Mama B - a Time to Love
Read Mama B - a Time to Love Online
Authors: Michelle Stimpson
Mama B: A Time to Love
Novella #3 in the Mama B Series
by Michelle Stimpson
Copyright
2013 by Michelle Stimpson
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for
brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the author.
The
characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or
events is coincidental.
Published
by MLStimpson Enterprises
Cover
and design by Delia Latham
With love and appreciate to the readers
who encourage me daily.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Acknowledgments
Thanks
be to God for His special work in me as I wrote this book. He has brought me
into a greater revelation of His love for us, and I am forever grateful. A
thousand years from now, we will still sing of His great love.
Thanks to fellow authors April Dishon Barker
and L.A. Logan for being a sounding board for this book. I had my thoughts,
too, but the final product came out very different from what even I knew! God
is good.
Thanks again to my writing group for
their thoughts and encouragement with Mama B. We didn’t get to do much together
this go-round, but I certainly felt your prayers!
My family always makes a bit of a
sacrifice when I’m writing a book. The love and support of those closest to me
is invaluable. Love you!
Finally, to those who help with the finishing
touches – Delia (cover art) and Karen Rodgers (editing) – your eyes
and skills are a blessing to me!
One good thing about volunteering at the
food pantry is you never forget to be thankful for every scrap of food that
finds its way to your own plate. I done seen folk come in wearing all kind of
hundred-dollar shirts, totin’ thousand-dollar purses. Pink slips and
middle-age-crisis-havin’ husbands don’t care what all kind of help you were
last year or last week. With one bad report on a computer screen or one good
swish of the new secretary’s hips, honey, many-a-woman has found herself in
need of a hot meal.
I suppose I shouldn’t make it seem like
it was only women coming to the pantry. Say 95% was women. The rest was
men, mostly on drugs, and there was a few people I couldn’t tell if they was
standin’ or squattin’.
Don’t matter, though, since we all God’s creation.
That was my attitude about serving folk at the center. I didn’t care what they
look like or whatever brought them there—everybody needs to eat,
especially the babies. Even though the government help we got there had a bunch
of rules, I couldn’t bring myself to turn away nobody who was hungry.
But they had done sent out a note to every
center, which the new location director, Rhonda Hall, read to everyone the
previous week. “Due to budget cuts and redistricting, we must follow the
guidelines as outlined in the center handbook, including the jurisdictional
stipulations.”
Me and Libby just looked at each other
and rolled our eyes. I support the President and the country and all, but some
of them rules don’t make no sense and everybody knows it. Plus, they keep
changing ‘em every time you look up.
Anyhow, we made it through almost a whole
week before the new rules got tested. It was Friday, around a quarter ‘til
four. We was all straightening things up, emptying the kitchen trash cans and
sweeping the floors so we could close up for the weekend. Me and Libby always
did an extra-strong cleaning, since sometimes we didn’t make it back for a
couple of weeks, with the center hours being reduced and all.
In comes a woman we hadn’t seen in a
while. She real big, always wearing shorts and flip flops no matter what the
weather, that’s how I know she got varicose veins real bad in one leg. I
suppose them veins had something to do with the cane she carried. She had wild,
curly brown hair and a nose to where you could tell that even though she looked
white, she got some black or Indian in her somewhere down the line. Like I
said, don’t make me no difference what folk look like, I’m just sayin’ this is
how I recognized her. I couldn’t remember her name, but her voice was etched in
my mind forever, too—real proper, loud and raspy all at the same time.
“Helloooooo there!” the woman called in
her distinct tone.
Libby looked up and smiled at me. We both
stepped back further into the kitchen area because we knew Miss Hall and the
new rules was about to meet their match.
I heard Rhonda’s heels cross the few feet
from her desk to the greeting counter. “How can I help you?”
“I need an emergency food pack, please.”
Me and Libby peeked out the kitchen to
watch.
“Well, our emergency food packs are for
extenuating circumstances only. Do you have an urgent situation?”
The patron squinted up at Rhonda. “Yes.
I’m hungry.”
Rhonda grabbed a few forms and a pen from
under the counter and presented them to the woman. “You can fill these out and—”she
looked at her watch—“bring them back Monday morning.” She held out the
forms for the woman to take with her.
The woman propped one hand on her hip and
used the other to tap her cane on the floor. “Are you pulling my leg?”
Libby elbowed me in the side. I tried to
poke her back, but she squirmed out of reach, giggling softly as we continued
to watch the mess unfold.
“No,” Rhonda held her ground. “We have
new rules. They’ve been posted on the outside window for a week now.”
“Well, I haven’t been here in more than a
week. I usually go to the one over in Mesquite. It’s closer to me. But since I
was out this way at the thrift shop—”
Rhonda shook her head and retracted the
papers. “Oh, if you live closer to that location, you’re out of our jurisdiction.
We can’t serve you here. You need to go
there
.”
“But they’ll be closed by the time I get
back!”
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do for
you here.”
“Sweetheart, how old are you?” the woman
asked Rhonda.
“Twenty-three,” Miss Rhonda smacked.
“Honey, I’ve got
underwear
older
than you and I’ve paid enough taxes to cover your salary for the next ten
years. Now, I’m hungry and I’m not going anywhere else to get my food.”
That’s when Libby rushed to the
refrigerator and snatched one of those emergency packs off the top tray. She
pulled me in for the intervention. This drama had gone on long enough.
“Hello, Eunice.”
I was glad Libby remembered her name.
“Finally. Here’s somebody with half a
brain,” Eunice sighed at the sight of us. “Hi, Libby.”
“Hey. You remember my friend, Beatrice?
We call her B.”
“Yes. Good to see you again, B.” Eunice
gave me a hearty smile.
Libby set the recyclable grocery bag on
the counter, but Rhonda grabbed the handles and set it on our side of the
divider. She looked Libby dead in her eyes. “No, Miss Libby. We cannot give her
this food.”
“Miss Eunice now understands that she has
to go to the other center,” I jumped in. “I’m sure she won’t come here again.
But today, this one time, won’t hurt.” I grabbed the sack handles and attempted
to transfer the sack again, but I tell you Miss Rhonda jerked that thing away
from me so hard my elbow like ta popped out the socket!
“Rhonda!” Libby shrieked.
“Is you crazy, pulling my arm like that?”
I fussed.
This girl need some anger management classes.
“No!” Rhonda exploded. “She is
not
getting this sack!”
Next thing I know, Eunice’s cane come
swinging from across that counter. Rhonda saw it and ducked in time. Libby
wasn’t so quick. The rubber tip caught her right on the cheek. Instantly, a red
streak appeared on Libby’s face.
Libby’s hand covered the spot as she
hollered, “Stop it!”
“I’m so sorry!” Eunice squealed, trying
to hop over the barrier, which could not have happened seeing as she was probably
close to two hundred fifty pounds and only had one good leg. In her panic, she
musta thought she was gonna get some extra strength, like the mommas who pick
up cars off their babies. Clearly she wasn’t gettin’ no such extra help from on
high at the moment.
Chile, this was sho’ ’nuff a sad scene.
Got Libby on one side holding on to her cheek, Eunice lookin’ like a broke-down
Spiderman, and Rhonda shakin’ like a leaf talkin’ on her cell phone.
“Eunice, get down before you hurt
yourself,” I ordered. “You all right, Libby?”
Libby twitched her chin from left to
right. “I think so.”
“Here, let me look at you.” I slanted her
face a little to the right. Didn’t look too bad, as far as the scratch went,
but she was sure gon’ have a bad bruise in the morning. “Put some ice on it
when you get home.”
With Libby checked out and both of Eunice’s
feet back on the ground, look like my mind could finally process what Rhonda
was doing. By that point, she’d already ended her unnecessary phone call.
“The police are on the way.”
“What you call the police for?” I asked.
“She assaulted me!” Rhonda yelled.
“That woman did not hit you.”
“She
tried
to hit me.”
“But she missed,” I corrected Rhonda.
Eunice finally got that extra power as
she swiveled and made double-time toward the door. Rhonda shot out from the
safety of the counter and twisted that door lock before Eunice could reach the
exit. Then she took the long route back to the safety of her desk. “You’re not
leaving until the cops get here.”
A part of me wished Eunice had of
escaped, but I knew it was best for her to stay there and wait until the police
cleared her to leave because Rhonda probably wasn’t gonna let it go. She’d have
Eunice on
America’s Most Wanted
, left up to her.
“Eunice, you might best just wait here.”
I pointed to the wooden bench underneath the community bulletin board.
Libby shuffled out the kitchen area with
an ice pack pressed to her face. She strong.
Thank you, Lord
.
Eunice hoisted herself up from the bench
and took the last few steps to meet Libby. “I am so sorry. You know I wasn’t
trying to hit you, right?”
“Yes, Eunice. I know. It was an accident.
Kinda.”
Eunice poked her cane in Rhonda’s
direction. “I meant to hit
her
.”
“Well, you didn’t really need to hit
anyone,” Libby scolded.
Eunice yelled toward Rhonda, “It’s not
your food, anyway! It’s the government’s! It belongs to everyone!”
“Tell that to the police,” Rhonda smarted
off. But she didn’t take one step toward Eunice again, that’s for sure.
We all waited until the officers arrived.
I was hoping they would just tell everybody to cool down and go home. I already
knew Libby wasn’t going to press no charges. She not the type of person to go
by the letter of the law, which is exactly what got us in that position to
begin with, I reckon.
But when the officer asked Eunice for her
ID, we ran into a bit of a problem. She got some kind of little fine she hadn’t
paid. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with us.”
“I got the money to pay it right here,” Eunice
said, patting her fanny pack.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to handle
this downtown.”
And with that, they put those little
plastic strings on Miss Eunice’s wrists and led her toward the front door. That
Eunice let out a holler that would have raised a thousand dollars for charity.
“I’m sorry. I was just hungry. I didn’t do anything wrong,” she wailed.
I looked back at Rhonda, who had somehow
managed to stay glued to her seat nearly the whole time Libby and I had been
trying to explain this whole mishap to the police, begging for mercy on Eunice’s
behalf.
“Libby, call my son, Judge Paul Lemon.
Dallas County.”
Ooh, Rhonda’s eyes got real big then.
“Your son’s a
judge
?”
“Yes,” Eunice sniffed. “He works
downtown, presides over criminal cases. He locks up tons of bad guys and throws
away the key.”
The officer who’d been prodding Eunice
forward stopped. “Ummm…ma’am…we…do appreciate it when the courts validate all
our hard work. Do you want to call your son
first
?”
Hmph. Aint’ that something? Every once in
a while them politics works in your favor.
“Okay,” Eunice huffed again, straining
her neck so she could wipe her nose on her shirt. She’d cleared up that crying
awful quick-like. Made me wonder if she was putting on a show, if her son
really was in the position she claimed he was in. If not, she had done worked
up an extra helping of trouble with those fine officers.
Eunice rattled off a telephone number to
Libby, who dialed on Eunice’s behalf, seeing as Eunice’s hands were still
behind her back. “Yes, this is Mrs. Libby Maxwell. I need to speak to Judge
Lemon, please…No, I can’t leave a message. Tell him it’s regarding his
mother…Yes, I’ll hold.”
Libby played that Momma card real nice,
and within a few moments, she and the oldest officer had negotiated so Eunice’s
twist ties came off. There was some winking and some unspoken understandings I
knew Libby would catch me up on later. But for the moment, Eunice was released
into the custody of Libby, with the agreement Eunice would handle the fine
first thing Monday morning and only seek help from the correct food pantry.
Whew! What a mess, all over a sack of free food!
The officers apologized for restraining Eunice.
Eunice apologized again for hitting Libby. Me and Libby apologized for
involving them in such a petty matter when they could have been out stopping a
real criminal.
The only person who didn’t offer no kind
of remorse was Rhonda. She kept fiddling with her keys, twirling them kinky
strings on her head like she do every time she get nervous about one of the
homeless people with a mental problem.
Only, she didn’t look scared. She was mad
‘cause all ended well. That’s just like the enemy, though. He don’t like to see
nobody get mercy ‘cause God ain’t gon’ give him none when it’s all said and
done.
Soon as the officers left, Rhonda grabbed
her fake Coach bag and stomped toward the doors to lead the way out.
“Goodnight,” Libby spoke for me and Eunice,
too.
Rhonda didn’t say nothing else. When we
got outside, she pulled the doors to, twisted that key to lock them, and hopped
into her Kia with the BMW emblem on the front.
She
the one need to be investigated
with all that bootleg merchandise, if you ask me.
