Tupelo Honey

by Lis Anna-Langston

“Do you know what these policies mean?”

  I shook my head again, still digging.

  “Well,” he sighed. “I’ll help you work all of this out. But first I need to make some arrangement for your grandmother to have a proper burial. Okay?”

  He stood up and walked to the door, carrying both envelopes. “I’ll need these polices. Sometimes I have to help my congregation with things like this. It’s not my favorite part but it does come with the job.”

  The Jesus Job.

  “Okay,” I said, just happy to have someone in the house who knew what they were doing.

  Then he left.

  Randall peeked around the corner with a surly look. “What did he take?”

  “He said it was a policy.”

  “Thief.”

  “What?”

  “All those people pretend to talk to Jesus so they can get everyone’s money and buy new cars.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “He just went through all of Mother’s stuff and stole from us.”

  “You are a piece of work, Randall Johnson Royale. If Jesus Man can buy a new car with those two pieces of paper then let him. What are we supposed to do? Did you know we’re supposed to take care of all of this stuff?”

  Randall looked down at the floor, ignoring me.

  “Did you?”

  Finally, he shook his head.

  “Yeah, well, neither did I. I mean, who did all of this crap when Grand Daddy died?”

  He sighed, loud. “I guess Mother did.”

  “You guess.” I frowned. “Well someone’s got to help us.”

  Then I noticed that Randall wasn’t really looking at me. He was sort of looking over me.

  “Hey,” I snapped my fingers.

  “Yeah?”

  “We need help.”

  “From who?”

  “The Jesus Man.”

  Randall huffed and walked back down the hall. A second later I heard him pick up his car keys. I followed him and stood in his doorway watching him. Then he walked right past me and out to the front door.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled.

  When he didn’t answer I ran into the living room just in time to see him pulling the door open. “Hey,” I said.

  With one hand on the door, he turned, that vacant look filling up his eyes and said, “I'm going to Howard's Funeral Home. I think they may be hiding Mother. I think they kidnap people so you'll think they're dead and give them all your money.”

  What? This nightmare was getting worse.

  Randall walked down the front walk, and for the first time all day I noticed he was wearing a big flannel shirt, boxer shorts, and dress shoes. He clomped his way to the car.

  What happened to his pants?

  What felt like a scream mellowed into a sigh as I watched him fumble with his keys, trying to unlock the door.

  “Wait,” I said, grabbing my pink fuzzy purse, running after him.

  I had to knock on the passenger’s window to get him to unlock the door. He reached over, careful not to make eye contact, and pulled the knob up. I climbed in, a little breathless from the whole ordeal. I wanted to ask him if he was okay but I knew the answer.

  He started the car. It sounded like a wild beast waking up. Without giving it time to warm up, Randall threw it in gear and backed out.

  As we passed by Preston Brown’s house I turned to look. From where I was I could see straight through their living room and into the dining room where Mrs. Brown was on her knees praying. Sweet Jesus, I thought. Say one for me.

  Suddenly I couldn’t remember if we’d unplugged the percolator. “Did you turn the coffee pot off?”

  When he didn’t answer I decided not to ask again.

  In fact, I didn’t really say much of anything until after he’d circled the block around Howard's Funeral Home nine times.

  “What are we doing?”

  Randall’s eyes darted furtively across the sidewalks and front yard. “I think Billy Howard may have taken Mother.”

  “Taken her where?”

  “I don’t know,” he huffed. “If I knew where then I’d just go get her. Maybe the basement."

  I blinked, still wondering how much of a joke this was. “She’s at the morgue, wherever that is.”

  “No,” his hands came down hard on the steering wheel. “They just made it look like she’s dead so they could take her and bring her back here.”

  Okay. He’s not joking. Let’s move to Plan B.

  Our car slowed to a stop at the curb of the funeral home. Yellow flowers bloomed in flowerbeds that lined a nice, tidy walkway to the front door. Randall squeezed and released the steering wheel. Not a good sign.

  “Hey,” I said cheerfully. “Why don’t we go and watch a movie at the movie theater . . . ” My words faded into a quiver as my voice betrayed my insincerity.

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t listening. To my tremendous horror, he slammed the car in park and jumped out. I turned just in time to see him running up the driveway in his boxer shorts, his inner thighs jiggling. Without thinking I rolled the window down as fast as I could.

  “Randall,” I whispered loudly. “What are you doing?”

  He was my last hope in the world. If he went into that funeral home and demanded his mother back then where would I go? The police would take him away. How would I ever be able to take care of myself all alone in that great big house? I leaned farther out the window. “Get back in the car,” I yelled.

  Randall disappeared around the side of the building. Dammit. I climbed out of the car as I saw him run back to the walkway. Sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to his neck and cheeks.

  I ran toward him, screaming, “Stop! You’re scaring me!”

  He didn’t look up. Instead, he ran with a big brick in his hand.

  Oh, god.

  All of a sudden, he turned abruptly and hurled the brick through the huge front window.

  I closed my eyes as tight as I could and screamed.

  The sound of glass shattering confirmed my worst fear. I forced my eyes open. Randall ran for the car. His dress shoes pounded against the grass. I just knew the police were going to hunt us down by his footprints. I turned and ran for the car, breathless.

  We both slammed our doors at the same time. Randall jerked the car into gear and burned rubber.

  I couldn’t stop my body from trembling. “What in the hell did you do that for?”

  His eyes were glued to the road, speeding through the residential streets. “That’ll teach those people,” he said. “Now they know I mean business.”

  My voice quivered. “Teach them what?”

  For the first time during this whole ordeal he looked at me. “Now they’ll know we’re onto them and they'll have to give Mother back.”

  For some reason this admission bothered me more than anything else all day. Neither of us said anything all of the way home

  Chapter 26

  The minister was standing on our front porch when Randall screeched to a stop at the curb. Since I’d spent the entire car ride waiting for a stream of cop cars to pull us over, I was relieved to throw open my door and get out.

  The minister walked down the front steps with an envelope in his hand. “I was going to leave this for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s all of the arrangements. A car will be here to pick you up the day after tomorrow. Okay?”

  I took the envelope and opened it. Inside there was a copy of her insurance, directions to the funeral home, business cards that read Howard's Funeral Home.

  It was horrible.

  I started crying all over again.

  Off in the distance I heard sirens. Randall heard them too. I saw his head rise up from the steering wheel where it had been resting since I jumped out of the car.

  The minister’s voice interrupted my thought. “Did you hear me?”

  “Huh? No . . . ”

  “Do you have anyone you need to invite?”

 
; "Preston Brown and his mother,” I said, my eyes glued to Randall who was furtively glancing around like a jailbird in waiting.

  “Mrs. Brown was the one who called me about your grandmother, so I know she’ll be there. Your grandmother has some friends at church who will want to come. Is it okay if I invite them?”

  The sirens grew louder. “Sure,” I said, looking to see if they were near our street.

  Randall started the car. The engine rumbled and growled. He gunned the accelerator, threw it in gear and burned rubber outta there. Crap.

  The minister watched the car slam on the brakes at the end of the street, skid and fishtail around the corner. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s having a hard time,” I sighed.

  “Looks like it. Well, it is to be expected. He was very close to his mother.”

  The sirens blasted their shrill call closer and closer.

  “Do you know where you uncle is going?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I had no idea.

  The sirens passed.

  The minister knelt down in front of me. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  I could walk down to Preston Brown’s house but I couldn’t bear the thought of his mother feeling sorry for me, so I said, “No.”

  His eyes drifted across our yard. I followed with my own. My eyes scanned our unmowed grass, the rusted porch rail, the chipped paint on the steps, the faded colors on the front of the house, the old swing that creaked and sagged.

  Home sweet home.

  He took my hand, standing up. “Why don’t you come back to my house? We’ll leave a note for your uncle.”

  Fine with me. I ran into the house, grabbed my pink fuzzy purse, and ran back out.

  He looked at me, puzzled. “Don’t you have any clothes?”

  I hesitated. “They’re all dirty.” I hadn’t wanted to mention it, but it was true. All of the clothes I’d brought over were in and around the hamper.

  “What are you going to wear to your grandmother’s funeral?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess what I have on.”

  His jaw tightened. “That won’t do. Show me where your clothes are.”

  I couldn’t imagine why anyone wanted to see my dirty clothes, but I opened the door and invited him in. As we walked through the living room, I noticed I hadn’t kept to my schedule very well. It was even worse in the kitchen. Dirty dishes everywhere. I thought Randall had been washing up after every meal. The minister glanced down at a pile of crusty pots on the floor.

  “Looks like my clothes aren’t the only thing dirty around here.” It sounded funny to me, but he didn’t laugh.

  We climbed the stairs. I pointed to the hamper overflowing with dirty clothes. He picked it up, carried it downstairs, and put it in the trunk. I looked around to see if Randall had parked and was hiding. He wasn’t. At least, not that I could see.

  Once we were driving the minister asked, “Have you eaten?”

  I had to think about the question. “This morning.”

  “Would you like to eat?”

  I had to think about this question as well, but then the answer washed over me like a warm sunny day. “I’ll have some hot soup,” I said.

  As it turned out, the Jesus Man liked soup, too. His wife was nice and smelled like honeysuckle flowers. She made us tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner. The Jesus Man was nice, and we all had blueberry pie for dessert. Their house was so nice and quiet. Every so often the air conditioner would click on. A cool burst of air blew out across my knees. The minister chewed thoughtfully, and every time he caught me staring at him he smiled. I wondered if he was thinking about God.

  After dinner we all adjourned to the living room to listen to music. The soft melodies made my eyes roll back in my head. The temperature in the room was nice and cool. My stomach was full of homemade soup and pie. I heard people singing about the salvation of Jesus, and my entire body felt numb and limp.

  Chapter 27

  I woke the next morning in the guest bedroom. It took me a minute to remember where I was. A calm silence filled up the space. Birds chirped in trees outside my window. A pile of freshly washed and folded clothes sat on the dresser. I sat up to throw my legs over the side of the bed but the sheets were so soft. Oh my god. My toes brushed against the cool softness. The feather pillow pulled me back down and my head flopped into its dreamy fluff. In seconds I was asleep again.

  The next time I woke the minister’s wife was standing next to me holding a tray of food. Breakfast in bed. Hotel Jesus was turning out to be quite an experience.

  “Tupelo Honey,” she said softly. “It’s time to wake up.”

  I pulled myself up on my elbows. “I need to call my uncle.”

  “I’ll bring you the cordless phone.”

  She left the room and returned several seconds later, saying, “We’ll be leaving in a few hours.” Pointing at the bathroom, she added, “You’ll find everything you need in there, but if there’s something else, then give a holler.”

  Once she closed my door I pressed the on button and dialed. Ring. Ring. Ring. Yawn. What was Randall doing? Ring. Ring. I exhaled. Then I practiced using my Jedi mind power to get him to pick up. I looked at the clock. It was 10:38 am. Five minutes later I hung up. I had to pee.

  The bathroom had scented soaps shaped like roses, and towels with letters sewn across the front. Next to the sink a neat pile with a fresh towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and lotions, and one washcloth had been left for me.

  I looked in the mirror. My hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days. It was greasy and stringy. I ran my fingers through it, hoping to fluff it up. It kind of worked, but not really. My eyes looked droopy and tired. Freckles stood out on my nose. I stretched my neck to catch a glimpse of my shoulder. I pulled my sleeve up to get a glimpse of the bruise on my shoulder from Randall accidentally knocking me into the wall. It was a yellow, purple, black blob on the top of my arm. I sighed. My teeth felt furry. I could see my reflection only from my shoulders up so I climbed on the toilet seat. I took myself in from all angles and scowled. My thighs were still fat.

  I brought the cordless phone into the bathroom and called Randall no less than ten times while I was getting ready. The shower made me feel better. I wrapped a big fluffy towel over my shoulders and went out into my room to pick out some clothes. I chose my favorite orange pants and a purple long-sleeved shirt with butterflies all over it. I sighed. It would be nice to be a butterfly. I could fly anywhere and hang out on flowers and live in trees. I wouldn’t have to talk to people or live with anyone. I could just be a butterfly.

  Someone knocked on my door.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s almost time to leave,” the minister said.

  “Okay.”

  I put on my clothes, snarfed down half the oatmeal on my tray, downed a glass of OJ, and left.

  The orange juice didn’t agree with me. My stomach burned and rumbled down the long, tree-lined country roads. Acid rose up in the back of my throat, and I kept having to swallow it back down. The sound of the tires relaxed me. I closed my eyes and imagined Nash was driving. Trees whooshed past. The only sound from the front of the car was that of the minister and his wife breathing. I opened my eyes. The sky was a cool blue, but it smelled like rain. I closed my eyes and tried to remember my fractions to keep my mind occupied.

  After a while I felt the car slow down, then turn. I opened my eyes. We wound up a long road that curved around a perfectly still lake. Big stone tombstones sprouted from the earth. I swallowed. It was the first time in my life I’d ever been to a cemetery. Ever. No one had ever taken me to Grand Daddy’s grave. In fact, no one had ever mentioned going to visit him. It was so weird. It was like he just disappeared and left all of his stuff behind.

  The minister turned around in his seat to look at me. “Normally you’d have a viewing and then the funeral service, but since so much time has passed I just arra
nged for the service.”

  I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. “Okay.”

  As we approached the big hole in the ground I craned my neck to look out the window. I didn’t see Randall’s car anywhere. My eyes searched row after row of cars. I couldn’t believe him. How was I supposed to get through all of this by myself?

  People I didn’t know got out of their cars and walked toward a tent. I supposed that since I didn’t know them they wouldn’t know me. Then I could be left alone. The minister’s wife helped me out of the car and held my hand.

  I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, but the reality was awful. As soon as we walked across the grass, complete strangers started telling me how sorry they were. After a few seconds, the minister asked me if I wanted to go see my grandmother's coffin. Of course I said yes. Except I meant that I wanted to see my real grandmother, alive and well. Instead I was ushered up to a coffin with a church photo of her on top. Who were all of these people?

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder but I just kept walking toward the coffin. It wasn’t true. This wasn’t happening. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go and eat some soup and get a plan together for the rest of my life. I wanted to go to the library and the zoo and not have to cry anymore.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see the minister. “It’s okay if you’re afraid. The Lord will stand by you.”

  “Where’s my uncle?”

  The minister glanced all around the wide, open space of the cemetery where all of those dead people were sleeping. “I don’t know.”

  “I want to wait in the car.”

  “But . . . ”

  “I want to wait in the car,” I said, louder.

  After they buried the coffin and the photo of Marmalade, I got to go home. I told the Jesus Man that I had to tie up some loose ends. When I got out of the car he told me that I’d be getting some visitors later in the afternoon.

  Randall was sitting in his room eating a piece of fried chicken when I walked in carrying my clean clothes.

  “You missed her funeral,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “You didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  “Nope.”