Making Waves

by Cassandra King

All Maudie’s books were in her sitting room, and so was her rocking chair where she always sat when she read. It made me miss her again so much I almost cried when I walked in there and saw everything. I noticed that her reading glasses were folded and placed on the mantel. She never used them once she got to the nursing home—she quit reading and everything.

  Taylor helped me into the rocker and folded my walker away. I sat down wearily, not having the heart to tell him that I’d rather not sit in Maudie’s favorite chair. But I didn’t feel like protesting right then.

  As soon as he had me settled, Taylor started walking around the room, looking at everything and sniffing.

  “This house smells just like an old lady. No offense, Aunt Della,” he said, grinning at me. He picked up Maudie’s glasses from the mantel, inspected them, and then placed them back where they were. Then he picked up a book of Maudie’s and sniffed it, for some reason. Maudie wouldn’t care, though. She always loved Taylor to death. I just sat there in her chair and tried to keep from looking around too much. I was afraid I might lose control of myself again, like I did at the funeral. Oh, Maudie. It’s not a pleasant feeling to bury your last friend. Not a good feeling at all.

  If Sarah Jean hadn’t come in at that very moment, I would have started up crying again. I don’t know what on earth was wrong with me. But Sarah Jean suddenly came in the room, all friendly-like, and looking so glad to see us that it cheered me up.

  Bless her heart, she looked real tired, and her hair was hanging down a bit from the way she had it pinned up so pretty in church, but other than that, she looked exactly the same as she always has.

  “Miss Della! It is so good to see you here—and in Aunt Maudie’s chair, too. How she’d love that.” Sarah Jean smiled at me as she grabbed me into a big hug, though she’s no bigger than a minute. She smelled like tea roses as she gave me a soft kiss on the cheek.

  Then she turned around to Taylor and got to him right away, telling him something even I didn’t know. I could tell it really tickled him.

  “So this is Samuel Taylor, all grown up now.” Sarah Jean smiled as she hugged Taylor, too. She barely came up to his shoulder. I swear she was the least little thing I’d ever seen.

  “How did you know that?” Taylor asked her.

  “That you’re all grown up? I can see,” she teased him, poking him in the ribs, then standing back and looking him over carefully.

  “No, ma’am. My name.” I knew that was what he meant.

  “You didn’t know that Charlotte named you after her favorite poet?” she asked him. She reached down and took her heels off, making her appear even tinier.

  Taylor at first looked puzzled, then he grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned! I swear I never knew that—and I never made the connection. And me an English major! I always figured I was named after one of her boyfriends, since I’m the only Clark without a family name.”

  Sarah Jean looked up at him. “An English major, huh? Are you a poet, too, like your namesake?” She took off her suit jacket, then pulled her blouse out at the waist.

  “Y’all will just have to excuse me, but I thought I’d have a heatstroke at that cemetery. Well, are you?”

  Taylor shook his head and smiled at her. “Not really. I’m not any good, but I try my hand every now and then.”

  Sarah Jean then turned to face me, seated in the chair. “God, it’s hot in this house! Miss Della, can I get you a Tom Collins? I’ve got some already made up in the fridge.”

  I didn’t know what she meant; all I saw in there when I was looking for the tea, before Taylor made me sit down, was some lemonade with lots of mint and cherries in it. Maudie always raised the prettiest mint.

  “No, thank you, honey. I got me a glass of tea. Maybe Taylor would like some collins.”

  That like to have tickled both of them to death, for some reason. I saw Sarah Jean wink at Taylor and he grinned down at her. “Could I please, ma’am, have one—a big, tall, icy one?” he asked.

  “Okay, but only if you promise to stop saying ‘ma’am’ to me. I may be your mama’s age, but I don’t want to be reminded. You hear?” She laughed and started walking barefoot into the kitchen, Taylor following close behind.

  “Okay—what do you want me to call you then?” I heard Taylor ask her as they went on into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door opening and then could hear both of them laughing as they got that fancy lemonade out.

  For the first time in two years, I felt a ray of hope. I felt like maybe the Lord was going to let me have my Taylor back. I’d already been trying to accept that my penance for these past two years would probably be having to give him up, but now—oh, Jesus was so good to me! I sat back in Maudie’s rocker and sipped my tea. I knew that Sarah Jean was going to be around a few days, until her school started back, she’d already told me. She was going to be busy packing away Maudie’s things and closing down her house.

  If only she and Taylor could get to be close … I almost couldn’t allow myself to hope. But maybe, with her training, she could be the friend he needed. Then another thought hit me. I wasn’t going to be around forever, and the main reason I’ve hung on lately is knowing that Taylor has no other family but me. Well, none that counts. But if only … Charlotte may be sorry as gully dirt, but she was the boy’s real mother. Maybe, oh dear Lord, just maybe, Sarah Jean could be the one to bring Taylor and his mama back together, so he’d have someone after I’m gone.

  Oh, dear Jesus. I could still hear them laughing and talking in the kitchen, fixing themselves some more of that lemonade. I believe it might be possible. I hope and pray that Sarah Jean will bring Charlotte back to Clarksville, and back into Taylor’s life. Starting tonight, I’m going to add that to my prayer list. I’m putting it at the very top!

  Ellis

  I never would have gotten involved with all that mess about Tim Sullivan and Taylor Dupree if it hadn’t been for Glenda taking a job at the Zippy Mart just so she could be with Dinky Odom.

  Now, if it’d been anybody but Glenda, I wouldn’t have paid it any mind. I do consider it beneath me to involve myself in other people’s affairs. But Glenda—Glenda’s never been a bit of trouble to me or Mama or Daddy, not one single time in her life.

  Long as I can remember, Glenda’s gotten up every morning and gone to school on the bus, then come home, done her school-work and her Bible study, and gone straight on to bed. You kind of take someone like that for granted, getting to where you forget she’s even around.

  When Glenda graduated from high school two years ago, nothing in her life changed much. Mama’s cousin Tammie helped get her a job at the daycare center where Tammie has worked for years, so Glenda now goes to work instead of school. And last year, Glenda got a boyfriend for the first time ever. Bless her heart, Glenda’s no beauty; I got all the looks in the family.

  So she had never gone with anyone before. But when Bobby Ray Hall came to our church as the new youth minister, he started asking Glenda to help him out with the young people’s activities, like the Crusade for Jesus. She made posters and rounded folks up to host the youth choir that came all the way from Biloxi, Mississippi. Next thing you know, Bobby Ray was asking Glenda to sit by him at the church suppers, and then prayer meetings. We knew for sure they were an item when he asked her if she’d go with him to the annual tent meeting in Montevallo. Brother Clyde Willis from Birmingham was the guest evangelist, so Glenda was thrilled. ’Course it tickled Mama and Daddy, too. I took Glenda to Kmart’s myself to get her a new dress for the occasion.

  All the women in the church were having a fit because Glenda was officially going with Bobby Ray, because he’s about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s got jet-black hair, which he combs back so neat, and it’s always slick and shiny. And he’s a real sharp dresser, too. We all thought Glenda was one lucky girl, especially being as plain as she is. I’ve tried my best to get her to cut her hair and wear some makeup, but she flat-out refuses. I don’t guess Bobby Ray cared, because they’ve
been going steady almost a year.

  And now this. Mama sent for me right after Miss Maudie Ferguson’s funeral. I swear, I’m going to put in a telephone for Mama and Daddy if it’s the last thing I ever do! Looks like Mama would realize how humiliated I feel when she sends Daddy to town for me. Last time she did was when they needed a ride to Tuscaloosa to get Granny’s dentures fixed. It’s always something.

  But this time, we had just got in from the funeral, and there I was in my new silk suit Hamilton bought me at Gayfer’s, about to burn up it was so blamed hot, but not wanting to change clothes yet. I’d fixed some iced tea for me and Miss Opal and Miss Frances Martha. I sliced a lemon real thin and put the whole thing in the pitcher of tea—a whole lemon and about two cups of sugar. Then I poured it in those pretty long-stemmed crystal glasses that belonged to Hamilton’s grandmother. Oh, my, it looked and tasted good! I couldn’t even drink mine for looking at it, whirling that tiny little glass stem around and around.

  I convinced Miss Opal and Miss Frances Martha that we ought to sit out on the side porch a spell. I could tell that neither one of them wanted to, but they did anyhow. Hamilton’s mother seems like she really likes me and tries to please me, which kind of surprised me. When we first married, I wasn’t sure how she’d take to me, me being slightly older than Hamilton.

  Miss Opal’s difficult for me to understand, tell you the truth. She’d been ill as a hornet since we got home, saying that she like to have died at the funeral, it was so hot, and that the dress she wore had shrunk, that she knew better than to trust Annie Lou to wash it in Woolite. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her she’d put on a lot of weight lately. I can’t understand a woman in her position having such an attitude, frankly. I mean, the woman has everything in the world, and all she does is complain. She stays on to poor old Miss Frances Martha all the time, telling her she’s a crazy old bessie-bug who ought to be committed to Bryce’s, and as soon as Mr. Harris dies, that’s exactly where she’s going. She fusses about Mr. Harris—I mean Daddy Clark—she goes on about Daddy Clark being such a tightwad. Except that’s not the way she says it, but I was raised better than to use words like that myself.

  And then she goes on all the time about how bored she is, so what does she do—goes over to the country club in Mt. Zion and plays bridge all day.

  What a waste of time! I just cannot see it myself. She could go to the mall in Tuscaloosa or Columbus anytime she wants to, buy anything she wants; how can she be bored enough to play card games? Or she could go all the way to Birmingham to shop. They’ve got the most malls over there that you’ve ever seen! Hamilton took me to the new Galleria after we got back from our wedding trip to Gulf Shores. Lord, I’d never seen anything like the Galleria in my life! He promised to take me back soon to get my fall wardrobe. But Miss Opal won’t go—she says it’s too big, got too many stores, and it makes her feet hurt to even think about it. If that don’t beat all!

  So, true to form, Miss Opal was sitting out on the porch griping about the heat and Daddy Clark being too stingy to air-condition the house, when who drove up in that awful old pickup of his but Daddy. You could hear the truck rattling all the way down the street. I was so humiliated I could die, especially today with all the people in town for the funeral. Then Daddy got out, slamming the door, and started up the walk to the house, and I really was embarrassed. Why did he have to wear his overalls to town today of all days? Usually Daddy will at least put on a nice sports shirt and tie when he comes into town, as befitting a deacon of the church. Something must be up for him to come off looking like that.

  Miss Opal was about to break her neck looking, then she sank back into the lounge chair.

  “I believe that’s your Daddy looking for you, Ellis. Tell him to come on in and get some tea.”

  I met him on the front steps and made him come on the porch with us, though he didn’t want to, I could tell. He hated to come see me at the Clark house. I was bound and determined not to let Hamilton’s mama see me be rude to Daddy though, no matter how aggravated I felt. He took off his hat and spoke briefly to Miss Opal and Miss Frances Martha without raising his eyes.

  “Daddy, we’re just sitting out here having a glass of tea. Let me get you some,” I said to him because I wanted him to see those pretty crystal glasses. But he shook his head and twisted the battered old straw hat in his hand, the one he wears in the field.

  Then Miss Opal spoke up, trying to be polite, I reckon, but I wisht she’d left it alone, because there’s no telling what Daddy will say, and he uses the worst grammar. That’s one of the main things I straightened out about myself when I went off to college, because I realized nothing shows up your ignorance like poor grammar.

  “Mr. Rountree, would you rather have a Coke or something?” Miss Opal asked, pulling her big rear end out of the lounge chair and almost tipping over.

  Daddy swallowed nervously, then looked down at the hat in his hands.

  “Well, ma’am, if it ain’t too much trouble …”

  “No trouble at all. I’m fixing to go in myself and let y’all visit, but I’m sure Frances Martha will fix it for you.”

  Sure enough, Miss Frances Martha jumped up, too. She’d been sitting in the swing looking at a cookbook.

  “If y’all got one, I’d be much obliged fer a Grapico,” Daddy said.

  Now that aggravated the stew out of me. How could Daddy ask for a Grapico when he could have lemon tea in a crystal glass? And he’d drink it right out of the bottle, too, I knew. But I wasn’t about to say anything and let them think I was disrespectful to my parents, so I kept my mouth shut. Miss Frances Martha went off into the kitchen nice as you please to get him a Grapico. I knew that we had some in the refrigerator because Annie Lou likes them, too. Naturally.

  I was also aggravated with Daddy because he didn’t say a blooming thing to Miss Opal and Miss Frances Martha while they were still out there on the porch. When she came back with the Grapico, Miss Frances Martha tried to talk to him about Miss Maudie’s funeral; she loves funerals better’n anyone, but no. He wouldn’t say a blame thing, just looked down at his shoes and nodded. Him and Mama both are the timidest things I’ve ever seen in my life, but especially around Hamilton’s people.

  They’re not a thing like me. When I was a little girl, I used to make up stories about being adopted, since I was so different than the rest of my family. Outgoing, that’s what I am. I can talk to anybody about anything. I stood there after the funeral today and talked to the preacher’s wife like I’d known her all my life. We talked about that article in the Zion County Herald last week, the one about all the chickens in the county dying from heat prostration. That’s what I call stimulating conversation. And it paid off, too. Mrs. Junkin invited me to come to the Study Club meeting at her house next Thursday night. Every month they read a different book, and the librarian gives a review on it. I just can’t wait. This month the book is Decorating with Decoupage: The Elegant Touch.

  As it turned out, I was grateful Miss Opal and Miss Frances Martha went back into the house for their afternoon nap and left me and Daddy alone on the porch. I would have died if they heard what he came to tell me about Glenda.

  “That’s why I come, Ellis,” Daddy told me after they left. “Your mama’s in bed sick and done took two of her heart pills. She took to bed as soon as Glenda up and quit her job and rode off with that thar Dink Odom.”

  I was about to get a migraine myself. At first, I didn’t understand what Daddy was so upset about. About some things, I’m as slow as Miss Frances Martha!

  “But that ain’t—isn’t nothing to get Mama sick about, Daddy,” I said. “I imagine Zippy Mart pays better than Kiddie World. And it’s over by the river, so they do lots of business there. I for one can’t fault Glenda for trying to better herself.”

  Then I thought of something. “Just how’s she going to get to work?”

  Mama and Daddy’re so old-timey they don’t believe in girls having cars, or wearing makeup
, or anything like that. When I finished high school and started working at the First Baptist Church in town, Daddy drove me in and picked me up every single day, in that rattley old pickup. Every day for years, that is, until I decided to change my life.

  I’d been saving up my money, since I didn’t really have anything to spend it on, so the first thing I did was get me a car. I bought the Baptist preacher’s wife’s little Ford Escort when she got herself a new LTD. I tell you, getting that little blue Escort changed me. I decided that since I finally had my own car, I could go to business college in Columbus, like I’d always wanted to do. Me, in college! The beginning of a new life for me. I set me some goals and stuck with them, and my whole life has changed. Maybe Glenda had decided to do the same.

  “That’s jest it,” Daddy said, “whut I’m trying to tell you. She’s ridin’ to work now with Dink Odom. He done picked her up this morning. And you know our place is way outta his way.”

  “How does Glenda even know Dinky?” I suddenly wondered. People assume everybody in a small town knows everybody else, but there are a lot of folks in Clarksville I don’t know, bound to be even more for Glenda, living way out in the country.

  “He brangs his young’uns to the daycare center whur she worked. So she knows him real good, I reckon,” Daddy said.

  I saw then that Daddy was getting real nervous. He’s a little bitty man, skinny as can be, and one way you can tell he’s upset is when his Adam’s apple starts bobbling around in his scrawny neck. The other way is his eyes. Daddy has watery blue eyes that have always been crossed, but especially if he gets upset. I’ve never thought they were all that bad myself, but Hamilton claims Daddy can stand in the middle of the week and see both Sundays. He’s always trying to get me to take him to the eye foundation in Birmingham.

  I sighed out loud, since no one was around. My sick headache was intensifying.

  “Now, Daddy, I still don’t see why y’all should be so upset. Glenda’s almost twenty-one years old. And there’s nothing wrong with her working for Dinky Odom, really. I mean, he’s kind of a redneck, but he ain’t—isn’t—so bad.”