Mama B - a Time to Love (10 page)

Good thing Frank sent me a text Saturday
night saying he’d pick me up at nine o’clock, ‘cause us going to church on his
praising grounds had surely slipped my mind.

I got up extra early so I could get Eunice
squared away. She ate a bowl of my healthy cereal while I ran her bath water.
While she was taking a bath, I put fresh sheets on her bed, and prepared
another dose of Tylenol.

Once she was full, clean, and somewhat
drugged, I informed her of the day’s agenda. “Today’s a big day for us, Eunice.”

“I know,” she fanned her hand. “I’ve worn
out my stay. The shelter over at the Catholic church is open on Sundays. You
can drop me off there.”

“Actually, your son is coming to help you
today,” I spoke in faith.

Her eyebrows momentarily jumped with
excitement. Then she sucked in her chin as sadness crept in. “Paul’s coming
here?”

“Yes, he is. He’s gonna help get you
situated with this leg problem, and prayerfully everything else,” I implied.

“Everything else like what?”

Despite the stirring in my soul, I tried
to keep my excitement at a level Eunice could digest. “We’ll just take it step
by step.”

“I don’t want to see him. He doesn’t want
to see me, either,” she jabbered. “Won’t do any good.”

“Can’t do no harm, either.”

“Oh, yes it can. Sometimes you’ve got to
leave well enough alone,” she preached.

“Maybe I
would
leave it alone if
you
was
well enough, but you ain’t,” I returned mildly. “Frank and I
should be back from his church around one-thirty. I expect Paul around
two-thirty. My son and his family are coming over, so it won’t be just me, you,
and Paul sitting up looking at each other in the face. You’ll have plenty of
folk around.”

The lines in her forehead smoothed a bit.
“Unh.”

“I put the roast in the slow cooker at
six this morning. You think you can hobble out of bed and turn it on low around
noon?”

“I suppose.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” I patted her arm
and rose to leave.

“B,” she stopped me.

I pivoted and turned to face her.

“So I can have some idea of what’s
normal…how often do you talk to your children?”

“Son bugs me about something or another
every couple of days. My oldest, Debra Kay, calls me once a week or so. She
keeps me in the loop on all the other ones. My second girl, Cassandra—me
and her don’t talk much. She not much of a talker to nobody, really. She sends
cards and pictures of her family. My baby, Otha—me and him used to talk a
lot more before Albert died. Him and Son a lot closer now, according to Debra
Kay. I know Otha’s alive because he forwards email messages like they goin’ out
of style. Sometimes I send him a reply and we get to talkin’ trough the
internet. But when he comes over for the holidays, we can’t get him to shut
up.”

Eunice smiled. “It’s nice to have a
family, huh?”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s good, B. You deserve better than
me.”

“I’m blessed. And so are you. You just
don’t know it yet,” I professed over her life. With a wink, I dismissed myself
from her presence.

I rushed to get my own self ready for
church. Just before Frank arrived, I called Ophelia and told her I wouldn’t be
at service today. Didn’t want my church family worryin’ about me, you know.

“Oh, Ophelia,” I remembered, “put on
something extra cute today, hear?”

“For what? You bringin’ one of Dr.
Wilson’s colleagues to church or somethin’?” she laughed.

Took everything in me not to give away Pastor’s
little secret. “Can’t you just follow directions sometime, no questions asked?”

“I got to watch you, B. A woman in love
is liable to do anything. Never know what to expect.”

“Don’t worry about what’s goin’ on in my
life. God’s got something for you, too.”
Lord, help me.
I almost gave it
away. “I gotta go. Bye.”

No sooner than I rushed off the phone
with Ophelia, Son come calling me. “Momma, you cookin’ today?”

Look whose child done forgot their
manners. “Hello, Son, it’s nice to hear your voice, too.”

“Oh. Hi. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you very much. And yes,
I’m cookin’. I made plenty. You all comin’ over?”

“Yes. Me and Wanda.”

So much for cookin’ to last me all week.
I certainly wanted to see my son, but there’s something about the grands that
lifts a grandmother’s spirits. “What about Nikki and Cameron?”

“I haven’t talked to them in a few days.”

“Awww,” I sulked, “I wanted to pinch
those chubby cheeks. Guess I’ll have to settle for yours instead.”

“My cheeks are not chubby, Momma.”

“Hmph. Looked pretty plump the last time
I saw ‘em.” That was my roundabout way of tellin’ him he needed to watch
out.  With a daddy who had diabetes and circulation problems, you’d think
Son would take better care of himself. Then I remembered who
his
Daddy
was. Stubborn as any man with an ego—and believe you me, they
all
got one.

My doorbell rang. “I’ll see you later.”

“What was that? Is somebody there?” Son
fussed.

“Yes. It’s Frank. I’m going to church
with him today.”

“Wh…wh…what’s the address of the church?”
he stammered.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Momma,” he lectured, “you can’t go
running out with strange men and not telling anybody where you are!”

“Son, you’ve already met Frank.”

“Yeah, he seems alright,” he had to
agree. “But what if you go missing?”

“I ain’t gon’ be missin’. Wherever I am,
I’ll be in God’s care. You got to trust me and the God in me. I like Frank. I
like him a lot. Matter of fact, I kissed him.”

“You what?!”

“Yep.
On the lips
.”

Son gasped for air. “Oh my God. That’s
way too much information.”

“And stop usin’ the Lord’s name in vain.”

The doorbell rang again. “See you. Bye.”

Tell
you one thing, the Father sure knows how to change a person’s perspective. I
couldn’t hardly even look at Frank without wanting to get close enough to smell
his aftershave. Even when he wasn’t fresh from the morning, there’s something
about a man’s presence that can’t nobody duplicate. In the eight years since
Albert died, I’d forgotten how a real man changes the atmosphere.

“Shall we?” Frank held out his hand as we
walked toward the front entrance of his church.

Without a word, I allowed him to hold
mine the rest of the way.

The building had traditional red brick
with stained glass windows and a white steeple. But from the looks of the
people filing into the sanctuary, I could tell this wasn’t no traditional
church. Frank went to one of them 500-member come-as-you-are churches, where
folk wear whatever they want. Women in pants, men in jeans, kids might as well
be in their play clothes.  I should have known Frank would be a member of
such a church.

Lord, keep me from lookin’ at what folks
got on.

Everybody at New Direction called Frank
“Doc” and they all seemed to be messin’ with him the same way my church members
did me. They gave him private smiles, happy to see him with somebody, I
guessed. Most of them seemed pleasantly surprised to see him with me, but it
seemed a few of them had already heard about me. “So good to finally meet you,”
one of the greeters said as she pointed us closer to the right front section of
pews.

Frank been tellin’ people about me?

The service began with praise and
worship. The praise team, dressed in blue and gold robes, sang a bunch of songs
I’d never heard of. Thankfully for me, the words popped up on two big screens
on either side of the stage. I sure hoped Frank wasn’t judging
me
by
whether or not I knew them songs because I would have got an F!

The children’s dance team performed a
routine in the cutest white and hot pink outfits. The littlest one, in the very
front, didn’t know the moves quite as well as the older ones. Me and Frank
elbowed each other as we adored that sweet girl doing her best to praise the
Lord in dance. Cute as a bug in a rug!

I stood when the visitors were asked to
stand and be recognized. An usher passed me a postcard with information about
the church while the announcer gave the usual welcome, followed by a ton of
hugs from the church members while the choir sang. If nothing else, Frank’s
church members were sure friendly.

After another number from the choir and
the offering, Frank’s pastor took the podium, adjusting the microphone to
accommodate his short stature. “Good morning, saints of The Most High. Turn
with me to Colossians chapter three.”

All over the building, folks started
taking out their Bibles. Frank pulled out a two-ton Bible from his Bible bag.
Now, of course, his Bible case was big, but I figured he had a pad of paper,
some pens, and maybe a few church programs in the brown leather carrier.

Lord Jesus, is he part-blind?

Frank set it on his right knee, which was
right next to my left. Then he opened it, letting one side rest on me. As he
flipped through, I noticed he done been writing a book in The Book—notes,
dates, names. So much highlighting, his Bible could have been mistaken for a
coloring book. He got all kind of tape throughout, too, holding it together.
Made my Bible look like I just got saved last week!

Now, I know better than to judge somebody
by their Bible. Ophelia don’t believe in writing in hers. She write all her
notes on separate paper. But I know good and well your Bible don’t get
that
to’ up and worn out without some of the Word getting into you.

I suddenly wished Frank would give me his
Bible so I could go through and read all his notes, but I guess that might be
like asking somebody to read their diary.

Already, I started envisioning me and
Frank sitting up to the wee hours of the night talking, pouring over the word.
Praying. Sharing. Maybe even passionate debating. I could spend hour upon hour
in the word.

Now, I don’t want y’all to think I’m
being nasty. I’m gon’ lay it out like this for you, though: Can’t nothin’ light
my fire like a man who loves the word of the Lord.

Frank’s pastor preached on what it means
to be dead to the flesh and alive in Christ. He refreshed my soul with his
thoughts about life in the Spirit. “Your walk with God shouldn’t be a burden.
If it is, you need to lay yourself at Christ’s feet. Exchange your cross for
His. He said in Matthew eleven and thirty that His yoke is easy. His burden is
light.”

Frank leaned toward me and whispered in
my ear, “Wish somebody had told me this forty years ago.”

“Me, too.” Being raised partly in the
holiness church, I thought my salvation was all up to me. I didn’t know the
Lord was such a good keeper until I came to the end of myself. That’s a whole
nother story. Suffice it to say, sinking into your holiness is a whole lot
easier than fighting the flesh every moment.

Frank’s pastor left us with some
questions and verses to look up throughout the week as we continued in our
personal Bible study. I liked that. Seem like he was going to leave the rest of
the teaching up to the Holy Spirit. He the best teacher we got, anyhow.

I asked Frank to take me to the store so
I could get some soda pop to go with dinner. With Son coming over, we’d need
more than tea.

Frank waited for me to whip in and out,
then we were on our way back to my house. “You eatin’ with us, right?”

He angled his head away from me and
winced. “I…I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head, his cheeks pinched.
“It’s Eunice. I’m…uncomfortable around her because—”

“I know, Frank,” I rescued him from the saddle
of speaking ill of Eunice. “I heard what she said to you the other night. She’s
got a bad habit of sabotagin’ relationships with people. I done decided to
forgive her and treat her right, regardless.”

Frank’s features returned to normal.
“Okay. As long as we
both
know what’s going on, I’m fine.”

Lord, thank You for solving that awkward
moment. We need your help with all the other ones on the way today.

“Eunice, we’re home!”

Frank detoured to the kitchen to put the
sodas in the icebox. I called again, “Eunice!”

No answer. I rapped on the door. “Eunice?”

Still no answer. Slowly, I turned the
knob and found the bed empty. Made, but empty.
Good Lord! She done run off
again!

I dashed back to the kitchen. “Frank,
she’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know.” I checked the dial on the
crock pot. It was set to “low,” as she’d agreed. I took a fork from the drawer
and stuck it in the roast. The meat separated precisely the way it should have
after cooling down for a while. “She ain’t been gone long.”

Ring!
I rushed to answer my phone. “Hello?”

“B, it’s me,” Libby’s voice came through.
“I got a call from Eunice soon as we let out of church. She asked me to pick
her up from your house. Said she don’t want to see her son.”

“Nonsense. I saw the way her eyes lit up
when I told her Paul was coming.”

“Well, me and Peter went and got her. She
demanded we take her to the Catholic shelter, so we dropped her off there. I
tried to stall, asked her to eat with us. She wouldn’t wait. Said if we didn’t
take her right then, she’d walk there herself.”

“I see. Don’t worry. You did the right
thing, Libby. We’ll get her back.”

“Let me know what you need me to do,” she
offered.

“God’s workin’ it out. I’ll talk to you
later.”

All Frank could do was watch me work
‘cause I didn’t have time to explain it to him. Quickly, I opened my call log
and dialed Paul. “Paul, this Mrs. Jackson. Just checkin’ to make sure you on
your way.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be exiting off the main
highway in a few minutes.”

Seem like I could breathe again now that
I knew he was underway. “Okay. We’ll be waiting on you.”

If Eunice hadn’t acted so you-know-what
with Frank, I would have sent him over to the shelter to get her. I couldn’t
very well go myself, with Son and his family on their way over – not to
mention I needed to finish the rolls.

We needed a Plan C. “Frank, when Paul
gets here, I’d like for you and him to go over to the Catholic church on Main,
get Eunice, and bring her back here.”

He crossed his arms and poked out his
lips. “We’ll do our best.”

“Between you, Paul, and the Lord, I’m
sure y’all can handle it.”

Son and Wanda brought an iced lemon cake.
Store-bought, mind you, but it was a nice gesture. “Set it over on the table,”
I instructed my daughter-in-law after greeting both her and my son with kisses
and hugs.

Frank and Son shook hands and took turns
sizing each other up with all their manly questions. Asking each other how was
business going, what football teams they thought would make it to the
Superbowl. Me and Wanda set the table as they carried on with all their stuff.

“He’s handsome, Mama B,” Wanda
complimented me. “And such a gentleman, I can tell.”

“Honey, with my Help, I picks ‘em good,”
I bragged in the Lord.

“You raise ‘em good, too, Mother.”

“Why thank you, sweetheart. Raised ‘em to
pick good wives, too,” I returned the compliment.

I figured Paul would be arriving at any
moment, so I called everyone’s attention and filled them in on as much of the
situation with Eunice and Paul as I felt they needed to know. “Let’s pray for
God’s best between those two.”

We heard a car pull into the driveway.
Frank and I made our way to the front. Through the sheer curtains, I could see Eunice’s
son maneuvering things to get out of his van. Lord knows, my driveway wasn’t
built for nobody with a handicap.

Under my breath, I feared, “Let me go
help—”

Frank put a hand on my shoulder. “He’s
got it, B.”

Reminded me of how Albert used to stop me
from jumpin’ in with our kids all the time. He’d let ‘em struggle until they
learned how to do things for themselves. Broke my heart to sit there and watch,
sometimes, but I believe that’s one reason God’s plan is for kids to have a
Momma and a Daddy if at all possible. Got to balance one another out.

Finally, the doorbell rang. Frank and I
answered it together.

I promise on my turkey stew, Eunice
couldn’t have denied that boy if she wanted to. Same light brown skin, funny
little nose, wiry hair. “Hello, Paul! Welcome! Come on in!”

He finagled across the threshold with his
steel-lookin’ crutches, the kind with a cuff for the arm. I certainly didn’t
wish this struggle on him, but I was glad to know he wasn’t lying—getting
around really wasn’t easy for him.

Seemed like he might tilt over any moment
to me, so I didn’t try to hug on him. “Paul, this is my friend, Frank.”

They both nodded at each other and gave
simple hello’s.

“Come on in. I’ve got a roast with
vegetables and cornbread. We’ve even got a lemon cake,” I did my best to put
him in a good mood.

“Smells delicious,” he replied as he
followed us into the dining area.

“Let me introduce you to my family.”

Son and Wanda stood as I called their
names. Again, Paul did the best he could to greet them despite his hands being
preoccupied. Son offered his seat at the table.

“Oh, no. Actually, it’s best if I sit on
a couch or someplace soft. I can’t sit upright and straight for too long.”

We all hopped to his rescue, pointing the
way toward the living room. Paul worked his way onto the couch and took a rest,
sweat beads forming at his temples. Didn’t help that his upper body was
carrying so much extra weight.
Lord, bless him
.

“Let me get you some water,” Wanda said,
turning back toward the kitchen.

“That would be great.”

She returned with the water and handed
the glass to Paul, who gulped it down quickly. He pushed his glasses back in
place. “Thank you.”

Now that he’d gotten himself all
comfortable, I hated to tell him it was time to get back up. He and Frank had a
job to do. “Paul, you and Frank are gonna go get your mother from the Catholic
shelter in downtown Peasner.”

“I thought she was here,” he said with a
question mark on his face.

“She was. But she left.”

He grumbled. “Doesn’t surprise me. I’ve
come all this way for nothing.”

Wanda and Son slipped back into the
kitchen, leaving me and Frank alone with Paul. Inside, I started praying for
the right words to comfort Paul. I done seen so many folk suffer all their
lives after the rejection of a mother. I could only imagine what he was goin’
through.

“Oh, she’s not gone far. You and Frank
can get her and bring her back here so she can eat with us,” I encouraged him.
“Won’t take but a minute.”

He breathed in like he ‘bout tired of
foolin’ with his Momma. “Might as well get it over with. Let’s go.”

Paul took hold of his crutches, rocked
his behind twice (just like his Momma) and rolled up to a standing position.
The whole time, I held my breath because it looked like he might take a tumble
at any moment. I could tell this man had been on these crutches for some years,
the way he had it down to a science.

Frank led us to the door. “We’ll be back
in a little while,” he told me. And once Paul had made it down the steps, Frank
turned back to me and mouthed, “Pray.”

He didn’t need to ask me again.