Someone to Watch Over Me (14 page)

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Authors: Michelle Stimpson

BOOK: Someone to Watch Over Me
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Casually, I confessed, “Yeah, it's not too often that a girl in my situation ends up doing well for herself.”
“What situation?”
“Spare me. I was pregnant, remember?”
“Yeah, but that's not the end of the world.” He shook his head. “You weren't the first pregnant teenage girl in Bayford, and you most definitely weren't the last.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“People are funny, you know? We remember the worst about each other, the bump on someone's nose, the hair sticking out of place. It's human nature to look for what's wrong. We have to be conditioned, trained to look for and remember the best.”
“Is that what you do?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That's how I read the stress in your face. I never forgot your smile.”
Had to catch myself before all thirty-two showed, front and center. “Thank you.”
Jacob grabbed the overhead handle on the passenger's side. “Good talking to you.”
“Yeah.”
“I'd like to talk again sometime. Some place other than the church parking lot,” he suggested.
“O . . . okay.” Vocabulary foiled again.
“Would you like to go out later this week?”
“Yes,” came out. Then reality hit. “No.”
Jacob cast a puzzled glance.
“I mean, yes, I'd like to go out, but I'm too busy. With the store, Aunt Dottie, DeAndre, my work—I can't.”
He sat up. “How can I help?”
A puff of air escaped me. “Let me count the ways. You got a day care for bad little boys?”
“You mean DeAndre.”
“Who else?”
“He's no trouble. Aunt Dottie brings him to church with her all the time. I've had him in my Sunday school class. Smart as a whip, can't put nothing past him.”
“Please! He's suspended from school for fighting, and peed in my trash can at my job, okay?”
Jacob cracked up laughing.
“I'm glad you think it's so funny.”
“No”—he calmed himself—“it's not funny, except I did something similar when I was his age.”
“Get out,” I ordered Jacob, fingering the unlock switch again. “Get out now.”
“Wait, wait.” He locked the doors. “You remember when those JCPenney and Sears stores used to have those model restrooms set up in the store?”
“You didn't.”
“Yes, I did. Number two.”
“Jacob, that's nasty!”
“Hey, I didn't know. Maybe I wasn't as old as DeAndre. First grade, I think.”
Head shaking, I asked, “Your momma spanked you silly, didn't she?”
He stopped in thought. “Tori, white people get spankings. Black people get whippin's. That's what I got—a whippin'.”
“Well, I guess I'm white 'cause I didn't get beat down,” I bragged. “My momma didn't hit me often. Her telling me I'd done something wrong was punishment enough for me.”
“You're blessed, then, 'cause my hard head needed some hardcore hammering.”
The thought of hitting DeAndre had occurred to me, of course, but I didn't think I could actually lay a hand on him. I'd never hit anyone—not even when a mean girl named Roxie Flatsnap slapped me on the playground in fifth grade. Anybody with the name Roxie Flatsnap deserved to get away with something every now and then, for as much as we'd teased her.
With no brothers or sisters to practice my sparring, I was sorely adapted to violence.
“I can't whip DeAndre. He's not mine. And even if he were, I'd try to do time-outs or other punishments first.”
“Got an idea. Why don't you let him join our church's Little League baseball team? Brother Reynolds will be coaching, I'll be helping out. I can keep an eye on him, make sure he stays in line. And if he has any more . . . accidents . . . you let me know and I'll make sure he runs laps for it.”
“Just make him run for the fun of it, so he'll be dirt tired when he comes home from practice.”
“Deal.” We shook on it. His hands were soft enough to caress, callous enough to prove he wasn't scared of hard work.
Chapter 15
C
assandra and I met up at eight to open the store. DeAndre's suspended behind tagged alongside me. He was thoroughly miffed at the idea of getting up early this particular Monday morning.
“Why can't I sleep late today since I don't have to go to school?” he'd fussed groggily as I yanked the bedspread off his body.
“Au contraire, mon frère. This is not a free day for you.”
Now, as I unlocked the iron bars and padlocks securing the store, DeAndre suddenly came alive. “Wait! Aunt Dottie always prays when she opens the store.”
Cassandra nodded. “He's right. She does.”
DeAndre scooped my hand and Cassandra's. We all followed DeAndre's lead. “God, please help us to have a great day at the store. Let people find what they need, and help Ms. Cassandra and Mr. Elgin do a good job. Bless the people who come in today. Thank you for this store. Protect us and keep us. In Jesus' name, Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Oh, wait, God! And bless Cousin Tori, too, Lord. Help her do everything right. Amen.”
“Amen.”
We hadn't even turned on all the lights before our first customer came rolling in.
“Hey, Miss Mattie!” Cassandra greeted the elderly woman tapping through the entry with her wooden cane.
DeAndre seemed to know his way around the store well enough. He ushered in sunshine through the blinds, clicked on the neon OPEN sign, shouting the news to those traveling westward over the railroad tracks.
With Cassandra and the store set for the first few hours before Elgin came in, DeAndre and I shuttled on over to the hospital to pick up Aunt Dottie.
“Auntie!” DeAndre nearly yelled as we walked into her room.
She held out one arm and braced herself for his zealous hug. Even if she could have talked, she wouldn't have scolded him for nearly knocking her out of the bed.
“I missed you, Aunt Dottie. I'm sorry I got suspended, but I'm going back to school tomorrow,” DeAndre rattled off his confession.
Aunt Dottie dipped her chin in disapproval.
“But I'm not going to fight anymore, I promise.” DeAndre held up his right hand.
I stood behind him, watching Aunt Dottie's face absorb his enthusiasm. Her crooked smile and twinkling eyes spoke volumes of forgiveness. The same unconditional love she'd shown me when I asked her if God had killed my baby because I'd had sex so young.
“Sweetheart, God is love. He don't kill no babies, but He does welcome when they come back to heaven, just like He'll welcome you at the end of your earthly life.”
“But my baby doesn't have anybody in heaven he knows,” I'd cried, wondering where all these wild thoughts were coming from. I'd been taking pain medication to deal with the episiotomy. The haze of drugs and pure sadness blocked out much of my immediate memory following the day I delivered. But I do remember Aunt Dottie's reply. “Time don't pass the same on earth as it does in heaven. To your baby, it'll seem like he's only been there a minute when you get there. You'll see.”
I still had questions, of course, but Aunt Dottie's love calmed my inquiry. Love mattered most, in her eyes.
“And Cousin Tori taught me how to multiply by nines, so now I know all my times tables. And guess what else? Cousin Tori said I can play baseball. I'm gonna ask some of my friends to play, too, but Chase got cut and he had to get stitches so I don't know if he can.”
Chase must have been forgiven, too.
Aunt Dottie nodded attentively, soaking in DeAndre's overflow of energy. I'd almost forgotten what a great listener she was. Even when she could talk, she preferred to listen.
“So what you think about the baseball team, Aunt Dottie?”
She waggled her head emphatically, agreeing with his plans.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “DeAndre, Aunt Dottie can't talk right now.”
“She can't?” As though he didn't believe me.
“Not yet, but don't worry. Once her teacher works with her, she'll be much better.”
Worry tramped across his face. He hugged Aunt Dottie again and spoke softly in her ear. “I'll teach you how to talk again, too, Aunt Dottie.”
She wrapped him up with her good arm and then kissed him on the cheek twice.
Together, DeAndre and I got Aunt Dottie out of the hospital and propped up in the front seat of my car. The wheelchair collapsed nicely into the back of my SUV.
Upon reentering Bayford, Aunt Dottie spotted friends at every intersection. She'd touch my arm and signal for me to blow, then use her left arm to wave at other drivers. They'd wave back. My first thought: this is
so
country. Then I remembered: this
is
the country.
DeAndre took a special interest in the wheelchair. He quickly reassembled it and rolled it to the passenger's side when we arrived back at the house.
“Lock the wheels first,” I told him while showing him how to accomplish this task.
“Got it.”
Though she struggled, Aunt Dottie's “working” half was stronger than I'd imagined. She helped us in her own way, holding the screen door open and hoisting herself from the wheelchair as much as possible.
She wrote “THANK YOU!!!” on her tablet after we'd finished arranging the comforter and organizing a tray with the telephone and television remote control at her bedside.
Joenetta showed up unannounced. For once, I was glad to see her. She checked in on Aunt Dottie, then met me in the kitchen as DeAndre and I finished our BLT sandwiches.
I briefed Joenetta on Aunt Dottie's medications and the schedule I'd been able to work out, with the hospital's assistance. Physical therapy Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at one. Speech therapy at three on Mondays and Wednesdays. Checkup with the doctor next week.
Joenetta paid little attention to my words, choosing instead to focus on Aunt Dottie's pill bottles.
“Any of these for pain?”
“I don't think so.”
“Hmph. Wonder can you ask the doctor to prescribe some Vicodin?” Her eyes widened with the request. As if.
“I doubt it.”
She plunked the bottles back onto the table. “Every household needs some Vicodin around. Never know when you might need it.”
“What's Vicodin?” DeAndre interjected.
Stuff people use to get high.
“Pain medication.”
“Oh.”
“Well,” Joenetta huffed, “don't come hollerin' to me if she starts hurtin' later on tonight. I tried to tell you.”
I promptly changed the subject. “Listen, I've got to run back to the store. Can you stay with Aunt Dottie until this afternoon? Sister Meecham will be over later with food.”
Joenetta agreed, but insisted on a trade. “Take DeAndre with you so Dottie can have some peace while she gets settled.”
DeAndre stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, swished his hands together and announced, “I'm ready.”
Great.
Elgin saved the day by putting DeAndre to work. “You're kicked out of school, huh?”
DeAndre nodded.
“Speak up,” Elgin commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
“Fightin' .”
“Fightin' 'bout what?”
“Somebody talkin' 'bout my momma.”
The corners of Elgin's lips lowered with understanding. “That'll do it every time. Grab a broom, son.”
I joined Cassandra behind the register, filling orders for pressed ham, answering questions about Aunt Dottie's health. Between customers, I talked to Cassandra about hiring Virgie.
“What do you think?”
Cassandra tilted her head to one side. Hesitated. “Everybody already knows her. It might be a good idea.”
“Everybody knows everybody in Bayford, Cassandra. What do you
really
think?”
She crossed her arms for a moment. Uncrossed them.
“Spill it, Cassandra.”
“Aunt Dottie's never had a white person working here, that's all I'm saying.”
Race never even entered my mind. “You think Aunt Dottie would care?”
“No, but the customers might. Black people don't trust white people . . . cleanliness around here. Folks might not want her touching their meat or slicing their cheese. They might be like yowza yowza!” She flopped her head from side to side as though she'd just been slapped by an imaginary hand.
“Cassandra, are you serious?”
“Afraid so.”
“Plus,” she continued, “this is like the last all-black establishment in Bayford. Except the churches. African Americans are proud we've kept Dottie's open all these years. If you hire Virgie, we might lose some of our older customers. Right now, we can't afford to lose anybody because, I don't know if you heard it or not, but they're building a Walmart in Henrytown.”
Walmart? Walmart!
This could be the answer to my dreams. If they built it, the people would come. There was tons of research about what happened to mom-and-pop stores once the Walmarts and Targets moved to town. Aunt Dottie would see the need to close the store and quit while she was ahead, living her golden years in total bliss, except for the slight matter of DeAndre.
“When does the Walmart open?”
“Some time in April, I think.”
A month, at best, to help Aunt Dottie arrive at the only sensible solution, save my job, and return to life as usual. Maybe even salvage the thing with Kevin and relinquish DeAndre-duty.
“Let's not worry too much about Virgie. She'll only be part-time anyway.” I brought the discussion to a close, hoping this whole thing would be a done deal in a matter of weeks. Liquidation, liquidation, liquidation.
Jacob entered the store a little after five, dressed in business attire. His fresh haircut revealed a wave pattern I remembered quite well from high school. Back then, boys would slap a brush in one palm at a moment's notice. They were worse than the girls sometimes.
“Hey, cuz!” Cassandra called from behind the counter. Several other customers greeted Jacob as well. “You ate up all that pressed ham already?” Cassandra asked him.
“No. Just stopped by to see how things were going.” His focus shifted my way—the chip aisle.
“Oh,” Cassandra said. “I see. Let me know if you need anything.”
He met me at Doritos. “Looks pretty busy.”
“Yeah, business is still as good as I remember it.”
“Hi, Pastor Jacob.” DeAndre gave a hearty handshake. “I've been working with Mr. Elgin. He said he's gonna give me five dollars for helping him, Friday.”
“That's right. A man's gotta earn money. Remember when we talked about work ethic at church?”
DeAndre nodded. “I'm gonna get me a good job when I grow up.”
“That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.” Jacob commended him with dap and DeAndre, enamored by the accolades, skipped back to Elgin.
“I don't want to take up your time,” Jacob dismissed himself. “I dropped by to say hi and see if you needed anything.”
“Thanks. I think we're good for now.” I raised an eyebrow. “You're not going to buy anything?”
“What you got?” he flirted, too.
“Bread, cheese, salami. Classic bachelor food.”
“Not for this bachelor. I know my way around a kitchen,” he bragged.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, ma'am. Got spaghetti, corn, and salad on the menu tonight. Should I make enough for two?”
His invitation made my stomach growl, but there was no way I could commit to seeing him that night—too much unfinished work.
I reluctantly turned him down. “I'll have to pass this time. Maybe next week?”
His face slackened a bit. “Sure thing.” He spoke to the entire store now as he left. “Y'all be blessed.”
“All right, Reverend,” and “Same to you,” from the customers.
Cassandra teased as I finished restocking the Funyuns. “I see my cousin's got his eyes on you.”
“Whatever you say, Cassandra.”
“I ain't hatin'. Just don't mess over him.” She gave a sisterly warning. “He's a good guy.”
Wonder if omitting the matter of a live-in boyfriend back in Houston counted as “messing”?

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