by Ann B. Ross
“No. No, thank you,” he said, bracing his feet firmly on the floor and leaning toward me. “Miss Julia, I am deeply, deeply concerned about Hazel Marie. I’m sure you know that numerous, dire rumors are floating around about her condition, and the Lord has laid her heavy on my heart.”
“Oh, I assure you . . .”
He held up his hand to stop me. “I have prayed for her without stint, but seems like every day there’s been a new report on her, so that how I prayed the day before has no connection to the current news. It’s hard, you know, to lay a burden at the Lord’s feet if you don’t know what the burden is.”
Have I mentioned that Pastor Ledbetter and Emma Sue believed in specifics? They wanted details, specific details, fearing, I suppose, that prayers in generalities would not or could not be heard or answered.
But his words struck fear in my heart. What rumors were now floating around about Hazel Marie? And had any of those rumors lit upon her true condition?
“May I ask what rumors you’ve heard?” I asked, clenching my hands in my lap.
“I don’t normally repeat rumors, but let me just say that they range from a fatal wasting disease to plans to move away to take a job somewhere.” He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. He’d had time to cool off after his walk from the church, but his face remained red with what I’d at first thought was exertion. Looking more closely at the peeling across his nose and brow, I realized that he was sunburned.
“Well,” I said, laughing a little to divert suspicion, “it’s typical of this town to get things wrong. Hazel Marie has been ill, but not with anything either dire or fatal. And she’s much improved now, just slowly regaining her strength. She is considering a position that’s been offered to her, but, of course, that involves a lot of changes. Right now, I think I can say that nothing definite has been decided.”
“That is good news, then,” he said and leaned back against the sofa. “I am greatly relieved to hear that she’s improving and hope to see her back in church real soon.”
Back in church? That was something I didn’t want to think about. How welcoming would he be if she presented new growth every Sunday that rolled around?
“But I’ll tell you, Miss Julia,” he went on, “the last thing I heard, and this was from Emma Sue, who doesn’t engage in gossip, is that Hazel Marie is moving away.”
“Um, well, actually that is her current plan, but I’m hoping that she’ll reconsider. I don’t know what I’d do without her, even though, of course I don’t want to stand in the way of this new opportunity. It’s sort of up in the air, you might say.”
“If that’s the case,” he said, a smile breaking out on his broad, peeling face, “I guess I better warn you. I’m quite good at keeping secrets—all pastors have to be. But perhaps you should know that Emma Sue is planning a surprise going-away party for Hazel Marie. When I left home this morning, she was already up making plans and cooking and getting ready for it. But if Hazel Marie’s not moving—and I hope she’s not—I guess it’ll be a surprise for everybody. Well,” he said, slapping his hands down on his thighs and getting to his feet, “you’ve relieved my mind, Miss Julia, and, oh, by the way, don’t tell Emma Sue I told you about the party.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, walking to the door with him. “Thank you for your visit and for your concern. I’ll tell Hazel Marie that you’re holding her up in prayer.”
After seeing him out and closing the door behind him, I leaned against the wall, hoping I’d put any suspicions he might’ve had to rest.
Then I had to smile to myself. I’d been warned about the party by both Mildred and the pastor, so there was one thing for sure. The next time Emma Sue planned a surprise for anybody she’d better keep it to herself.
“Lillian,” I said as I went back into the kitchen, “he doesn’t suspect a thing. Or if he does, he didn’t let on. I think that, as many problems as it might create, Hazel Marie’s age is protecting her from any wild guesses. If she were ten years younger, even five, that would be the first thing people would think of.”
“I always say,” Lillian said, “they’s a silver linin’ in every cloud.”
“Well, right now all I see is a little tarnish on the edge. I declare, something’s got to be done to resolve this, and, every time I plan something, it goes awry.”
“I don’t know ’bout that. But I tell you this,” Lillian said, giving the countertop a swipe with a sponge, “Miss Hazel Marie’s not lookin’ too good today.”
“I noticed that, too. And she hardly ate a thing. Of course, Pastor Ledbetter showing up on our doorstep would unsettle anybody.” Then with a sudden jolt, I said, “She’s not . . .”
“No’m, she all right that way. Jus’ her spirits be low, an’ that not good for her or them babies.”
I put my elbows on the table and my face in my hands, facing at last what I’d been unwilling to acknowledge all along. I didn’t want to do it, that’s what it came down to. All this putting off or hoping it would resolve itself or expecting Sam or Lillian to take it on or thinking Mr. Pickens would suddenly see the light—all of it was simply because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. In spite of all my big talk about shaking him till his teeth rattled and making him toe the line, all I’d been doing was delaying the final reckoning. And why? Why, because I was mortally afraid that either Hazel Marie or Mr. Pickens—or maybe both of them—wouldn’t do the right thing for those babies. As long as I could put off telling Mr. Pickens, the longer I could keep hoping that everything would work out. Once he knew, it would be out of my hands, and, if he didn’t respond in the appropriate manner, there’d be no light at the end of the tunnel for any of us.
“Lillian,” I said, coming up for air, “where is Latisha?”
“Oh,” Lillian said, smiling, “she at the neighbor lady’s house, playin’ with her grand all day long. They went to a church party this mornin’, an’ this afternoon they makin’ mudpies an’ havin’ tea parties. She can come over an’ play with Miss Hazel Marie if you want her to.”
“No, I wasn’t asking for that. I thought you might need to go on home. But if she’s all right, I could sure use you for a while longer.” I patted my chest, finding it hard to breathe. “See, Lillian, it’s got to be done and done now. With Pastor Ledbetter coming around asking questions, and Emma Sue throwing a surprise party to celebrate a job that doesn’t exist, something has to give. And now is as good a time as any.”
“What you thinkin’ ’bout doin’?” Lillian was looking at me through narrowed eyes.
“Telling Mr. Pickens, and telling him now. Well, of course, not now since he’s still at the swimming pool. But as soon as he brings Lloyd home and goes to Sam’s house, you and I are going over there and we’re going to lay it on the line for him.”
“Well, yessum, he sho’ do need to know, but I don’t know as I ought to be goin’ with you.”
“Oh, Lillian, you have to. I need you. He thinks so much of you, he’d listen to what you say. You know he doesn’t pay attention to anything I say and, believe me, this will be our only chance to fix things the way they ought to be fixed.”
Lillian walked across the kitchen to the refrigerator. She opened the door, looked inside, then closed it again. Then she walked back and leaned on the counter. “I don’t know, Miss Julia. What if he get mad at us for meddlin’ in his bidness, what we gonna do then?”
“Smack him.” I laughed, though it took an effort. “No, I’m teasing. But that’s what I’m afraid of. Not of him getting mad at us, but of him getting mad at the situation and deciding it’s not his problem. Oh, Lillian, I hate to put it this way, but of all the men in the world, he’s the least dependable when it comes to marriage.”
“Well, I don’t think it up to me to be doin’ this,” Lillian said with some skepticism, “but I guess you need some kinda help. You gonna tell Miss Hazel Marie we gonna tell him?”
“Lord, no! I wouldn’t tell her for the world,
even though she as good as said she wants him to know. Even so, there’s no telling what she’d do. No, I, I mean, we’re going to tell him, then stand back and see what he does. And see what she does when he does whatever he’ll do, and hope for the best.”
Lillian nodded. “Yessum, that seem like what we oughta do. Jus’ pass on the word, then get outta they way.”
Chapter 39
“There’s Lloyd,” I said, hearing the rumble of Mr. Pickens’s car as it turned into the drive. One car door slammed, so I knew only the boy would be coming in—just the way I wanted it. Lillian and I would hem Mr. Pickens up at Sam’s house where he’d be alone and defenseless.
“Hey, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he came in, looking more burned than tan. His hair had dried in stiff peaks around his head, and a faint odor of chlorine drifted my way. But he was happy and full of his day with Mr. Pickens. “Hey, Lillian. Boy, we had a good time. You oughta see J.D. swim. He’s like a fish. And he can dive, too. He tried to teach me how to do a jackknife off the high dive, but I kept doing belly flops. Look how red my stomach is.”
“My goodness,” I said, noticing not only the redness there, but also on his face and shoulders. His freckles stood out uncommonly large. “I hope you used your sunblock, Lloyd. You’ll be hurting if you didn’t.”
“Oh, I did. J.D. kept reminding me, so I used it. This’ll all be tan tomorrow. How’s mama? Is she feeling all right?”
“Well, she’s a little blue this afternoon and needs some cheering up. Lillian and I are going to take a walk, so I’d like you to keep her company while we’re gone.”
As Lillian opened the refrigerator and began removing dishes, Lloyd looked at me in wonder. “You’re going to take a walk?”
“Now, that’s not so unusual,” I said. “We need to get out and stretch our limbs a little. Let me have that wet bathing suit. I’ll hang it in the bathroom for you.”
He handed me the damp rolled-up towel that held his bathing suit, then eyed the snacks that Lillian was putting on a tray. “You don’t need to put much on it, Lillian. Me and J.D. had some hot dogs at the pool. Then I had a Nutty Buddy, so I’m not real hungry.”
“Law, boy,” she said, “you done ruint yo’ supper. Well, I fix this for yo’ mama mostly, anyway. See, I got some good, cold fruit punch here and all these little vegetables and some dip to make ’em go down easy. They good for both of you, so maybe you able to nibble on ’em, too.”
He picked up the tray, grinned and told her he’d try. Then he headed for the back hall and his mother’s room.
“We won’t be gone long, Lloyd,” I said, motioning to Lillian toward the back door. “Just around a couple of blocks. But you make sure she’s all right, then run up and take your shower.” Opening the door, I nudged Lillian out and whispered to her. “If our timing’s right, he’ll be in the shower when Mr. Pickens gets here. If he gets here, and if I don’t lose my nerve before we get there.”
The sun was still high in the sky, but the shadows were lengthening as Lillian and I walked along the sidewalk on the shady side of the street. The heat was at its worst since there was no breeze, and both of us were gently perspiring before we’d gone a block toward Sam’s house.
“I’m about to melt,” I said. “We should’ve taken the car.”
Lillian didn’t answer, just shuffled along beside me. I knew her silence indicated a less than eager desire to be a part of this mission. I wasn’t feeling so confident myself, but I bolstered my courage by reminding myself that it was something that had to be done.
“Lillian,” I began, mostly to keep bolstering, “how do you think we should do this? Should we go in and visit a while, you know, just sit and talk, ask how he’s doing and talk about first one thing and another, then maybe ease into the purpose of our visit? If we sort of hint around about it, he might figure it out himself. Except we’ve already done that a few times, and it hasn’t done any good. Or maybe it’d be better to come out with it all of a sudden? I mean, like a special bulletin with no build-up or preparation to protect his sensitivities? Which, of course, he may not have any of, but I would think any man, regardless of how thick he is, would be shocked to hear he’s about to be a father. Twice over.” I glanced at her as she trudged along, hoping for her guidance or at least an opinion of some kind.
“Miss Julia,” she finally said, “I tell you what’s a fack, I jus’ come along to kinda hol’ yo’ hand. I don’t know what to tell him or how to tell him or when to tell him. All I know is somebody oughta tell him. But if you really want my ’pinion, I think it be better to ease into it. I think you oughta go all the way ’round Robin Hood’s barn ’fore you spring something like that on him. He need to be got ready to hear something like that, ’less he have a heart attack when he hear.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, nodding. “You’re absolutely right. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll just drop in for a visit and play it by ear. And when we judge he’s fully prepared for the news, we’ll carefully and gently break it to him.”
With that decided, we turned the corner on Sam’s block and I could see his lovely old house with its wide porch before us. My breath kept getting shorter and shorter, and I couldn’t tell if it was caused by the heat, the exercise, or the anxiety.
As we stepped up on Sam’s brick walkway, I grabbed Lillian’s arm and held on. “Pray that we’ll do it right, Lillian. Everything depends on breaking it to him as kindly as we can. I don’t want to do anything that would set him off.”
“Yessum,” she mumbled. “I jus’ hang back an’ listen.”
So there we were at last, up on Sam’s front porch, standing before the door, ready to do what we’d come to do. I reached out and mashed the doorbell. We waited a few minutes, but heard no sound from inside. I pressed the doorbell a second time and kept my finger on it. Hearing no footsteps from inside, I mashed it again and again. He’d have to be deaf not to hear it.
“He’s got to be here,” I said, my anxiety level steadily rising. “His car’s right there in the driveway. Knock on the door, Lillian. The doorbell may be broken.”
She reached around me and gave the door a tentative rap. “Harder,” I said, and pushed the doorbell again, leaving my finger on it for the longest.
The door sprang open and an angry Mr. Pickens stood there, his hair plastered to his head and water dripping from his face and shoulders to the floor, with not a stitch on to his name—just a skimpy towel wrapped around his middle.
“What in the . . . ?” he demanded, then when he saw us his mouth fell open, and so did mine. I stumbled back against Lillian, while he stood in shock, clutching the towel.
“I’m sorry, so very,” I stuttered, mortified by our ill-timed visit and his ill-clothed state.
“I was in the shower,” he said, quickly sidestepping behind the door as he began to ease it closed.
“We can come back,” I said, still awed and tongue-tied by the eyeful I’d gotten of his almost naked body, browned by the sun and glistening with water. “More convenient, maybe another time. Let’s go, Lillian.”
But she hadn’t moved and wouldn’t move. She stood her ground, blocking my retreat while she gazed beyond me at Mr. Pickens although there was nothing to see by now except one eye and a bit of wet hair sticking out from behind the door.
“Mr. Pickens,” she sang out, strong and determined as only Lillian could be when she had something to say. “Mr. Pickens, you gonna be a daddy, an’ ain’t nobody tell you but us, so don’t be mad. We jus’ bring the message, that’s all we have to do with it.”
Mr. Pickens’s head slid further out from the door. I could see both eyes, part of his nose and mouth, and a shock of wet hair. “What’d you say?”
“She said,” I said, encouraged by Lillian’s boldness, “that your former sweetheart is expecting and she’s sick to death of having to expect by herself.”
His black eyes darted from me to Lillian and back again. “She’s . . . ?”
“Yes, she is.”
The towel fell in a puddle at his feet, and he slammed the door in my face. “Wait,” he yelled. “Wait just a damn minute!” We could hear his feet thudding away from us as he ran along the hall.
“Well, Lillian,” I said, turning away and heading for one of Sam’s rocking chairs, “we certainly eased into that, didn’t we?”
Then I stopped, grabbed Lillian’s arm with a grip of steel. “Run around back. Quick! He might go out that way. I’ll stand guard here.”
Lillian gasped. “You think he gonna run out on us?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to do, but we better be prepared. Now hurry and get back there.”
She lumbered down the steps, muttering about not knowing how she’d stop him if he took a mind to leave. I leaned beside the front door, wondering about the same problem if he took a mind to come out the front.
Lord, we had messed this up to a fare-thee-well, I thought. Yet it was done. He now knew where his duty lay, and all we could do was stand aside and see what he’d do about it. Well, guarding the exits wasn’t exactly standing aside, was it? Still, he might want to know a few more details unless he’d heard all he wanted to hear and was, even now, preparing to hightail it out of town.
The door beside me was suddenly jerked open and I came to attention.
Mr. Pickens stood there, dressed in jeans, a misbuttoned and partially tucked-in shirt and still no shoes. His hair had been toweled semi-dry and hand-combed, signs of a hurried toilette. “Get in here,” he barked.
From the narrow-eyed look on his face, I thought he was going to jerk me inside, so I quickly sidled into the hall and kept my distance.
“Where’s Lillian?” he demanded.
“Guarding the back door,” I quavered, uncertain as to how to deal with him. I’d never seen him quite this cold and demanding, though I’d been on the receiving end of his quick temper several times before. But now there was a scowl on his face and an iciness to his manner that unsettled me.
