* * *
By the time Cissy got back to the motel room, Grandmother was sitting up in bed, still in her clothes from the previous day, white hair in all kinds of disarray. She didn’t say a word about how long it had taken Cissy to get breakfast.
“Ready for some food?” Cissy held out the Styrofoam togo box.
“Did you order enough for both of us?”
Cissy explained she’d decided to eat at the restaurant and met a nice lady who worked there. She shrunk back, anticipating a scolding.
“That’s nice, Ciss. Put the food on the table and I’ll get up to eat.”
“You aren’t worried I said the wrong thing like accidentally telling someone my real name?” She couldn’t believe Grandmother’s lack of concern and would have given anything to be reprimanded properly.
“I trust you, girl. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
Cissy sat in the chair opposite Grandmother and watched as she rearranged the dry curds of scrambled eggs with her plastic fork, taking just a bite or two. She’d unfolded the paper napkin and rested it across her lap as if she sat in the finest restaurant. Even feeling unwell, Grandmother acted like a gentle, mannered lady from the South, caring what others thought of her, even if that was only her granddaughter in a sad old motel room.
Cissy thought back to some of the afternoon teas Grandmother would hold for other ladies in society. Her granddaughters would be allowed to arrive at the end of the party, parade around politely in their best Sunday dresses, and then eat leftovers. Cissy never cared much for the cheese straws because Ruth added too much cayenne pepper. The real treat was the little pickle sandwiches lovingly rolled and cut into bite-size pieces. They resembled pigs in a blanket except the inside held a miniature dill pickle wrapped in a piece of flattened white bread. The secret ingredient was the garlic cream cheese spread that held it all together. Ruth added a scant drop of green food color to the cheese to set it apart from the whiteness of the bread, which Cissy thought was genius. She’d devoured dozens over the years. Lily and Jessie gravitated to the sweets first, which meant they had tummy aches before getting around to the good stuff.
Although, whenever divinity was served, Cissy made a beeline for it. Ruth was expert at creating those delicate sugar clouds even in the worst humidity.
“Grandmother, why don’t I help you into the shower?” she suggested. “You might feel a little better.”
“I rarely take showers, Cissy. I prefer baths.”
“Well, let me draw you a tub.”
“I’m too weak to get in and out of a tub right now,” she countered.
“Well, then, I’ll help you.”
They went on and on like this until Cissy almost threw the tiny woman over her shoulder and carried her to the bathroom herself. But Cissy vowed to practice some patience, partly as a promise to God and partly as a promise to herself.
Without waiting for Grandmother’s permission, Cissy made her way to the tub and turned the hot water faucet as far as it would go. She figured she’d make the water as hot as possible in case it took her a while to convince Grandmother to get in. But when she returned to the room, Grandmother was already unbuttoning her blouse in slow motion. She curled her finger, motioning Cissy over to help her pull off her polyester slacks. When Grandmother rolled off her knee-high hosiery and placed them in her shoes, Cissy urged her to place an arm around her waist. Together, they took small shuffling steps to the bathroom.
“It’s chilly in here,” Grandmother remarked.
“You’re a naked jaybird. You should be cold.”
“I’m not naked, Cissy. I have on underthings.”
Cissy kept her chatter upbeat to drown out the sad thoughts forming in her mind about how Grandmother’s body had started to let her down. Skin draped over her bones like beige crepe fabric, crisscrossed with blue and green veins around the back on her knees. It was a wonder what clothes could do to cover up a body’s secrets.
“You need a pedicure.” Cissy lifted one of Grandmother’s legs to help her into the tub. She’d insisted on wearing her panties and bra in the water and who was Cissy to argue.
“That’s silly. Who’s looking at my toes?”
“Well, obviously I am. And they’re in sad shape.”
Grandmother’s halfhearted laugh was a gift. Cissy turned to open a miniature bar of soap and retrieve a washcloth, hoping Grandmother would not notice the tears pricking her eyes.
“You’d think I was a lobster preparing for death considering the temperature of this water,” Grandmother said.
“You’re a hard woman to please.” Cissy’s weak laugh did a poor job of hiding the truth of those words. Without asking, she rubbed a washcloth over her grandmother’s back and down her arms. She didn’t bother to ask permission to wash her hair either. Cissy just squeezed water from the washcloth over her scalp until it was wet enough to lather up with the miniature shampoo the motel also supplied. Working her fingers in circles, Cissy imagined massaging all her pains away.
“Grandmother, do you know how to play chess?”
“Yes, I do, but not very well.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Cissy asked, surprised at this hidden talent.
“You never asked.”
Cissy told her people would never know much about her if she always waited for them to ask the right questions instead of offering up details that might be interesting. Grandmother said she came from a different time when women were more reserved. It wasn’t ladylike to flap your mouth and share yourself with just anyone.
“I’m not just anyone,” Cissy said. “So feel free to tell me things you don’t think I know about you.”
Grandmother’s silence should’ve given her a clue she didn’t want to play the get-to-know-you-better game. But Cissy figured since she’d taken liberties to get her in the tub, she could just keep pressing her grandmother until told to stop.
“Okay, let’s start off easy,” Cissy said. “My favorite color is purple. Do you have a favorite color?”
Grandmother’s back heaved with a sigh, but she answered nonetheless. “The dark green of magnolia leaves.”
“Good answer!” Cissy said, as if only one right answer existed, but her excitement got the best of her. “Do you have a favorite food?”
“Fried oysters in cornmeal batter,” she said. “How many questions do I have to answer for you to leave me be?”
“My favorite food is coconut cream pie,” Cissy said. “How would I know how many questions I have in my brain before asking them? Asking one question can sometimes lead me to think of several others.”
“Could you just help me out of the tub and dry me off?”
Grandmother seemed to weigh double after her bath, and Cissy struggled to lift her out in a delicate manner. She didn’t say a thing while Cissy set her on the toilet and dried her off the best she could. Cissy brought her some dry underwear and a cotton nightgown, and said she’d wait right outside the door in case she needed help. She respected Grandmother’s modesty even though she’d just seen Cissy naked the day before.
When Grandmother had finally dressed, the gown clung to her damp body and outlined exactly what she wanted to hide anyway. Cissy grabbed her under an armpit and they moved as one back to the bed. She wanted to be propped up, so Cissy grabbed pillows off both beds to place behind her. When situated, Grandmother instructed her to roll the wet underthings in a towel to squeeze out some of the moisture and then hang them over the shower rod to dry.
Cissy gladly took care of things. Grandmother had gone against all her upbringing to stand by Cissy these weeks and ultimately free her from a place where her spirit had started to wither. Cissy slipped into the bed beside her and lay flat as a board, not wanting to take any of the pillows.
“I need to ask you something,” she said, staring at the popcorn ceiling and noting the brown watermark in the corner.
“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” Grandmother said.
“
I’m being serious,” Cissy protested. “When I went looking for your nightgown, I found a big stack of money at the bottom of one of your suitcases. And I’m talking big. Plus a whole bunch of jewelry tied up in one of your blouses.”
Grandmother explained they’d need money and didn’t want her credit card to leave a trail for others to find them. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I packed and headed to Meridian that day. Something in me took hold and I just felt the most important thing was to get you as far away from Mississippi as possible,” she said. “I’m feeling mighty foolish right now.”
“Your plan was the grandest idea I’ve ever heard of. I feel more loved than I have in sixteen years.” Cissy placed her hand on her grandmother’s arm, the skin still warm from the bath. “I know you’re not well.”
“No, I’m not. I just didn’t think I’d be feeling so tired so quickly.”
“Do you have cancer?” She held her breath waiting for the answer. The thudding of her heart told her she already knew.
“Afraid so.”
Grandmother’s shoulders slumped, making Cissy think she was relieved to unburden her secret.
“Do we have to go back to Mississippi?” Cissy shouldn’t have spoken the question, but it was like having to peek through your fingers during the scary parts of a movie. It couldn’t be helped.
“Not this minute, no. But if I don’t start to feel well, we’ll have to call your mother.”
Cissy started to count the sections of wood paneling lining the walls but gave up before getting halfway around the room. Staying present for this conversation seemed more important.
“Do you think I could live on my own one day?” she asked. “You know, like have my own place and a job?”
“Yes, I do. That’s been my hope for you. That you won’t let what your daddy did to you make you give up on life.” Grandmother used her palms to sit more upright, but the movement seemed to exhaust her.
“How long after that man hurt you did you start to feel normal again?” Cissy hoped it wasn’t wrong to ask questions about the secret, considering Grandmother had kept it to herself for so long.
“The trick is understanding that your idea of normal might have to change a bit,” Grandmother said.
Chapter 28
Over the next few days, they led a strange little life at the Howard Johnson. Cissy would fetch meals from the café and they ate most together unless Grandmother was napping. Twice a day, Cissy would walk her around the parking lot, taking baby steps and allowing her to rest often. Building up strength was important, and lying in bed wasn’t going to help. Cissy longed to postpone the inevitable return to Mississippi as long as possible.
When Rita and Grandmother met for the first time, they took an instant liking to each other. Cissy guessed that’s why Grandmother trusted Cissy to sit in the café and drink coffee while Rita worked. At least she was looked after.
Before long, Cissy trusted Rita enough to confess that Matilda wasn’t her real name. Rita was glad to hear it because she said the name didn’t suit her. She liked the name Cissy and said her mama had chosen well. Rita was intrigued that the name was not a shortened version of another name like Cecilia or Cecily. Cissy thought Rita was giving her mama too much credit for thinking things through.
Rita taught her that even bad coffee could taste good if you added enough sugar and cream, so Cissy’s daily cup became something to look forward to. Maybe she just associated it with Rita and their talks, and its taste improved because of it. Each day, Rita gave Cissy a slice of pie and refused to take money even when she revealed Grandmother had plenty.
When Rita got off her shift at 2 p.m., they’d sit out by the pool on the lounge chairs and make up stories about the motel guests, where they came from, what they did for a living and such. She treated Cissy like a grown-up, never talking down to her, and Cissy appreciated the respect. She did her best to return it.
“Don’t you have a pair of sunglasses?” Rita pulled a lounger out of the shade and into the bright sun.
When Cissy shook her head no, Rita ran to her room to retrieve a spare pair. She kept several, saying it was important to protect the skin around the eyes from premature wrinkles and a lady should never be without her sunglasses, especially in the South. Rita also made it her mission to make sure Cissy slathered Coppertone suntan lotion on every square inch of her body so her fair skin wouldn’t burn. Cissy didn’t mind because Coppertone was a happy smell, of beaches and the Gulf, and of Lily and Jessie. She missed them, even though she visited with her sisters in her memories almost every day.
“Is your grandmother feeling better?”
“A little stronger every day. Thanks for asking.”
“I have to admit I like that you’ve stayed on so long. I never make any friends ’cause I work every day. And Daryl wouldn’t let me go out even if I did find a girlfriend.”
Daryl, the motel manager, kept a close eye on them, but not too close. He probably figured Cissy was young enough not to cause any trouble or turn Rita’s mind against him. The thing is, Rita’s mind had already turned against him. It had the very day he first took a fist to her. She stayed with him because she had nowhere else to go and no money to get there. Somehow her wages never seemed enough to make the first step.
That morning, a guest had left a copy of New York magazine in the café, so she brought it out and read to Cissy about Manhattan socialites and their parties, reviews of the latest Broadway plays, and restaurants and the strange foods they served.
“Why would anyone eat a snail?” Cissy asked.
“Suppose it’s a delicacy. Rich people eat things that poor folks wouldn’t.”
Grandmother was rich and Cissy still didn’t believe she’d eat a snail. It was a question to ask her sometime.
“Whatcha writing about today?” Rita asked.
Cissy’d grown so comfortable around Rita that she’d bring her notebooks out to the pool. Although, she made sure to put something heavy on them to keep them from blowing into the water again. Rita never asked to read the notebooks. She was interested without crossing a line of privacy.
“Things to do and see in New York,” Cissy said. “May I borrow the magazine so I can write things down correctly?” Deep down, she knew she’d never make it to the sights that Dr. Guttman had described in so much detail, like Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, and the World Trade Center. And, oh, the foods he’d described that she’d never taste, like the poppy-seed bagel from H&H Bagels or pizza from Di Fara’s in Brooklyn. Perhaps when she and Grandmother left the motel for good, she’d give Rita the list for when she finally made her move to New York City.
Rita read the latest issue of Teen Beat even though she’d long grown out of her teens. Maybe it helped transport her to a happier and safer place and time, the way reading books did for Cissy.
“My psychiatrist is from New York,” Cissy admitted, and waited for a reaction.
“Wow. You have a psychiatrist? You get more interesting to me every day,” Rita said, and returned to her magazine.
“That’s it? You don’t want to know why?”
“I figure that’s your business,” she said.
Like Martha at the hospital, Rita seemed more interested in the friendship Cissy offered in the present than with the details of her past. In time, she would share parts of her story with Rita, but for now they’d share magazines and suntan lotion.
“You thirsty?” Rita bent over to rummage for some change in the bottom of her canvas bag that held all their magazines and lotions and such.
Rita’s T-shirt hiked up, revealing large purple splotches ringed with yellow and green across her lower back and upper hip. The bruises had started to fade, but there was no mistaking she’d been beaten pretty soundly. All the breath left Cissy’s lungs.
“What happened to you?” Cissy sat on the edge of Rita’s lounger, barely touching her fingertips to the areas of violence. It crushed her to think these weren’t the first Rita had hidden, or the la
st she’d receive.
“Oh, honey, don’t you worry about it.” She pulled down her T-shirt to cover the marks. “I’ve had worse.”
Rita said she’d convinced him not to hit her in the face or arms because it could hurt her chances for a singing career. He’d also stopped hitting her in the gut when he learned she was pregnant.
“You’re having a baby?” Cissy sat in disbelief.
“Yeah, it was a mistake. He promised we’d always use a condom. But one night when he was drunk, he forced himself on me. No matter how much I begged him to stop, it seemed to make him want it more.”
Rita seemed so calm and resigned to her condition. Cissy sat with her mouth open until Rita told her she resembled a wide-mouth bass.
In the next second, Cissy stood up and stumbled from the lounger. She fell, landing hard on her tailbone. Her unblinking eyes filled with horror and knowing. Rita shook her shoulders and cried out that Cissy was scaring her.
“Rita,” Cissy said as her teeth knocked together, “I was pregnant, too. But I’m not anymore.”
Chapter 29
After two full days, Janelle believed Cissy had cried the last tears her body would ever produce. During those desperate hours, she wouldn’t speak. Janelle and Rita took turns forgoing sleep and holding Cissy’s hands so she’d never go untethered. Daryl had stopped by the first afternoon to protest Rita’s absence. After one look at Cissy, he’d left without saying a word.
They couldn’t get her to eat anything of substance, but she allowed a spoon or two of hot soup and oatmeal if they forced it. Somewhere along the way Rita brought a milkshake from the diner. Cissy sucked in the sweet, thick liquid, but would gag when she couldn’t stop her crying long enough to swallow. Still, those milkshakes kept up her strength.
Rita’s presence was a godsend. Janelle couldn’t gauge how ill she herself had become and how much longer she’d be able to take care of Cissy. She would have been pretty useless to her granddaughter if she grew any weaker. The waitress’s company was sometimes the only thing that kept Janelle sane as they watched Cissy’s grief eat away at her, both physically and emotionally.
Forgiveness Road Page 25
