Markie started whistling. I mean not the sort of whistling people do to call someone but in tune. I listened.
“Aunt Vie whistled?”
“Not out in public. But when she was in the house she would. She and Ms. Hannah whistled together. Aunt Vie said that her daddy used to tell her, ‘A whistling woman and a crowing hen surely don’t come to no good end.’”
The rhyme made me laugh but I knew that it wasn’t really funny.
I wasn’t sure if I ever met a girl who whistled. Daddy did sometimes. But if I whistled, especially in the house, Mama or Grandma Sugar would tell me that it “wasn’t ladylike.”
“Want to know one of her favorite songs to whistle?”
As soon as I heard the first two seconds of it, my feet could have stopped pedaling and I could have cruised on this melody the rest of the way.
“‘Georgia on My Mind’? Really?” I said. I didn’t even want to tell Markie how Mama said that Aunt Vie used to sing “Georgie on My Mind” when I was a baby. Maybe she knew. Maybe that’s why she told me.
About ten minutes into our whistling, my mouth was dry. Just off to the left a sign read Nettie’s Local Grocery in bright blue letters. “Can we stop there?” I asked.
“Yeah, I could use a thirst quencher,” Markie said, then she swirled to an impressive stop and bowed before tumbling forward.
“Markie!” I shouted, letting the bike fall to its side. I was sure she was going to go facedown.
“I’m good,” she said, barely recovering.
“You could have just come to a regular stop, you know. Didn’t have to be super fancy.”
“Where is the fun in that?” she said.
As soon as we opened the door, a squawking that sounded like it was coming from speakers swirled around us. There, with its talons gripped to the register, was the largest parrot I’d ever seen. It spread its wings and it squawked even louder. The blue looked like the color of where ocean and sky touched on Mama and Frank’s honeymoon postcard from Negril.
“Calm it down, Nettie,” a lady said. “Don’t mind her, she’s testy today.” The lady held out her arm, which was wrapped in a rubber sleeve, and Nettie landed on it, then quieted. “That’s a good bestie,” the clerk said. Two sets of eyes followed us to the refrigerated section. The store smelled of Vienna sausages and crackers.
Markie opened the door and grabbed a purple sports drink. I chose a flavored water. Once at the checkout, I stared at the gigantic jars that sat on the counter. One contained chunks of pinkish meat floating in light red liquid, the other contained humongous pickles. Markie stared directly at them and turned the pickle jar around.
I tapped the unlabeled jar. “What are those?”
“You must be new around here,” the cashier said.
I nodded, not taking my eyes off the jar. “Those are pig lips. Out of feet and tails. I’ll have some tomorrow.”
“Oh, my grandma eats pig tails, sometimes,” I said.
“Yeah, but she probably cooks them with rice. Mine are pickled for easy eating,” the cashier said and laughed. “What can I interest you in?”
I put my water on the counter.
“This is all for now,” I said.
“You should try one of these,” Markie said about the pickles swimming in red water. “You in?”
“Why not,” I said.
“Two please,” Markie said, shooting up rabbit ears.
“These are fresh and sweet,” the lady said. She smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. The bird hopped from her arm to directly on top of her head. Her turban-like wrapping provided the cushion. When she turned to ring us up, there was a tattoo of what I thought at first were praying hands on the side of her neck. But I realized they were wings.
“These are Koolickles,” Markie said as the lady put them into two wax pouches. She handed both to me, but Markie reached for her own.
“I’ll leave all the naming to you young folks. They’re just sweet, sour, and good pickles to me. That’s all Nettie knows.”
“Your bird eats them, too,” I said.
She laughed. “Not hardly. Too picky. She’s my namesake. Only namesake I got. You two stay out of trouble, ya hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we said as Markie paid. I tried to hand Markie my half, but she wouldn’t take it. The lady gave us napkins. Markie tossed her napkin on the counter, placed her Koolickle on it, then stuffed the drink in her pocket.
We went back to face the heat with drinks, Koolickles in tow.
“Aunt Vie used to eat dill pickles with a peppermint stick down the middle of them. But she wouldn’t try these,” Markie said.
As soon as I bit into it, it was a mouthful of sugary deliciousness that I know Nikki and I would have never tried in Atlanta. It was simply a dill pickle soaked in what tasted like cherry Kool-Aid. I pushed the bike with one hand and tackled my Koolickle with the other. Markie walk-skated by my side. In an open lot not far from Nettie’s there were a couple milk crates. We sat there while I finished my Koolickle. Markie nearly inhaled hers.
We’d gone about another mile and a half it felt like before we reached a fenced-in plot of land with only one house in the distance and a barn.
“Please tell me that’s Ms. Hannah’s,” I said.
“That’s it.”
It still took us about ten minutes to get up to the gate. Markie opened it and we were officially on Ms. Hannah’s property.
“Should we look around for her, or just go up and knock?” I said.
Even before we could get to the door, music pierced the air. It seemed to be coming from the trees.
Markie and I stared at each other.
“Where is it coming from?”
We walked closer to the house.
All the curtains were closed. The house was mostly brick with well-manicured hedges and not a weed in sight. The columns at the front of the house had all type of carvings and nicks in them. I leaned the bike against the porch step.
“Ready,” I said. “You want me to knock?”
“Nah. I got it. Doubt she’s in there, though. Probably somewhere on the grounds.”
Before she knocked a second time, there was galloping. I turned to see a sight that I’d never seen before in real life, ever.
17
SLOW DOWN
The horse in front of us was so black that it shone a deep shade of purple. Its mane was thick and braided with green and red twine. Ms. Hannah looked majestic atop it. Her silver hair was parted down the middle and two braids, one on each side, hung past her shoulders.
Seems like somebody would have mentioned that Ms. Hannah was a real-life cowgirl.
“Well, you two are a beautiful sight.” Then she focused in on Markie. “So, you must be ready now?” Ms. Hannah said, tugging on the horse’s reins. Two buttons were undone on her denim shirt, revealing a thin gold necklace.
“Yes, ma’am,” Markie said.
“And you’re sure? That’s not how you felt a few weeks ago.”
Markie never said anything about talking to Ms. Hannah a few weeks ago, which only surprised me a little. I was learning that Markie didn’t lie straight out, she just omitted things. Important things.
“And let me guess who we have here.… You must be G-baby, Katrina’s daughter.” Ms. Hannah got down from her horse.
“She likes the name Georgie better,” Markie said in a respectful correction.
“Well, that makes sense for a young lady,” Ms. Hannah said. The horse high-stepped and neighed. “Hush up, now. Nobody leaving you out. This here is Bessie.” Ms. Hannah stood next to Bessie and smoothed her mane. “Markie, why you acting like Bessie’s a stranger?” Markie walked over to Bessie and stroked her side. “She likes to meet new people,” Ms. Hannah said to me, “especially Vie’s family.” I stepped over and rubbed Bessie, too. It was like the warmth of my hand in an oven mitt.
“Well, it’s good to see you again, baby.” Her “baby” didn’t make you feel childish, but like she was welcoming you into a special c
lub. “I’d know you anywhere, you and your mama have Vie’s same deep-set eyes. Everything fine with Vie?” she asked. “I mean, as well as can be expected?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Markie said.
A few chickens appeared from around the corner, along with a pig that was shaking off flies.
“Shoo! Shoo!” Ms. Hannah said as she tied Bessie’s harness to a metal rod jetting from the column. “Now, I take it that you two have to get home sooner than later, so we best take care of business. Have yourselves a seat on the stairs if you like. I’ve got some fresh lemon tea brewing. I’ll be right out.”
Ms. Hannah must have known just where to walk because the steps didn’t creak as much. I was nervous that if for whatever reason Bessie decided to take off, she’d pull that wobbly column right along with her and we’d be lost under the front porch rubble. As soon as Ms. Hannah opened and closed the door behind her, I turned to Markie.
“Think we’ll make it back before dark?”
“I do,” she said. She barely mumbled the answer. I knew she was thinking about what she wanted to ask Ms. Hannah.
Bessie watched us as the chickens and pig circled around her and then went off about their business.
When Ms. Hannah returned with the tea tray, we stood. She sat it on a table and then filled our glasses, then one for herself.
“You were her best friend,” Markie said.
“I am. I am her best friend. Closer than sisters… kindred.” Ms. Hannah sipped her tea. “One day you two might find what binds you as friends. It’s seldom random when two spirits connect. I love Vie with my whole entire heart, but that doesn’t mean we agreed on everything. I wanted her to put pen to paper when things were getting foggy for her. She didn’t. That’s why her sisters don’t understand how much she’d want to be out here, roaming this land with me.”
I sipped my tea and let the ice cube rest on my lip before I spoke. “She’d love that.” The land was flat but green. There was a white wooden fence that separated the land like the lines you see in the middle of the highways in Atlanta. Unlike the porch, the fence looked freshly painted. Beyond that was a two-story red barn with stacks of hay along its sides. The barn was trimmed with white, too, as if outlined with chalk. Where it looked like windows could have been were giants Xs like in the squares of ticktacktoe.
“Markie Jean, how are you doing in your foster home?”
She shrugged. “My foster mom… she’s okay. But she might be getting married soon. I heard ’em talking. Even though she gets a little money for me, might be easier on them if I wasn’t around.”
“Did she say that to you?” Ms. Hannah said.
Markie’s words drenched me with cold water. She’d never said any of that to me before. A part of me felt selfish for getting upset that she shut me out.
The ice cubes in Markie’s glass clinked. But she didn’t sip, just watched the tea swirl in the glass. “I’m almost thirteen now. It finally hit me that maybe it’s time to know what I can.”
Ms. Hannah darted her eyes between the both of us, and they landed on Markie. “Hold your hand in front of your mouth.” Markie did that. “Now say anything you want.” Markie looked at Ms. Hannah, then at me. I shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“My name is Markie. I’m twelve and a half.”
I wanted to fidget, cross my ankles, something. But I sat freeze-tag still as if Ms. Hannah’s connection to Markie would break with any sound.
“Good. Did you feel your breath against your hand as you spoke?” Ms. Hannah said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Markie said.
“Now, try to take them back.”
Markie pursed her lips. “What back?”
“Those words. You felt them, right? Now try to take them back.”
“I can’t,” she admitted.
When I understood what she meant, my whole body tingled. The kind of jitters you get when you know you’re seeing and hearing something that will stay in your mind forever.
“You have to know that’s how it feels to know the true power of words. If Vie made decisions not to reveal certain things, those of us who may know a thing or two also know that once told, they can’t be untold.” Ms. Hannah looked out at her field, then left her tea on the table and stepped back out into the yard and rubbed Bessie. I’d took a huge gulp while waiting for Ms. Hannah to speak.
“You’re twelve and a half?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Markie said. Ms. Hannah returned and picked up the mason jar and held it to her forehead.
“Remember I said that Vie and I didn’t agree on everything?” Markie nodded. “Well, what I’m about to tell you is one of those things.” Markie and I exchanged glances. “How she came about the decision to want you in her care when she did is a gray area. I don’t think she’d ever been completely straight with me about it. One day we were sitting right here and she told me that she was starting the process to be a foster parent.”
“Because of me,” Markie said.
Ms. Hannah nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, though. Even the person closest to you can keep thoughts to themselves. I just know that Vie was determined to care for you. There was a distant cousin who showed interest but that didn’t pan out. She’s long since left Bogalusa.”
“It’s just not clear to me how I got into the system.”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure of that myself. What I know is that you were with your mama in New Orleans for a while. Then she came back to Bogalusa. Maybe tried to settle here again. She left you with a neighbor, I believe. From my understanding, the neighbor called Child & Family Services after there had been no contact with your mom.”
Ms. Hannah’s silver hair crept over her right eye. She raked her hands through it, turquoise earrings gleaming. It was only her eyes, which were greenish brown, and the sharpness of her nose that reminded me of a white person.
“No one knew where the cousin went?” Markie said.
“Keep in mind that some people came here to work for the mill. ‘Paper people’ we call them. They weren’t born and bred here. And even if they were, it was probably their parents that had the opportunity in Bogalusa. Things dried up for the younger folks. A slow economy and drugs took a toll. All the connections were gone, and they have no reason to stay. Sometimes they leave things behind, though.”
It was like an electric surge shot through Markie. Her back straightened and her knees bounced.
“Did my mama leave anything behind? I mean, besides me.”
Now, Markie looked down like she’d realized how excited she had gotten and prepared for disappointment.
“Yes, actually. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
When the screen door closed, this time I moved closer to Markie. I thought she’d lean in for a hug. But she didn’t. Nikki would have. But Markie drained her tea, then clasped the jar between her knees and dug into it and retrieved a thin ice cube. She rubbed it on her face and neck.
“What do you think it is?” I said.
She sighed. “Who knows. Probably some letter, trying to explain why she left.”
“That wouldn’t be so lame, would it?”
“Only a person with a mama—two, matter of fact—would ask that.”
I cut my losses and didn’t answer. We both watched a black ant march across the ground with a speck of food.
Then I was thinking what if Markie’s mama had found her way back to town and was staying with Ms. Hannah until she “got on her feet.” That’s what happens to grown-ups sometimes, like with my daddy’s cousin Arthur. He stayed in our guest bedroom and worked for Daddy at the dealership until he could afford his own place.
What if Ms. Hannah opened the screen door and out strolled Markie’s mama? I’d never say that to Markie because it even sounded unbelievable to me. Still, I crossed my fingers but hid them under my leg. That couldn’t hurt.
When we could hear Ms. Hannah heading back out, Markie said, “I guess a letter wouldn’t be that lame.”
&nbs
p; There was only the sound of one set of footsteps. I uncrossed my fingers. Seconds later, the front door opened, and Ms. Hannah took two long strides toward us. In her hands she held a medium-sized canister, like it was a birthday cake.
Markie didn’t reach for it.
“That’s for you, Markie,” I said.
When Markie still didn’t move, Ms. Hannah set it lightly on Markie’s lap.
“What’s in it?” Markie asked.
“Personal belongings of your mama. How Aunt Vie got them and when, I’m not clear about. But she knew enough to put them away for safekeeping. I’m sure Vie probably had planned to sit and talk with you about the items one by one. Even if she didn’t know the history behind it, she wanted to be there to share the moment with you. Life doesn’t always present the perfect moment, so we have to make it.”
Markie shook her head. “I don’t want to do it now. I don’t.”
Her voice had that sound right before tears gushed. I was so used to my voice sounding that way, even Nikki’s, but not Markie’s.
“That’s okay, baby. Do it in your time. You take all the time you need,” Ms. Hannah said.
“Georgie, can you please put this in my backpack for me?” It was the first time she’d asked me to help her maneuver something. “If it doesn’t fit, we can toss something out.”
I jumped up to grab the canister. It was heavier than I expected.
“It’s fitting,” I said. “But you sure you don’t want to open it now? There could be clues. I thought this is what you wanted.”
Markie stood up and stared at Ms. Hannah.
“Does anything in there tell me where she is or why she… why she left me?”
Ms. Hannah closed her eyes for a moment like she was seeing everything inside the box. She put her hand to her chest, and it was the first time I noticed the gold necklace had a half a heart charm on it.
“No. It’s mostly just memories of her. Trinkets that will help you know her.”
Markie sniffled and dabbed her eyes with her knuckles. Then she puffed her chest out like that somehow was a way to stop tears. “The fact that she never came back is all I need to know,” Markie said. “Why couldn’t she keep me with her? Why just leave me like that? That’s not what parents are supposed to do, especially the mama, right, Georgie? Remember what you said about the birds. Remember? I hate her. I hate her.”
Forever This Summer Page 13
