The door creaked open a few inches, and Daddy stuck his head through. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’, Daddy,” I said in my lazy morning voice. The smell of cinnamon and warm chicory brewing in the coffeepot floated into our room.
“I’m headed to Pete’s. Do you want to ride along?” At the end of every month, when Daddy got his paycheck, him and Georgie made a run to Mr. Pete’s doughnut shop and got us a couple dozen fresh doughnuts. I knew without even asking that the reason he was offering for me to ride with him instead of my brother was because it was my birthday weekend.
Sealy rolled over, but kept on sleeping. I was out of bed before I answered, “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I always liked the way Saturday mornings smelled. That was the day Mama made her pies. Everybody in our neighborhood called her The Pie Lady. Anyone needing a pie for any reason would be a fool if they didn’t get it from my mama. Last Christmas there was a lady who drove four hours from Lake Charles for five of my mama’s pies. They’re that good.
Mama would get up while it was still dark as tar outside and the rest of the world was still sleeping. She’d start out by rolling the dough. Most times, there’d be flour from one end of the counter to the other. After she got her piecrusts all fixed, she’d start slow-cooking the fillings on the stovetop.
By the time I’d come walking into the kitchen, the sun had only been up a short while, but the whole house already smelled of cinnamon apples, sweet potato with extra nutmeg, and the sugary-sweet perfume of heavy syrup simmering in the big silvery pot.
Mama was standing at the stove stirring one of them pots with a big wooden spoon. I came up behind, and stood on my tippy-toes so I could kiss her cheek. “Mornin’, Mama.”
She’s pretty, my mama. But I think she’s always been the most pretty real early in the morning when she has her pie-making glow. I knew that’s when she was the happiest. I guess she loved her pie-making the way Sealy loved her books.
“Good morning,” Mama said, putting the spoon down on the countertop. She wiped her floury hands on her apron and gave me a warm morning hug. Then she took my face in both her hands and rubbed my nose with her nose. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I reached past her and dipped my finger in the thick goop puddled on the wooden spoon. Mama lightly slapped the back of my hand. I smiled and put my syrupy finger in my mouth, knowin’ right away it was the fixins of a pecan pie.
Memaw was sitting at the table cracking pecans. There was a bowl for the shells and a bowl for the nuts, but Memaw was missing both of them. Nuts and shells and nut dust covered the table. Hardly nothing was in the bowls.
“Well, now, aren’t you an early bird,” Memaw said, squinting at me. Her eyeglasses were hanging from the gold-colored cord around her neck. I unfolded the glasses and slid them onto her face, careful not to accidentally poke an eye out.
“Oh, my—look at this mess,” she said, looking around at all the nuts and nut dust. I giggled.
“Mornin’, Memaw.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead. She reached her hand up and hugged my head.
The back screen door slapped shut and Daddy’s heavy footsteps came toward the kitchen.
He wasn’t smiling like he usually did on a doughnut Saturday. Long creases were planted across his forehead. “You ready to go, baby girl?” Daddy asked. His pleasant voice didn’t match the look of trouble on his face.
“Uh-huh,” I said, picking up nutshells and wondering if his look had anything to do with the Babineauxes skipping town.
“Excuse me?” Daddy cocked his head at me. Both Mama and Memaw stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
“I mean yes, sir.” I had to stop my lip from wanting to curl.
He relaxed a tiny bit. “Why don’t you wait for me in the truck? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.” I looked to Mama and Memaw and gave my finger sign for I love you.
I almost made it out the door when Memaw shuffled toward me in her wore-out fuzzy slippers.
“Here.” She shoved two dollars into my hand. “Get me two of them apple fritters.”
“But Memaw, you ain’t supposed to be eatin’ too many sweets on account of your sugar bein’ high.” I held out the dollar bills for her to take back.
“You listen to me, child. There’s nothin’ wrong with my sugar that a warm apple fritter can’t fix. Now go on.” She shooed me toward the door.
I let out a big sigh and stuffed the money into the pocket of my shorts. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” She stared at me over the top of her glasses, holding up two fingers with one hand and rubbing her belly with the other. She looked silly, and it made me smile.
“You’re bad, Memaw. You’re gonna get us both in trouble.” I went out and got in Daddy’s truck. I sat there trying to figure out how I was gonna sneak that ol’ woman her apple fritters.
The truck smelled like Daddy, or maybe Daddy smelled like the truck. I really ain’t sure. It was one of them aromas made up from a whole collection of smells.
Daddy never smoked in front of us kids. I don’t even think he did in front of Mama, neither. But we all knew that when Daddy drove by hisself, he would smoke on a skinny cigar. I liked the smell it left behind—a smoky, thick sweetness of leaves burning at Christmastime.
The truck door creaked and stuck on the hinges when Daddy opened it. He sat down heavy in his driver’s seat and let out a long sigh. I think he might’ve forgot I was there. His hand sat there holding the keys, and he stared at something I didn’t see out the windshield. He shook his head, shaking his private thoughts loose, and then he turned to look at me. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes looked far away.
“Are you buckled up?”
“Yes, sir.” I wanted to ask him what was troubling him, but I knew that whatever it was, he’d feel better as soon as he had some of Mr. Pete’s fresh doughnut holes.
He picked up the little metal can that held his peppermints. He flipped the lid and held it out to me. I smiled and took one of the tiny candies. He winked at me and took one for hisself. I had a feeling that he was aching for a cigar right then, but he went to sucking the mint instead.
Once we got moving, I was relieved to see that whatever was upsetting my daddy seemed to fly out the open truck widow and into the muggy morning air.
“Daddy, hurry up!” I pointed out the window. I could see the flashing blue and white light on the pole next to the building, even though the doughnut shop was still more than a block down the road. That bright, spinning light let everybody know that a new batch of doughnuts had come out of the oven. It was like the light was screaming, “Come an’ get ’em while they’re hot!”
My mouth started to water thinking about biting into the hot, fresh, melt-in-your-mouth fried, sugary dough.
“Daddy, drive faster!”
Daddy didn’t say nothing. He just grinned and sucked on his peppermint. I bounced up and down in my seat.
The truck finally made it to the sandy parking lot. A big ol’ dust cloud whooshed out from underneath us. I jumped out before Daddy even had a chance to shut off the engine. I slammed my door shut and slid around the front of the truck.
I was running for the shop’s bright red painted door when I seen a playpen like the one Mama used for the twins sitting up in the alley between Pete’s and the pawn shop next door. A cardboard sign reading “free puppies” was taped to the rim. I skidded to a stop, temporarily forgetting all about doughnuts.
I whipped around and gave Daddy my most convincing sweet-as-pie face with my hands folded in prayer up against my chest.
“Oh, Daddy, please?” I hadn’t even looked at the four-legged creatures yet, but I’d been wanting myself a puppy for as long as I could remember. I knew he’d say yes, it being my birthday weekend and all.
Daddy was shaking his head “no” before he even took the time to ponder the possibility.
I approached the filthy playpen holding the free puppies. I was
fixin’ to open my mouth to remind him of all the benefits of a free pet when a stench flew up my nose, making my stomach do a flip-flop.
Daddy yanked me back. A mangy beast leaped up out of that pen made for babies like it was gonna tear me to shreds. It took to barking and growling and flinging thick dog spit everywhere.
“Hey, keep back, girl!” snarled a toothless old white lady. She came swaggering from around the corner of the doughnut shop carrying a long, thick stick in her gnarled hand. Daddy swept me behind him and took a step toward the skinny, dirty, hunched-over woman.
“We were just looking at your puppies, ma’am,” Daddy said. The devil dog and two more like it were all yapping and having a fit.
“These here puppies ain’t for you.” The words got lost in raspy phlegm rumbling around in her saggy throat. The woman’s eyes were watery-yellow, and her face was dry and cracked, like gator skin. Even though I was safe up behind Daddy, I could smell the sourness of the old woman’s breath.
Without any warning, that ugly ol’ witch swung her stick and hit one of them dog-monsters upside the head so hard the stick splintered. The animal screamed a dog scream, and the other two yelped and ran to huddle in a corner of the pen.
“Now go on,” the evil woman grumbled, waving her stick. “Get on outta here.”
Daddy put his arm around my shoulder and guided me toward the red door of the doughnut shop. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the old woman’s heartless face. I pulled loose from Daddy and went marching right up to the woman, getting as close as my good sense would let me.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I said slow and clear to the wicked witch. “How would you like it if I took a stick an’ hit you upside your fool head?” My voice was beginning to rise and my whole body took to shaking.
“That’s enough, Armani,” Daddy said.
I walked back to Daddy and slipped my hand into his. I glared at the woman with my face all puckered up in disgust and stuck my nose up in the air. I didn’t blink, not one time.
The woman finally tore her eyes away from mine. She lowered her head, nodding it from side to side, grumbling to herself. She lifted the front of her long, stained gypsy-looking skirt and shuffled on back around the corner where she’d come from. The poor messed-up puppies got quiet.
I took a deep breath and my heart took to beating again. “Sorry, Daddy.”
He squeezed my hand. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, baby.” Then he kissed the top of my head.
The friendly little bell rang above the thick red door when Daddy opened it. The warm, Saturday morning baking smell filled me up and brought my mind back to doughnuts.
Just like the blinking light outside promised, piping-fresh sugar-dusted doughnut holes and beignets filled the glass case. The shop was full of people, but not one of them seemed to be interested in the goodness of fried dough. More than one person said the name Katrina, and I knew right then the talk was about the stupid storm.
Mrs. Louell was standing smack-dab in the middle of the room, preaching to everyone. I ain’t trying to be hurtful, but the woman was so large she took up more than her share of the tiny shop.
“Well,” Mrs. Louell went on, “alls I’m sayin’ is, soon as that storm hits them warm waters in the Gulf—humph. Well, y’all know it ain’t gonna be good.” One hand was firmly planted on her generous hip and the other one was waving here and there, with the underpart of her arm wobbling like a bowl of brown Jell-O.
“Yup, yup,” is all her scrawny, soft-spoken husband said. It was probably the only thing he ever said, what with being around Mrs. Louell and all.
“Y’all best mark my words. We ain’t ready for no big hurricane—humph. That’s all I’m sayin’—humph.” She kept blowing out air like it was helping to make her point. I was bored to death with Mrs. Louell’s rantin’ and ravin’ about that dumb storm.
Daddy and ol’ Mr. Leroy were over by the red door in the corner that takes Mr. Pete upstairs to his living area. Mr. Pete’s the best-smelling white man I’ve ever known. He used to live in a real nice butterbean-colored house with his wife, till she died from cancer a few years back. That’s when he moved, and started staying above his doughnut shop. Memaw said he was never gonna find him a new wife living up there like that, but I didn’t agree. I told her that someday I’d love to marry a man that came with his own built-in doughnut shop.
The corner door creaked open and Mr. Pete hurried through it, tying his blue apron strings behind his back. He stopped to shake Daddy’s hand. “Mornin’, George. Leroy.”
“Good morning. You doing all right, Pete?” Daddy said.
“Oh yeah, you know—just trying to get ready for this storm,” Mr. Pete said, and headed my way. “Hey, George, while you’re here, go on upstairs and grab one of those tracking charts off my desk. I have plenty. Grab one for Leroy too.” He took his place up behind the counter and went to lining up a fresh batch of doughnut holes in perfect straight lines.
“Good morning, Armani,” said Mr. Pete.
“Mornin’, Mr. Pete.” My eyes scanned the doughnut case. Mr. Pete picked up one of the hot sugar-dusted doughnut holes off the counter and offered it to me. I set it on my tongue where it dissolved, barely needing any chewing at all. I closed my eyes. “Mmm . . .”
Mr. Pete chuckled. “What can I get for you, young lady?”
“Well.” I looked over my shoulder. Daddy opened the red door in the corner. He seen me looking. He smiled and gave me the I’ll be back in a minute signal by pointing his finger up in the air. I nodded and smiled back real sweet-like. He ducked so he wouldn’t smack his head on the low door frame and he disappeared up the stairs. Finally.
I cleared my throat and turned back to the counter. I stood tall on my tippy-toes and said in my best hushed voice, “Actually, Mr. Pete, I’ll be needin’ two of your apple fritters, please.”
Smuggling the dang fritters out of the store and into the truck was only successful because Daddy was so distracted. I was gonna strangle Memaw for making me turn to criminal-type behavior just because she had a sweet tooth. I prayed I’d make it all the way home without the little white bag falling from under my shirt and landing on the truck floor. I got real nervous when I seen that Daddy was going the long way home.
“Why are we goin’ this way, Daddy?”
“I need to stop and get gas. It’ll just take a minute.”
I shifted in my seat, and the bag holding the fritters made a crinkle noise. It sounded like my stomach was made of crumpled newspaper. I froze and held my breath. Sweat left the top of my head and ran down past my ears.
Daddy started whistling some tune that only made sense to him. He smiled and looked sideways at me.
Before he got out of his truck at the gas station, Daddy said, “Armani, why are you hiding your Memaw’s apple fritters under your shirt?” He smiled and winked and walked off to pump gas.
I seriously felt my heart stop right then and there.
CHAPTER 4
Memaw was wearing a hole in the front porch, pacing back and forth. She was fussing—close to tears—looking all crazy, like she’d gone and lost her mind. All I could think was how much she must’ve been wanting them apple fritters. The little white bag felt like a brick wall sitting on top of the big white box of doughnuts on the seat between me and Daddy. If the fritters had caused her to get that worked up, we were gonna have to have a serious talk about the importance of pastries.
Memaw’s hands flew up to her cheeks when she seen us pull up. I knew right then from the look in her eyes that whatever was happening, it sure wasn’t about no apple fritters. My stomach twisted into a hard knot, and my heart went to pounding in the sides of my head.
Daddy flew out of the truck, leaped up over all four steps, and had Memaw in his arms before I could even get my stupid stuck door open.
“What is it, Mama Jean? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank the good Lord you’re home!” Memaw held a hand to her heart. “It’
s the baby.”
Kheelin.
The ambulance people about knocked me down the porch steps when they ran past me with the oxygen tank. Ever since the twins was born, Kheelin had been sickly and Khayla stayed as healthy as could be. Kheelin had at least twenty asthma attacks a week till the doctor gave Mama the inhaler. That thing was always with Mama, and Mama was never more than a holler away from Kheelin.
I tried to avoid Kheelin, ’cause I was afraid to love him. It seemed he was living with only one foot this side of Heaven. I ain’t proud of it, but it was the truth. All that baby boy had to do was sneeze sideways, and my nerves would get set in motion. When he was first born, I wouldn’t even hold him. Not that I would’ve had a chance to even if I’d wanted—not with the way Mama was always fussing over him twenty-four-seven.
Memaw was huddled up in her TV-watching chair with her hand wrapped tight around the silver compass-locket she never took off. A layer of sweat covered her face. Sealy stood beside her.
“Are you okay, Memaw?” Sealy asked, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. A lady paramedic on her way out the door stopped and looked down at Memaw. “Ma’am, are you feeling all right?”
Memaw forced a smile and nodded her head. “I’m fine, darlin’,” she said, waving the lady away. “Don’t mind me none. I’m just an old lady who needs a rest, that’s all.”
The ambulance lady took Memaw’s wrist and checked her pulse.
“Is she havin’ an asthma attack too?” I asked. Nobody ever told me asthma was contagious.
Memaw pulled her wrist away from the helpful lady and said, “No, indeed. I’m not havin’ an attack of any kind!” She slapped her hands down—one on each arm of her gold-flowered chair. She planted her feet firm on the floor and stood up, no grunts or nothing. She didn’t even take time to let the blood flow down to her toes like usual.
Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere Page 3
