The Interruption of Everything (13 page)

“We didn’t mean
cake.
Unless you’re too tired.” But now he’s giving me that please-baby-baby-please look.

“Then turn the oven on,” I say. “And go check to see what’s going on with your girlfriend. It feels like I’ve been here an hour and I still haven’t met her.”

“Bet,” he says, turning the dial to 350 degrees. “Thanks, Mom. Be right back.” He takes a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pours his dad a glass of wine, spilling half of it on the hardwood floor. Some things just don’t change. I hand him a paper towel and he cleans up the mess.

“I’m sorry, Prezelle, you were saying?” I’m hoping and praying he remembers so I won’t have to embarrass him, too.

“I said I’ve been enjoying watching and listening to the youngsters.”

“What were they talking about?”

“Well, seems to me that they started in on the most recent events of the day: this war over there in Iraq and the whole 9/11 tragedy and then they started in on that Jackson Five boy and his sister exposing herself at the Super Bowl—which they all seemed to enjoy, and from there it was that Kobe Bryant basketball star I believe was accused of raping some Colorado girl that they all agreed was nothing but extortion. And things quieted down there for a minute until Leon decided to flip the calendar in the other direction and asked how they felt about that Million Man March. That’s when things got heated, I’ll tell you. It was pure entertainment.”

“That it was,” Arthurine chimes in.

“Really? How so?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you why, Mom. Because your husband felt that it was a senseless expression of black manhood and even though most of us were kind of young when it went down, we all agreed that it was an incredible display of solidarity and how often have we seen it since then?”

“Well, Prezelle, did you express how you felt about it?”

“I didn’t think nothing about it, one way or the other. But if I had felt like talking I probably would’a said that I don’t think getting on no bus proved all that much. All a man needs to do to prove he’s a man is work hard. Take care his family. Pay his bills on time. And try to be a good father. A good husband. That’s all there is to it. You don’t have to go nowhere if you already doing right where you are. But I’ll tell you, Marilyn, it was really nice just listening to these young men talk about so many different issues, using big words and sounding so intelligent I couldn’t say anything for smiling. And to think that they are all in college just made me feel good.”

“We’re all very proud of them,” I say.

“I had hoped they’d bring up the snipers. I can’t believe they were black. We didn’t used to behave like other people.”

I don’t dare ask who he’s referring to. But it feels like we need to lighten up a bit in here. “Did you have any of this delicious Vietnamese food, Prezelle?”

“No, baby. I can’t eat none of that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what they eat in Vietnam. But we’re in Oakland and I don’t know what all that’s supposed to be. There’s not one thang on that counter I could rightly say I recognize except the rice, and even that had speckles of something orange in it.”

“I’m sorry. Arthurine, why didn’t you describe what was in each container to Prezelle, or at least offer him something else to eat?”

“Because he didn’t ask. And I just told you. Waste not want not. He said he was just waiting to get used to the smell because I told him that I’m not afraid to try new things, even at my age, and if he is, I don’t know how this relationship is going to work.”

“Oh, all right,” he says, this time giving himself a big push and he’s upright. He is sharp as a tack. All he needs are some dark sunglasses and he could be mistaken for a short Ray Charles. I think she’s taller than he is. But so what? If she likes him.

“Arthurine, would you mind helping Prezelle sample some of the food?”

“I don’t mind at all,” she says.

“Hello, Mrs. Grimes,” I hear a southern voice coming from behind me. When I turn around, I see a young woman who probably could’ve been a black Breck girl. Everything about her looks sweet and tender. Her eyes are big and bright, as if she’s always interested in what people have to say. And what a tiny little waist! I bet she’s the size they just recently invented: a zero.

“Hi there, Brianna. It’s very nice to meet you, honey. Make yourself comfortable and have a seat,” I say, pointing to the table in the nook, which seems to be the only clean surface in this kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s very nice to meet you, too. And I want to thank you for inviting me to your home,” she says, looking up.

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Well, this has to be the most interesting candelabra I’ve ever seen. Where did you find something like this?”

“Oh, I made that thing. Or, I should say, refurbished it.”

“No kidding? How? What made you think to use all these different things on a light fixture? I mean, I see seashells and pearls and isn’t that dried fruit?”

“Sure is. It was an old boring wrought-iron fixture that I got tired of looking at, so I just painted it blue and then just scrounged around the room and started gluing on anything I saw that I felt might bring it back to life.”

“Well, it worked. Do you make this kind of stuff a lot?”

“I always have something lying around that’s waiting to be finished. But it’s just a hobby.”

“Well, before I go, I’d love to see some of the other things you’ve made if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” I say.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“I don’t know. I was just about to make Spencer his favorite cake,” I say. “But after looking at all these boys, I better make that cake.”

“I’d like to help, if you don’t mind.”

“No, come on over here. Look in the pantry and get an apron that’s hanging next to the pots.”

As she walks past me toward the pantry, I realize she’s tiny from the front, but as the kids say, “Baby got back” and I see what Spencer’s weakness might be. Now I hear what sounds like a stampede coming down the stairs, but Leon saunters in before Spencer and his friends almost trample him over.

“Hi, Aunt Marilyn,” one says, followed by three more, then hugs and kisses. These boys are almost men. In one short year they have major facial hair and their voices have dropped quite a few octaves. I can remember when they looked and sounded like girls!

“It’s nice to see you guys back in the ’hood.”

They all laugh.

“So, Mom, I see you’ve met Brianna,” Spencer says.

“I have indeed and she’s going to help me make the cake.”

“Cool.”

“Aunt Marilyn,” one of the boys says. “Would you mind if we run back up to finish watching the game and we’ll come back afterward to chat with you? Would that be all right?”

“That’s fine. You’re on spring break. Go.”

When Brianna comes out of the pantry, because her hair is long, she’s having a hard time tying the apron string behind her neck. “Spencer, would you mind helping me tie this, please?”

But before Spencer can go to her aid, Leon beelines it over there and is standing behind the girl so close I can see his stomach touching her back. “I’ll help you, young lady,” he says, lifting the strings over her shoulders but so close that his palms appear to brush the top of her breasts. “Anything my son can do, I can do better,” Leon says.

“What did you just say?” I ask.

“Yeah, Dad, chill out, man. And back away from her, if you don’t mind. You are tripping too hard, dude.”

Leon drops the strings and looks at us like we’re the ones tripping. “What did I say? I was just kidding.”

The poor girl looks like she’s afraid to move.

“Your joke wasn’t funny, Dad,” Spencer says.

“I agree,” Arthurine says, once she gets Prezelle settled in at the table in the nook. “You were way out of line, Son.”

“But I didn’t do anything. Look, if I offended you, Brianna, I apologize. I was just trying to say that my son takes after his dad, and that you’re just getting a younger version of me. Didn’t you get it?”

She nods her head as if she knows she should, not because she wants to.

“It’s not just what you did but also how you did it, Leon,” I say.

“I was just trying to be helpful!”

“Who needs help?” Sabrina asks, as she comes into the kitchen holding Sage’s hand but she quickly lets go of it when she sees the open containers. “I’m starving.”

“Hi there, Sage. Want to help Grandma and Brianna make a cake?”

She just nods. I can tell she just woke up.

Now here comes Nevil. The oddly handsome Jamaican. “Hello there, Mum,” he says, kissing me on the head. His dreadlocks are almost to his shoulders. They scratch.

“Mom,” Spencer says. “A bunch of us want to go up to Tahoe for a couple of days to do some boarding and I was wondering if we could drive down to see Grandma Lovey on Tuesday?”

“No,” I say, too fast.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t get off work.”

“Well, if you can’t go, Brianna and I can drive down.”

“But I don’t want you to go without me.”

“Why not?”

“What I meant was, I have to take her to the doctor next Friday, so if you could wait until then, that would be better.”

“No problem. But we have to bail on Sunday. She’s not sick or anything, is she?”

“She’s having a little trouble remembering some things.”

“Like what kinds of things?” Sabrina asks.

“I don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

“But we should know if something’s not right, Mom,” Spencer says.

“Okay. She gets lost driving a few blocks from home. She forgets things she does or says not too long afterward and sometimes hasn’t recognized my voice. That’s enough.”

“Both of my grandmamas and my grandaddy on my mama’s side had that. It’s awful,” Brianna says. “How many eggs, Mrs. Grimes?”

“Eight,” I say.

“Had what?” Spencer asks her.

“Alzheimer’s.”

“We don’t know yet if that’s what she has.”

“It probably is,” Brianna says. “Everybody tried to pretend like that wasn’t what was happening to them, and they prayed real hard for it not to be, but even God can’t stop this disease.”

“God can stop anything,” Arthurine butts in.

“Not when He didn’t start it,” the young girl says, like she knows exactly what she’s talking about. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m just saying that I’ve watched three of my elders go through this and they all started out the same way: forgetting a little bit and then more and more until they don’t even remember you when they see you. It’s terrible.”

“I wish I could go see Grandma Lovey,” Sabrina says. “But I have an appointment with my adviser that I absolutely cannot miss.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Well, because I have to postpone my admittance to grad school now that we’re going to England in the fall.”

I don’t dare say what I’m thinking now. I would love to tell her that I made that same mistake. Postponed my plans and dreams so your father could pursue his. Would Nevil do the same for you?

“So,” Leon says, obviously feeling left out of the loop now. “Since I’m the bad guy here, maybe I should say something nice that might get everybody’s approval.”

“Like what?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to say what I think he’s going to say.

“Yeah, Dad, like what?” Sabrina asks.

Everybody’s looking at Leon. Waiting to hear what he has to say. He likes this attention. And then he takes a deep breath and blurts out: “Marilyn’s pregnant!”

At first there is utter silence all over the room.

“I thought you were going through menopause!” Sabrina says.

“My mama was forty-four when she had my little brother and he turned out just fine,” Brianna says.

“You ain’t telling me nothing I didn’t already know,” Arthurine says in a self-congratulatory way.

“This is deep,” Spencer says. “A real baby?”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Nevil says. “Mum and daughter carrying a baby at the same time. This is divine.”

Leon’s grin is wide. He isn’t even thinking about me standing here center stage, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers who are probably waiting to hear what melody will come out of my mouth. Lovey would probably sing it for them. But I can’t sing. “I’m not pregnant anymore. I had a miscarriage. It happens,” I say and dump the contents of the first box of yellow cake mix into the stainless-steel bowl.

Chapter 12

I
wait all night for Leon to get in bed. It’s close to three in the morning when he does and he smells like booze. He must be regressing by the hour because he never stays up this late. Either he’s completely deluding himself into thinking he’s one of the boys, or he wanted to avoid being alone with me. Right after I explained my reasons for not telling anybody about my condition and what I’d just learned earlier that day, the look of relief on Leon’s face was almost embarrassing.

Spencer wasn’t quite sure how to take both aspects of the news but seemed to get a great deal of comfort putting his head in Brianna’s lap while she stroked his back. On her way out, Sabrina expressed how disappointed she was that I hadn’t confided in her, especially when she thought I could talk to her about anything. Arthurine—as my greatest source of comfort—said that I shouldn’t forget that Sarah was ninety years old when she conceived and said that “God has given me cause to laugh.” She couldn’t remember where in Genesis this was.

“Ha ha ha,” I said, and excused myself.

I get up about six-thirty and leave Leon snoring. I’m thinking about checking Spencer’s room just to see if he’s alone, but decide against it. As I walk past the game room, it looks like the floor is covered with humpbacked whales that have been washed ashore. The boys are still in their clothes. I get four blankets from the linen closet and cover them one by one. A few of them stir and snuggle, wrapping the blankets around themselves tightly, as if they’ve been waiting for their mothers to do just this.

When I get downstairs, the kitchen is spotless. I’m sure Spencer is responsible. He’s worse than me when it comes to cleanliness. Of course both cakes are gone and every soda can has been crushed and flattened into bulging blue recycle bags. I make a fresh pot of coffee, pour myself a cup, and go get the paper. Now that it’s safe, I go into my workshop. It is my sanctuary; the only place in this whole house where I can dream with my hands. I begged Leon to add this room a few years back because I used to sew in a corner of the family room but there was no place to store my supplies and I had to clean up the mess I made each and every time. Then when I started experimenting with other materials, I couldn’t exactly spray paint or sand while catching the evening news.

You’d never know just by looking around how many different kinds of materials are in here. Even I don’t remember half the time. I keep most of my “hard” supplies in a huge metal cabinet I found at Home Depot. It has about thirty clear drawers in various sizes where I store metal and wire and beads from all over the world; broken, cracked, clear, and colored glass; tubes and jars of fabric; glass and acrylic paint; pebbles and rocks; seashells; and hundreds of unidentified objects I haven’t found a use for yet. Of course there’s my sewing machine and serger, which are in a typical Formica cabinet, and a six-foot-long cutting table that doubles as a serving table at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I sit down in an old wooden rocker I had started stripping a couple of months ago but when I couldn’t tolerate the odor, was forced to stop. Of course I know why now. I take a sip of my coffee and look out the back windows. I can see hundreds of acres of a green valley, the tops of which look like broccoli. It is beautiful to say the least. As I rock back and forth, the wooden joints creak. I like this sound. I look over and spot Bunny’s necklace. I forgot all about it. I’m sure she understands. I’ll take it to work and see if anyone there might be able to help me finish it once and for all.

I place it inside my backpack and start reading the paper. Sometimes I skip over all the horror happening in the world and read the stupid, funny, gossipy, inconsequential stuff first. And right now I’m not in the mood for more war when it feels like there’s one going on in my own home. After a few sips of coffee, I realize I’m hot. From inside my body not the outer layer. Even my forehead is moist. My bathrobe is starting to stick to my arms. This feels awfully familiar. This couldn’t possibly be a hot flash already, could it?

I don’t drink the rest of my coffee and I don’t finish the paper either. I think it might be nice to surprise the boys and make them a big breakfast of blueberry waffles, grits, bacon, and scrambled eggs, something they probably don’t get in the dorms. I go back upstairs to shower, and Leon’s still out cold. I slip on what I hope will soon be my last pair of baggy sweats. I close the door quietly behind me, and Arthurine almost gives me a heart attack.

“You’re up early,” she says, standing outside our room in one of her signature jogging outfits with Snuffy on his leash. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, Arthurine. Thank you.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m going to take Snuffy out to do his business and then I was hoping we could have a little talk.”

“Hold it a minute, Arthurine.”

“I said I’d be right back.”

“Please tell me you didn’t drive Prezelle home last night.”

“No, Lordy. Spencer and his girlfriend took him.”

“Good. So what is it you want to talk about?”

Snuffy actually moves. She tugs on his leash. “Can you just give me a few minutes so I can take him out real fast? He needs to go pretty bad.”

“Okay,” I say, and follow her down to the front door. I watch Snuffy relieve himself in two ways on our front lawn. Arthurine leaves his business right there and leads him back into the house. “I’m going to make breakfast, so come on into the kitchen with me.”

“Okay,” she says. I’m hoping she’s going to guide Snuffy over to his grungy fur bed that I politely moved out of the kitchen to the side of the sofa in the family room where I can’t see him when I eat or cook.

But she doesn’t. She sits down on a stool at the far end of the island and Snuffy spreads out all four legs and slides down until his underbelly is flush with the floor. He is disgusting. As I pull out frying pans and bowls and gather the other ingredients, I try not to look down. But the waffle iron is on the shelf below us, not far from where Snuffy is sprawled out.

“Arthurine, would you mind handing me that waffle iron?”

“Not at all,” she says, and gets off the stool and sets it up here. “Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she says, unzipping her jacket.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just think it’s about time for me to move.”

“Move where?”

“Someplace where I can be with my own kind.”

“What are you talking about, Arthurine?”

“I like it up there where Prezelle lives.”

“You do!” I say, but try to make it sound more like a question. She just doesn’t know. This is music to my ears. “It does seem like a really nice place.”

“It’s lovely. And exciting. You have your very own apartment. They have activities every single day of the week if you want to participate. They go on bus trips to Reno. Even cruises. It feels more like a resort than a retirement facility.”

“Wow, then maybe I should move in with you.”

“Oh, stop it, Marilyn! You and Leon could have this whole house to yourselves.”

“Wouldn’t that be something.”

“I’ve just been so bored being here all by myself when you’re at work or running errands and I get lonely. It doesn’t feel good to be this lonely.”

“I know exactly how you feel.”

“How’s that?”

“I just meant that I understand because I remember when I’ve been bored and lonely. Everybody has, Arthurine.”

“Well, I’m on the waiting list.”

“You mean you’ve already applied?”

“Yep. Last month.”

“Does Leon know about this?”

“No. I don’t know how or when to tell him.”

“Just tell him, Arthurine. He’s not your father or your husband, he’s your son.”

“I know, but I also know how much you all like having me here and I’m just a little worried that he might not want me to leave, which is why I thought you’d be much more understanding seeing how we’re both women and all.”

“I certainly do, but I’m sure he’ll want what’s best for you.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he truly understands widowhood. What losing somebody you’ve loved all your life feels like. He just thought bringing me here would fill up that space, but it don’t work like that at all. I’ve been here coming up on two years, and if I hadn’t started walking the mall I probably wouldn’t have met Prezelle, whose kindness and attention have begun to resurrect me, if you and the Lord can forgive me for using that word this way.”

“You don’t need to be forgiven, Arthurine. But does Prezelle know you want to move into his building?”

“Of course he does. He was the one that put the idea into my head. I told him I would give it some thought and the more I thought about it, the more excited I got, which is something I haven’t felt in a long time: excitement. He said he wants me closer to him and I want to be closer to where he is.”

Excuse me for asking, Miss Thang. This is so cute I almost can’t hold it in. “Arthurine, are you in
love
with Prezelle?”

She leans forward on her elbows and covers her mouth like a fan with her fingers. “I can’t remember what being in love is supposed to feel like and to be honest with you, I don’t rightly care. All I know is that I enjoy Prezelle’s company and he enjoys mine. That’s good enough.”

“I think this is great. For everybody,” I say.

“Well, it still might be months, and could even be as much as a whole year before I can get in there, because that waiting list is long. Unless of course folks start dying off faster than they thought.”

What a terrible way to get an apartment. “Well, just let me know what I can do to help.”

“You could help by starting to drop little hints to get Leon thinking about my not being here without being dead.”

“I can try, but I’ll need to think about this one for a minute or so, Arthurine.”

“I’ve got time. The other thing is if you could help me study for my driver’s test because I can’t afford to fail it again, Marilyn. If I do, I won’t ever be able to drive my car again legally.”

“We don’t want you to have to do that,” I say.

“Thank you, sugar,” she says, standing up. “How long before I’ll smell bacon?”

“You’ll smell it in about a half hour and not a minute sooner.”

“Fair enough. Come on, Snuffy, let’s go,” she says and leads him over to his bed.

“Wait a minute!”

“Yes, Marilyn?”

“Can you have a dog there?”

“No. I want you and Leon to have Snuffy.” And off she goes.

At the crack of dawn on Tuesday, Spencer, Brianna, and at least five other spring-breakers all head for our condo on the south shore of Lake Tahoe. I checked Caltrans to make sure the roads were clear and got the weather report online. No snow predictions. Even so, I give my standard lecture: please drive carefully and responsibly up in those mountains and please don’t drink and get behind the wheel and please don’t destroy the place; leave it the way you found it. Of course they each promise to adhere to my wishes and Spencer tells me he and Brianna—who apparently has never seen snow—will see us late Thursday afternoon.

I’m completely shocked when Leon insists on going with me to have my procedure done. Paulette comes anyway, just because. I also can’t believe when Leon tells me he’s not just taking today off, but I think he said the rest of this week, too. I’m not quite sure because I was still somewhat out of it when we got home. I sleep through most of the afternoon, but feel pretty normal when I wake up. I’m not in any pain, and have very little bleeding. I have to assure him that I’m okay with the way things have turned out and ask if we could not discuss it anymore. I can tell he’s relieved because he has spent all day and night trying to say the politically correct thing until I finally just ask him to be quiet and talk about something else.

I get up pretty early to get ready for work but realize it’s Wednesday, and I don’t have to be at HC until noon. Leon is in the kitchen drinking coffee. It feels strange seeing him this time of day.

“So, why’d you take off work?” I ask, not pouring myself a cup of coffee. I make a mental note to buy two pounds of decaffeinated Sumatra and Mocha Java later.

“Because I just needed to.”

“Well, you chose a good time to do it, with Spencer being home.”

“But he’s not home. He’s gone.”

“You know what I meant. He’ll be back tomorrow, but we’re going to Fresno first thing Friday morning.”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea for him and his girlfriend to go down there?”

“Honestly?”

He nods.

“I really don’t want Spencer to see Lovey under these circumstances, at least not right now, until we can find out what’s going on. It seems like Brianna has a good idea what to expect. But then there’s Joy.”

“Which is precisely my point. His girlfriend shouldn’t have to deal with our family’s problems while she’s here.”

“Why are you so worried about her?” I ask.

“I’m not worried about her. It’s just a difficult situation to have to be exposed to. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll talk to him about it. I’d really just planned to take Lovey to the doctor because it’s going to take up most of the day.”

“Why?”

“I told you a couple of weeks ago, Leon.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Sorry.”

“Well, she’s getting tests done and depending on what time we finish, I was planning to drive back that evening. Spencer’s leaving Sunday morning.”

“I know.”

“The doctor said if Lovey’s test results look good, then there’s some other mental-state test she should take. But I have to be there with her.”

“Sounds like you’re going to be doing a lot of running back and forth.”

“Somebody’s gotta do it. And besides, she’s worth it. You understand that, don’t you?”

He just looks at me. “What will you do if it turns out she’s got Alzheimer’s?”

“I’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

“Okay, then,” he says, obviously wanting to switch gears. “So, where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean by that?”