All That's True

by Jackie Lee Miles

  “I was supposed to go to Texas this summer and visit, but now I’m not going.”

  She is major mad. “What happened?”

  “The same thing that happened last year. He calls out of the blue and says something’s come up.”

  We’re sitting next to each other on the bus. It’s not our regular one. This one goes right by Sunny Meadows Nursing Home. We have permission to ride it on Tuesdays so we can join the other Angels. Today we get our assignments of who we’ll be reading to. I’m kind of excited. I miss the Sterlings. Of course, I’ll never see Mr. Sterling again; not in this lifetime, but I had counted on seeing Mrs. Sterling. But she is moving to Maryland to be with her daughter, and boy, is she putting up a fuss. She doesn’t want to leave George. George doesn’t look like it’s going to bother him much. About eighty percent of the women at this nursing home are vying for him. Mrs. Sterling is having a fit.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “There are probably plenty of men in Maryland. They have a population in the millions. I’m sure of it.” That seems to quiet her. Right now I’m more worried about Julia. She’s very upset and that’s not like her.

  “What came up that you can’t go?”

  “Who knows?” she says. “Something stupid, like he has to take these classes this summer for his job and Betty can’t handle having company without him being around. Like I’m company! I’m supposed to be family.”

  “Betty’s—”

  “The stepmother from hell.”

  Julia brushes at the tears in her eyes. “I should have known I wouldn’t be going. It’s been like this ever since they had kids.”

  “You mean there’s more than one?” I think of my dad and Donna and wonder if they’re planning on a large family.

  “Four.”

  “Four kids?”

  Julia twists her lips together and grunts. “They have a set of twins, twelve months old. And two little girls, three and four. My dad says that’s why I can’t come. Betty has her hands full.”

  “But you could help out,” I point out.

  “Right. Like that’s going to happen.”

  I’m not used to seeing Julia so down and I’m not sure what to say. She’s usually so happy.

  “Here’s the problem,” she explains. “When he first got remarried they told me how I’d always be a part of their family. Then they had the first baby, a little girl and I got to visit, but then she got real sick and they said I couldn’t come until she got better. Only she didn’t get better. She got worse and she had to have these surgeries. Something to do with her heart. And then Betty got pregnant again, but the baby they already had, Suzie, got better after her surgeries, so I was supposed to go visit, but Betty wasn’t feeling well. She was sick all during the pregnancy, so I didn’t get to visit at all that year. And then after the baby was born, it was another girl, Katie. My father said we needed to wait ’til things calmed down and he sent me all these pictures of them instead. And my Dad looked really happy, you know?”

  Julia crosses her arms and leans against the seat. She’s sitting next to the window and traces her finger on the pane.

  “Then she gets pregnant again and it’s with twins, and my dad said it was just too much for her with two toddlers and the pregnancy, so he’d come see me, but he never did.”

  “So you haven’t seen him in four years?”

  “Once,” she said. “He came here after Easter.”

  “But I thought you just moved here? Didn’t you see him when you were in Texas?”

  “Oh, we moved to Augusta when I was ten, right after my mother got remarried. Then this year my step-father got transferred here.”

  “So, you’ve only seen your father once since you were ten?”

  Julia nods her head.

  I’m feeling really bad for her and then I remember this could be me in no time at all. I think of Donna and all her reassurances that I’ll always be welcome and now I’m not so sure.

  “My dad and his new wife are having a baby.”

  “Well, I hope you have better luck,” she says. “But mostly they never care about you anymore once they start a new family.”

  A lump is growing in my chest.

  “It’s that way for a lot of kids, Andi. I’m not the only one.” She says this with a great deal of conviction and shakes her head.

  The lump in my chest has moved up to my throat. I’m having trouble swallowing.

  “I should have just cut him out of my life before he ever had a chance to do it to me,” she says and leans her head against the window.

  The bus goes over a pothole and Julia’s head bangs against the pane. She puts her head in her hands and rocks back and forth.

  “Julia? Are you alright?” I pat her back and feel her chest moving up and down and realize she’s crying. She’s buried her head in her arms so no one will see, but I don’t think it’s because she bumped her head.

  ***

  Julia and I get our reading assignments. When Julia receives hers, she suggests that they form a book club.

  “Then we can pick a book a month to read from.”

  She’s all smiles, her father forgotten for the moment.

  “That might work,” Mrs. Garrett says. She’s the woman who put the Angels group together. “We could try it. Let me see if I can find a small group of ladies who are interested.”

  “Well, men can come, too,” Julia says.

  “There are about two men left in this whole place,” I tell her.

  “Oh, well, all women is okay, too,” she adds.

  Mrs. Garrett heads off in search of those interested. She’s all excited. “Actually, this could work out very well,” she says over her shoulder. “We’re short on volunteers this year.”

  I’m going to be reading to Katherine Wilcox, a retired librarian. It’s making me a bit nervous. She’s bound to correct any of my mispronunciations. It’ll be like being in school. Ms. Wilcox is sitting in a rocking chair next to her bed. She’s a small woman with wisps of gray hair that are sticking out in all directions like a halo. Don’t they groom these poor ladies anymore?

  “Hello,” I say politely. “I’m Andi and I came to read to you. Would you like that?”

  Before she has a chance to answer, Nurse Gabby comes in and barks, “Say hello to Andi, Katherine!” She says it so loudly, I’m afraid I have another deaf person. Katherine nearly jumps out of the rocker. Obviously she hears very well and Gabby has scared her half to death with her bellowing. I take one of her hands—Katherine’s, not Gabby’s. Her skin is pale and so thin it’s like the veins peppering the back of her hand are sitting out on top. I place her hand back in her lap and smile at her as brightly as I can. Something about her just makes me want to do my best. She has hazel eyes with bits of yellow flecks in the center. I picture her as a young woman and imagine those little flecks sparkling like bits of gold. It doesn’t take much to see that she was once a great beauty.

  “Well,” Gabby says, again much too loudly. “Guess I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” She turns and mouths at me, call me if you need me. Now, why would I need Gabby? I’m perfectly able to read to Ms. Wilcox all on my own and read in a voice that doesn’t scare her off her chair.

  I’ve brought along two books I checked out from the library that afternoon at school, Little Women and Jane Eyre. I decide to open with Little Women and see how it goes. I start at the beginning and get to my favorite part in Chapter Three. Jo is at the party at Mrs. Gardiner’s house and is hiding in the alcove and discovers Laurie, Mrs. Gardiner’s grandson, who is hiding there, too. They begin talking and get along very well and he asks her to dance. They go into the hallway to dance where no one will see them. I love this part. It’s kind of romantic. Ms. Wilcox has a distant look in her eyes. Maybe she is remembering one of her beaus from long ago. One of the reasons I chose the books I brought is because they are very old and the residents here are very old and I figured maybe they would bring back nice memories of when they were young and re
ading them for the very first time.

  “Read it again,” Ms. Wilcox says and smiles.

  I was right. These are the perfect books to read from. I’m about to start over when there is a knock at the door.

  “May I join you?”

  There’s a tall, overly thin elderly man standing in the door way. He has on a long cardigan sweater that is buttoned up one button off and baggy pants full of wrinkles. Don’t they ever iron their clothes around here either? He’s wearing glasses. He still has a head full of hair. It’s neatly combed over to one side. He smells of Old Spice and has a grin like Kevin Costner, slightly lopsided and very charming.

  “Hello,” I say. “I’m Andi. It’s alright with me if it’s alright with Ms. Wilcox.”

  Katherine doesn’t say anything. She still has that faraway look in her eyes.

  “Katherine won’t mind, I’m sure. Isn’t that right?” he says and takes the chair next to the bed. “I’m Joseph Stewart,” he says and holds out one hand.

  “It’s nice to have you, Mr. Stewart,” I say on my best behavior.

  “Call me Joe,” he says. “I’d like that.”

  “Joe.”

  He shakes my hand. I like him already. He’s warm and friendly and listens to every word I read like he’s hearing it for the very first time. Later I find he lives in the room across the hall.

  “I’m very fond of Katherine,” he says when he shows me his room. “She isn’t herself anymore, I’m afraid.”

  I look at him with a question mark stamped on my face.

  “Her memory,” he explains. “She’s not the same. She got a bad case of the flu this winter and it’s been downhill from there.”

  He has a very sad look in his eyes. “She’s my girlfriend,” he adds.

  I think he’s blushing.

  “That is, she was, many years ago before the war. She was Katherine Burroughs then.”

  Joe explains he was taken captive by the Japanese. “I was one of the six hundred and fifty Americans forced to march to Bataan,” he says. “When the war ended, I came back to the States. But Katherine had gotten married.” He lets out a deep sigh.

  “She didn’t wait for you?”

  “I suspect she thought I was dead. We lost a lot of men on that march.”

  “So you married someone else, too?”

  Joe shakes his head no. “I waited for Katherine, instead,” he says.

  “But she was married,” I said.

  “Yes, but I presumed he wouldn’t live forever!” he says brightly. “I was right,” he said. “He died last year and I followed her here. We had a lovely year together, yes we did.”

  “Until the flu,” I say sadly.

  “Yes, until the flu. But don’t be sad, young lady. I’m counting on her being back to herself in no time.”

  I smile softly at him. He seems so convinced.

  “And your reading to us will be lovely until she is.”

  “Until she is,” I repeat and shake his hand. He shakes warmly and firmly, such a lovely man. I hope Katherine can remember him. Maybe I won’t read Little Women after all. Maybe I’ll read Jane Eyre. It’s such a powerful love story. Maybe it will remind her that she has one of her very own.

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Thanksgiving is only days away. It makes me sad to think about it. It’s the first one without my dad. Last year was the first one without Alex. We got through that one, which gives me a little spot of hope in my chest. Maybe this one won’t be as bad as I think it will be, but then I remember how my father always carves the turkey and pretends like he doesn’t know how to do it and makes a game out of it. Rosa will probably carve it in the kitchen and just bring out slices on a fancy plate. Half the fun of the turkey is gone when you do that. I like seeing the knife slide through slice after slice until the breast bone is bare and the wishbone stares right up at you, coaxing you to pull it out and make a wish. Maybe I’ll help Rosa carve it. She won’t mind. She’ll say, “Ms. Andi, do like this.” And she’ll hand me the knife and step back and put her hands on her hips which are round and soft as pillows. Maybe Beth will want to carve it. She’s good at taking over whatever needs to be done. Her studies are going well. She’s at the top of her class and is very preoccupied with remaining there. When I told her my dad and Donna were having a baby she barely blinked her eyes.

  “That’s to be expected,” she said. “Donna’s very young. She’s bound to want a family.”

  Nothing seems to bother Beth anymore. She spends all of her time when she’s not studying writing letters to Adrienne. There’s a flurry of them going back and forth. You’d think they were long-lost lovers. Beth is at the mailbox every hour checking to see if another one has arrived for her. I’m sure she’s not even aware that Thanksgiving is almost here. I tell my mother I’m not looking forward to it and can we skip it altogether.

  “Tell you what, Andi,” she says and tucks a strand of my hair behind one ear. “Let’s pick a nice restaurant and go out to eat. It’ll be just the three of us. We’ll start a new tradition.”

  I shrug my shoulders. Whatever. My mother starts chattering away that I can pick the restaurant. The paper is loaded with ads for fanciful feasts at all of the hotels around Atlanta. I nod my head and go outside. The temperature has dropped and the wind is blowing hard. The sky is blank. There’s not one cloud floating around. It’s a dreary day that matches my mood. I settle into the glider on the back patio and rock back and forth, scraping my feet along the stone pavers. I’m feeling very depressed. It’s Thanksgiving week, and I’m not the least bit thankful. I’m not even the least bit hopeful. Everything that once was safely tucked in place is no longer tucked in place. Life has completely turned itself upside down on me. Then out of the blue, I think of what Nana Louise used to tell me when she could remember things.

  “Just because the sun’s not out, doesn’t mean it’s not shining.”

  I never understood what she meant, but her words were so kind when she said them that I always felt better just hearing them. Maybe there’s other ways for the sun to shine, like in our hearts. Or maybe we can work to help the sun shine for others. I think of Table Grace and get a terrific idea for Thanksgiving. They’re holding a Thanksgiving banquet for all the people that come to get their groceries every week. My mother and I can volunteer to help serve! We can stand in back of the food line and dish out helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and cornbread and sweet potato casserole. All of the little children will be standing in line, anxiously waiting for their plate to be filled to the brim. It makes my heart jump just thinking about it. I can’t wait to tell my mother what I’ve decided we should do for Thanksgiving. I head to the portico door and what do you know? The sun just peeks out at me, right out of the blue. Sometimes it’s like God just looks down at you and winks.

  ***

  Dr. Armstrong has invited me and my mother to come to his home Thanksgiving night for dessert. His grown children and his two grandchildren will be there. When we finish serving at Table Grace, my mother goes into the restroom to freshen up. Her face is perspiring and her cheeks are flushed, but I think she looks wonderful. She’s wearing a simple brown knit dress. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck and fastened with a tortoise-shell barrette. Some strands have fallen free and rest softly at the side of her face. She has one of the white aprons they gave us still tied around her waist. It’s filled with gravy stains and cranberry juice. My mother didn’t stop working for three hours. She served plate after plate and smiled warmly at each person standing before her. I served the rolls. Later my mother and another volunteer cut the pies and put the individual servings on paper plates. They loaded them onto large serving platters and bustled around the room to pass them out. There were blueberry, and apple, and cherry, and pumpkin. I served up the ice cream.

  Four hundred people showed up to eat. It’s amazing how many people are in need of the kindness of others. My mother wipes her hands on her apron. She smiles at me across
the room and winks. She’s glad we came. Satisfaction climbs into my lap and curls up like a kitten.

  We say good-bye and get into my mother’s Mercedes.

  “That was wonderful,” she says, and slips the key into the ignition. “I’m very proud of you, Andi, for thinking of it.”

  I snap my seatbelt into place, pleased with myself as well. My mother pats my hand and backs out of the parking lot. She’s happy, happier than I’ve seen her in a very long time. I’m sure she feels good about herself for helping others who have so little, while she has so much.

  Maybe my father didn’t ruin everything, after all. Maybe he just put a few dents in it.

  Chapter Seventy-two

  I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling and listening to WYOU, my favorite radio station and Skipper McCoy, my favorite disk jockey. This is that oldie-goldie radio station I discovered way back and still love. But tonight he is playing very sad songs, one after the other and it’s starting to get to me and I don’t even have a boyfriend that’s breaking my heart, so I’m thinking that those that do are probably ready to slit their wrists. Skipper has on Connie Francis. She’s singing “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own.” It’s beautiful, but very sad. Next he plays Dion and the Belmonts. They’re singing “A Lover’s Prayer.” It could break a heart made out of steel. I curl up and hug my pillow and pretend I’m in love with Rodney again, and he’s left me for the second time and what do you know? Real tears come to my eyes. That’s how powerful this song is.

  Rudy is lying next to me. His head is resting in his paws and he looks so forlorn, like maybe I’m not supposed to be listening to this station. Petula Clark is singing “Kiss Me Good-bye.” These are really old songs, but they have the same effect they’d have if they were still popular. I’m sure of it. So maybe Rudy is right and dogs have this inner sense about more things than we know. Now the station is back to Connie Francis and she’s singing “I’m Breaking in a Brand New Broken Heart.” Oh, boy. The rest of the program is all the same, songs to make you cry, even though the program tonight is called Good-bye, and they should be playing good-bye songs, so what is the matter with them anyway?