“Love Starbucks.”
“What’s Starbucks?”
I turned my head slightly. “A coffee shop.”
“When you go, take me with you,” Cassandra pleaded.
“Me, too,” from DeAndre.
“No. Coffee is for grown folks. Too much caffeine for kids.” I shot him down flat.
His arms flew across his chest and he had the nerve to kick the back of my seat.
Cassandra reached back and popped his leg before I could even respond. That girl was quick on the draw. “I don’t care how mad you get, you don’t kick nobody’s car! I wouldn’t take you nowhere actin’ like that. Keep your feet on the floor!”
He mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Apologize!” Cassandra ordered.
“I’m sorry, Cousin Tori.”
“Thank you,” she ended that episode.
Clearly, I needed to get my poppin’ reflexes together.
“Back to Starbucks. When are you going?”
“Umm . . . I was thinking tonight. They don’t close until eleven. I have to do some work on the Internet.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all. Let’s go check on Aunt Dottie and put DeAndre to bed first.”
“You are my kind of homegirl, Tori. Ooh, I keep tryin’ to tell my sister about Starbucks, but she’s all heebie-jeebie about it. It’s so good to have somebody in Bayford who understands the power of a Caramel Macchiato! Girl, that stuff will make you slap your grandmomma!”
“Ommm,” DeAndre sang out, “that’s bad. Super bad.”
Cassandra and I cracked up laughing.
At Starbucks, she lapped up her special treat and I reveled in mine. “This is sooooo good. Mmmmmm,” I hummed.
“Amen,” Cassandra seconded.
“One of these days, I’m going to have to bring Aunt Dottie to Starbucks.”
“I’m coming with you,” Cassandra insisted.
“Guess that means I’ll have to bring DeAndre, too. I don’t know why his father doesn’t spend more time with him.”
Cassandra swallowed quickly. “Really?”
“You know something I don’t?”
“Uh, yeah.” She took another swig. “Zoletha—that’s DeAndre’s mom, everybody calls her Z—she and Ray-Ray had a little fling-a-ring not too long after he married Fontella. Fontella can’t stand the sight of DeAndre, so Ray-Ray and Joenetta try to put distance between DeAndre and his stepmother so she won’t be reminded of the affair.”
“That’s crazy. None of this is DeAndre’s fault.”
“Normal people understand these things. Fontella? Not normal. She’s just like Joenetta. Ray-Ray married his mother, basically.”
Great. Just great.
Chapter 16
Running Dottie’s with Cassandra, Elgin, and (later in the week) Virgie proved a full-time job. Even when I wasn’t at the store, there was paperwork to shuffle.
At a little after three, I’d rush home to check on Aunt Dottie and make sure DeAndre was settled after school. Sometimes he came with me to the shop, other times he wanted to hang with Chase and the other neighborhood boys. I actually preferred him to stay at home so he could look in on Aunt Dottie every so often.
Joenetta’s visits dwindled since Sister Meecham brought enough food for both DeAndre and Aunt Dottie, and I began to notice something: DeAndre wasn’t so bad when he knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing. So long as I was specific—“take your bath at seven-thirty” instead of “take your bath some time before you go to bed”—we got along just fine. I also discovered that if I made a big fuss about how great he smelled, he’d actually wash himself in the shower.
“How do I smell, Cousin Tori?” He’d bound toward me when I got home from the library.
I’d sniff his neck. “Wonderful! I can tell you’re really scrubbing yourself clean!”
The first time I played this game with him, he surprised me with a bear hug and a smack on the cheek. Took me off guard, but his ability to forget the problems we’d had and enjoy that good moment helped me to remember he was just a kid. A kid who didn’t have a mom and had found a way to ensure a squeeze each night after his bath.
Speaking of baths and such, my biggest nightmare had come and gone. I got over myself when I realized this had to be ten times more embarrassing for Aunt Dottie than for me.
We established a routine. I ran a deep tub of water and helped her inside, where she sat for about fifteen minutes just soaking. The physical therapist said a good hot bath could soothe her muscles after all the exertion she’d spent trying to rebuild them. I watched television in Aunt Dottie’s bed so I could keep an eye on her while she relaxed.
After a while, I’d turn on some gospel music and she’d hum along while I bathed her. As the week wore on, her pitch matched almost perfectly.
By Saturday night, I was a pro at this whole bath thing. Get in, get out, keep it moving. Almost silly how much I’d worried about what turned out to be nothing.
Aunt Dottie’s favorite part of our evenings together, by far, was Bible time.
“Could you please read me a few chapters every night?” she wrote to me.
Simple enough request. We tackled Job, Proverbs, and most of Psalms that first week.
“ ‘I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go, I will counsel you and watch over you. Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you. Many are the woes of the wicked, but the Lord’s unfailing love surrounds the man who trusts in him.’ That’s from Psalm thirty-two.”
Aunt Dottie closed her eyes and listened, taking a second bath in comforting words. As I read the scriptures one after another, in full context, I began to see patterns I’d never noticed before. God came through for these people in the Bible. Though I still wasn’t too sure about why God allowed Job to experience horrendous loss, everything worked out fine in the end.
And David, in Psalms, was an undiagnosed mess. One week fighting victoriously, the next week crying out to God in despair. Up, down, up, down. David had some serious mood swings, but he always knew where to turn for help.
One night, I found myself so engrossed in the wisdom of Proverbs, I lost track of time. I looked up and Aunt Dottie had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. I kept reading until I’d had my fill.
Store-wise, I’d managed to resolve all management issues—including paying Dottie’s employees.
No more problems at DeAndre’s school. Kevin on hold, NetMarketing work progressing nicely. I wasn’t getting much sleep at night, but I was surviving and looking forward to the only day of rest I could reasonably expect—Sunday.
“Nooooo!”
What’s that sound? Am I dreaming?
“Nooooo!”
DeAndre’s wailing startled me, conjuring up a worst-case scenario with Aunt Dottie. Oh, God, no. I threw back the covers and rushed to her bedroom first. She, too, was scrambling to get out of bed—with little success.
“I’ll check on him,” I assured her.
I rushed down the hallway to his room and busted through the door. “What’s wrong?”
He sat up in bed crying. “She didn’t come.”
“Who didn’t come?”
“The tooth fairy.”
“You didn’t tell me you lost a tooth.”
His brows pinched together. “Why I gotta tell you? You ain’t the tooth fairy.”
I blinked. “Right, right. Well . . . did you put it under the correct pillow? She might have been looking in the wrong place.”
“Yes, I did,” he whimpered. He reached under his pillow and produced the sacrificial exchange offering, centering it in his palm. “Here it is right here. She skipped me, I know she did.”
“No, she didn’t. Maybe she just got really busy last night,” I explained. “Tooth fairies are people, too. Kinda.”
“She’s just stupid.”
“No, she’s not. You better
hope she didn’t hear you or you won’t be getting any more money ever again. And she might tell Santa Claus what you said,” I played along, giggling like crazy inside.
DeAndre’s eyes widened. “No! I didn’t mean it—she’s not stupid. She’s smart.”
“Very smart. Put your tooth back under the pillow. I’m sure she’ll pay up tonight.”
“Sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He sighed. “Okay, if you say so, Cousin Tori.”
Later, Aunt Dottie had to slap my hand to stop me from laughing. “He’s soooo serious about that tooth fairy!”
She wrote: “You probably were too.”
I conceded. “You’re right, Aunt Dottie. I just have to remember to put money under his pillow tonight. But he scared me half to death, screaming like that!”
Aunt Dottie held a hand to her chest.
“I’m going back to bed,” I told her.
She looked at me like I’d told her I was joining the circus.
“What?”
“CHURCH!” she scribbled.
“Oh, Aunt Dottie, this is the only day I have to rest. Plus you just got out of the hospital—are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Missed two Sun. and Wed. already. Going today. Let’s get go.”
So much for relaxation.
The last time I set foot inside Mount Pisgah, I didn’t actually know it would be my final visit. I was already out of college, working, and living with Kevin when Aunt Dottie had asked me to attend an appreciation ceremony for Pastor Carter.
“I’m not sure if I can make it back to Bayford this weekend. I’ve got a lot of work to finish,” I’d told her.
In her signature no-pressure style, Aunt Dottie said she understood. “Well, if anything changes, we’d love to see you.”
Of course, the only “thing” I really had to change was my mind. I took another look at my calendar and realized that upcoming Saturday marked what would have been my son’s eighth birthday.
Eight years already.
I fell into a funk and decided the best thing to do would be go to Bayford, eat some of Aunt Dottie’s good cooking, and sit with her for a while. Ask her to pull out the pictures we requested the hospital staff to take right after he was born. Morbid, I know, but he was so perfectly formed. Looked like he was sleeping, all curled up in a little ball. Aunt Dottie had agreed to keep the two snapshots tucked away. Said I didn’t need to look at them too often. “What’s done is done, sweetie.”
When I arrived in Bayford and went inside Aunt Dottie’s house to freshen up for church, I asked her if I could see the pictures. Briefly.
“Why don’t you wait until we come back from church, all right?” she’d said, pulling me toward the front door.
The whole time I sat in service, I thought about those pictures. I began to weep. Aunt Dottie put an arm around me, rocked me gently while some man went way over an appropriate time frame for preaching, even by Southern Baptist standards.
After the appreciation, we’d gone back to Aunt Dottie’s and sat at the kitchen table eating fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and greens. True to her word, Aunt Dottie produced an old box of pictures from her bedroom. She showed me the pictures of my baby again. Just for a moment.
She commented, “He sure was a handsome little rascal, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I laughed through tears. My body collapsed onto her chest. “He would have been a great son.”
“Don’t you worry, Tori. One day, you’ll be a great mom to another child who’s just as good lookin’.” She rubbed my back, then gently slipped his pictures from my hand. “I’m gonna put these away for now. But any time you need to see ’em, you let me know. You are his mother. Always will be.”
Driving back to Houston later that evening, relief swept over me. Leaving Bayford behind meant no crazy memories, no pictures of a dead baby. I vowed then to stay away as long as possible. Keep in touch with Aunt Dottie, slap a Band-Aid on everything else Bayford represented.
With the adjustments for dressing Aunt Dottie and maneuvering her wheelchair, we were late for church. Yet, Aunt Dottie’s entrance to Mount Pisgah seemed perfectly timed. The choir was singing a song about thankfulness as DeAndre held the sanctuary’s swinging door open. I pushed her wheelchair past the threshold and suddenly, the entire congregation erupted in high praise.
The choir kept singing, “Thank You, Lord, for all you’ve done for me.”
Aunt Dottie lifted her left hand and, I promise you, those people came undone. Several of them rushed the aisles. “Praise the Lord!” “Bless your name!” Bending down to hug and kiss her.
But Aunt Dottie kept on waving that good arm, flashing that diagonal smile, while I kept on pushing the wheelchair forward because I knew if I stopped before I sat down, I’d be overwhelmed by this sudden sense of belonging within me.
This wasn’t just Aunt Dottie’s church, God’s house. The people in the building welcomed Aunt Dottie, but the church itself enveloped me. I swiped at my eyes, wondering why on earth—or heaven—I was crying. These tears spilled over from a long-abandoned well of emotions within me.
Aunt Dottie motioned for me to stop at the second pew. An usher quickly moved the offering bucket from the floor, just beneath the bench’s siding. I parked her wheelchair, locked her wheels, and sat right next to her at the end of the row. I was sitting in Aunt Dottie’s usual spot, actually—don’t think I’d ever seen anyone sit there except her in all those years of coming to Mount Pisgah.
DeAndre positioned himself next to me, but his behind didn’t actually hit the cushioning for another ten minutes while the church rejoiced over Aunt Dottie’s return.
Somewhere in all this, I locked eyes with Jacob. I wanted to return his clandestine smile, but my quivering bottom lip wouldn’t cooperate. I bit down to stop the shaking and quickly turned my head in a different direction.
Senior Pastor Carter took the pulpit and tried to move on in the service, but even he got “happy” when he started talking about how the doctors said Aunt Dottie might have suffered irreparable damage if Cassandra hadn’t convinced her to go to the hospital when she did.
“Saints, you know that wasn’t nothin’ but God!”
The congregation roared, “Amen,” myself included.
“Aunt Dottie’s so full of love, always opening her doors, always feeding the needy. Helping folks find jobs, raise their kids, keeping an eye out for the community through her store. She’s blessed!”
“Hallelujah!”
“Stroke can’t stop her!”
The organist hit a chord.
“Hospital can’t hold her!”
Another chord, higher octave.
“Doctors underestimate her.”
Higher still.
“Yeah!” from the church.
“’Cause many are the afflictions of the righteous—but the Lord delivers him out of them all!”
They shouted another round before someone started singing a congregational hymn to get everyone back on track.
“Now, Sister Dottie,” Pastor Carter said, “when the Lord does call you home, He gonna call you home in one, good piece. We all know these earthly bodies won’t last forever. But while we’re still here doing the Lord’s work, He’ll make what we’ve got work for as long as He needs it in service.”
The worshippers agreed. Aunt Dottie seconded His presage with another gesture, and the ceremony continued.
My chest beat so hard I could see my blouse thumping when Pastor Carter gave the invitation to accept Christ. Why am I so nervous? I’d already walked down a church’s center aisle once before. When I was ten. Mr. James was about to embark on another campaign, and we’d joined a huge church with a pastor who used to play for the Dallas Cowboys.
“Everybody who’s anybody in Houston goes to his church,” I remember Mr. James saying. “White people, too. Wonderful networking opportunity.”
The three of us had walked down and repeated the minister’s pra
yer of faith. Then we shook hands forever with a lingering line of people.
Back then, my mother had told me to confess to Jesus, so I did. Maybe I’d done this whole “accept Christ” thing under the wrong pretenses, but I did do it. I did say the words, and I hoped they were true.
Now was different. My mother wasn’t forcing me to walk down the aisle. Something in me caused my legs to straighten and propel me toward the front of Mount Pisgah. Was it my grieving heart? Rebellion against my mother now that I could do things on my own terms?
Either way, if Jesus could rid me of all the worries constantly running through my head, I needed Him. I needed Him for real for real.
Aunt Dottie had me read Romans chapters five through eight that evening. Paul’s account of life with Christ was more real than ever to me now. The all-encompassing truth of verses 38 and 39 of chapter eight jumped straight off the page and into my heart. “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Nothing could ever cut me off from His love for me. Unlike my mother, He wouldn’t abandon me when I needed Him most. Wouldn’t run off to Africa and never look back. I had to laugh at myself—He’s already in Africa.
I put Aunt Dottie to bed and set myself up for a long night in front of the computer screen, doing as much work as possible off-line. Midnight came and went. Half an hour later, my forehead bonked the top of my laptop and I knew it was time to call it a night. The open word-processing file on the monitor was filled with the letter S for pages. I’d been pressing the button when I fell asleep at the helm. No telling what I might mess up if I made unconscious keyboard strokes again.
My head had scarcely hit the pillow when I remembered DeAndre. The tooth fairy. I pleaded with myself internally: do I really have to get up? Maybe I could tell him the tooth fairy was like every other venue in Bayford—she was closed on Sundays. Isn’t he a little too old to still believe in the tooth fairy anyway?
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 14
