by Ann B. Ross
Lloyd didn’t say anything, just grunted in response, but then he said, “Miss Julia, I don’t know if this means anything, but when Latisha and I walked back to see Coleman and Binkie, I saw those people again.”
“What people?”
“Those three people we saw on the beach yesterday. You know, the ones looking for stray hundred-dollar bills.”
“Well, they had to evacuate like everybody else.”
“Yes’m, I guess. But they were in a big, black Suburban—that’s an SUV, Miss Julia, like the Secret Service uses, and it had tinted windows. I wouldn’t have seen them, but that woman rolled down her window just as we walked by. She looked right at me, or maybe at Latisha—I couldn’t tell—then turned her head real quick and rolled her window up again.”
“That sounds odd,” I said, “but sitting out in the heat makes people do strange things. Did Latisha see her?”
“No’m, and I didn’t tell her. She’d probably go up and talk to them. When we came back by, all the windows were up, but I felt like they were watching us.”
“Hmm,” I said, hearing the touch of concern in Lloyd’s voice, which I trusted enough not to discount. “Well, we’ll keep an eye out for them. I can’t imagine, though, that they’re interested in us. Likely as not, they’re driving around looking for a place to spend the night.
“As for me,” I went on, “I just hope we soon get home. My bed is calling me.”
“Mine, too,” Lloyd said, grinning.
Chapter 26
As we began the last leg of our journey home, the traffic thinned out somewhat, although there were still more cars on the road than usual. I could imagine beachgoers and Charleston residents filling motel and hotel rooms all across the upstate. And frankly, if we’d not been so close to home, I would’ve voted for a stopover at any Motel 6 that had a light on for us.
Full dark by this time, the temperature outside was noticeably cooler as we started up the mountain toward Abbotsville. It was taking us more than twelve hours to retrace the route that had taken barely five to get us to the beach in the first place.
Latisha and Lloyd were asleep in the backseat, and I was dozing off and on only because I felt the need to stay awake to keep Sam company.
“You know,” I said to him, pitching my voice low for the sleepers’ sake, “I’ve hardly given a thought to Etta Mae and LuAnne this entire day. Or to Hazel Marie and her family. I guess I’ve just assumed, since they left before we did, that they didn’t get caught in the traffic.”
He didn’t respond, so I leaned closer and said, “Sam? You’re not asleep, are you?”
He laughed. “Not yet, but I’ll be glad to get home. As for the Pickenses and Etta Mae, I’ve kept an eye out for them—checking cars pulled to the side and those that had been abandoned. I expect they’re all home by now. Coleman and Binkie should be the last ones in. Or us. But as soon as we get there, let’s call around and make sure everybody made it.”
“Yes, and I must call Lillian, too, regardless of how late it is. She’s surely heard about the hurricane so she’ll be worried.”
He nodded, and after a little while, I said, “I wonder how Etta Mae and LuAnne got along. I don’t mean handling the traffic and the waiting and so on. I mean how the two of them managed together. If LuAnne talked the whole way, Etta Mae will be worn to the bone. She’s not a chatterbox as LuAnne is, so it could’ve been a miserable drive for her. Oh, and here’s another thing—I wonder where LuAnne wanted to be dropped off. I doubt she’d go to the condo, and she can’t get into our house, and Etta Mae’s single-wide isn’t big enough for a guest.”
“Maybe,” Sam said, “she’s at a local motel. That would be the logical place if she didn’t want to go home.”
“Well, who knows what she wants to do. She’s gone back and forth so many times, I can’t keep up with her.”
When we reached Abbotsville a little after eleven that night, Sam turned onto the long, empty Main Street—not a creature nor a car, except ours, was stirring its entire length.
“What a relief,” I said, “not to be hemmed in on all sides. Everybody’s in bed where they’re supposed to be.”
“We really roll up the sidewalks at sundown, don’t we?”
“Yes,” I agreed with some smugness, “and we’re certainly the better for it.”
Sam turned onto Polk Street and, in the second block, into our driveway. Thank the Lord.
“LuAnne’s car is still here,” I noted. “Wonder where she is?”
Sam didn’t respond, just carried Latisha, who was out like a light, into the house and up to the room that I kept for her and Lillian. I walked Lloyd in, guiding him into his room where he collapsed on the bed. Taking off his tennis shoes, I drew a sheet over him and left him to sleep in the clothes he was in.
By the time I’d checked on Latisha and gotten back downstairs, Sam had brought the suitcases and Latisha’s two bags of shells into the kitchen. He was looking in the refrigerator for something to eat and finding it almost bare.
“Look in the pantry, Sam,” I said. “There may be some crackers and peanut butter.”
“No, thanks,” he said, smiling as he surveyed the pantry shelves. “I’ve had my fill of peanut butter. But here’s a can of tomato soup. I’ll heat it up.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll call around and be sure everybody’s safely home. Just hope I don’t wake anybody. It’s already past midnight.”
Hesitating for a moment, I decided to get the worst one over first. So, hoping that Hazel Marie would answer the phone and not her short-tempered husband, I punched in her number. And got a rough growl in response.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Pickens? It’s Julia Murdoch, and I’m calling to let you know we’re home and Lloyd is spending the night with us. Good night. Go back to sleep.” I hung up before he could say another word.
Sam, stirring soup on the stove, laughed. “Bet I can guess who that was.”
“Yes, well, just giving him a taste of his own medicine.” I punched in Lillian’s number, worrying that I would wake her but not daring to wait till morning.
And it was a good thing I called because she was wide awake and praying for our safety. “We’re all all right, Lillian. It’s been a long, hard day, but Latisha is safe and sound and asleep in your room upstairs.”
“Law, Miss Julia, I been worriet to death ’bout that big ole storm they talkin’ about. I kept on tryin’ to call you an’ the phones wasn’t workin’, an’ all I could do was keep prayin’.”
“I know. We were trying to call out, too, but so was everybody else on the East Coast. But we’re home now, so go on to sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow. How’re you feeling, anyway? Do you need anything?”
“I’m doin’ fine, ’specially since y’all out from under that bad storm. I’m gonna sleep good tonight.”
“You do that, Lillian, and thank you for your prayers.”
I clicked off, then looked up Etta Mae’s number, again hoping that I wouldn’t wake her. She answered immediately.
“It’s Julia Murdoch, Etta Mae,” I said, “reporting in. We just got home, and I’m calling around to check on everybody. When did you get in?”
“We got to town a couple of hours ago, then stopped at Cracker Barrel and had some supper. Traffic was bad until we started up the mountain, but I heard that it was worse behind us.”
“It certainly was—we were in it. But what did you do with LuAnne?”
“Oh, she’s here. She’s sleeping on the sofa.”
“My goodness, Etta Mae. Didn’t she have anywhere else to go? I’m sorry that you still have her. Did she talk you to death?”
Etta Mae laughed. “She can talk a lot, can’t she? But it was all right. She’s having a hard time.”
“I know she is, but she has to make her own decisions and not burden everybod
y else. Oh, well, I’ll come get her in the morning and you can have some peace.”
“That’s all right. I have to go out to the grocery store, so I’ll drop her at your house. If that’s where she wants to go.”
Well, who knew where LuAnne would want to go, but it was unconscionable of her to stay any length of time with Etta Mae. I mean, there was barely room for one person in that single-wide, much less two, especially if one of the two was a restless, bustling woman like LuAnne Conover.
“Sam?” I said after hanging up with Etta Mae. “Do you think Binkie and Coleman are in yet? They were behind us all the way.”
“Why don’t you leave them a message to call us when they get in? I’ve poured you a bowl of soup, so come eat it.”
And that’s what I did right after leaving Binkie a message to call when they got home, no matter the time.
We were just crawling into bed forty-five minutes later when Binkie called.
“We stopped at a McDonald’s halfway up the mountain,” Binkie said. “Or we’d have been home earlier. Gracie was starving and so was I.”
We commiserated for a few minutes over our arduous journeys, and I told her about the perils of peanut butter on a hot, waterless day. She’d laughed, because they’d had a similar problem with the saltine crackers and cheese they’d had.
“I’ll tell you this,” she said, “those men selling bottled water were lifesavers. I don’t care what they charged, we would’ve paid it.”
Agreeing, I hung up and slid into bed beside Sam. “Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for a wonderful vacation, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m glad it’s over.”
Chapter 27
“Lillian!” I stood stock still in the door to the kitchen the next morning, staring at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Fixin’ breakfast, like I always do.” She was clomping back and forth from the stove to the sink, unperturbed by my shocked demand.
“But you’ve had surgery! You aren’t supposed to be on that foot. You should be home.” After the day we’d had on the road, I’d slept later than usual and had awakened to find Sam already up and gone to have breakfast with a group of buddies downtown.
Now here was Lillian, with a large, clumsy-looking bootlike thing Velcroed onto her foot and halfway up her leg, stirring grits with one hand while checking on biscuits in the oven with the other.
“I got enough of me bein’ home, doin’ nothin’ but listenin’ to Miss Bessie talkin’ all day long. Besides,” she said, turning to me with a smile, “the doctor, he say I can do anything I feel like doin’. An’ I feel like seein’ Latisha, an’ you, an’ Lloyd, an’ Mr. Sam, an’ knowin’ y’all back home where you belong. So set on down ’cause breakfast is ready.”
“Well, they Lord,” I said, giving up and sitting down at the table. “I’m glad to see you, too. But, Lillian, I don’t want you to undo whatever the doctor’s done. Please don’t push yourself. You know we can get along just fine until you’re back on your feet. So to speak.”
“Yes’m, I know you can,” she said, with a tiny roll of her eyes as she set a plate of grits and sausage in front of me.
“Have the children come down?” I asked, lifting a fork. “Have you eaten? Fix a plate and keep me company.”
“Yes’m, they been down an’ now they gone to Miss Hazel Marie’s so Latisha can give her some of them shells she got. I ate with them, but I’ll have some coffee with you. I’m ready to set a while anyhow.”
She settled at the table with her cup while I concentrated on the first real breakfast I’d had in over a week. Sweet rolls and cereal are fine every now and then, but not every morning.
“You need to stay off that foot as much as you can,” I warned her. “Don’t be going up and down the stairs or running around the house.”
“No’m, I won’t be doin’ no runnin’.” She laughed at the thought of it. “But I can do the cookin’ an’ set here in the kitchen just as well as I can set at home. An’ they won’t be no Miss Bessie to get at me here. I tell you, Miss Julia, that woman pretty near wore me out.”
“I hate to hear that, Lillian. The fact that she was around to look after you was the only reason I was willing to go to the beach. What did she do that bothered you so much?”
“She talk,” Lillian said with a great sigh. “An’ talk an’ talk. Then she cry a little, then she moan an’ groan ’cause she miss that ole devil.”
“Who?”
“Why, Mr. Robert, that’s who. If you can b’lieve it.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Robert Mobley? She misses him? I thought he was awful to her.”
“He was. But she forget about how he beat up on her, an’ how he kick her out time an’ time again, an’ how he left that ole house of his to the church an’ not to her, so she didn’t have a roof over her head.”
“But I thought. . . .”
“Yes’m,” Lillian said, nodding her head, “it was the Reverend Mr. Abernathy what took a hand an’ made the deacons hold off on takin’ that house out from under her. He fix it so she can live there for the rest of her life or until she want to leave.
“But in spite of it all,” Lillian went on, shrugging her shoulders, “that poor, pitiful woman don’t do nothin’ but go on an’ on ’bout what a fine man Mr. Robert was even though ever’body know he the devil’s own self. But she grievin’ ’bout how she miss him an’ what in the world she gonna do without him.”
“Well, my word,” I said, placing my napkin beside my plate. “Has she lost her memory or lost her mind? You’d think she’d thank her lucky stars that he’s no longer around to mistreat her.”
“Yes’m, you would. But all I hear this whole week long was how she got nobody now, an’ how she wish he’d come walkin’ in the door. I tell you, Miss Julia, it pretty much make me sick how she give anything to have him back. I tol’ her one time that she better off without him, an’ she got mad at me an’ almost walk out. An’ that was before I could get around by myself, so I had to ’pologize an’ tell her how much we ’preciate all Mr. Robert do for the church. But I had to grit my teeth to do it ’cause Mr. Robert ’bout the meanest man ever lived.
“And, law, Miss Julia,” Lillian went on, “if I never hear that man’s name again, I be happy. I get so tired of her goin’ on an’ on ’bout him, an’ what if she do this, an’ what if she do that, an’ what do I think, an’ do I have any advice for her.”
It was all beginning to sound strangely familiar, so I asked, “And did you have any?”
She nodded sagely. “Yes’m, I did, but she don’t wanta hear it. So I keep it to myself best I can. With them kinda people, Miss Julia, they don’t wanta hear what you got to say—they jus’ want you to listen an’ nod your head an’ say ‘That’s right, yes, you right,’ don’t matter how crazy they sound.”
Pushing off with one hand on the table, Lillian heaved herself to her feet. “So I’m glad you folks is home, so I have a place to get away from Miss Bessie ever’ day.”
“Why, Lillian, you could’ve come over here anytime you wanted to. I told you that.”
“Yes’m, I know, but for a while I needed Miss Bessie’s help, so I jus’ let her talk while I tune her out.”
Hmm, I thought, maybe I could tune LuAnne out when she starts in on Leonard—and I would, if I could figure out how to do it.
—
But speak of the devil—no, not Mr. Robert—LuAnne rang the front doorbell about that time, ending our conversation. For the first time I beat Lillian to the door, hampered as she was with an ungainly walking cast. LuAnne, looking about half pitiful, stood there amid several suitcases, assuming, it seemed, that a room awaited her.
Etta Mae waved to me from her little red car, then sped off down the street—thankful, I supposed, for being free of the guest who’d outstayed her welcome.
/> “I’ll tell you what’s a fact, Julia,” LuAnne began as she shoved her luggage into the hall. “I am so tired of being cramped into tiny spaces I don’t know what to do. If you’d spent nine hours doubled up in a little sports car, you’d know what I’m talking about. To say nothing of trying to dress and undress and get a bite to eat in a trailer that was made for midgets.”
“Come in, LuAnne,” I said—unnecessarily since she already was. “At least you spent only nine hours on the road, while we spent over twelve, and nearly perished of thirst. And, of course, you knew that Etta Mae had limited space. I was surprised that you spent the night with her.”
“Well, what else was I to do? You weren’t here, and I certainly wasn’t going to go crawl in bed with Leonard. He gets the wrong idea often enough already.”
There was nothing for it but to help her carry suitcases up the stairs and deposit them in the room so recently occupied by Latisha—evidenced by the unmade bed. LuAnne grimaced, but I brought in fresh linen and told her to get on the other side and help.
“Lillian’s not able to climb stairs,” I said as I stripped the bed. “So let’s get this done, then go down and have some coffee.”
—
Resigned to having a house guest with no end in sight, I carried the coffee tray that Lillian had prepared and led LuAnne into the library.
We settled on the sofa—one on each end—poured our coffees, and sat back as LuAnne began to talk and I began to listen.
“I called him first thing this morning,” she said, assuming that I knew of whom she was speaking, and, unhappily, I did. “Thinking that he’d have heard about the hurricane and be worried. And do you know what he said? He said, ‘Why’re you back so soon?’ He didn’t even know that we’d been in danger of losing life and limb, either at the beach or on the road coming home. I mean, Julia, the television has been full of it! But it’s not the news that he watches all day long.” She leaned her head back against the sofa. “He just does me in.”
