A Long Time Comin'

by Robin W. Pearson

  “Thank you, Mama.” Evelyn cleared her throat. “And, Granny B. But I vote that you drive me home to Mount Laurel. All my work is at your house, all my clothes. Everything. I won’t be in town for that long, and I came here to spend some quality time with you and Jackson—and you, too, Granny B. If you’re worried about the stairs, just set me up in Daddy’s den. There’s a pullout sofa in there and a television. And the den is near the kitchen . . .”

  But her mama adamantly shook her head. “No, Evelyn, absolutely not. You wouldn’t get any real rest on that sofa, and there still wouldn’t be anyone there during the day to help you. And this is just for a few days, until the weekend. When you come home, you’ll still have plenty of time to visit with us and get some work done.”

  Lis sighed. “My goodness, girl, a car just slammed into you—sure, it could’ve been avoided, but I don’t blame you. You’re hurt, Evelyn, and you need help. Why are you putting up such a fight?”

  Feeling her last line of defense slipping away, hearing her own hotly spoken words thrown in her face, Evelyn turned to Granny B. “You’ve been sitting there without saying a word. What do you think of this? I’m sure you’re not happy about the idea of having an invalid underfoot. You’re busy enough. And you need to take care of yourself.”

  “Oh, so now you’re an invalid. A minute ago you felt strong enough to—”

  “Hush, ’Lis’beth. Now I sho’ ain’t gon’ say it was my idea. But I can stand the comp’ny for a couple days. And I’m sho’ the doctor told you why you need to take it easy.” Granny B cast a sidewise glance back at Evelyn as she dangled that warning. “I don’t thank neither of us have much to say, even though it is my house. Least that’s what it say on the deed, last I checked. ’Sides, you can stand on your own two feet. I won’t be at your beck and call, contrary to what yo’ mama thank. But I will ’spect you to stay out from under me while I get on with thangs.”

  While Evelyn stared stupidly at the back of Granny B’s iron-gray hair, Lis quickly exited the car and opened the back door. She stood there, hand outstretched toward her daughter.

  For a moment, Evelyn silently rebuffed the offer of help, but a sudden stab of pain in her left temple finally spurred her to grasp her mother’s slender fingers and emerge, albeit ungracefully, from the car. “I cannot believe you are forcing me to do this,” she seethed.

  “It makes perfect sense. While she’s seeing to you, you can talk to her about her own situation. I couldn’t have planned it better. Well, maybe without the accident,” Lis hissed back. Then she added loudly, “Come on, Evelyn, let’s get you settled in the house,” as Granny B slammed her door and walked toward them.

  The two older women escorted their victim up to the porch and into the front room. Then Granny B directed her assistant to sit Evelyn down on the sofa while she readied the bedroom. “Didn’t know I’d be havin’ comp’ny,” she explained saucily before leaving.

  “I’ll expect you to do as you’re told.” Lis propped sofa pillows behind her daughter. “And I mean everything. Right, Evelyn?” she added with a raised brow.

  A prisoner of war, Evelyn churlishly turned her head to stare out at the woods bathed in the murky evening light.

  “We-ll-l . . .” Her mama expelled the word with a lungful of air. “Jackson and I will bring you some clothes and your computer. Is there anything else you think you’ll need over the next three or four days? Although I can’t imagine you’ll have the energy to think clearly enough to write one word during that time.”

  “Just bring some clothes, please, and the portfolio by my bed. What about Cocoa? And Kevin? I don’t want you to tell him anything, upsetting him when he’s halfway around the world.”

  “Well, you not brangin’ that little piece of dog here,” Granny B grumbled from some unseen spot in the hallway. “I’m likely to sweep her up with the rest of the dust and hairballs on this flo’.”

  “Now, Mama.” To Evelyn, Lis responded, “Jackson can walk Cocoa when he gets home from work. I’m sure she’s used to being alone all day anyway.” She pointed a crimson-tipped nail in Evelyn’s direction. “But she better not have any accidents on my floors or get on my furniture.”

  “Cocoa is house-trained. You don’t have to worry about that, as long as you don’t forget to take her out. But what about Kevin—?”

  “I’m not planning to call him—and it’s not like he calls the house anyway. You can tell him what you want to, even though the truth is always right. Speaking of, I should give Kevin a piece of my mind for going away for so long, not taking care of you.”

  “Kevin doesn’t have to take care of me.”

  “And why not? He’s your husband, isn’t he? Now that you’ve lost your job, he is paying the bills. I’d say that means he’s taking care of you. Wouldn’t you agree? Or are you afraid he’d say he was too busy flitting around the world to come see about his wife?”

  Evelyn wouldn’t admit her mama had stepped on her tail, but she yelped nonetheless. She fought back tears. “For the last time, I did not lose my job. I quit. And don’t bother explaining Kevin’s duties as a husband to me.” She sucked in a breath to launch another missile. “Furthermore—”

  “’Lis’beth, ain’t it ’bout time you got yo’self home? Won’t Jackson be lookin’ fo’ you?” Granny B appeared in the doorway.

  Lis looked like she was considering saying something more before Granny B took her arm. “Now I said Ev’lyn could stay here, but I ain’t said nuthin’ ’bout the rest of y’all. Don’t thank y’all gon’ be clutterin’ up my house, all in the way over the next day or two. This gal gon’ be all right. By the sound of things, you ain’t helpin’ her get no peace and quiet nohow.” Granny B directed her daughter from the room to the porch.

  “And don’t be callin’ here all day. I ain’t got time to be jibber-jabberin’ on no phone,” Granny B called out as Elisabeth started the car.

  Evelyn listened as Granny B’s solid footsteps crossed the front porch and watched as she entered the front room—or holding cell, as she felt at that moment.

  “I told you I ain’t gon’ be sittin’ round here, just waitin’ for you to ring some little bell. You know where things are, so you can get up and get ’em. Since there ain’t no TV in the bedroom, you just gon’ have to stare out that window for entertainment until yo’ mama brang you somethin’ to do. Or you can come back out here. But don’t thank you gon’ run up my ’lectric bill while you here burnin’ up the TV. As you is just gettin’ here, I will brang you somethin’ to eat and drink, but I ain’t takin’ orders. You’ll just have to eat what I give you.”

  With that, she disappeared.

  Truth be told, Evelyn had expected a lot less, and if experience proved anything, she’d love whatever flowed from Granny B’s kitchen. So she settled in, alternately gazing out the window and dozing. The moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds as nearby crickets called to neighbors. Granny B moved about in the kitchen, clinking pots and rattling utensils, providing a soothing background to Evelyn’s what-ifs and maybes. Sighing to herself, she decided to focus on making the best out of the current situation. “Better yet, maybe I need to concentrate on seeing how I can best make it out of here alive.”

  Granny B came around the corner of the front room, holding a tray laden with food.

  Evelyn’s fluttery stomach growled in welcome at the appealing aroma.

  Granny B set the tray beside her. “There’s grits here and fish. I know it ain’t fresh, but I froze it when it was. And a corn muffin with some preserves Ruby made. This cold coffee oughta settle your stomach if you feelin’ sick, but you prob’ly oughta drink this prune juice. That should flush any germs and thangs outta yo’ system. No tellin’ what you done picked up in that hospital, and I don’t need you passin’ anythang on to me.”

  The juices suddenly flowed in Evelyn’s mouth, and her stomach answered with another grumble. She managed a hasty “Thanks” as she picked up the tray and settled it solidly down on her l
ap. Slathering on some butter and strawberry preserves, she tucked into the corn muffin. She was so knee-deep in eating that she nearly missed the self-satisfied curl of her grandma’s lips.

  Evelyn lost track of time as she polished off the grits and fish. She sipped a little prune juice and then sat back, full, happy, and ready for a good sleep.

  Granny B must have been hovering right outside the room because the moment Evelyn rested her fork on the plate, she emerged. “I see you took no time in finishin’ this off. But you didn’t drank the coffee or all the prune juice. They would help yo’ bowels if you feelin’—”

  “I’m fine, Granny B.” Evelyn didn’t want to ruin the memories of a good meal with more talk about her intestinal tract. “Thank you again for cooking for me. I know you have plenty to do without taking the time to do all this.”

  Granny B used the napkin to brush away the few crumbs Evelyn hadn’t managed to inhale, then picked up the tray. “Don’t be ’spectin’ me to do this all day.”

  Evelyn held up a hand. “I know, I know. You’ve explained that you won’t wait on me hand and foot. But even so, doing what you did . . . taking me in . . .”

  “Not that you was reachin’ out or nuthin’.”

  Evelyn grimaced. “But all the same, you reached out to me, and I appreciate it.”

  “You didn’t appreciate it much when yo’ mama told you, you was gon’ be stayin’ here. In fact, you had better thangs to do than put a foot in this house.”

  “It’s not that. But we both know I was the last person you thought you’d be welcoming back—especially within hours of kicking me out.” Evelyn added softly, “Again.”

  “Well, thangs change. If I ain’t learned nuthin’ else in this life, I’ve learned that,” Granny B pronounced. “You should get some rest and I’ve got yo’ bed all made up now. ’Sides, it’s gettin’ late and I got some thangs to do before bed. And you know yo’ mama will be back ’fo’ long, interruptin’ me.”

  Granny B helped Evelyn to her feet. She winced as bruised muscles stretched.

  “Maybe if you feelin’ better tomorrow, you can get up and come outside a bit and sit in the sun. You won’t get better layin’ up in that bed all the time. You just gon’ get sore on top of everythang else.”

  “Yes, maybe.” Tomorrow seemed like forever away. She could only focus on each difficult step she took to reach the end of Granny B’s short hallway. As Evelyn turned toward the extra room, however, Granny B pushed her in the opposite direction, to the right, toward her own room. “What?” Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks. “I thought I was going to bed.”

  “You is. There’s only a twin in that other room, and I ’spect you gon’ need some extra space to get comf’table. You gon’ take my bed.”

  “But—”

  Granny B’s eyes locked with her granddaughter’s. “In the state you in, I don’t thank you’ll be gettin’ into much trouble this time round—or do you want to fight it out again? Whatchyou thank?”

  Evelyn smiled at Granny B, for the first time in what felt like years. “I ‘thank’ you right, Granny B.” She squeezed the gnarled fingers of the hand cupping her elbow and peered into her grandmother’s eyes.

  After a moment, Granny B nodded. Then she guided Evelyn the few remaining steps between the door and the double bed. She’d pulled back the cream-colored bedspread to reveal white cotton sheets, ivy leaves sprouting over them, and piled two pillows, one atop the other, on the side of the bed closer to her nightstand, beside the window looking into the front yard. With her help, Evelyn changed into a nightgown. It barely reached her ankles, but its well-worn fabric felt downy to her skin. Granny B stopped well short of tucking her in, but that didn’t detract from Evelyn’s feelings of being well cared for.

  “You gon’ be all right?”

  Evelyn nodded drowsily, barely hearing her parting question, too weary to murmur good-night before Granny B closed the door. She didn’t move until the sun poked her between her eyelashes the next morning.

  Chapter Nine

  EVELYN WATCHED AS GRANNY B gathered laundry. A strong wind tangled up one of her queen-size sheets, and she struggled to unravel it from the line.

  Thus began her second full day at Granny B’s house. The two previous nights had passed uneventfully. Her mama and Jackson had dropped off the materials she’d requested, and they had spent a couple of hours visiting the evening before—something Granny B was none too thrilled about, by the sound of her grumbling.

  Evelyn had talked to Kevin and reassured him that she was all right. She knew it was the right thing to do, but she had kept the conversation to a minimum. Although she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t offered to hop on the next North Carolina–bound flight, disappointment niggled at her.

  Left to her own devices, she carefully avoided any real interaction with Granny B. And true to her word, except for a glass or two of water, she received no special treatment. After that first night of having dinner served to her on a tray, she ate all her meals at the kitchen table opposite a mostly silent, yet relatively pleasant Granny B.

  This morning she woke to find Granny B in “her” bedroom.

  “Layin’ round so much ain’t good for you,” Granny B told her, raising the blinds. “I was up cookin’ meals and washin’ clothes for three other children two days after Thomas was born. And I don’t mean pushin’ a few buttons on no mi-cro-wave or throwin’ some stuff in a machine. Gal, I’m talkin’ ’bout work. Now get up and get some sunshine so you can get to mendin’. That bed pro’bly gettin’ hard.”

  Evelyn didn’t tell her that the bed was feeling pretty toasty at the moment and that she’d had every intention of wallowing in it for another hour or two. Instead, she found herself at the sinfully late hour of eight o’clock, bathed and fully dressed, watching Granny B from the kitchen doorway. She pushed open the screen and gingerly walked across the backyard.

  Without a word, she held one end of the flapping sheet straight as she removed the clothespins from the other end. As Granny B unpinned each third of the sheet, Evelyn slowly folded that section, working through all the kinks in her shoulders and neck. She made her way toward her grandma until at last the sheet was free and folded, ready to go into the wicker basket at Granny B’s feet. They moved to the second row of the clothesline. Granny B removed pins from towels on the far left end of the line. Evelyn gathered the rest of the linen on the far right end.

  “I hadn’t told anyone about this baby,” she said softly. Evelyn had no idea why she decided to pick up the threads of a conversation left dangling days ago, threads they’d severed. She kept her eyes on the lily-white pillowcase in front of her, and Granny B continued to work on her towels. But Evelyn banked on their history. Granny B was like a teakettle on a hot eye: she’d get all steamed up, blow her top, and then cease to boil once removed from the source of the heat.

  “I’m not sure I’m even ready to think about it myself, that I’m pregnant. I have no idea how Kevin will react, what with all that’s going on between us. He really hasn’t been there for me,” Evelyn remarked almost to herself. “Anyway, how will I know he’ll be there for a baby? And if I haven’t even told my husband, how can I tell anybody else?” She quickly glanced to her left before she unpinned the fitted sheet.

  “We haven’t even thought about having children, not really. Of course, on some level we knew that one day we would or that we should but only . . . not right now. I want to work on being a writer, a wife . . . on just being a person. I’m not ready to be somebody’s mother yet. I’m not even good at being somebody’s daughter.” Evelyn risked another look Granny B’s way. “Or somebody’s granddaughter, for that matter. Getting pregnant was not in my plans, and being a single parent most definitely isn’t.”

  “You think dyin’ was in mine?”

  Startled by her question, Evelyn glanced at Granny B but didn’t answer. By this time, Evelyn was a pillowcase and a towel away from her grandmother. She took down the pillowcase and folded it
in half lengthwise.

  “In my heart I know my Father knows best, but I’d sure like to know what He knows sometimes. Here I am pregnant, out of work, married to a man who seems to be married to his job most of the time . . .” And to the people who work there. “I’m alone . . .”

  “And you ain’t got nobody to reach out to.” Granny B folded the last piece of laundry and dropped it into the basket.

  She looked at Granny B directly this time. “And I ain’t got nobody to reach out to.”

  Granny B bent down to tuck in the edges of the towels that hung over the side of the laundry basket. “Well, it ain’t like women don’t have babies every day. I birthed nine of ’em, and I sho’ didn’t sit around with my head up my butt, wonderin’ what to do next. Nobody didn’t need to tell me what I needed to do. I just did it.” Granny B hefted the basket to her side and directed her steps to the house. “And I did it alone.”

  Evelyn picked up the cloth bag of clothespins and brushed away the bits of grass. Then she clipped it to the line before slowly trailing Granny B. She’d grown accustomed to seeing her ramrod-straight back.

  When she opened the back door, Granny B was extracting wet laundry from the washing machine. She watched her separate and shake each piece before tossing it atop the growing pile of sodden clothes in another basket. Her grandma did not acknowledge her presence, not even when she leaned on the wall beside her. “It’s not that I’m thinking of not having this baby. I’m not thinking much of anything at the moment.” When Granny B didn’t react, she amplified her thoughts. “I’m just trying to make you understand why I hadn’t volunteered the fact that I’m pregnant. Why I didn’t say much about it in the hospital.”

  “Well, you ain’t got to worry about explainin’ nuthin’ to me—it ain’t none of my business.” Granny B draped a pair of panty hose over the rack above the washer and dryer and closed the washing machine lid. “It’s yo’ husband you need to be worryin’ ’bout. And maybe yo’ mama.” After heaving the basket from the top of the dryer, she rear-ended the screen door and headed back outside to the line. This time, Evelyn hurried as quickly as her sore body could to catch up with her and maintain the “momentum” of the conversation.