The Madhatter's Guide To Chocolate

by Rhett DeVane

  “Is that your—”

  “Dinner partner? Yes. Let’s just call him—Mike.” Jake smirked. “Not his real name, of course. That man is so far back in his own custom-made closet, I’m surprised he doesn’t have a shoehorn crammed permanently up his wazoo!”

  I picked up a teetering stack of magazines and plopped down. “I’m surprised you haven’t read him the riot act!”

  He shrugged. “I used to be all up in your face—queer and here, when I was in New York—all full of righteous indignation and anger. I would’ve blown the closet doors clean off the hinges of someone like him.”

  “This is certainly a side of you I haven’t seen. You don’t try to hide anything yourself, but you put up with it out of your—dinner partner?”

  He winced. “I still believe in not hiding—for myself. But, I just feel like each person has a right to decide what floats his, or her, boat. And it’s up to that person whether or not to call a press conference about it. It’s Mike’s own business. Not mine. Not anyone else’s.”

  “It was nice of him to come by and visit you.”

  Jake motioned to a crystal vase filled with a dozen yellow roses, fern, and baby’s breath. “See the flowers he brought the queen?”

  I curtsied. “Your highness, how are you going to deal with it when you leave here and don’t have everyone waiting on you hand and foot?”

  “Piddie and Evelyn have it all planned. I’ll stay with them until I get my walking cast. Piddie is going to cook for me, though. She and Evelyn had it out over that one!”

  “Speaking of spoiled royalty—you’ve single-handedly ruined my cat. Margie went up to feed the animals yesterday, and Shammie was piled up in the middle of your comforter with an open bag of kitty treats!”

  Jake rolled his eyes boyishly. “Uh-Oh…Miss Fluffinella found my stash by the nightstand.”

  I propped my hands on my hips. “So! That’s how you’ve bought her affection.”

  He grinned. “Tuna is a girl’s best friend.”

  I pushed a stack of home design magazines onto the floor and sat down. “Where are the back-up troops from the Hooch?”

  “Down getting Joe some breakfast. They dragged the poor man over here today without a dab of food! From what Piddie was telling me, he has actually enjoyed eating in the hospital cafeteria. Evelyn’s cooking must be pretty dismal.”

  “She means well. Did you see the news this morning?”

  He shook his head. “The nightly drug lord gave me something to help me sleep. I missed the early report. Why?”

  “They found Marshall, Jake. He committed suicide. Bobby came and told me the whole story a little before it made the news.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” Jake looked down. A slight tremor shook his hands. “You going to the funeral?” he asked softly.

  “No, I don’t think I can handle that. It just wouldn’t feel right to me. But, I am going to stop by the wake later on today after I catch up a few loose ends over here.”

  “Please, just—give his family my regards,” he said.

  Joe and Piddie appeared at the door, and I waved them in. “Good timing. I’m just leaving to head on over to Chattahoochee in a bit.”

  “We’ll keep Jake company today.” Piddie said as she studied the flower-infested room. “Lordy! Looks like your shop in here. You’re sproutin’ more flowers by the minute!”

  “Not to mention, the cards,” Evelyn said. “Look at the postmarks. I’ll bet there’s one here from nearly every state!”

  “Bet those pink-lady volunteers just love you, what with havin’ to drag your loot up here!” Piddie said.

  Jake grinned. “Actually, they do!”

  In the early afternoon, I pulled my truck into place in front of Lottie and Thomas Thurgood’s house.

  “Miss Davis! Miss Davis!” a chorus of reporters called as I left my vehicle.

  I held up one hand. “No questions, please! Not today!”

  A police periphery had been established to corral the media. Rich Burns nodded to a Gadsden County police officer to allow me to pass. The living room of the Thurgood’s house was packed with people milling around and talking in low tones. Thomas conversed with an elderly gentleman. He looked up, caught my eye, and excused himself, nodding his appreciation for the man’s condolences.

  “Miss Hattie.” He shook my hand warmly. “It’s so nice of you to stop by.”

  “Jake wanted me to come.” I paused. “I wanted to come.”

  He motioned toward a small study off the main room, and we settled on a small leather couch.

  Thomas was clean-shaven and neatly dressed in a coat and tie. Fatigue showed in the downward droop of his thin shoulders. “How is Jake?”

  “Better, every day. He’s eating well…and we talk a lot about what happened. It’s going to take time.” I smiled slightly. “I left him with Evelyn, Joe, and Piddie. They’re going to watch the Atlanta Braves game together this afternoon.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Mama Jean Thurgood and your Aunt Piddie used to wager on those games when Mama was alive.”

  “Piddie was trying to get Jake to, as well. He told her he wasn’t a gambling man.”

  Thomas studied his massive nicotine-stained hands for a few moments. “My brother Tim called yesterday.”

  “Is he coming home for the funeral?”

  Thomas’s eyes watered. “No. He said he couldn’t face the press. With the whole story out about Marshall and the family troubles, he just couldn’t handle being portrayed as the gay father who deserted his young son. He’s carryin’ a heavy load of guilt, he told me, always will.”

  “You think he might come back after this dies down?” The cloying scent of flowers permeated the small room. I breathed through my mouth to avoid gagging.“I don’t know. I left the door open. I don’t think even Louise would rail against him. She’s not the same woman she was years ago. She’s taken on some of the blame, too.”

  “Is she here? I’d like to speak to her…give her Jake and my condolences.”

  Thomas reached over and held my hand in his. For a moment, I felt like a little girl with her daddy. His large bony hand dwarfed my smaller one.

  “I’ll be sure to tell her for you, Miss Hattie. It will mean a lot. Dr. Kennedy had to give her a mild sedative. She’s had such a bad time of it. She’s so scared she’ll start hittin’ the bottle again. Lottie and I have moved her in here with us—at least for a while. Her friends in AA have been so kind. They’ve been here from the beginnin’. Course, I don’t pry as to which folks are in her group—some of ’em have told me. I don’t know who her sponsor is.”

  “Is your son going to be allowed to attend the funeral?” I asked.

  He dropped his gaze. “They’re still debating that. He may get to come under guard.”

  “Mr. Thurgood, I’m not going to Marshall’s funeral. I just can’t do it right now…so close after Mama’s.”

  Thomas patted my hand. “Of course, Hattie. I know how I felt after losing my mama. Are you heading back to the hospital then?”

  “Probably not until late tomorrow. I want to clean up the shop a little. Jake’ll be exposed to the pictures in the magazines and papers, but I don’t want him to have to actually see the shop that way. I don’t want to wait for the insurance company to send someone in. That could take awhile. Evelyn and I are going to start on it tomorrow. Piddie and Joe will go back over and stay another day with Jake.”

  We stood. Thomas guided me into the living room. “Miss Hattie, let me show you something.” He led me toward a towering arrangement of flowers: bird of paradise, palms, and exotic topical blooms. “This came a little while ago—delivered by a nice florist from Tallahassee.” He removed the small white card that read: With heartfelt sympathy for your family, Jake Witherspoon.

  I looked up to Thomas Thurgood’s weary brown eyes, speechless.

  Early the following morning, I met Evelyn at the shop. Once the police had cleared the crime scene, I was allowed,
as a shop owner, to reenter the building. I stepped carefully over the broken pot shards and display case glass and sighed heavily. What the vandalism hadn’t destroyed, painted, or shattered, the investigators had. Fingerprint dust smudged every surface, and bits of flowers, dead plants, and food from the sweet shop had been crushed underfoot. Since the door to my massage room had been closed at the time of the attack, Jake’s forest mural had been spared.

  Evelyn stood, indignant, with her hands propped on her hips. “Just look at my draperies! Those boys painted all across the windows! They’ll have to be remade!”

  I plopped a bucket of supplies on the floor. “It’ll take us hours to clean up all of this mess. But, I can’t have Jake coming home to face this.” I sighed. “Guess we better get started.”

  Before too long, a rap sounded on the front glass door. “We’re closed!” I called.

  The insistent knocking continued. A crowd of people stood at the door.

  “What…the…” I picked my way across the floor and flipped the latch.

  “Miss Hattie,” Lucille Jackson said, “we’re here to help.”

  One by one, five women and four men from the black community filed through the door carrying buckets, rags, cleaning supplies, brooms, and mops.

  “I…don’t—” I began.

  Thurston Jackson II put up his hand. “We want to help out, now, Miss Hattie. Mr. Jake’s been awful good to all of us. He’s come through many times for our community.

  “Plus, your mama tutored my son. He was failing down at the elementary school a couple of years back. I don’t know how she did it, but she lit a fire under my boy. He reads up a storm, now. All of us want to help you and Mr. Jake. He surely doesn’t need to come home to see this right off!”

  The group scattered into the shop and began to load debris into heavy-duty trash bags. After a half-hour, a second group appeared outside the shop. Six members of my mother’s ladies circle waltzed in carrying wicker baskets filled with sandwiches, brownies, and drinks, as well as buckets of cleaning supplies.

  “Well,” Elvina Houston commented eyeing the roomful of people. “Looks like we’re gonna have ourselves a party!”

  Evelyn whispered in my ear, “Mama’s going to be fit to be tied when she and Joe come back from Tallahassee and find out Elvina’s been up here cleaning,”

  “Maybe, but—she can always take shelter in the fact that she was keeping an important bedside vigil at the hospital,” I said.

  Evelyn’s eyes lit up. “Looka here! It’s that writer friend of Mama’s from New York!” She dropped the cleaning rag and smoothed the wrinkles in her peach-colored linen dress.

  For the first time in my life, I wished I was someone else…anyone else. I’ve never really been known for my incredibly good looks, more the nice personality/good sense of humor type of girl. Even at its coifed and sprayed best, my medium-length sandy brown hair was average. My eyes were just green, not the startling crystal blue of my mother’s or aunt’s. I was neither willowy tall, nor stumpy and short. I wasn’t thin, or heavy. Just average, average, average.

  “Mr. Lewis!” Evelyn gushed. “How nice to see you again!”

  Holston Lewis walked behind the florist counter and extended his hand. “My pleasure, Mrs. Evelyn.”

  Evelyn’s hand fluttered bird-like at the base of her throat. I wanted to thump her back into reality. “My!” she finally said. “Where are my manners? You’ve met Hattie, of course.”

  His dark eyes rested on me. A slow burn started in the pit of my stomach and moved lower.

  Evelyn’s eyes glistened. “And, the rest of these fine folks are our dear friends and neighbors. Are you here to do an interview for your book?”

  He glanced around the room filled with busy people. “Actually, I’m here to help.”

  “Well!” Evelyn said. “Come on, and we’ll find you a bucket and sponge!” She led Holston around the room, introducing him as she went.

  I stood, speechless and stunned—unfamiliar feelings for me. Holston flashed a warm smile over his shoulder in my direction. A heat rush gushed all the way to my big toes. Though I smelled a lavender-haired matchmaking rat, I loved my Aunt Piddie intensely at that moment.

  Before the end of the day, we had cleaned, scrubbed, and touched up the damaged paint. After most of the helpers had left, I painted over the bleached remainder of the dark red dried bloodstain at the back entrance. Even though Jake would have to reorder flowers and restock the sweet shop, the store was sparkling clean and renewed. Before he and Mrs. Lucille left, Thurston Jackson II said a blessing prayer for the “protection and healing of the wounds to the spirit” inside of the shop. The biggest surprise of the day came when Bobby and Leigh stopped by to measure the display cases for replacement glass.

  Sweet Chocolate Treats for the Younguns

  Ingredients: 1 cup brown sugar, 1 cup white sugar, ½ cup milk, 1 tsp vanilla, ½ cup cocoa powder, 3 cups oats, 1 cup shredded coconut, ½ cup chopped walnuts.

  In a saucepan over medium heat, combine brown sugar, white sugar, cocoa powder, and milk. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Pour into bowl. Stir in vanilla, oatmeal, coconut, and walnuts. Cool to room temperature. Shape into 1 ½ inch balls and roll in sugar. Store in airtight container in single layers between waxed paper.

  Make sure that these treats are kept in a cookie jar far above any child’s reach or you won’t have any left for yourself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE HOMECOMING

  By the time the paperwork for Jake’s release from the fourth floor was completed, the steadily building heat of a mid-July north Florida day was sending waves of radiance through the humidity-thick air. Ushered by a throng of his new medical friends, Jake’s wheelchair-led procession of well wishers, bobbing helium balloons, and pink-lady volunteers pushing flower-laden carts extended for several feet.

  “I’m so glad you brought the Lincoln, sister-girl. I can’t imagine riding home in your little pick-up with all these plants and flowers.”

  “The queen in a commoner’s cart? Never!” I helped him maneuver his splinted leg into the passenger seat of Evelyn’s car. “I talked Evelyn and Piddie into letting me come to bring you home. Thought you’d rather have a few minutes of peace and quiet before you’re barraged with people. You can thank me later.”

  “You betcha. No matter what, the ride home will certainly be an improvement over the ride here.” Jake glanced out into the vehicles ebbing and flowing on Centerville Road.

  “I saw that incredible arrangement at Marshall’s wake,” I said as I butted the Lincoln into the flow of lunch hour traffic. “How the heck did you get them delivered so fast? I’d just left you a few hours before.”

  “Piddie,” Jake answered.

  “Piddie?”

  “She called my friend, Jesica, from Blossoms’, and told her the story. By the time she was finished, poor dear Jesica not only agreed to create the arrangement to

  Piddie’s specifications, but to personally deliver it to the wake herself! That woman could talk the fuzz off a peach.”

  “She never ceases to amaze me.”

  We chatted absently while I navigated the sea of cars, SUVs and delivery trucks. After I merged onto the westbound lane of Interstate 10, I noticed I had been talking to myself. Lulled by the smooth hum of the powerful engine, Jake was sound asleep.

  “We home yet?” Jake asked when I slowed forty minutes later to make the sharp turn off State Road 269. He smiled when he saw the rambling old white house atop the hill. “What a welcome sight.”

  A small crowd of press cameramen and reporters stepped aside to allow the Lincoln to pass. I parked as close as possible to the concrete walkway leading to the front door.

  “Just wave and tell them you are doing well,” I instructed. “No comment seems to work pretty well, too.”

  Jake balanced carefully on the crutches and beamed at the gathering. “Thank you all for coming to welcome me home!” A jumble of questions erupted from the crowd.


  Jake held up his hand. “There’s a pot of chicken ’n’ dumplin’s calling my name right behind that door.” He pointed dramatically to the kitchen entrance. “As much as I’d really love to stay and make my Hollywood debut, that’s more important to me right now!”

  Evelyn opened the door. “He’s home!”

  “I got eyes, Evelyn. I can see he’s home.” Piddie said. “Come on in! You must be starvin’.”

  In the true Southern tradition of weddings, funerals, and homecomings, members of the surrounding communities had brought enough food to feed a small army. The table was laden with an array of food: Stephanie’s sweet-potato soufflé topped with rainbow-colored marshmallows, Elvina Houston’s Shepard’s pie, Mandy’s famous tuna with English pea casserole, homegrown tomatoes and bread ’n’ butter pickles from Julie, an oversized pot of freshly picked turnip and mustard greens and creamed sweet corn from the Jacksons, Piddie’s chicken ’n’ dumplin’s and cathead biscuits, and Evelyn’s Heal Your Heart Chakra Frittata.

  Jake clasped his hands. “It’s like Christmas!”

  Joe nodded. “There’s more in the refrigerator. You won’t believe all the food, folks have been bringing out.”

  Piddie added, “The Reverend Ghent and his wife, Sara, brought a congealed ambrosia salad. They’ll come out later on—once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

  Townspeople continued to visit in a constant stream bringing food, drinks, ice, and supplies of paper plates, cups, and napkins. Finally, Evelyn and Joe corralled Piddie into the Lincoln and headed for town. Sensing that all events worthy of news had transpired, the media packed and left as well.

  Bobby, Leigh, Jake, and I surveyed the kitchen. The local women had cleaned the dishes, removed the leftover food to the refrigerator, and made a freshly brewed carafe of decaffeinated coffee.

  Jake raised his hand like a second grader with the right answer. “You know what I want most right now?”

  All three of us jumped up at one time.

  Jake laughed. “Wow! This is great! It’s like having a remote control!” He paused. “I want to go sit by the pond and watch the sun melt into the horizon.”