Mama B - A Time to Dance (Book 2) (2 page)

“Oh, He’ll
listen. You might not like what He has to say about it, but He will listen
because He said He would,” I assured Derrick.

“Good night,
Mama B. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Well,
make that any time before eight, you hear?”

We shared a
laugh as he walked out the door.

I made good on
my word. Went back to my bedroom, got on my knees and prayed for him and Twyla.
They hadn’t been married but five years or so. Had a three-year-old daughter, Kionna,
cute as a button. 
Mmm
, mmm, mmm. I know the devil is busy tryin’
to tear up families. Don’t help none when folk make foolish choices. But if the
truth be told, we all done something we knew we had no business doin’ at least
once upon a time.

Lord, I don’t
know what Derrick did, but You do. I bring him, Twyla, and that precious baby
before you. Not because they’ve done everything right, but because You are
good. I intercede on their behalf. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

I tried to call
Winona, but her voice mail picked up. I left her a message letting her know
Derrick and Twyla might need some help by way of prayer. Me and Winona go way
back. She know how to keep things between me and her and God long enough for
Him to work it out. Plus, she’s his Momma. We got a way of praying for our kids
that God pays special attention to, I believe.

When I got up
off my knees, I rolled back in bed. I had just snuggled up under the covers
when that same knockin’ come on the door again.

My goodness!
Folk gon’ think I’m runnin’ numbers up in here with all this nighttime traffic!

I stomped back
to the door, knowing it had to be Derrick again.

“Mama B,” he
said before I had a chance to fuss at him, “please. I went to the hotel but…I
can’t stay there.”

“What you mean
you
can’t
stay there? It’s a free country, last I heard.”

“Even if I could
stay there, Twyla’s got the credit cards.”

He let his eyes
drop to the floor again. I knew that was a half-truth if I ever heard one. No
wonder he got caught doing something. Derrick was a terrible liar.

But for the
first time, it hit me: Derrick really was sorry about whatever shenanigans he’d
been up to. This thing would work itself out eventually. In the meanwhile,
however, he was only asking for a place to rest his head which, I suppose, is
better than asking for money.

“Boy, you betta
thank God I’m led by the Holy Spirit. Get on in here.”

“Thank God and you,
Mama B!” Derrick grabbed my neck a little too eager-like.

“Wait just a
minute here! We gotta come to an understandin’,” I piped up. Now, I let Nikki
stay here for free, it’s true, but I can’t bring myself to let no able-bodied
grown man stay under my roof without paying something. God ain’t in that
arrangement.

Derrick stepped
back, still wearing a boyish grin. If memory served me right, he wasn’t too
much older than Nikki, which would put him in his late twenties. Too old to be
babied, too young to put him out in the streets if I didn’t have to.

“You workin’
right?” I checked.

“Yes. Got a good
job in Mesquite, not too far from here. I won’t even be here during the day.”

“Mmm hmm. Rule
number one, rent is a hundred dollars a week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
Derrick quickly reached into his wallet, flipped it open, thumbed through, then
slapped five twenties in my hand. I guess he figured he’d better give me the
money before I changed my mind. “What else?”

“No keepin’ up
racket all night. No other woman in this house except your wife if she comes to
visit you. Church every Sunday at ten o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This boy
cheesin’ like he done won the lottery.

“How long you
plan on staying here, anyway?”

“I wish I knew,
but it’s really out of my hands.”

It ain’t
outta mine.
“We need to
sit down this time next week and get some timeframes in mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I took a deep
breath and let it out. As much as I wanted to fuss at Derrick about whatever it
was he did, I couldn’t. Wasn’t no good in makin’ my guest feel uncomfortable
during his visit. Whatever his problem, he already felt bad enough. “You can
stay in Son and Otha’s old room.”

He followed me
down the back hallway so we could get him set up with fresh sheets and towels.
I bit my tongue the whole time ‘cause Lord knows I wasn’t in the mood for no
more houseguest.
Why me, Lord?

Then the Holy
Spirit brought a memory to my mind, fresh and clear like it was just yesterday.
I remembered standing on the front porch, holding hands with Albert as my old pastor
and Deacon Handley dedicated this house to the Lord. Hmph. Every once in a
while, the Lord’ll have to remind me that everything I got belongs to Him.
Wasn’t for Him, me and Derrick might be in the same boat.

As we forced the
fitted sheet to grab hold of the bottom of the mattress, I started humming to
the tune of “I Surrender All.” That song sure is a lot easier to sing than to
do, I tell you.

“I forgot about
your singing,” Derrick smiled.

“Hmm?”

“You used to
sing and hum all the time.” Already, he looked lighter. His face was a perfect
blend of his parents. Roy James’ tight eyes, Winona’s broad nose. Almost all
the cousins, my kids included, had inherited a dimple in the chin. This
trademark had become near and dear to my heart. Derrick was family. I needed to
remember that, too.

“Oh, yes, I sing
all the time.” I smiled back. “Gets me through the day a lot easier.”

He froze and
gave me a
smart-aleck
smirk. “You sound like
my Momma. Both of you are
retired
. What’s so hard about life at this
point?”

“There’s more to
life than work, I’ll have you know. I got my friends, my church, and my family
with people like
you
that need lookin’ after.”

He laughed
again. “You got me on that one, Mama B. You got me.”

We finished
fluffing the pillows on the bed. “That oughta do it.”

Derrick stopped
for a moment and looked around the room. He nodded. “Man, I used to want to be
like Son and Otha. They had it made.”

“So did you.”

“Naw, not like
they did. They had every new video game, new movies, new scooters. Y’all had
everything. I used to love coming over here.”

Come to think of
it, he was right. We were blessed beyond measure. “Well, God is good.”

“I guess so,”
Derrick said.

“Oh, honey, I
know so. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mama
B. And thank you. You won’t be sorry.”

“Night,
Derrick.”
I surely hope not.

Derrick got up
before me
, made himself a cup of coffee. Notice
I said
himself
‘cause he sure didn’t make enough for me. Already, I was
starting to see why Twyla might have had her fill of him.

“Morning.”

“Morning, Mama
B. I’ve gotta get outta here. Can’t be late for work. How’s traffic on I-30
this time of day?”

“Terrible,
heading into Dallas. You might want to take the back roads,” I suggested.
“Maybe even 80 would be better than 30.”

“Gotcha.” He
turned up his mug; I suppose catching the last few drops of coffee. Then he set
the cup in the sink. “See you later. I’ll be back before five.”

“Okay. Have a
good day.”

Now, I don’t
mind washing dishes behind nobody. Been doing it for most of my life, actually,
between my husband and four kids, not to mention when I was growing up.

But for Derrick
to
presume
I was going to wash his mug and empty out the coffee filter
was something else. That boy had a lot to learn about taking folks for granted.
You throw cheating in on top of Derrick’s being inconsiderate and I figure it
was a miracle he hadn’t found himself homeless before now.

Nonetheless, I
made my own breakfast and cleaned up for two before my friend and walking
buddy, Libby, made it over to the house. We’d been walking together three times
a week since our weight loss class days.

“You got company
again, I see,” she said, pointing at the pair of men’s house shoes right next
to the refrigerator.

“Goodness
gracious!” I snatched up Derrick’s slippers off the floor. “My nephew. He and
his wife are having some trouble, and now I see why.”

“No biggie,”
Libby said as she took the liberty of grabbing two water bottles from the
icebox. “Me and you both know how men can be.”

“Yeah, but he
ain’t my man. He’s my nephew. I didn’t sign up to be his maid,” I yelled to her
as I walked back toward Derrick’s temporary room. For some reason, it surprised
me to see the bed unmade and his nightclothes strewn across Son’s old desk.

This ain’t
gon’ work, Lord.

I tried my best
to keep my face from frownin’ up while me and Libby walked, but she called me
out about my bad attitude. “B, you got to remember he’s not quite fully cooked.
He ain’t even thirty yet, is he?”

“Probably not,”
I huffed and puffed. Not so much from the brisk pace as from my anger at seeing
my back room in a mess. “But he act like he ain’t got no home trainin’.”

“Well, you think
his momma taught him better?”

Leave it to
Libby to conjure up the truth. “Roy James and Winona did spoil that boy
something awful, but I reckon it’s always so with the baby of the family.”

“The whole
family spoils the baby,” she added.

She had a point.
My youngest, Otha, didn’t even learn how to tie his own shoes until he was seven
because his older sisters kept doing it for him. “Yeah, I hear you. But one
day, you got to grow up.”

“Maybe today’s
the day,” she chirped.

Libby got a way
of looking at the bright side of everything. I used to think it was just
because she was a white lady ‘cause to me, it looked like white women ain’t
never had nothin’ to worry about. But once me and Libby became real good
friends, I saw she had problems, too. Weight problems, husband problems,
sometimes money problems—especially when our kids was in college. Come to
find out, she was leanin’ on Jesus just the same as me.

We reached the
mile marker, which was her house. By this time, we had both finished our
bottles of water, so we went inside for a restroom break. Her husband, Peter,
greeted me with a familiar hug and offered me a cinnamon roll.

“Now Peter, what
I look like eatin’ a cinnamon roll in the middle of my workout?” I walked in
place to keep my heart rate up, determined to ignore Peter’s teasing.

“It might give
you more energy for the trip back,” he suggested. The patch of white hair on
his head swayed slightly. He sure tickled me, trying to hold on to the last little
bit of that mess.

Libby called
from the restroom. “Stop tempting her, Peter!”

Peter relented,
taking the pan of pastry back to the kitchen. “Don’t say I never tried to give
you anything, B.”

“That was not a
good gift.”

He shuffled back
into the living room, asking me about Pastor Phillips.

“He’s getting
back to himself,” I said. “I’ll be sure and tell him you asked about him.”

“No need. I
talked to him yesterday. He says he’s alright, but you know him– he won’t
let on if he’s got any trouble.”

Libby walked
toward us. “Sounds like somebody I know.”

I took my turn
in the restroom, then Libby and I took off again, leaving Peter to his precious
cinnamon rolls.

“I tell you
what, I’m not sure if men get any better with age. I done told Peter he can’t
eat all that sugar, but he refuses to listen. He’s almost eighty and still
doing stuff I have to forgive on a regular basis,” she fussed.

“I guess the
more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“You can say
that again.”

Now that we’d
settled the issue with Derrick for the time being, Libby started in on me about
Dr. Wilson. “Did he call you again?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And did you
return his call?” she pressed.

“No, I did not.”

She grunted. “B,
what’s going on with you?”

“Libby, I done
told you a million times – I’m not trying to get no man, no boyfriend, no
nothing. I’m seventy-two years old. What I look like dating somebody?”

“You’ll look beautiful!”
She yelled and threw her arms in the air, causing the Whitten’s German Shepherd
to stand up against their chain-link fence and bark at us.  “Oh,
ruff-ruff-ruff back at you!”

“You betta leave
that dog alone,” I warned her.