Finding Someplace

by Denise Lewis Patrick

  It was nearly six o’clock in the evening when Reesie stepped out of the salon with beautiful bouncing hair. As humid as it was, the air outside was a welcome change from the heavy perfume of hair oils and sprays floating inside the salon.

  She texted Ayanna: WRU? and noticed a steady stream of traffic on the street. She’d never seen so many people from the neighborhood leaving when a storm was headed to town.

  When she turned onto her block, she saw the Kerrys’ van pulled crazily across their front yard next door, its back wide open. They were all out there loudly discussing what they should or shouldn’t take, but they didn’t speak to Reesie or even notice her. For a moment she wondered what would happen if everybody left.

  She fumbled at her front door lock.

  Inside her house the familiar smell of sweet cut roses mingling with the faint whiff of onions relaxed her the way it always did. As she tossed her keys onto a table, she saw that the red light of the answering machine was strobing. She turned it on, dropped into her favorite chair, and ran her hand around the cushion for the TV remote while she listened.

  “Reesie!” The first message was from her parraine. “Hey, it’s Unc. Lloyd is all over my case ’bout takin’ you back tomorrow. What time we havin’ this birthday thing? ’Cause the Saints are playin’!” Click.

  Reesie laughed. She guessed that Tee Charmaine had cut him off. But Parraine didn’t sound worried or hurried. She turned on the TV. The meteorologist was waving frantically as a giant orange-and-white swirl rolled toward the boot-shaped state of Louisiana on her map. Reesie muted the sound while the next message played.

  “Reesie! It’s Ayanna. I tried to get you on your cell. We’re on the road! Mama decided to drive all the way over to her cousin Pam in Atlanta. Remember you met her and her son, Dante, last summer? Let me give you their number. It’s—” Her voice was drowned out by a long loud beep. Reesie sat at the edge of the chair. Ayanna’s voice came back.

  “Dang! Oh! Yes, Mama, I know it’s two steps away from cussing. I’m sorry. Where’s the number? Here, Reesie. It’s 404-555-1083. Put it in your contact list right now, okay? My battery’s dying. Gotta go.”

  Ayanna’s message had barely ended when the landline rang, and the suddenness made Reesie jump. She leaned to look at the caller ID. It was her mother.

  “Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

  “Reesie! We’re getting ready to move some of the patients out of the hospital, so—”

  “What?” Reesie shouted, and then dropped her voice. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re evacuating patients. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, so I’m overruling your daddy and canceling the party. I’m sorry, honey. But I want you to go to Pete’s first thing in the morning. I’ve tried to reach him, but the line is constantly busy. You text him and ask him to come early. Let me know when you speak to him, all right?”

  “Okay.” Reesie shivered a little.

  “Good, good. I’ll call again as soon as I can,” her mother said. “Love you.” Then she hung up.

  “Love you too,” Reesie said to the silence. She picked up her phone and wandered into her bedroom, trying to make sense of all the calls and conversations. Absentmindedly, she turned on the TV there, too, forgetting the house rule about saving electricity. She plopped onto her bed.

  Somebody was talking about Katrina on every channel she scrolled past: either people were running away from her, or they were nailing plywood over their windows and doors, daring her to keep out. Reesie dialed Parraine’s number and was surprised when he picked up right away.

  “Hey, girl, why’ve you been burnin’ up your phone minutes trying to call me?” he asked.

  Reesie struggled to keep her answer calm and casual. “Change of plans for tomorrow. Mama’s stuck at work. She says can you come by for me in the morning?”

  “Yeah, for sure,” he said. “But what about your birthday?”

  She sighed, glancing at her new skirt hanging on the closet door. “I’ll celebrate next weekend, I guess.”

  “We’ll be down there ’round noon. Tell your mama.”

  “Okay, Parraine. Bye.” Reesie sent her mother a text: GOT UNC.

  Then all of her energy drained away. She curled up on her bed and picked up her remote, flicking until she found one of her old favorite cartoon channels. She zoned out, watching one show, then another and another—anything to keep herself from wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter Six

  AUGUST 28, 8:30 AM

  The mayor of New Orleans was whispering in Reesie’s ear. She sat up suddenly. No, he wasn’t—she’d left the TV on all night. Light was peeking through her blinds, and Mayor Ray Nagin was on the television screen.

  “This is a threat that we’ve never faced before,” he was saying. The people surrounding him on the screen were grim-faced, and even the governor of Louisiana was wide-eyed.

  “The first choice is for every citizen to figure out a way to leave the city.”

  “Dang!” Reesie blurted aloud, but she was sort of relieved that she already had her own plans made. She squinted at the time on her clock. She hopped up and changed her slept-in clothes for jeans and the yellow baby-doll shirt she’d made last summer. Where was that Army backpack that Parraine had given her? She could jam lots more stuff in it. She lay across her bed to reach between it and the wall. Dust bunnies hopped up into her nose, and she sneezed just as her fingers grasped the webbed strap.

  She tripped over clothes as she grabbed random items. First her black-and-green-striped notebook from the bedside table, along with her favorite fine-tipped marker. Keeping it moving, she made a quick pass through the bathroom, stuffing her Quick Sheen hair oil, soft brush, wrap pins, and lip gloss into the backpack. The lip gloss made her think of her toothbrush, which she hurriedly wrapped in a paper towel.

  The landline started ringing.

  Reesie ran into the living room, but the call had already gone to the answering machine. It was Miss Martine. Reesie had completely forgotten that she was supposed to pick up her cake—and that she’d promised herself yesterday she would help Miss M in her garden.

  “Teresa? Are you there? What about your cake?”

  Miss Martine had never sounded old like that before. She stood as straight as a six-foot-tall post, drove her own Cadillac, and had even mowed her own grass until Daddy made Junior start doing it. But listening to her now, Reesie realized she must be up there in age. Ma Maw’s face flashed in Reesie’s mind. Miss Martine was at least as old as her grandmother would’ve been.

  She snatched the receiver up. “Yes, ma’am! I’m coming, and I can help you get your yard things inside!” she heard herself saying. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  She ran back through the house, shutting off light switches, lowering the thermostat on the air conditioner. She gave the contents of her backpack one last check.

  Somebody was knocking on the front door. “Who in the world could that be?” she wondered aloud, jerking the door open impatiently.

  “Orlando?” Reesie shouted, then wished she hadn’t. But Orlando didn’t seem to notice that, or the drizzle that started falling. He shifted from one foot to the other with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts. She could tell something was wrong.

  “I thought you’d be in Texas by now!”

  “We can’t find Dré. I had to talk Uncle Jimmy down from leaving his butt behind. Girl, Jimmy is heated! Have you seen André?” Orlando’s words ran together fast, the way they always did when he was upset.

  Reesie shook her head. “No.” Dré had always been loveable, but always trouble. Still, he and Orlando were close brothers.

  “Dang!” Orlando ducked his head. “Sorry, Peanut Butter … Your daddy isn’t here, is he?” A flicker of a smile played on his face, but it quickly disappeared. “It’s just that Jimmy says he’s leaving in thirty minutes, Dré or no. Now that Nagin put out that mandatory evacuation order, all the highways are one-way ou
tta here.”

  “For real?” Reesie’s heart pounded.

  “Yeah. You could come with us, Reesie!” Orlando said, looking hopeful. But she shook her head, telling herself there was no need to panic yet.

  “No, thanks. Parraine is coming to get me.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well…” He moved to leave, his hands still in his pockets. But then he turned back quickly and kissed her right on her mouth.

  Reesie went numb from her brain down. She just froze, feeling Orlando’s warm, wet lips pressed against hers. She felt like they stood there for thirty minutes!

  But in thirty seconds, Orlando was easing away.

  “Bye,” Reesie whispered.

  “Don’t say ‘bye,’ say ‘later,’ Peanut Butter,” he called without looking back. He sprinted off. Reesie had to remember to breathe.

  “Later!” she croaked after him. “Hope you find Dré!” Her head was spinning—and somebody was singing. For a minute she forgot the wide open door and the sharp raindrops pelting in. Then the ringtone of her cell finally penetrated her brain.

  “Reesie!”

  “Parraine!”

  “The state troopers are sayin’ the highway is closed southbound. They’re not lettin’ folks on. I’m gonna try a back way, but traffic is ridiculous. Keep your phone on.…”

  Reesie snapped fully back to reality sometime after the word highway.

  “Parraine, do you have room for somebody else?”

  “Girl! Who?”

  “Miss Martine, the lady who lives—”

  “The coconut cake lady? If she brings one of those cakes, I got room!”

  “Thanks! Thanks! Can you pick us up by her house? I’ll lock everything over here.”

  “All right. Wait—Charmaine is tryin’ to take the phone.…” In a second her aunt was speaking.

  “Reesie? Don’t try to bring everything you own, hear? Only the really important things.”

  “Okay. Bye!” Reesie was about to swing her backpack onto her shoulders when she thought about what Tee Charmaine had said. She remembered that her mother kept a brown envelope on her closet shelf marked IMPORTANT PAPERS. Reesie knew that birth certificates and stuff to do with their house were in it.

  She immediately went into her parents’ room. For a minute she hesitated—it felt weird going into their private space without permission. But what if the hurricane was really bad? What if they needed something in that envelope? She opened the closet door and found it easily. She carefully slid the envelope into her backpack, picked up her house keys, and stopped at the mirror by the door.

  “I can’t believe it took a hurricane for Orlando to kiss me,” she told her mirror self.

  She replayed the moment inside her head, smiling, and then her eyes focused on the scattered arrangement of pictures on the hall table. In the middle was Ma Maw, smiling and hugging Daddy when he’d gotten some promotion or another. Reesie impulsively picked it up, frame and all, and took a minute to zip it into her backpack. It was a nice old memory to go along with this sweet new one.

  “I’ll be back,” she said to the memory-filled room reflected in the mirror. “Sooner than you think!” Then she grabbed one of Junior’s caps off the hat rack by the door and slammed out.

  Chapter Seven

  The drizzle was more annoying than it was wet, and she brushed it away from her face, wishing that the weather would make up its mind. She rapped hard on Miss Martine’s screen door before she found the bell—on the opposite side from where it was supposed to be. Loud old-fashioned chimes sounded somewhere inside. The door opened instantly, as if Miss Martine had been waiting right behind it.

  “Here I am!” Reesie said a little too loudly. She suddenly felt nervous.

  “Well, good. I’m not deaf, you know!” Miss Martine snapped, unlatching the screen. She seemed like her usual bossy, barking self again. Reesie relaxed. At least one thing was normal today.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I can only stay till my parraine comes to pick me up. He said you can come to Baton Rouge with us, and—”

  Miss Martine sniffed. “I heard that Nagin on the radio. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just trying to clear up outside. And if you can help me move a few of my precious things in here away from the windows, in case they blow in, I’d appreciate it. Last year a plain old thunderstorm took the kitchen window right out!”

  “Sure, I can do that.” Reesie smiled.

  “Well, step on in and rest your bag on the sofa.”

  A freshly baked cake smell tickled her nose; a crackly radio voice was droning on from somewhere in the back. She’d never been into Miss Martine’s house before. When you ordered a cake, she met you at the door with it. Sometimes she chatted from her lawn chair on the stoop, or from the garden, like she’d done yesterday. Reesie had always been kind of curious to see inside.

  But Miss Martine shoved an old pair of work gloves at her. “Now, I need to bring in my peppers and begonias, and all the potted plants first,” she said.

  Reesie nodded. She slipped her backpack off, tucking her ponytail up and tugging the cap more tightly onto her head. She really didn’t like yard work, but that wasn’t the point, was it? She followed Miss Martine back outside. There was a lull in the drizzle. Miss Martine was already carrying potted flowers around the side of the house.

  “You can bring those folding chairs to the shed,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Reesie snapped the two woven plastic lawn chairs shut and picked them up. She wanted to say that the shed might not be such a good idea. Daddy said it was always the shaky little toolsheds and carports that crumpled first.

  But to Reesie’s surprise, Miss Martine’s shed was a solid little brick house, complete with a tiny window and a red painted door. The old lady stopped to pull out a key from one of her many pockets.

  “Wow,” Reesie said. “Your shed is fancier than some of the houses around here!”

  Miss Martine laughed. “I know. André built it for me. It was one of his shop class projects.”

  Reesie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “André Knight? Dré?”

  “Why, yes.” Miss M arranged her plants in a row on a rough wooden bench just inside the shed doorway. “I knew his mother. He spent a lot of time with me after she passed away.”

  “I didn’t know that … and I didn’t know he could do anything like this.” Reesie ran her hand along the neat wall of bricks.

  “I guess you know the younger boy better,” Miss Martine said, turning around.

  “Oh, uh, Orlando?” Reesie felt herself blushing. She wanted to change the subject, and fast. “Yes, ma’am. Miss Martine, don’t you want me to take in everything that’s ready to pick in your garden?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Miss Martine answered. “The cabbage and okra … I have some baskets here—”

  “Already on it!” Reesie scooped up an empty basket and hurried out of the shed.

  Around noon, Reesie was bent in the backyard between rows of pole beans when her phone buzzed. She plopped the half-filled basket on the ground.

  WHERE R U? It was her mother.

  MS. M she tapped back. There was no immediate response. She tried dialing, but her call went directly to voice mail.

  “Teresa!” Miss Martine called out from the kitchen window. “That’s enough, in this heat! Come cool off and have some lemonade!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The drizzle had turned into light rain, and Reesie felt her shoulders aching as she lugged the beans toward the screen door. Her stomach growled when she entered the kitchen, which was filled with the smells of vanilla and coconut.

  “You might as well have a look at your birthday cake,” Miss Martine said, motioning toward the Formica counter.

  Reesie popped the tape on the lid of the large white box and lifted a corner. Three layers of coconut-topped goodness were nestled carefully inside. She took a deep sniff and couldn’t resist s
wiping her finger along the edge of the cake. It was hers, wasn’t it?

  “Mmmm…” She smiled.

  “Did you hear from your uncle yet?” Miss Martine was piling fried catfish on top of an open sandwich roll. “On the radio they’re saying the mayor has all roads leading in one direction—out.”

  “Yes, that’s what my parraine told me!” Reesie raised her voice over the running water as she washed her hands at the sink. “But he’s trying to get here another way.”

  Miss Martine put the sandwich on her old-fashioned, chrome-edged kitchen table and opened the fridge to take out mayo and mustard. She looked at Reesie over the top of her cat-eye glasses as she sat down.

  “I guess this Katrina’s going to be more serious than we thought. If he can’t get here, you might just have to wait it out with me.”

  Reesie bit into her sandwich and thought for a minute while she chewed. “Miss M, would you ever leave New Orleans?”

  Miss Martine shrugged and poured lemonade. “I’m too old, don’t have anywhere to go. Besides”—she blinked—“the one time I did leave town, things didn’t turn out so well.”

  Reesie was surprised. For her whole lifetime, Miss Martine had always lived just up the street.

  “What storm was it?” she asked, swirling the last bit of her sandwich in a puddle of ketchup. “Was it Camille, the one Daddy always talks about?”

  Miss Martine shook her head. “It was a different kind of storm, child. Come on, I have some pictures that will show you what I mean.”

  Reesie took her time gulping down the last of her lemonade. She wasn’t into looking at pictures of the past—except for clothes. But Ma Maw had always gotten on her for not caring enough about people history. She eased her phone out to text Orlando.

  FND DRE?

  NAH. WRU?

  @MS M. She had never texted Miss Martine’s name before today, so she hoped Orlando was using his whole brain.