“I can’t believe you.”
He shook his head. “Those funeral home people got Mother in the basement.”
“Oh, stop with all of that crap.”
Randall chewed thoughtfully. “I bought you a chicken box. It’s on the table.”
Chapter 28
Late in the afternoon someone knocked on our front door. Randall and I had been in the kitchen for half an hour trying to make dinner. As I approached the front door I saw there were two women. Neither of whom I recognized.
“Yes?”
“Are you Tupelo Honey Royale?”
I nodded, hesitant to reveal any information.
One woman was wearing a skirt with plump legs poking out at the bottom. The other woman had frosted hair and was wearing orange lipstick.
“Who are you?” Randall asked from the hallway behind me.
Orange Lipstick extended a hand. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Judy Dennis. We’re from the Department of Social Services.”
Crap.
I sighed, stepping aside, wondering how I was ever going to get out of this. I directed Plump Legs and Lipstick Lady to the sofa. “I’ll get some refreshments.”
I pushed Randall down the hallway. In the kitchen I jerked open the freezer, trying to think of the best story to tell. “Get some soda,” I said.
Back in the living room, Plump Legs sipped her fizzing soda, then said, “Tupelo Honey, your Grandmother’s minister called to tell us that your grandmother passed away. Since she was listed as your temporary guardian we came to make arrangements for you”
Arrangements are creepy.
“I’m not alone. Right this minute, Randall is here.”
Randall produced a weak smile.
“Yes he is.” Plump Legs sighed like she was tired.
Her sidekick jumped in. “Tupelo Honey, your grandmother has known for some time that she was going to pass away. She had a last will and testament in the front pocket of her housedress. The emts found it and turned it over.”
“What do you mean she knew?”
“She was diagnosed with cancer eight months ago.”
Randall and I exchanged looks. That’s when the minister had started coming around and all of the open pleas to Jesus had begun.
Plump Legs went on, “She stated that you had not seen or heard from your mother in more than six months. She stipulated that if anything ever happened to her then you were to go and live with your father. Do you know where he is?”
“Do you have the will?” I asked.
She pulled several folded sheets of paper out of her purse, handing them to me. “I brought a copy.”
My heart raced as I flipped through the pages. Finally, I found the paragraph. My eyes scanned the words until I saw Nash’s name. He wasn’t my father. I had never met my father in my life.
“Do you know where he is?” Orange Lipstick asked.
“He’s away on business,” I offered up quickly.
“Is that the truth?”
“Sort of.”
Plump Legs sighed. “Tupelo Honey, you’re going to have to come with us until we find him.”
Chapter 29
It wasn’t so bad.
It wasn’t great, either.
I went to live in a big two-story house where a bunch of other kids who didn’t have anywhere to go went to live. There was a girl my age named Tyra who was waiting to go live with her grandmother in New York. The oldest girl was fifteen and climbed out on the roof to smoke cigarettes.
We made popcorn balls and watched movies. We went on an outing to the zoo. It was the first time I’d ever been without Randall. It made me sad to see the monkeys and the polar bears. I wanted to go home and make coffee and listen to radio programs. When we got back that night I called Randall. He didn’t answer. I called again. Still no answer. He’d never been so good about answering the phone, but when he didn’t pick up the third time I called Preston Brown.
“I don’t think he lives there anymore,” Preston said.
“What?”
“Well, some people came by and took him and a lot of his stuff. Then they closed all of the curtains and locked up the place. I sat out on the sidewalk watching.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, weird. Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s not so bad here. It’s really quiet.”
“Tupelo Honey . . . ”
“Yeah?”
I could hear him breathing. Then, he said, “It’s not as much fun with you gone.”
I sighed. “I know. I miss you, too. Hey. What do you do for all of those hours you’re at church?”
“Talk to God, mostly.”
“Do you think he listens?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess it just seems like a long time and how can he hear with everyone talking at once?”
“Mom says he hears all of our prayers.”
“Maybe he records them and listens later.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Listen, can you put in a good word for me with the Holy Ghost?”
“You got it.”
I hung up the phone and stood up from the wooden chair in the hall. I hitched up my gumption and walked downstairs. The evening-shift person’s name was Paul. I stood in the doorway and knocked on the wall.
He glanced my way and smiled. “Hey, kiddo. Come on in. What’s on your mind?”
“My uncle didn’t answer the phone. He doesn’t really go anywhere by himself. I think I should go over and check on him.”
Paul’s brow twisted into a knot. “Tupelo Honey, come over here and sit down.”
He gestured to a big stuffed chair but I wasn’t interested. “I’ll stand. I really just want to go over and make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s okay.”
“How do you know?”
“Judy Dennis called today. There have been some changes to your uncle’s case.”
“He doesn’t have a case.”
“Yes, he does.” Paul spun around in his chair and pulled open a file cabinet. “She faxed over some information for us to put in your file.”
“My file?” I felt my knees weaken. My entire life had been reduced to a file.
He pulled out a file folder I could now see had my name on it. My hands started to shake.
Paul sighed, opening my folder. “All of the earth-shattering events seem to happen on my shift.” He flipped through several pages, then stopped and looked up at me. “It seems they have taken your uncle to live at a home where he can be monitored.”
“He has a home.”
"Yes, well . . . I’m sure he does. But now he has a new home.”
“Where?”
Paul leaned forward, handing me a piece of paper with an address and telephone number on it.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a group home. It’s kind of like this place except he lives there permanently.”
“What about my grandmother’s house?”
“Judy said they are going to sell it and give the money to you and Randall for your care.”
“But he doesn’t want any money. He wants his house.”
“I understand, but I don’t think your uncle can live by himself . . . ”
I heard my hand hit the wall before I felt it. Tears swelled in my eyes. This made me so mad. “No,” I screamed. “That’s our house. That’s where we live . . . ”
“Tupelo Honey,” Paul said gently. “Your uncle hurt himself pretty badly and had to go to the emergency room.”
My heart sunk to my knees.
He continued, “The doctor ordered an evaluation. Your uncle can’t live by himself.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I want to see him.”
“Sure you do,” he nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll arrange for someone to take you over tomorrow.”
I was too stunned to move. I just stood there.
“It’s okay,” he said, wheeling his chair over to lay a hand on my shoulder. “My shift do
esn’t end for another half hour. I’ll call the group home right now and make arrangements.”
Arrangements sucked.
I nodded silently, then turned and walked back upstairs.
How could they just make us go somewhere else?
I walked upstairs to my bed and sat down. My feet hurt. My shoes were too small, and I had to curl my toes under to make them fit. I looked down at the worn leather, creased and scuffed at the toes. They had been brown once and matched my brown and orange checked bell-bottoms and poncho. Now, they just looked old. It was the way I felt. Sometimes I was afraid to take these shoes off. Nash had bought me these shoes. I untied the laces and pulled both shoes off. My toes cramped and throbbed as I tried to stretch them out. I glanced around the room. I was all alone. Everyone was downstairs watching a movie. All of the twin beds in the room were neatly made. Each bed had a small table or nightstand next to it. Two framed prints of purple flowers hung on the wall. The flowers were irises. I knew that because irises and Lily of the Valley were my Marmalade’s favorite flowers. Underneath the prints a copy of the house rules were taped to the wall.
Rule Number One—Smoking, drugs and alcohol are strictly prohibited on these premises. Anyone caught with these substances will immediately be reported to the Authorities.
My mother wouldn’t have lasted 30 seconds.
Rule Number Two—Food and food items are allowed only in designated areas.
I massaged my feet, wondering if Randall’s new home had rules taped to the wall. Randall hated rules.
I pulled my legs up and slipped under the blankets. My mind was filled with questions. Who locked our house up? There must be some way for Randall and me to be able to go home and live. Maybe if we didn’t turn the lights on at night no one would notice that we moved back in. We could keep the blinds closed. My eyelids felt heavy. We could make it work. Oh, I know . . . maybe we could live in the garage until this whole thing blew over. Tomorrow I was going to see Randall and we would hatch a plan.
Chapter 30
At six am Aliene knocked on the door. “Good morning, ladies. Time to wake up.”
Aliene was nice and bright in the mornings, and I liked the sound of her voice. At that time of day I moved pretty slow. I gathered up my pile of clean clothes and went to take a shower. The Fresh Mint soap and hot water spraying down on my face was nice and invigorating. I breathed in the moist air and said aloud, “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.” It felt good. I washed my face and hair and stayed in the steamy cavern until someone knocked on the door.
After I dried off I pulled my pants on. The button was already loose. I kept pulling and pulling, trying to get them buttoned, but they didn’t fit. Finally I sucked my stomach in as tight as it would go and pulled. A-ha. I did it. I leaned over to pick up my shirt off of the chair and the button popped off. Crap.
Oh, whatever. I pulled my shirt down, stretching it to cover my missing button.
The company van that drove everyone to school was idling in the driveway. Four people were on staff at all times. One of them was named John Hester. He was young and wore geeky clothes but he was nice. He walked out the back door of the house carrying a folder, spotted me and said, “Come on, Tupelo Honey. We’re going in my car.”
He unlocked my door and I climbed in. Once he’d logged his mileage and backed out of the parking space we were on our way. It was nice not having to ride in the van. Sometimes when I had to ride with all of those people it reminded me that I didn’t have a place to call my own anymore. My stomach growled.
Mr. Hester looked over. “Do you want to stop for breakfast?”
“No. I just kind of want to get there. Maybe later.”
“Okay. We’ll eat on the way back.”
At every traffic light or approaching street I wondered if we were going to turn. I’d never been to this part of town before. Finally, Mr. Hester pulled his car to a stop at the curb in front of a big, brown three-story house.
“This is it,” he said. “102 Oakdale.”
The lights were on inside the house. I could see people walking around. My eyes searched from window to window through the lit rooms but I didn’t see Randall. I kind of thought he’d be sitting on the front porch with his suitcase packed. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Absolutely,” he said cheerfully, getting out of the car. “Come on.”
Tentatively, I put my hands on the door handle. I was afraid to get out. What if this was a trick? But why would it be? My stomach growled again.
Mr. Hester walked around and opened my door for me. I noticed a smiley-face sticker on his dashboard.
He leaned his head into the car. “Hey. What is it?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. I bet your uncle is waiting on you.”
He obviously didn’t know Randall. I bet Randall was upstairs coming up with a plan to bust out of this joint.
A woman in a plain white uniform answered the door. “Yes?”
Mr. Hester motioned toward me. “We’re here to visit her uncle.”
I felt the woman’s eyes staring at me. “Yes,” she said. “He’s outside.”
We followed her through a large room with a television against the wall. Two men paced back and forth on a threadbare carpet, talking to themselves. Apparently the Voices were pretty popular here. The three of us walked through a hall, a kitchen, a laundry room and then out a back door to a covered patio. Randall was sitting with his back to us, listening to a portable radio pressed to his ear.
“Mr. Royale?” The woman said. A second later, when he didn’t look up, she repeated, “Mr. Royale. Your niece has come to see you.”
I’d never heard anyone call Randall “Mr. Royale” in my life.
I stepped forward. “Hey.”
Now, he turned to look at us. “Hey.” His fingers fumbled with the switch to turn his radio off.
Mr. Hester laid his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll wait for you out front.”
“Okay,” I said, walking toward Randall’s table.
The woman regarded Randall carefully. “I’ll hold your radio if you like.”
He clutched it to his chest. She looked like she wasn’t in the mood to argue and left.
We were alone.
Inside the house someone let out a long, anguished wail. I pulled an empty chair out and sat down quickly. We had a lot of work to do if we were going to come up with a plan.
“So what happened after I left?”
Randall stared off across the backyard. It was pretty bare. “Well,” he started, then stopped. “I was making a sandwich and I couldn’t stop crying. Then I guess I had an accident . . . ” His words trailed off.
I noticed a bandage poking out from under his shirtsleeve.
“They had Mother and I thought if I cut my arm then maybe they'd bring her back. I was all by myself. Nobody called to tell me where they’d taken you. I was so tired. Then I realized I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop.”
“So, did you call an ambulance?”
“No. I called a taxi.”
“Why did you call a taxi if you couldn’t get your arm to stop bleeding?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Mother always called taxis.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense to me, so I leaned forward and said, “So, let’s get a plan and get outta this joint.”
Randall shifted uncomfortably.
“So what do you say?”
Purposely avoiding my question, he asked, “What’s it like where you are? Do they treat you okay?”
I glanced around the yard, happy to be able to talk to someone I knew for a change. “It’s kind of like this place, I guess. It’s a house and they let us order pizza and watch movies on the vcr.”
Lights of recognition flashed in his eyes. “We order pizza too. Did you like it?”
“The pizza? Yeah, it was okay. A little greasy.”
“I picked all of the onions off but I ate three piec
es.”
“Alright, enough about pizza. Do you think they’ll let us go back and live at our house?”
Randall’s eyes dropped to the table.
“Or we could get an apartment,” I blabbered on. “Do you know how to rent an apartment?”
“The thing is, Tupelo Honey . . . ”
“Or maybe we could just buy another house. Do you think someone would sell us a house?”
“Maybe, but . . . ”
“Maybe what?” I interrupted. “You’re not being very helpful.”
The gray sky rumbled over the treetops. The shadowed light felt low and thick.
Randall cleared his throat and started again. “The thing is . . . well, I don’t really want to leave here right now.”
“What?”
“Maybe if I could just stay for a little while . . . ”
My mouth fell open. “Until when?”
Tears pressed against the back of my eyelids. What a crappy day. “What did I do?” I croaked.
“Oh, no. It’s not you.” He reached for my arm. “They gave me some pills and when I take them I can’t hear the voices no more.”
Tears trickled down my cheeks. “What kind of pills?”
He looked up into the sunless sky. “I don’t reckon I know what they are. I just know what they do. The doctor made me take a lot of tests. Then I went to his office and he talked to me and gave me some pills.”
Someone inside the group home let out a terrible scream.
I’ll second that.
Randall leaned forward. “I ain’t never gone so long without the voices bothering me.”
It was true. Randall had heard them nearly all of his adult life. A cold chill seized me. Moochi had been pretty scarce lately. That worried me.
It must have been the medication because Randall was pretty chatty. “And then I can just sit and listen to my radio programs without them pestering me all day.”
Two men walked out the back door. They looked like they lived there, but after they lit cigarettes and started making notes in a logbook I revised my assumption. It didn’t matter. They were only a distraction.
“So what are you saying,” I demanded.
“Well,” he started hesitantly, “I’m not sure.”
“Why can’t we just leave,” I pleaded in a breathy whisper.
Tupelo Honey Page 17
