"I still don't know what came over me. I just remember jumping out of my seat and yelling that the only reason they were concerned about someone taking advantage of me was because they didn't want any competition. They sat in stunned silence. I laughed as I left the room. The next morning, I told them I was moving out. They balked. They didn't want me to leave. I think it was because they didn't want to pay for a nanny.
"I'm far too young for a nursing home," she continued, "and I really do not want to live alone again. It seems silly to find another place in Richmond, so I thought I would move up to the District. When I saw your ad looking for a mature tenant, I thought this would be better than living in my home. Can you believe it? I was chased out of my own home," she ended with a sad shake of her head.
"Twice."
She raised her head to look at me, but then her gaze lost focus. "Yes. Twice." She blinked rapidly for a few seconds. With any other person, I would think they were fighting back tears, but not this lady. She was simply a marvel.
There had probably been a face-lift or two in her past. Her cheeks looked a little tight, as if they had been pulled back to ease the lines around her eyes and mouth. At least, I thought that's how they did it. That's how it seemed when you looked at Hollywood actresses with their unnaturally tight faces. The doctor pulled the ease from their faces and the women allowed it because it made them look youthful. To me, it made them look pathetic. Everyone got old. Skin gets old. Your organs get old. Why put so much effort into retaining an outward appearance of vivacity when your insides were decaying with each passing year?
This lady was lying to herself. "I bet you were a beauty queen," I said. Women like her needed others to affirm their beauty and poise.
"I competed in a few titles back in my youth, nothing truly impressive, some local seasonal festivals. My mother was concerned about my prickly personality and thought that by pushing me into a pageant, I would begin to ease up around people."
She smiled and inclined her head. Her fingers sought out the napkin on the table and she began to twist and pull the cloth. "I was Miss Junior American Sweetheart 1969. I wanted to compete for the American Sweetheart title, but when I was eighteen, I found myself married with a baby on the way. I wasn't even nineteen when we had our first child. Do you have any children, Mrs. Higgins?"
"Me? Well. No. No children."
"That's a shame. Motherhood is a woman's one true blessing." She smiled. I fought down a glare. I hated when women took that self-righteous tone, looking at me as if I was selfish for not having brought another life into this world. Of course, they were wrong.
She asked, "Were you married? What was his name?"
"Moses."
"Tell me about him." There was kindness in her eyes. I didn't think she was particularly interested in my story, but she focused entirely on me. The perfect politician's wife.
It had been such a long time since I had talked about Moses. It felt nice to have someone ask about him even if that interest was fake.
"There's so much that I just don't know what to tell you. I first met Moses when I was ten. He and my brother were home visiting the family after completing boot camp. My brother, Samuel, was always the type of person to root for the underdog. Moses was alone since his grandmother died. She had raised him. Samuel said that he had no one else other than our family."
"I guess you two married much, much later. How about we cut to the good stuff?" She leaned towards me and nudged my hand, "Was he a handsome man?"
I laughed. "He was absolutely beautiful. He was tall, very tall. His dark skin reminded me of chocolate. I used to stare at him, imagining I was licking his skin." I laughed when her jaw closed and she blinked rapidly. "He was quiet while I was loud and boisterous. He didn't really blend into our family."
She stared at me. The smile was long gone from her face. Covering her mouth with her hand, she whispered, "Was your husband Black?"
I leaned towards her and lowered my voice. "Yes."
She clutched her pearls as her gaze darted around the garden. "My, but this garden is lovely. Did you do all this yourself?"
"I did, actually. I find gardening to be peaceful. Do you garden?"
"No. We used to have a large garden on the plant—" Her face darkened as she licked her rose-colored lips. "I didn't mean any offense with that plantation nonsense."
"It's fine."
"I think Black people are fine individuals. I have many Black friends and they are always so courteous and fun."
Here we go. "I'm glad to hear it."
She peered at the houses around us then glanced back at me. "Is this a black neighborhood?"
"It was at one time. It's fairly diverse now."
"I love diversity. It's a great thing for this country." Her fingers continued to twirl her pearl necklace. The corners of her lips curled up, but her mouth was tight.
"Look, Mrs. Patrick-Harrison, you should know that this household is very diverse. I, myself, am African American."
Her gaze focused on my face. Her lips parted, showing her perfectly white teeth. "Excellent." She sat silently staring at me. A second ago, she was nearly choking with embarrassment and awkwardness, and now she seemed pleased.
Great. I was going to become that infamous "Black friend" that White people liked to mention. "Do you have a powder room?" she asked, caressing her pearls.
"Yes." I leaped from my seat, so thankful to end this conversation. We returned to the house. I walked her to the foyer and pointed to the small hallway beside the staircase. "There's a small restroom under the stairs."
It was quiet. Minutes before Penelope's arrival, Red had let me know that she would be gone for a few days. Some friends down in Florida had invited her to spend time with them while they were on vacation, so she packed a bag and ran out the door. Melia and Albertine had gone to a movie, and I didn't expect them back soon.
"My, that was a tight squeeze," Penelope said as she left the restroom. She was rubbing her hands against her slacks, her face flushed from the heat trapped in the small room. "How many bathrooms are there?"
"The room that's available has its own bathroom," I said. "The other three tenants share a bathroom upstairs. I guess that means three full baths and this small one."
"I'm so happy there will be others in the house. Are they here? May I meet them?" she asked, her gaze moving up the stairs.
"They are all out at the moment. Melia and Albertine went to the mall, so I'm not sure when they'll be back. C'mon, I'll show the room." We made our way upstairs. I rushed ahead, grasping the door to my former bedroom and pushing it wide open. "It's a fair-sized room, especially when you consider the bath. The view from the window isn't much to look at, but you're welcome to enjoy the garden."
She glanced around the room. It seemed like she caught every detail, from the plain wallpaper to the small imperfections in the wood paneling. She grimaced, and I thought she must have hated the color on the walls, but her gaze fell and sadness crept over her face.
"Would you like to return to the kitchen?" I asked. Maybe the cramped space was causing some kind of claustrophobic reaction.
She smiled, her lips barely moving, her facial muscles not moving at all. "Yes, that would be lovely. I'm feeling a bit parched."
We returned to the kitchen. She twirled her pearls as she sat down at the table. Feeling a bit concerned, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I filled a glass of water for her.
"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Higgins, and I greatly appreciate that you have invited me into it," I heard her say. "I hope you don't take offense, but I will need a few days to consider."
I placed the glass of water before her. I stood at her elbow, watching as she lifted the glass to her mouth. I wasn't offended that she needed time to consider. She wasn't like my other ladies. Desperation didn't cling to her.
"Are you sure that you want to leave? You can tell them to get out. It's your damn house." I rapped the table for emphasis. She sat quietly while she s
ipped her water. After a few moments of silence, I said, "Would you like more?"
She shook her head and waved her hand. "I'm fine with this, but thank you." Her eyes flashed as she considered my other question. She puckered her lips and said, "You don't know my daughter. She would rally with my son and have me declared senile. They'll think that I'm crazy moving into someone else's house. I'm probably damned if I do and damned if I don't, but to be frank, I think it would be fun."
"What?"
"Living with other women near my age. I've always been a fan of that show, The Golden Girls. It would be like that, I imagine," she said in a conspiratorial tone.
"Trust me. It isn't like that. Not even close."
She smiled at me.
"I don't remember that show having any Black characters. Or Hispanics for that matter. We all stick to ourselves, primarily. Well, that's not exactly true. Melia and Albertine are close. Carol sticks to herself. You'll only really see her when she's down in the kitchen or running out the front door. I don't have grand expectations with this arrangement. I expect civility. I don't expect friendship."
Her lips parted, and her white teeth flashed. "Sounds better than what I have now, honey."
With nothing to add, I inclined my head in her direction.
She turned to glance out of the window. She squinted as if peering into the future. "I want to thank you again for showing me your home. I greatly appreciate it." She stood up and walked around the table with her right hand extended.
Her hand was cool. When she talked about The Golden Girls, there had been genuine warmth in her. Now it felt like all the warmth had been chased out of the room. I couldn't help but wonder if the cold woman standing before me was simply putting on an act. Like an actor on The Golden Girls.
I watched as she walked through the kitchen and out the front door. I trailed behind her and gave her a friendly farewell wave as she descended the porch steps. I continued to watch as she climbed into her Lexus and drove away.
Closing the door, I tried to dismiss her from my thoughts. She was the ex-wife of a congressman. A woman who went from experiencing the public dissolution of her marriage to sitting in my kitchen, thinking about leasing my room. She said her reasons weren't financial, but was that the truth? Maybe she was moving out because she no longer could tolerate her own family. I wasn't sure. I guess I didn't really care.
CHAPTER SIX
"Hello. May I speak with Mrs. Higgins, please?"
"Good morning, this is Mrs. Higgins. May I ask who is calling?" It was Nathan. I didn't know why we continued this odd little dance.
"Mrs. Higgins, this is Nathan Keene with Eastside Cancer Treatment Center. I was calling about your account."
"Was there a problem with the payment I made? You did receive it, right?"
There was a long pause. I could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. My heart lurched as I began to panic. Was my payment rejected?
"Well, I have great news."
That quieted the rapid beating of my pulse. "My account has been paid off in full?"
He laughed. "No, sorry. But I do have something almost as good. You were selected for a new pilot program. How would you like it if your outstanding balance was decreased by twenty percent?"
"Oh, Nathan. I'm too old for this bullshit. What's the catch?"
"Well, ma'am. We would ask that you pay the balance off in full."
This time I laughed. "Nathan, do you think that I would be so late in my payments if I had the money to pay a lump sum?"
"Have you thought about taking a loan against your home?"
"Yes, but not to pay off this account."
"Any additional property or stock that could be sold?"
"No."
"According to your file, you have a daughter. Would she be able to settle the account? Or, maybe help you obtain a loan?"
I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. "Did the file mention that she was deceased?"
There was a beat of silence before a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Higgins. That information wasn't in the file. How long ago was that?"
"She was stillborn."
"Oh. Well, that doesn't really count." There was another pause. Neither one of us said anything as his cruel words hung in the air. "Mrs. Higgins, I apologize."
"You know what, Nathan? Don't worry about it. I'll figure out a way to pay off this account." I slammed down the phone. Seconds later, it began to ring again.
My fingers curled in my hair as my throat constricted. Pressure built behind my eyes as tears gathered. The phone continued to ring while I fought down my pain. Finally, the noise got to me and I yanked up the phone. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I...I, um, I am so sorry," said Mrs. Patrick-Harrison.
I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. I hated apologies, but one was certainly due. "Mrs. Patrick-Harrison?" I placed my hand over the receiver and took a few calming breaths. Feigning composure, I said, "I am extremely sorry for my rudeness. Please know that those words were not directed at you. I just dealt with a harassing phone call, you understand."
"Ah, I see. Your phone number was in the newspaper, wasn't it? I can't believe people still make prank calls. Did you get their number? From your caller ID?" she asked sweetly.
She had provided me the perfect out. "No, I didn't. Would you believe I don't have a caller ID? I'm pretty bad with technology. I even posted my address on the computer and someone showed up unannounced."
"What can I say? Some folks lack proper manners. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I just have to get out of this place. I'd like to rent your room, if it's still available."
I did a quick fist pump in the air. "You would? Even after my abruptness?"
"Oh, that was a silly misunderstanding. No worries at all."
"Perfect. When would you like to move in? The room is clean and ready to be occupied."
"Would next weekend be convenient?"
Cha-ching. "Next week is perfect."
"Great. I look forward to seeing you again! Good day, Mrs. Higgins."
I hung up the phone and began to skip around the kitchen in joy. I had just rounded the island when Red entered. She cocked her head at me and smiled. "Good news?"
"Fantastic news. The last room has been rented."
Throwing her hands up in the air, she walked towards the fridge. "I hope it isn't another nun."
Her words ended my happy dance. Red clearly avoided the other girls. I didn't know the source of the animosity, but quite frankly, as long as things didn't erupt into a catfight, I really didn't give a damn how they interacted with each other.
She opened the freezer and pulled out a pot-pie. As she popped it into the microwave, Albertine and Melia entered the kitchen, sharing a giggle. I stepped back as they dropped bags of groceries onto the floor.
I think it was only the second time that the four of us had been in the same room. Red's gaze flickered towards Albertine. Red reached up, pulled her glasses from her hair and settled them on her face. She grimaced as she stared at the wren. Shaking her head, Red pulled out her phone and swiped at the screen. My eyes were locked on her movements as she lifted her phone in my direction and centered it on my face. She pressed a button then returned to playing with her phone.
Albertine and Melia unloaded their groceries. Red darted out of their way as Melia began to shelve boxes of pasta. The beeping of the microwave startled all of us. Red approached it to check on her dinner. Shoving her glasses back into her hair, she pulled the pot-pie from the microwave. She jerked her hand, dropping it onto the counter. "Sonuvabitch that," she said and sucked on her fingers.
"Hot?" Albertine asked.
"Uh, yeah. Real hot," Red responded. She continued to suck at her fingers until Albertine grabbed her hand and pushed it under the faucet. Turning on the cold water, Albertine held onto Red's fingers when she tried to pull her hand back.
The little wren patted Red's arm. "I know it's cold, but it w
ill help your hand. Trust me."
"Is this something they taught you in the nunnery?" Red asked.
Albertine smiled and clucked her tongue. "Yes, well, maybe. We don't really call them 'nunneries' any longer. But, you're lucky; I learned some nursing skills when I was a novice."
"I like 'nunnery.' It's a jaunty little name," Red said, her eyes locked on Albertine's hands.
"Not me," Melia said. "'Nunnery,' 'convent,' or whatever. They all strike the fear of God into me."
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked her.
"You'll need to take some painkillers immediately," Albertine said to Red.
Melia snorted before answering. "Ya know, Albertine here is the first nun that I ever liked. Back when I was a kid, on the reservation, there was a boarding school operated by the Catholic Church. A lot of tribal members were sent there. Generation after generation. It was the only alternative to receiving no education."
Albertine's lips disappeared into a thin line; she shook her head in disappointment, as if she already knew Melia's story.
"There were two sections," said Melia. "One for girls and the other for boys. Priests taught the boys and sisters taught the girls. The sisters were abrasive bitches. They would beat you if you sneezed. When I was in first grade, I peed on myself and instead of letting me go home to change, the sister pushed my desk aside and made me stand in the piss puddle all day."
Melia stopped talking as her mind drifted off. I knew the stories surrounding the sex abuse scandals; hell, that was how Albertine lost her job. But I didn't know anything about reservation schools, and I couldn't imagine being tortured or abused for the sake of education. That was unacceptable to me.
An awkward silence descended over the kitchen. I imagined what was going through our minds. Melia recalling her traumatic years at the boarding school. Albertine feeling guilty because of her association with the Catholic Church. Me, I was thinking about my years motivating and educating children. Red, well, I wasn't sure how she felt about it.
Have Mercy Page 6
