Mr. Wilson looked a little irritated. “Junebug, these doctors and nurses will make sure she’s looked after. Miss Rosa Belle will be all right.”
“I want to be here every time she opens her eyes so she knows she ain’t alone.” I hoped my tone let them know there wasn’t going to be any arguing.
Mrs. Wilson spoke up. “I understand. Come on, Clyde, he’ll be fine.”
“Anything need doing at the house?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“No. Fancy is going to take care of milking the cow and see to the other things for me.”
He pulled out his wallet and handed me a five-dollar bill. “When did you talk to her?”
“She stopped by real early this morning before she went to school.” Hell of a place to tell a lie.
“You take this so you can eat something.”
I took the money. “Pay you back soon as I get home.”
He headed toward the door. “All in due time, Junebug.”
After they left, a pretty blond nurse came in the room, made notes, and checked the medicine bags. She had a nice smile. “Is Mrs. Hurley your only family?”
I nodded. “Do you think she will be all right?”
“We’ll take care of her real good, don’t you worry.” The name on her tag said Nurse Freymuth. An hour later, she came rolling in a big easy chair. “Thought you could use something more comfortable in case you want to get a little sleep.” She showed me how to use the handle to make the back go down so I could stretch out. “The cafeteria is down on the first floor and opens in a little while if you want some supper.”
I sat and listened to Grandma’s breathing. I was exhausted, and nodded on and off. Once I caught Grandma watching me. She smiled, then drifted off again.
It was getting dark outside the room window, and I went hunting for that cafeteria. A plate of spaghetti cost a dollar and a carton of milk was twenty cents. It turned out I wasn’t very hungry. A cigarette machine was against the wall in the hallway. They were expensive at forty cents a pack, but figured I needed the smokes worse than the money. I decided to take a break from the hospital stink, and stopped the elevator at the main floor. Stone benches sat along the brightly lit sidewalk outside, and the night air felt good. A few other people came along, and we smoked and chatted for a while.
After two cigarettes’ worth of conversation, I went back to Grandma’s room. Her hand felt chilly so I tried to warm it in both of mine. She opened her eyes. Her hand reached to move the mask to one side. “Junebug, I need to talk to you.” She seemed stronger, and her eyes looked clearer.
“Grandma, you shouldn’t be taking that thing off.” I got up to help her, but she pushed against my hand.
“Hush and listen.” She sounded cross. “There’s things you need to know in case the Lord calls me home.”
I shook my head. “No need. You’re going to be well in a few weeks and up and around.”
“Junebug, I know I’m bad off, and should’ve had this talk with you before now.” Her voice trembled like a person would if they were cold. “Out in the pack house cellar there’s money the family has been keeping a real long time. It’s hidden in mason jars. When you go in the door, they’re buried in the rear left hand corner under an old barrel.” She stopped and coughed hard.
I put the mask back over her face; she took some deep breaths and removed it again. “I got a plot at the church beside your granddaddy already spoke for.” Grandma talked fast, like she needed to get everything said. “My will and the deed to the farm are at Lawyer Stern’s office in Apex.” She struggled for air. I started to say something, but she moved her finger to my mouth. “You guard that money, Junebug, but use it if you need to. The farm is free and clear, so as long as you keep it, you’ve got somewhere to live and be able to fend for yourself.” She started coughing bad and had to stop. I held a cup for her to spit in, but didn’t look at it. “Use that Hurley hardheadedness, and you’ll make out. You know I love you and I know you’re man enough.”
Her face was pale as a daylight moon. I couldn’t shake the dread that came over me. “Junebug, there comes a time the Lord sees fit for us to take new reins and go in a different direction.” She held my eyes with the tears in hers. “Life don’t always play out the way we think it should. If it’s my time, I’m not afraid and don’t want you to be either. Whatever plan God has, I’m willing to accept it.”
My voice choked. “Grandma, you’re going to get out of this bed and come home. I’m not ready to be done having you around yet. I don’t think I can do the lonesome.”
Eye water soaked her cheeks. “I’m proud of you, Junebug, always have been. You keep believing in yourself, that how you see the world is right.”
I lifted her hand to my face. “Whatever I am, I got it from you.”
I put her mask back on, and in a few minutes, she was asleep again. I went to stand at the window and whispered, “Lord, if You’re up there, I’ve listened to the preacher, and Fancy, and Grandma say all things are according to Your Plan. I’ve swallowed everything You’ve dished out up ’til now, but You know Grandma’s all I got left, and I’ve about had a belly full of Your plans.”
I sat down beside Grandma. The lines and wrinkles of hard times were etched into her face like a sharp knife on bread dough. I tried to remember a time when she didn’t look old. I had no idea what I would do without her if she died, how I would live, or if I even wanted to. But she would consider giving up a sin just as bad as stealing or lying or using the Lord’s name in vain. Grandma was my only ally, understanding I struggled with conflictions about God, about how I didn’t think things I saw were right, and especially Fancy. I needed to believe her spirit would stay with me, and all I could hope was for it to be enough.
CHAPTER 15
The big chair slid easy on the linoleum floor, and I moved it closer to keep in reach of Grandma. Sleep snuck up on me. I was dreaming Grandma was talking about going to Apex. I jerked awake. She was sitting upright in bed. When I tried to put the oxygen mask over her face, she slapped my hand away.
“Stop it!” She pointed. “Don’t you see them? They’re standing right there. They’re asking me to come.” She smiled and waved and mumbled things I couldn’t understand.
I searched the room. “Who are you talking about?”
I took her shoulders to push her down, but she wrestled with me. “Leave me alone!” I decided to run and get the nurse.
Grandma suddenly stopped and got quiet. When she turned to face me, chill bumps rose on my arms and neck. Her face wasn’t old anymore. It was that girl of sixteen in the picture on the wall at home, sitting on the buckboard, the deep blue eyes staring out at the world. She pulled my hand to her chest, and slowly sank back on the pillow. I felt a whisper of air across my face, and an overpowering sense of Granddaddy surrounded me. Grandma’s wide-open eyes stared at the ceiling. The only sound was the shushing of oxygen.
“Grandma?” I shook her shoulder. “Grandma, don’t you leave me alone!” But she lay fixed in that awful stillness. The machine above the bed began to buzz.
The blond nurse rushed in and pushed me out of the way. She put fingers to Grandma’s neck and wrist, and started shoving up and down on her chest, forcing a breath, then two more, then nothing. Another nurse, and a doctor I didn’t know, ran in. The doctor gave instructions as they worked. I stood at the doorway. The top of my head tingled. I could feel Grandma in the room, like she was watching.
In a few minutes the doctor stopped. “Time of death, two twenty-three a.m.” The nurse wrote on the chart.
His words slapped me in the face. I shoved past to her bed. “She’s still here!” I managed to get my hands on Grandma’s chest before the doctor grabbed my arms. We wrestled.
The blond nurse pushed between us, wrapped me in a bear hug, and walked me backward. She stopped in the middle of the room, holding on. I let my forehead drop on her shoulder. She rubbed my back. “I’m sorry.”
Everything had gone from fast to slow and back
to fast again. There should be some kind of gap between living and dying, give a person time to get ready. I squatted against the wall and held my head. The reality of being alone the rest of my life overpowered me. I looked at the ceiling and whispered, “I need you to come back, Grandma. I don’t want to be here by myself.” But there was only silence, the bitter quiet of feeling alone, something I’d tasted before.
A couple of aides came in with a rolling bed and asked me to wait outside. As they passed, I pulled the sheet back and kissed her cheek. Other patients woken by the clamor stood at their doors along the hall, fascinated by what they were afraid to watch, but unable not to.
I walked back into the room and stood at the window, staring at the blackness. I pressed my forehead against the wall and hit the concrete until my knuckles bled, needing to hurt somebody real bad.
The blond nurse came through the door. “Are you all right? Anyone you want me to call?” She put a hand on my shoulder.
I was angry. “Yeah, God, and tell Him to send my grandma back.”
She stepped backward. “If you need me, come to the nurses’ station.”
I watched as the red rim of the sun began to show over a line of clouds on the eastern horizon. The only thing left was the silence.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilson came through the door about nine o’clock. They stopped when they saw the empty bed. I just stared at them. Mrs. Wilson put a hand to her mouth. She came and laid her arm around me and started crying. “Oh, Junebug.”
“I don’t know what to tell the people in charge to do.”
She pointed at the door. “Clyde, go find out.” She looked up at me. “You’re going to be fine, we’ll be right here with you.”
I bit my tongue; I was never going to be “fine” again.
Mr. Wilson was back in a few minutes. “They’re going to send her to Apex Funeral Home.”
Mrs. Wilson held on to me. “Come on, Junebug, let’s go home.”
Walking out of that room felt like giving up, the weight of sadness so heavy I could barely move. I had no idea how to deal with this thing that seemed to want to beat the life out of me. I had nothing else left to give.
While we rode, I stared out the window, picturing the emptiness of Grandma’s blue eyes, seeing the love she passed to me before the light in them went out. One minute a person was alive and the next they were dead. In my head, I spoke to my granddaddy, “I guess I finally understand.”
Mrs. Wilson said I was staying that night with them and she wouldn’t hear any argument. We dropped her at their house, and continued over to the parsonage. The preacher’s wife answered the door and Mr. Wilson told her why we were there. She invited us in to sit in the parlor. He hurried into the room. “This is awful news about Mrs. Hurley. What happened?” He paid attention and let me talk as long as I wanted. When I was finished, he said, “Your grandma has been one of our most loyal members for a long time, and we’re going to miss her very much. When are you thinking about having the service?”
Mr. Wilson suggested Saturday. The preacher said a prayer, asking the Lord to be with me in this time of grief. I didn’t close my eyes. I’d had all of God’s shit I could take and didn’t need His sympathy. If he said it was “God’s Will,” I might choke him.
By the time we got back to Mr. Wilson’s house, Mrs. Wilson was busy cooking supper. I went around to the porch swing and pushed back and forth, resting my head against the top. I hoped Grandma was at peace. The sense of Granddaddy in the room was something I’d have to think about.
Fancy came around the side of the house, walking slow, like she was hesitant to come near me. The setting sun was to her back, and the light glowed over her face. “Mrs. Wilson told me about your granny. I’m so sorry I don’t know what to do.” She came up the steps, and took a chair near the swing, reaching out to offer her hand. “Momma and Daddy said to tell you they was real sorry, and if there’s anything they can do, just ask. Wish I had went and got my momma when I seen how sick she was.”
“Tell both of them I’m grateful. Grandma told me I knew most things a man needs in order to look after himself. Right now, though, I don’t feel like I know shit. I’ll probably need to call on them some.”
Fancy leaned forward, eyes wide. “Miz Hurley knowed she was dying?”
“She told me some stuff, trying to get me ready in case she did. At the end she started seeing people, talking to them, reaching out like they were in the room.”
Fancy’s hand went to her mouth. “Was you scared?”
“Scared the hell out of me.”
She shook her head. “Old folks say it happens.”
“I know I never want to see it again.”
“Did any of the angels speak? I’ve heard tell of folks hearing them.”
“No.” We sat quiet and held hands until Mr. Wilson yelled around the house for supper.
“Fancy, can I have a hug?” We put our arms around each other and stood that way for a minute.
Her head came to my ear. “You’re going to get through this, Junebug. I’ll see to it.”
CHAPTER 16
I dabbled with the food as long as I could. “That was a really good supper, Mrs. Wilson. I’m going to walk to the house and look after the animals.” Mrs. Wilson was a good person, and I appreciated the way she helped with Grandma. Unlike Mr. Wilson, I never felt she had anything but true kindness in her heart.
She touched my hand. “You come on back before dark so we don’t worry.”
I walked across the clover field and cut through the woods. Seemed every tree branch and bush reached out a hand, like long-dead family spirits offering sympathy. I was flooded with memories, talking with Granddaddy under the woodshed, sitting at the supper table listening to the grown-ups talk and feeling safe in my world. They made the sense of loneliness harder. I stopped to sit on the plank bench at the tobacco barn where Grandma and I had talked about what happened after we died. Her words came back: “Everybody wants a happy ending.” I wondered if she thought her ending was happy.
The house had a lifeless silence, like it was holding its breath waiting for Grandma to come back. The fire in the stove had gone out, and the air was chilly. I sat on Grandma’s bed and lifted her pillow to my face, letting my mind go blank. I could smell her. Against one wall in the room was a black-stained wardrobe with tall doors and a large mirror on the front. It had belonged to her daddy, and she used it for keeping Sunday dresses. On another wall was an old-fashioned picture of Granddaddy’s folks, Grandpa John and his wife, whom everybody called Miss Minnie. The oval glass had a crack, and the image seemed to get darker every year. I pulled the bedsheets together and smoothed the quilt, then clicked on the bedside lamp.
I stopped at the barn, scratched Sally Mule’s ears, and leaned my head against her long nose. “Grandma won’t be coming back, girl. We’re going to have to try to get through this together.” She nibbled at my ear.
On the way back to the Wilsons, I walked backward as far as the curve in the road so I could watch the light in Grandma’s window. I imagined her propped on her pillows, reading a book she’d borrowed from the bookmobile. When the light disappeared, the full weight of how alone I was slammed down.
It seemed I’d been alone most of my life, Momma and Daddy dying, then Granddaddy, now Grandma, even Grady, and all I had left was a stupid shoe box. I stopped and squatted down, trying to let the grief ease off a bit. My heart had been broke so much I wanted to seal it in its own casket, bury it deep enough nobody else could dig it up, and put a marker on its grave that said, “Don’t touch unless you’re tired of living.”
Folks would probably say, “But they left you the farm.” Well, what the hell am I going to do with it? I’m frigging fifteen years old, for God’s sake. Who will I have to talk to about stuff? Who will make sure I don’t do something stupid and burn the place down? If I mess up the tobacco crop and don’t make any money, what will I do about paying the bills? Maybe I should just sell the place and go live in an orphanag
e until I am grown. I got up, brushed myself off, and headed to the Wilsons.
Mrs. Wilson had made up the bed in a spare room. It was clean and smelled fresh, but I couldn’t sleep. In the morning, she cooked a large breakfast, but her effort to be cheerful made me feel worse. She had been family to Grandma, and I regretted not being able to show her more kindness. “I’m going to head back and straighten up in case folks stop by. I’m grateful for all you’ve done.”
At home, I decided to have a look for the money. Rusty hinges on the pack house cellar door squeaked loud. The windowless cellar was clammy and had the strong smell of dirt that hadn’t seen the sun in a lot of years. I had to move flowerpots and sacks of potatoes and onions to get to the barrel. A short shovel sat along the wall. After a few scoops in the loose sand, lids of gallon mason jars showed. All were packed with tens, twenties, fives, and silver dollars. I sat in the grass outside and counted. The total was over five thousand. It must have taken a lot of years, going far back from Granddaddy and Grandma, to save so much money. I put five twenties, a ten, and a five in my pocket and reburied everything else.
For the next two hours I used the old straw broom and a dust rag to clean the house. In Grandma’s black wardrobe, I found the blue dress I’d given her for Christmas. It should make a suitable burying outfit. I held it to my face and thought about her smile on Christmas morning. I couldn’t decide whether to take undergarments, but figured Grandma would never be caught dead without underwear. I caught myself on the “dead” part, but figured she would get a laugh from it. I put everything in the Christmas box she’d saved.
Mr. Wilson came by early afternoon, and we rode to the funeral home. When he rounded the curve leading into the city limits of Apex, I remembered the redbrick building on the corner. The sickly sweet odor inside smelled like flowers had soaked into the furniture and carpet. Church hymns played softly in the background. The sense of death in this place made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Mr. Ashley was a neat-dressed, formal, aloof kind of man. I guessed dealing with dead folks every day didn’t leave much for emotions. He invited Mr. Wilson and me into his office. It had expensive-looking brown leather chairs, deep gray carpet, and pictures of Jesus. The burying business must be pretty good. He told me how sorry he was for my loss and began to ask questions about taking care of Grandma, surprising me when he said she’d already paid for her casket.
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