Aunt Toe threw on two blankets, grabbed a cup of warm cider, parked herself near the kitchen door and talked up a storm the whole time, commenting on every item they pulled from the chest of old clothes beneath a steel shelf. “Ooh, chile, I remember when your Aunt Joyce Ann bought that purse.”
Regina displayed the patent leather bag for them all to see. Yolanda gave it a quick glance and got back to business.
Aunt Toe continued, “She paid an arm and a leg for that thing, just ‘cause it came from Sanger-Harris, and the handle popped off after ‘bout a week or so. Ha! Ha! Ha! I tried to tell her that bag wasn’t nothin’, but you know some people ain’t satisfied till they spend a quarter for a nickel.”
The working crew continued with Aunt Toe’s commentary serving as white noise. “Ooh!” she shrieked. “Hand me my gown!”
“This old thing, Aunt Toe?” Yolanda stood up, stretching her back and holding up a flannel nightgown with paisley print.
“That’s my cotton gown.” Aunt Toe snatched the gown from Yolanda. “Yes, I’ve been looking for this for years. Gloria May Rucker, I got a mind to whip you for takin’ my gown.”
“I didn’t know I—” Gloria started to apologize, but Aunt Toe continued her rampage.
“I mean, I looked high and low for my cotton gown, and here you are with it in your garage. Well, I’ll be. Everybody needs a cotton gown. Cotton panties, too. Cotton breathes. But you don’t wear panties to bed—I’ve never worn panties to bed. Can’t sleep with ‘em on. Seem like I ain’t free when I wear panties to, bed.”
They all stopped and looked at Aunt Toe. Finally, Regina spoke. “That is way too much information.”
“I’m just tellin’ you,” Aunt Toe mumbled. “You should not be wearing panties to bed at night. As for me and my house, no panties at night, praise the Lord. I’m going back in the house with my cotton gown.”
Halfway through the morning, Aunt Toe conked out in one of the bedrooms.
Thus far, Gloria and Yolanda had only managed to get through the old workout equipment, a crate of grade school awards, and a chest of drawers filled with eight-track cassettes. “
Yeah,” Gloria remarked as she held up vintage Al Green toward the single light bulb dangling from the garage’s ceiling. “Your daddy used to love these eight-tracks. That was back when every song had to be good, ‘cause you couldn’t skip through anything on an eight-track.”
Yolanda found it impossible to follow her mother’s memories of Willie. There as nothing down that path for her to remember.
Yolanda had given up on her efforts to expedite the cleanup process. Every time Gloria’s hands found something she hadn’t touched in decades, she had to relive it. “Look, Regina, you remember this?” Gloria climbed onto a brown exercise bike and began pedaling. The creaky old bike’s wheels revolved, rust falling to the concrete as Gloria forced the motion. “Ooh-wee, y’all. I really thought I was gonna get superfine with this thing.”
“You look fine now,” Regina told Gloria.
“So do you,” Yolanda said to her sister.
Regina sighed, rolled her eyes, and let them land on her mother again.
Yolanda was satisfied now that Orlando was on her team. He’d make sure Regina didn’t do irreversible damage to herself. But Yolanda noticed when Regina sat down to eat on Sundays, she seemed to detest the undertaking. Closing her eyes as she brought the fork to her mouth, chewing like a child eating a mandatory serving of carrots at the dinner table. Yolanda knew Regina was only biding her time, crossing off the days on her calendar until she could get back to the laxatives or whatever else she had in mind.
“Let’s just get this over with.” Gloria called a truce between her daughters.
“I’m hungry,” Regina broadcast. “You cook anything, Momma?”
“Now, that’s what I like to hear.” Gloria jumped off the bike and rubbed her hands on her sweatshirt. “I didn’t cook today. We could go out and get something. What do you want, Yo-yo?”
“I’ll take a burger and fries if it’ll get us out of here quicker.” Yolanda looked up from her stool with tired eyes. She’d worked until a little after midnight the night before, reconciling inventory at the pharmacy.
“You okay?”
“Yes, Momma. You two just go get something to eat.” Yolanda wanted her mother out of that garage.
“Okay. Let me go get my purse.” Gloria stepped back into the warmth of the house and welcomed the distinct smell of her home. She’d raised a family there: three girls, who had all gone on to make something of themselves. And now she had Richard.
Back in the garage, Yolanda asked Regina to take the long route. “I don’t have all day to freeze in this garage, so I’m gonna get through as much of this as I can while you’re out with her.”
“Got it.”
With her mother and sister gone, Yolanda was left to sort through the garage, determining what should be saved or discarded. She got busy throwing out expired cans of ant spray, dried-up gallons of paint, a toaster that was beyond repair. Yolanda consolidated six boxes into two and stored them in the vacant closet of her old bedroom. She was tempted to stop and thumb through the photo albums but decided it was best to wait for another day. Besides, her hands were too numb from the cold to thumb through anything.
Yolanda thought of how much easier the job might have been with a man’s help. Richard was away on business; Orlando was home with the baby. She thought of Kelan and how he would have been intrigued by the relics in her mother’s garage. Then she laughed, thinking that she probably would have sent him out for food with her mother and Regina because he would have been in the way, too.
After giving her hands a chance to thaw out, Yolanda made her way back to the garage and gave her attention to a box that had been conspicuously covered by a scrappy vinyl tablecloth. She uncovered the dusty old hatbox and read the top: “W. A. J.”
“What’s waj?” Yolanda asked herself out loud.
Yolanda lifted the lid off the box and suddenly realized that she’d discovered a box of Willie Amos Jordan memorabilia. She was face-to-face with her father—a shadow in her mind. All Yolanda had ever heard about her father, Willie Amos Jordan, was “yeah” and “amen.” From what she gathered, he was a hardworking man who served his family and his church faithfully. The prospect of going through this, what was left of him, sent an unnerving flush of emotion through her.
She wanted to put the lid back on, but she couldn’t. Yolanda forgot all about her mission to hasten the clearing, forgot about the coldness seeping through her jacket, and pieced through this, what was left of her father.
For the next half hour, Yolanda got lost in a whirlwind of sentiment and discovery. There were envelopes filled with pictures of her father and mother in happier days. Regina’s face appeared in several of the pictures, too, and suddenly Yolanda felt the pang of grief. She had never gotten the chance to know her father. Wasn’t even sure if he’d known about her at the time of his death. The pictures showed a man she should have been proud of. Someone who should have packed her on his shoulders and carried her around the house against her mother’s wishes. Someone who should have grabbed hold of her arms and swung her around and around in circles until she got dizzy. But none of that TV stuff had happened for Yolanda.
There were letters from Willie to her mother, presumably written when they were dating. He talked of raising a family, growing old together.
Yolanda was careful to wipe the tears from her eyes before they fell to the page and caused smudges.
Next she came across the death certificate and autopsy results. Yolanda knew that Gloria wouldn’t have wanted her to see those records, but Yolanda’s curiosity was further piqued by the official seal of Dentonville County. She opened the envelope and read the documents. Her eyes settled on the cause of death: drowning. Yolanda wanted to add the rest of the story onto the cause. The story was that Willie Amos Jordan died after he jumped off the boat to save his friend Rayford Shelby, who had fall
en out of the boat on a fishing expedition. Rayford Shelby lived, but Willie went under.
Some people said Willie got caught by one of those strong undertows, the kind that can suck you beneath the surface without warning. Some people said maybe Willie caught a cramp and couldn’t recover. Still others said he was simply exhausted from hauling big old Rayford Shelby’s behind into the boat. Should have let him drown! she’d heard a neighbor say. Whatever the reason, Willie went under.
Yolanda sifted through the medical jargon with her professional expertise at the forefront of her mind. Maybe she could find something that the examiner had overlooked, something to explain why her father, apparently a healthy man, had drowned. After several minutes of combing through the papers, she gave up trying to find another cause. It was just one of those freak accidents.
She looked up toward the ceiling, closed her eyes, and let the warm tears fall so far down her neck until they turned cold. “Lord, I wish I could have known my father.” But it was too late.
Yolanda folded the record along its original creases and prepared to put it back into the envelope when, like a lightning bolt, it jolted her. She opened the document again.
Yolanda waited in the living room and met her mother at the front door with one demand. “Tell me about my father.”
“Your father was a wonderful man.” Gloria pushed past Yolanda and walked into the kitchen. She didn’t talk much about Willie, never wanting to upset the girls.
Regina followed her mother into the kitchen, hoping to hear more about her daddy, the grandfather her son would never know.
Yolanda followed, with the autopsy results in hand, though Gloria had failed to notice.
“He was wonderful. Everybody loved him. You would have loved him, too. And I’m sure your daddy is loving us all in whatever way God allows in heaven.” Gloria beamed as she placed the bags of food on the table.
Yolanda surprised herself by what she did next. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was desperation, but Yolanda took firm hold of Gloria’s shoulders and forced a point-blank dialogue. Yolanda was determined that Gloria wouldn’t wiggle out of this as she did with Joyce Ann or with Regina’s eating disorder. Not this time.
“Momma, I’m not asking about Willie Amos Jordan. I’m asking you who my father is.”
Gloria twitched free and occupied herself with coupling the burgers and fries. Yolanda continued her line of questioning, knowing she had her mother cornered. There was nowhere to run. “My blood type is O, and Willie Amos Jordan was an AB. It’s impossible for an AB to be the biological parent of an O. An AB can have anything except an O. It’s one of the first things we learn when we study blood types.”
Regina stood still, too stunned to speak. Yo-yo was serious, and her mother was acting strangely.
Watching Gloria’s trembling hands was enough to confirm what science had already declared. Willie Amos Jordan, deceased, was not her father.
Yolanda covered her ears and screamed with everything in her, “Answer me!”
Gloria plopped down in a chair, slumped over onto the table, and realized that she would now have to begin to unbury her head from the sand.
Hearing the commotion, Aunt Toe crept into the kitchen. Her wheelchair stopped at Yolanda’s feet. This was one of last things she wanted to see cleared up before she left this earth. “Willie wasn’t your father, Yo-yo.”
She would leave the rest to Gloria.
“What!” Regina asked.
Gloria looked up at her oldest. “He’s your father, but not Yo-yo’s.”
“What do you mean, he’s not my father?” Yolanda asked with the innocence of a small child—the logistics hadn’t even entered her mind yet. Telling her that Willie Amos Jordan wasn’t her father was like telling Yolanda that she wasn’t black, she wasn’t female, she wasn’t Yolanda Jordan.
“Willie was already dead when I got pregnant with you. It... it just happened a few days after he died. I was so distraught... I was so out of my mind.” Gloria waved her arms in the air at nothing.
“What do you mean, he’s not my father?”
Gloria looked Yolanda in the eyes, finally. “He’s not your father.”
“Who is my father, Mother?” Yolanda terrified herself, yelling at Gloria as if she hadn’t been taught better. But at that moment Yolanda could feel herself coming apart, like her life had caught a snag long ago and she’d unraveled—only no one had told her she’d been walking around all this time with her entire backside exposed. I’m not me. My whole life has been a lie? “Who is he?”
“Your father’s name is Bernard Livingston. He was living in Parker City, the last I heard,” Gloria said, her eyes fixed in a trance.
Regina bristled. Yolanda has a father? Living?
“You don’t even know him?” Yolanda accused her. “How do you just sleep with somebody, have a baby with somebody—”
“Yo-yo, don’t, okay? I’ve already been through the guilt trip. You have no idea what it feels like to lose everything.”
Gloria spoke softly, but Yolanda was not feeling one bit sorry for her.
“This family is so sick!” Yolanda screamed, clasping her hands and resting them on top of her head. “Is that the excuse for everything? Every time somebody dies, people just lose their minds? That gives you the right to leave your kids, jump into bed with strangers—”
“Please.” Gloria’s eyes begged. “Please don’t, Yolanda. You can’t say anything to me that I haven’t already said to myself.”
Aunt Toe bit her tongue, willed it to stay still. Gloria should have had this conversation with Yo-yo a long time ago.
Yolanda and Gloria just sat there for a moment, staring at each other, Yolanda fuming, Gloria melting. Regina stood against the counter, wondering what all this meant for her.
Yolanda shrieked, “How could she let me live my whole life thinking I didn’t have a father?! Don’t you know that every little girl wants a daddy?! This is crazy!”
“Sit down—both of you,” Gloria said nervously.
Reluctantly, they obeyed, waiting to hear the answers.
“Yo-yo, you have to understand the position I was in,” she began, shedding tears she’d kept at bay for a number of years. “When your father died—I mean, when Willie died— my whole life stopped. I was bred, born, and raised to be a wife. I know you don’t understand that, because I raised you, Dianne, and Regina to stand on your own two feet, but that’s not the way your grandma raised us. God rest her soul, she meant well. But me and your aunt Joyce Ann came up thinking we were nothing without a man. So when Willie died, I felt like the rug was pulled right out from under me. I was so lost, I thought about killing myself. If it wasn’t for Regina, I would have…”
Yolanda felt like she could vomit any minute now.
“The day after the funeral Bernard came over to tell me how sorry he was about the loss. Bernard was one of Willie’s coworkers. He had taken up a collection from the other men down at the plant and then brought it to me. I knew him well enough to invite him in. Joyce Ann had taken Regina down to the rent house for a few hours and given me some time alone.
“Anyway, Bernard came in and we started talking. I started crying, leaning on him. Smelled the odor of the factory in his clothes, same I used to with Willie.
“He hugged me, held me in his arms. And I started thinking, ‘What if I never get held like this again? What if this is it for me? I felt so weak, and he felt so strong. I kissed him. He looked at me like…like he was just as confused as I was. I asked him to…to kiss me. He started to say no, but I kissed him before he could get the word out. We kept waiting for the other one to say ‘stop’ or ‘we shouldn’t be doing this.’ But neither of us said a word the entire time.
“For weeks he called to tell me how sorry he was for what happened, for taking advantage of me. I told him that it was just as much my fault as it was his and not to worry about it. He gave me his number and told me to call him if I ever needed anything for myself or for Regina, or if
I ever needed someone to talk to.”
“Does he know about me?” Yolanda interrupted her.
“No. Not really.” Yolanda waited for Gloria to explain this answer. “He knows I had a baby, the same as everybody else in Dentonville knew that I had a baby nine months after Willie died. I guess he just assumed that you were Willie’s. But I knew. A woman knows these things. You take one look at Bernard and you’ll know without a doubt that you’re his.” She nodded.
“Who else knows?” Yolanda asked.
“Grandma knew. Joyce Ann knows. Aunt Toe knows. Hmph, probably Dr. Hamilton.”
“Great!” Yolanda replied sarcastically. “Why is it that everybody else knows except me, Momma? Don’t you think I would have liked to know that I had a father?”
“You’re not a mother yet, Yo-yo. I really... I don’t expect you to understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand!” Yo-yo put it in black and white. “You lied to me. Why, Momma? It makes no sense!”
Gloria did her best to explain. “When you’re a single mother and you’re doing your best to raise your kids in the best atmosphere possible, you try to cut down on all the problems you can. Times were different back then. People didn’t have this outcry of support for single mothers, let alone a mother with kids with different fathers. People were ashamed, back then.”
“You should be!” Yolanda interjected. Her heart raced and she could feel every vein in her chest. Willie is not my father? This isn’t happening to me.
“I was. I was extremely ashamed. And I didn’t want to put you and Regina through a whole lot of mess—one daughter having a father and the other one not. One child getting extra Christmas gifts and the other one not. Aunts, uncles, and cousins for one but not for the other. I just didn’t want a lot of drama and rejection for you if people in Dentonville found out that you weren’t Willie’s, or if Bernard got married and had other kids. I just wanted you and Regina to grow up as normal as possible—grow up with few disruptions. That’s a mother’s prerogative.”
Divas of Damascus Road Page 19
