Messenger

by Carol Lynch Williams

  She was frail, I saw. Almost not there. Pretty but young looking. And looking at her face, I was certain she’d been crying. “No need to show me out,” she said, and was down the hall before I could turn. I heard the door slam behind her.

  I followed.

  The frilly curtains that covered the glass on the back door—a touch Momma added when we got here—trembled.

  I checked the knob. It jiggled in my hand, loose. Why was I shaking?

  Then I went to Momma’s note. Reread it.

  How long till the movie was done? And where was JimDaddy? Usually they went together, no matter when Momma wanted to go, no matter the show. Seeing Slam Ball Heartbreak was their first date. They’ve kept up the tradition.

  Now my heart was in my throat. Why weren’t they together?

  I made sure the door was locked—it was—then headed to my bedroom as the front doorbell rang.

  24

  A burst of annoyance flared through me. I would tell Tommie not to show up again. To call, like I said. Not just traipse around to the front door and ring the bell. Tommie scared me, coming in like that. For all I knew, she could have had a gun. Or a knife. All I had was a cake, a dense cake, yes, but I hadn’t ever heard of anyone stopping a murderer with a food product.

  The doorbell sounded again.

  I pattered to the front room. I would tell her to meet me at school. “She has to live near,” I said. Right? Or had she slept outside? How long had she been in the house? My blood rattled through me.

  “Maybe I should have spoken to her longer,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to be mean to her. She was upset. That much was clear. “I should have just talked to her.”

  Fine! I’d talk to her! See what she was worried over.

  I peered through the glass. Fell back against the wall.

  Buddy!

  25

  “I saw you,” Buddy said. “Evie, I saw you look out at me.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  There was silence. “Yes . . . I did.”

  “I know that,” I said. Still I leaned against the wall, my head brushing up against a family photo in a frame that said FAMILIES ARE FOREVER. And knowing the things I was learning daily about ghosts and recipes and Bundt cakes, it seemed this saying was more true than I’d thought.

  “Hello?” Buddy tapped on the leaded glass of the front door.

  My heart beat so hard I thought I might puke. Happy heart beating, yes. And happy puking, too. Throw-up, though, could be a turnoff.

  “What do you want, Buddy?”

  “Let me in.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “Momma and JimDaddy are gone. And so’s the baby.” I was smiling. Huge, huge smiling. I had forgotten about Tommie. No, I hadn’t. Jeez. I was thinking of her right this moment while Buddy stood on my front porch.

  “You didn’t call me back.”

  “I haven’t had the chance.”

  “You have. I seen you come home.”

  What? Both Buddy and Tommie watching and waiting for me?

  Did he know about the back door?

  “Do you know about my back door?” I said.

  “How you can jimmy it? Yes, I do. But I am not a trespasser. Let me in, Evie.” His voice had dropped down to almost nothing. I was surprised I could hear his words at all. “I come to finish what I started last night.”

  “Excuse me?” My face warmed up. My smile grew.

  “The kiss. It wasn’t any good at all. I shoulda . . . I shoulda . . .”

  I opened the door and Buddy fell into the room, catching himself against me.

  He had me by the shoulders. His fingers so warm. I looked into his eyes. Those nut-colored eyes. Pecans. “You know,” I said, after swallowing three times, “I’m not allowed to have boys in my house while Momma and JimDaddy are gone.” I shut the door closed and turned the dead bolt, locking us both in.

  Buddy nodded. “I know Jimmy’s rules,” he said. His voice was a whisper. “But I been thinking about you all night, Evie.” He slid his hands down my arms. Caught my fingertips with his. “How I shoulda held you longer.” He stepped nearer, pulling my arm around his waist. Circled my own waist, pressing into the small of my back. “And really looked at you.”

  “It was dark,” I said. I was whispering too.

  He closed his eyes. “And then . . .”

  I stood on tiptoe to meet his lips.

  “Your hair’s wet,” he said. His hand in my hair. He was a fast mover.

  I nodded.

  “I shoulda done all that,” Buddy said.

  Someone knocked.

  Buddy started.

  “Kiss me,” I said.

  “There’s not enough time now,” he said. Then he walked into the living room and flopped down on the sofa while I threw back the latch and opened the door to Aunt Odie.

  26

  “Just as I thought,” she said.

  Aunt Odie looked from me to Buddy to me again. She had a bit of tobacco on her lip. Must have gotten a smoke on her ride down. I glanced out the window. Yup. There was the Cadillac. “I knew something had changed. Saw it when you come in this morning.”

  “You’re”—Aunt Odie pointed at Buddy—“as shifty-eyed as a Bible salesman.”

  “I don’t even read the Bible,” Buddy said. He looked a little green around the gills.

  “Not the right thing to say,” Aunt Odie said. She came into the living room and sat in a wingback chair.

  “Ummm,” Buddy said. He sort of stood.

  “Sit,” Aunt Odie said.

  Oh. No.

  Down Buddy went.

  “There aren’t Bible salesmen anymore, Aunt Odie,” I said with a sigh.

  Buddy stared at me. Then nodded. Then shook his head no. At last he shrugged.

  “Your momma,” Aunt Odie said, “won’t stand for any of this nonsense.” She pointed between the two of us.

  “Aunt Odie,” I said, “there hasn’t been time for nonsense. And what do you mean by that anyway?” I raised my eyebrows. Tilted my head in the direction of the door.

  She’d brought the smell of home cooking with her, and my mouth watered. Not sure if that was because of a yummy dinner (though I was still full from our work together) or because of a yummy Buddy.

  Aunt Odie said, “Messengers are”—she paused—­“sensitive women.”

  “I believe that,” Buddy said. He sat forward in his chair, hands clasped before him.

  “Do you?” Aunt Odie asked.

  “Yes, I do.” His smile was so sincere my breath caught in my throat.

  Things were getting serious. I needed her to leave. I signaled with my eyes for her to go. Gestured with my head toward the door. Aunt Odie folded her arms across her stomach. Dang it! She wasn’t going anywhere. No! She was settling in.

  “We’re newish to the neighborhood,” Aunt Odie said to Buddy.

  He nodded.

  “I been here less than a year.”

  He nodded again.

  “What about you?”

  Buddy cleared his throat. “All my life. I was born at Fish Memorial.”

  Now Aunt Odie nodded.

  “What more can you tell me about you, Buddy?”

  This was Aunt Odie gearing up for a holdout. I sighed.

  She turned to me. “Now, Evie,” she said. “Don’t be rude. You got something to offer our guest?”

  Sheesh.

  “I do,” I said. “Buddy, you want some homemade Bundt cake? It’s still warm.”

  Buddy perked up. “Thought it smelled sweet in here.” He gave me a meaningful look.

  I blushed.

  He said, “If you don’t mind.”

  I didn’t.

  “Me too, Evie,” Aunt Odie said. “If’n you don’t mind.”

 
I minded.

  “All righty then,” I said, and hotfooted it into the kitchen. I kept one ear aimed in their direction, but they were too far away. Their voices echoed on the marble floor, making the sounds blurry. I hurried to slice the cake, drizzle a bit more icing on top, pull out a sliced strawberry for decoration, pour a glass of OJ for them both (what they didn’t know about me drinking from the container wouldn’t hurt them), put everything on a tray, and walk it on back to the front room.

  “I, um, I want to be lawyer,” Buddy was saying. He looked more relaxed. “Like my dad. Maybe open a practice of my own. Or join up with him.”

  I handed Buddy a plate and drink, then walked Aunt Odie her dessert over. I wasn’t sure how she could eat another bite, seeing how we had baked and cooked and mixed and tasted for hours that morning. But that’s the thing about Aunt Caro­lina’s recipes (made with love). There’s a dash of something heavenly in them that makes you want to keep eating. Even if you are the creator. Or her niece.

  Get. On. Outta. Here. Get. On. Out.

  I sat on the sofa just down from Buddy, not quite close enough to touch him unless Aunt Odie looked away. Which she didn’t. Every time she glanced at me, I sent her silent Morse code.

  She ignored me.

  “And? What kind of grades you earn?”

  That didn’t seem fair, seeing as Aunt Odie didn’t have any degree at all. Not even one from high school.

  “All A’s, ma’am,” Buddy said, and he smiled when he said it. His teeth were as white as Betty Crocker vanilla icing.

  Outside a car screamed past, and a neighbor yelled for the driver to slow down. The sun headed toward bed. The air conditioner kicked on.

  “You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  Aunt Odie looked at me. “Go get me another drink, honey. Get another for Buddy, too. Make us a mint julep this time. There should be a mix in your refrigerator. Brought it over for your momma last week.”

  “With bourbon or without?”

  She paused. Like she was thinking. “Without.”

  I stood. “If this isn’t some kinda ploy to get me outta here,” I said. I gave Aunt Odie the evil eye.

  “Yes, it is,” Aunt Odie said.

  “I can help you,” Buddy said, standing, his plate and glass in both hands.

  “No, you won’t. This here interview isn’t done.”

  That interview went on for another thirty-eight minutes, until Momma and Baby Lucy pulled in the drive and Buddy excused himself with a “See ya, Evie” and ran out the back door, the same way Tommie (who I did forget about) went.

  27

  “I like him,” Aunt Odie said, and swallowed down her third mint julep. “What about you? Now I need to visit the little girls’ room.”

  I had just enough time to think Do I? before Momma handed me Baby Lucy.

  “Where’s JimDaddy?” I asked.

  Aunt Odie stood near the chair.

  I plopped Baby Lucy onto my lap. She was falling asleep in my arms.

  “Off,” Momma said, and she wouldn’t look neither me nor Aunt Odie straight on. Instead she stomped down the hall. I heard her bedroom door slam closed.

  “What’s that all about?” Aunt Odie asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Better potty, then go see.”

  In her bedroom, I changed my baby sister, put her down with her pacifier, and whispered, “What do I think of Buddy?”

  Baby Lucy didn’t say anything. She was dead asleep now.

  I patted her little belly.

  There was plenty of time to find out.

  28

  She’s in between rooms.

  In the walls.

  Up and down the halls.

  Busy all night.

  29

  The chance didn’t happen that day. Or the next.

  And, just like I knew it would, school starting got closer. Momma had me out and about, trying to get ready.

  To Aunt Carol’s shop so she could teach me a thing or two about my hair.

  Down to Penney’s to shop for school clothes. And Wet Seal with my gift card.

  Took me to the hardware store for paint so we could put a fresh new aqua color on my room. “For a whole new start,” she said.

  “Shoulda done this during the summer,” I said once we had covered one wall. I had paint splattered up and down my arms.

  Momma, with Baby Lucy hitched to her chest in a baby carrier, said, “You know I was too pregnant for any of that.”

  I laughed. “Momma, you weren’t pregnant at all. Lucy is going on nine months old.”

  Lucy looked at me. There was paint on one cheek and in her hair. It was clear me and Momma didn’t have a decorating Gift.

  Momma smiled. I had to admit she looked good since this baby. Since JimDaddy. Not that living with Aunt Odie had been bad.

  “A new baby on the outside is harder than a baby on the inside, you know.” Momma edged up near the ceiling, painting a perfect line. She stopped long enough to kiss Lucy, who sucked on her bottom lip. Then Momma said, “Look at us here, Evie. A brand-new family made up of two broken families. Love’s made us whole.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. My thoughts flicked to Buddy. To the butterfly kiss. To his soapy smell.

  “I never thought I would find me another one to try and love,” she said. She stepped down off the chair we had found in the garage. “Not after your daddy passed on. But honey, I did.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you will too.” When she looked at me, I saw worry in her eyes.

  “What?” I said.

  “What what?” she said back. Then she said again, “Yes sirree. You’re gonna find yourself your own love.”

  Um. Wait a minute. I didn’t say anything. Just painted. Was that worried look for me? Or about what I might do?

  “Have you already?”

  I didn’t even slow the roller. “You been talking to Aunt Odie?”

  “Maybe.”

  Momma came to stand next to me. I was surprised to see I could look her right in the eye. Why, I was as tall as my mother. When had that happened? On my birthday?

  “You got anything to say?”

  I shook my head. Dipped at the paint again. “Not yet,” I said.

  Momma leaned so close I could smell milk on Lucy’s breath. “You know I love you most of all, right?”

  I set the roller down into the pan. Planted a kiss on Momma’s face.

  “I do,” I said. “And I love you most of all too.”

  30

  What more could a girl want than a new coat of paint? A momma and aunts and a stepdaddy and a baby sister who loved her most of all?

  Not including a good make-out session.

  Nothing.

  Not one more thing.

  31

  When Tuesday, August 28 rolled around, I was up extra early, ready. The sun hadn’t even peeked an eye over the horizon. The house was quiet. Smelled of magnolias.

  I had my hair braided (all Aunt Carol’s good-luck hair technique had gotten caught in the crazy curls the night before, so I’d braided the mess). After several more minutes deliberating, I chose just-the-right-length shorts and a pink-sprinkle-colored top and pulled them on.

  Then I sat on the edge of my bed and spent a good fifteen minutes looking at myself in the mirror. Batting my eyes. Behind me, a wisp of white moved. I turned. Glanced around the room. Let out a sigh. This place looked good aqua.

  After a while, I slipped down the hall and went on in the kitchen. The coffeepot was on and the red light gleamed in the reflection of the marble countertop. I preheated the oven. Sat to think at the bar.

  “This place,” I said. “Ooooeee!” All reverence and thankfulness.

  This home didn’t compa
re at all to our old trailer out on Mission Road. Some of that had been tough years if all you’re considering is money. When Aunt Odie couldn’t stand it anymore, she took us in. She was moving up in the mixes business world. Starting to haul in cash.

  I sighed, remembering.

  True love for Momma, and a perfect house for all, because of a reconnection on a lovey-dovey website. I was still amazed by it.

  And maybe there would be some good kisses for me, too. My face heated up at the thought.

  “Get going, Evie,” I said. Outside, the oaks didn’t wave a leaf. The yard was still.

  I popped the Aunt Carolina’s rise-in-the-fridge rolls into the oven and pulled out a couple of eggs, compliments of Nina, Pinta, or Santa Maria, the shells blushing.

  “Thank you, girls,” I said, hoping my words would carry off down the street to where they roosted. After a few minutes, breakfast was done, and I took a tray in to Momma, who slept on her stomach, her hair as big as a fan.

  “Momma?” I said. “You awake?”

  “No more crying,” she said, her voice clear and loud. I looked around the room.

  “You’re talking in your sleep,” I whispered, jiggling the bed with my knee. “I gotta go to school soon, and I brought you a surprise.” The egg yolks trembled.

  My mother rolled over to look at me. “Evie?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looked so young. And sad. This morning she was sad.

  “Is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She sat up a little. “I thought . . .” Momma stretched some. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Who’s that? A famous movie star?”

  Momma propped herself up in bed, then pulled the sheet over her tummy. Her giant T-shirt nightgown sagged at the neck.

  “I’m not so sure. A girl. A coupl’a years younger than you are. I thought you were her. I keep dreaming she’s watching me.”