LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Did you eat anything?”

  “Nope. Didn’t want to ruin my appetite. Oh wait, I grabbed a bag of pretzels from the mini-bar.” He shrugged. “But that’s it.”

  “You can’t go anywhere looking like that,” Auntie Zanne said. She walked over to him and pulling him down to her height by his shoulder, she held onto his chin and turned his head from side to side. “I’ve got something to fix that. Heal you right up.”

  She looked at me, a sly grin on her face, I knew she was waiting for me to protest. She’d been wanting to fill Alex up with one of her brews since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. I didn’t know if would be a truth serum, or some kind of staying concoction, or possibly even a disappearing powder so my heart and mind would be free to love whoever she decided was best for me. I watched her sashay out of the room, not taking her eye off of me waiting for me to object. Any other time I would have opposed what she aimed to do, but tonight I was thinking, why not? I knew whatever she cooked up for him wouldn’t hurt him, it might even help whatever had caused his reaction.

  But I also hoped that it would make him tell me everything, or want me more, or maybe even feel as if he couldn’t live without me. I just had to wait to see what she gave him.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re not going to let her feed me something that’ll make me fall in love with the first woman I meet, are you?” Alex let out a guarded chuckle. After Auntie and my exchange, I had noticed how he had watched us. Funny, even when you don’t believe in something, when confronted with it, it can make you think twice about the realness of it.

  “What if that woman were me?” I asked.

  “I’m already in love with you,” he said and came over to me. I searched his eyes for something that would tell me his words were true, but I saw nothing more than the pain he was having from him being sick.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” I said. “There.” I pointed to the loveseat. I followed him over and sat next to him. “I wouldn’t worry about what Auntie is getting for you. She’s got a healing touch. And she won’t hurt you.”

  “Maybe we won’t be able to go out to dinner,” he said, his eyes questioning me if it was alright. “Today didn’t turn out like I planned it. I thought we would spend it together.”

  “Don’t worry about dinner. I completely understand.” I raised an eyebrow. “It didn’t go like anyone planned it,” I said. “Bumper died.”

  “Bumper?” His face showed momentary confusion. “Oh,” he said and lifted his eyebrows, “the young man I gave CPR to?”

  “Yep,” I said and nodded.

  “How is that possible?” he asked. “He was having an asthma attack, I intubated him. He should have been fine.”

  “I know,” I said. “I guess it was just his time.” I looked over at him. “When will it be our time?”

  “To die?” he said, his eyes big.

  “No,” I said, smacking his leg. “Our time to be together.”

  He shifted his weight and turned to me. “That’s one of the things I wanted to tell you today. At dinner.” I thought I saw a small twinkle in his eye.

  “What?” The word came out hesitantly. I was so afraid of what he might say.

  “I’m divorced.”

  “You are?” I said. I shook my head. “I don’t understand. When did that happen? You didn’t even tell me.”

  “That’s why I hadn’t been in touch as much. So much going on.” He took my hand in his. “I just couldn’t... didn’t get to you like I wanted to. But it can be different now.”

  “Was it painful?” I asked. “Divorcing her?” My stomach was jelly and my lips dry, I didn’t really want to hear the answer, but I needed to know.

  “No.” Then he seemed to realize what I was saying. “Baby, I told you a long time ago, it was a marriage of convenience. Not love. Getting that divorce was hard, but not for the reasons you think.”

  “We’ll soon find out what you think,” Auntie walked into the room, interrupting our conversation, steam from the cup trailing behind her. “About everything.”

  Chapter Nine

  Auntie and I went over to pay our respects to the Hackett family. I had the pan of baked spaghetti I’d cooked before getting dressed for my date with Alex, and we’d picked up a package of toilet paper and paper plates from the supermarket.

  “People always bring food to the home of the bereaved,” Auntie Zanne had said as she directed me into the grocery store parking lot, “because people come and stay all day. They have to eat, but no one thinks or prepares for the consequences.”

  Hence the other items.

  Auntie handed me the car keys as we left the house, although I didn’t feel like driving. I was still nervous about Alex—his health, his news, and what it all meant for me.

  Whatever Auntie had given him, I noticed had made his eyes glaze over and his head seemed too heavy for him to hold up. I didn’t know what I had been thinking—that he’d drink her tea and suddenly start talking, telling me every little thing my heart desired. I’d never believed in her potions, but this one time, way deep down in my soul, I’d wanted so badly for it to work. For it to help me look into my future and know what was waiting for me with this man.

  Instead we put Alex in one of the back rooms off the kitchen hallway, the same room the bride and her attendants had used, before we left. He was lucid enough, but groggy and walked on his own accord to the room, my arm looped through his guiding the way. He didn’t give Auntie one ounce of discussion about her request that he stay. She had an almost charmed way with people when she was working in her side “business.” It was like a hypnotic suggestion from her, which he couldn’t rebuff and seemingly gladly went along with. She had him lay on the bed, we covered him up and left. Auntie assuring me he’d be fine until we got back.

  But on the entire drive over the Hackett’s house, I thought maybe I should have stayed in case he had more to say. In case there was something he wanted to tell me.

  Or had Auntie given him something that would stop him from telling me what I wanted to know...

  Then I felt bad. It seemed I cared more about what he had to offer me than I did what was wrong with him... Geesh. I was definitely confused.

  The Hackett house was small and worn, but neat. The grass mowed short. The bushes shorn evenly. No stray stones from their gravel driveway. The green Saturn wasn’t anywhere in sight, but there was an amber glow coming through the drapes in the large picture window and silhouettes easily visible inside. Someone was home.

  We walked up the wooden steps and Auntie Zanne knocked on the oak colored door. There was rumbling inside and I thought I noticed someone pull the curtain back and peak through the window.

  “Hi.” A young woman pulled the door open.

  “Hello,” Auntie Zanne said. “We’ve come to see about Delores.”

  “Oh. Okay. Come on in,” the girl said pulling the door wider.

  We stepped inside. “I’m Babet Derbinay,” Auntie said, a solemn look on her face. “This is my niece Dr. Romaine Wilder.” She pointed to me.

  “I’m Gaylon. Delores is my aunt,” the young woman said. “She’s in the dining room.” She reached out and took the covered dish from Auntie. “I can put this in the kitchen for you.”

  As we were passing through the living room, we saw the two groomsmen who had been dressed in tuxedos at the wedding sitting on the couch and Auntie stopped.

  “Hi, Mrs. Derbinay,” Mr. Dreadlocked Groomsman said. He was now dressed in a football jersey and a pair of jeans. He held onto a football that he tossed around in hands.

  “Hello, LaJay,” Auntie said. “Boone.” Auntie nodded at the other one.

  “Hey, Mrs. Derbinay,” Boone said, his words dry.

  “Y’all taking care of Mrs. Hackett?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Boone said. “We’re sticking close.” He
hung his head. “But it’s hard on both of us, too.”

  “I’m sure it is.” She gave them a slight smile. “Boone you’ve known Bumper since grade school, haven’t you?”

  “Yes ma’am. Kindergarten.”

  “Bumper and I’ve been friends since seventh grade,” LaJay said. “And we were just as close.”

  “I remember,” Auntie Zanne said and nodded. She paused momentarily before she spoke again. “Boys, this is my niece, Romaine Wilder.” She pointed to me.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “That’s Boone Alouette and LaJay Reid,” Auntie said, pointing to each one of them as she said their names.

  “I remember you,” LaJay said. “You’re a doctor, right?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said. “And I remember the both of you. Boone, you were such a help to Mrs. Hackett today.” I gave him a small smile. “My condolences to you both.”

  “Thanks,” Boone said.

  “Thank you,” LaJay repeated the sentiment. Getting up, he stepped around the coffee table and came over and took the bag out of my hand. “I’ll put this in the back for you.” I guess he thought it was food. The niece had disappeared through the back of the house. They’d figure it out once they peeked inside.

  “The boys all played football together for Roble High,” Auntie Zanne said, turning to me. “All through high school. They were the stars during their JV and varsity years. And then they all went to Division I colleges. The Roble Belles were really proud of them.” She glanced at Boone and smiled. “Still are.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without you guys,” LaJay said, coming back into the room.

  “I was just going to say that,” Boone said and smiled. “They were the best booster club even though none of them were our parents.”

  “We always think of you boys as our own,” Auntie Zanne said. “That’s why I wanted to have the wedding at my place.”

  “I just wish that it had of turned out better,” Boone said.

  “Yeah, man, me too,” LaJay murmured.

  “We’re going to go and say hi,” Auntie Zanne said and pointed toward the dining room. “Give our condolences.”

  We rounded the corner into the dining room and found Mrs. Hackett sitting at the head of a long, plastic cloth-covered table. She looked like she had earlier sitting in that folding chair–helpless. Hapless.

  There were people in chairs and leaning up against the walls filling the small room to capacity. Auntie zig-zagged and “excused” herself over to Mrs. Hackett. When she got to her she bent over and hugged the grieving mother, then holding on tightly, she spoke, her face nearly touching hers. “We came by to see about you, Delores,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “Babet,” she mumbled, tears streaming down her face.

  Two men, who’d been sitting at the table got up and gave us their seats. They went into the kitchen where the niece had disappeared and had yet to return.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hackett,” I said.

  “We wanted to see what we can do for you,” Auntie Zanne said. She touched her cheek to Bumper’s mother’s before she stood up and rubbed Mrs. Hackett’s back.

  “There isn’t anything you can do, Babet,” she said, her eyes lowered. “Or you.” Her eyes only flickered my way. “Nothing no one can do now. I tried. Lord knows I tried to keep him safe and I couldn’t.” I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

  “Keep him safe?” I said. She made it seem as if someone was after him.

  “She’s talking about those inhalers,” the niece said coming back into the room. She must have noticed the confusion in my voice. “She keeps talking about them.” She squinted her eyes at us and barely shook her head, as if it wasn’t a good subject to talk with her about. “Your lasagna looks good,” Gaylon said, a polite smile on her face, I could tell she wanted to change the subject.

  “It’s baked spaghetti,” I said.

  “Really?” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.”

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t work,” Mrs. Hackett said, her eyes focused on a spot on the wall. She hadn’t taken the detour off her topic with us. “I made sure everyone had one in case he needed it. Everyone was prepared to help. I think maybe they might’ve been too old.”

  “Too old?” I asked, the niece giving me a look of disapproval.

  “They might have been expired,” she said, but as she talked the niece was shaking her head as if to say her words weren’t true. “I had a couple around the house. I always kept them handy. One in every room.” Mrs. Hackett continued, not noticing her niece. “He hadn’t needed them for so long...”

  “You said earlier that being nervous is what triggered it,” I said.

  “It was usually triggered by changes in weather,” she said. “High humidity. That’s why I was so happy when he got that scholarship to USC. Weather’s always the same there.”

  “Is that when his attacks stopped?” I asked.

  “His asthma had practically disappeared,” Gaylon said, reluctant, yet seemingly compelled to explain. “As he got older, you know. It was bad when he was a baby, but by the time he started playing football in the pee-wee league, he was over it. But no one could convince Aunt Delores of that.”

  “I had to protect my baby. You know when the humidity was high, sometimes it would still act up,” Mrs. Hackett said.

  “Yeah, but his body had adjusted to the humidity here,” Gaylon said. She blew out a breath like she’d had this conversation a few times.

  “And when he moved to California,” Mrs. Hackett said, “they stopped all together.” She sniffed back a tear, seemingly not realizing her niece was accusing her of overreacting to her son’s ailments. “He was going to move there. No humidity there.” She let out a weak attempt at a chuckle, but it came out more like a hiccup and brought on a flood of tears.

  “Here, Aunt Delores,” Gaylon reached for a box of tissues that sat in the middle of the table and gave her a couple. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Mrs. Hackett reached out for the tissue and looked up at her niece, no expression evident on her face. “It’s never going to be okay again,” she said and dabbed at her face. “Not ever again.”

  “I wondered why so many people said they had inhalers yesterday,” I said.

  “That way, whomever he was with,” Mrs. Hackett said, “if he needed it, he would have it.” She ran a shaky hand over her face.

  “And it made her feel better too,” Gaylon said.

  “I guess it could have been his nerves...” Mrs. Hackett’s blank eyes looked at Auntie Zanne.

  “It’s alright.” Auntie Zanne got up from her seat and went back over to stand near her friend.

  I heard the door swing open, not having heard a knock, I figured it might be Mr. Hackett so I stood up to greet him. Murmurings of greetings floated in from the living room, and then around the corner came the last person I expected to see.

  Piper Alvarez.

  “Hi everybody,” she said smiling, a big pot of something in her oven-mitt clad hands. She acted more like she was coming to a pot luck dinner than to show her respect. She walked over to Mrs. Hackett, bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “Jori couldn’t get out of bed, so she sent me. Where should I put this?”

  “I’ll take it,” Gaylon said. “Just let me get a dishtowel.”

  “Oh, it’s not hot now,” Piper said, she looked down at her hands. “It was when I left home.”

  “Oh, okay,” Gaylon said, and grabbed the pot. “I’ve got it.”

  Piper, potless, leaned into Mrs. Hackett and rubbed her back. Mrs. Hackett looked up and produced a perfunctory smile. She reached out for Piper’s hand but missed it and let it plop into her lap. Piper grasped it and gave her a squeeze. She stood up straight and glanced around the room.

  “I can’t stay long,” she said, blowing out a breath like she�
��d been rushing around. She plopped down in a chair that had been vacated for her when she came in and smiled at everyone as her eyes circled the table. Her thin blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, she was wearing blue jeans, and a Texas A&M t-shirt. “Just came to stand in for my sister.”

  I was surprised she’d do anything for her sister when it came to Bumper. She hadn’t seemed too happy being at the wedding or, for that matter, in the wedding. And to top it off, when Bumper got sick, she was nowhere to be found.

  “It was the least I could do,” she was still talking. “I hated to tell her I told you so, but I’d been telling her that Bumper was not invincible. She was going to have to learn to take care of herself. And now look,” she flapped a hand, “from here on out, she is going have to take care of herself. She’s on her own. Maybe this will teach her a lesson.”

  Now that sounded more like the girl I’d met at the wedding.

  Chapter Ten

  The house had started to fill up with mourners. Friends and family members were walking around mingling, speaking softly, carrying on their various conversations. People were eating, drinking and every now and then you’d hear a laugh or chuckle, probably people reminiscing about Bumper.

  But Piper’s comment and connotation came in loud and clear, and everyone that sat close by stopped and looked at her

  “What?” Mrs. Hackett for the first time let her eyes focus on someone. She squinted them, trying to focus on Piper so she could understand. She sniffed back her tears.

  Gaylon’s faced mirrored mine, the same surprised look when someone says something inappropriate and seemingly not even having a clue they’ve done so.

  “We’re going to go.” Auntie Zanne said stood up, and taking over Gaylon’s role as protector said, “And we’re taking Piper with us.”

  “What?” This time the one word response belonged to Piper.

  “Delores needs her rest,” Auntie Zanne said. “And not so much conversation.”

  I stood up. Ready to go. Confrontation with the grieving I knew, just like Auntie, was not a good thing.