mother in the hospital. Didn’t want to leave her alone over her house.”

“There wasn’t anyone else who could take her?”

“Her mama want me to have her, ax me in the particular.”

Sheriff Turner smiled and nodded at me, and I smiled back.

“This ain’t no place for a white child,” he told Peacie quietly.

“Yassuh,” she said.

“Ain’t no place for a white child! ’Specially at night.”

“I be taking her home tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you just stay at her house with her?”

“I needed to come home and feed my chickens and pack some things.”

So Peacie believed my mother would be hospitalized for some time.

The sheriff stood still for a moment, thinking, then again stretched his head around Peacie to call out, “Diana! Come on over here!”

I walked slowly to the door, held up my hand in a weak wave. “Hi,” I said.