Mama B - a Time to Love (3 page)

We both managed to put that awkward
conversation aside and enjoy our night of dancing, followed by a light snack at
the ice cream parlor. But I had to hurry up and get out of there before too
long ‘cause dairy don’t always agree with my digestion.

Afterward, we made good on our plan to
pick up Eunice from Libby’s house. Frank was a little taken back, I could tell,
at the sight of her. Them thigh-high shorts wasn’t coverin’ up none of the
cellulite as he helped her hobble down the driveway to the car.

I stayed on the porch a bit longer to
have a quick talk with Libby and see if there was anything she needed to warn
me about. Sure enough, there was. “B, I got in touch with her son again. He
said Eunice mostly lives at a first-come-first-serve shelter. She couldn’t have
gotten a bed tonight if she’d gone back that late.

“He also said she one of them free-spirit
types. She don’t like to follow no rules, got a problem with sustainin’
relationships, which is why she homeless most of the time. Done busted out of a
few senior citizen places and all. She been to and fro with counselors and therapists
since her children’s father died, but she ain’t hardly changed none.”

Made sense. “Is she on any medication?”

Libby shook her head. “She’s supposed to
be, for her circulation, but she probably don’t take it. She ain’t usually
dangerous to anybody. Her son says it won’t be long before she scats out again
because she can’t hardly stay with nobody.”

I sighed, too tired to ask any more
questions. “I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll go from there.”

“Night.”

Me, Frank, and Eunice rode on home. He
helped her into the house and said goodnight to me the same way he always
did—with a quick hug. “See you next Friday if the Lord says the same.”

“And the creek don’t rise,” I added with
a smile.

I almost had the door shut when he
interrupted me. “B.”

“Uh huh?”

“What about Sunday? Could we get together
after church, maybe, and have lunch?”

I thought we’d left all that talk about
being more than friends at the parking lot. But I could see Frank was still
trying. “Not this Sunday. We got a Friends and Family program at three
o’clock.”

“Oh?” Frank’s eyes lit up.

It took me a second to realize he was
hoping I’d ask him to come, but he was too much of a gentleman to invite
himself. So adorable. I batted my eyes a few times. “Dr. Frank Wilson, would
you like to accompany me to the service Sunday afternoon?”

With a nod, he answered, “I would love
to.”

“Perfect. Be here at two forty-five,
please.”

“Will do. Night, B.”

“Night.”

I nearly jumped at the sight of Eunice
standing within a foot of the door after I’d closed it.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “That was
sweet, though. He’s madly in love with you.”

I shook my head. For God’s reasons, I felt
free enough to share my thoughts with Eunice. “I can’t say I totally agree, but
I don’t think I can
do
this whole falling in love thing.”

Eunice glanced at the photos of Albert,
our kids, and me on the wall. “How long you been widowed?”

“Eight years. Almost nine.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to move on. But you can
do it. I buried two husbands. One from alcoholism, the other from cancer.”

“Oh my,” I gasped. Couldn’t imagine going
through such pain twice. Now that I was getting a close look at Eunice, she
wasn’t really as old as me and Libby. Must be the smoking, the extra weight and
lowerin’ two husbands in the grave had put fifteen years on her appearance.
“I’m so sorry for your losses.”

“Well, don’t be. It was their time,” Eunice
resolved as she let her behind tip over onto my couch. Her feet came up off the
ground momentarily as she flounced into place.

I decided to rest my dancing feet on the
ottoman as well. “You get enough to eat at Libby and Peter’s?”

“Yeah, but, you know, they don’t cook
like
we
do.”

“Who don’t?” I asked.

“You know. White people. Libby fixed a
really bland turkey and some asparagus. All of it
grilled
, not a stitch
of bacon grease or butter anywhere.”

Chile, I had done forgot all about the
differences in traditional black cookin’ and white folks’ cookin’. Miss Eunice
was in for a big surprise if she thought I had some hamhocks and chittlins in
the kitchen. After looking in my refrigerator and pantry, she might accuse me
of being white, too. “Sounds like a mighty fine meal to me.”

Eunice’s hair flopped dramatically as she
lowered her chin. “Are you serious?”

“Sure am. I eat more green stuff than
anything else.”

She took a deep breath, looked me up and
down. “Well, looks like it’s working for you. But I can’t be on a strict diet.
I can’t be on a strict
anything
. I’ve got to live my life the way I want
to. That’s one thing losing my husbands taught me. Tomorrow’s not promised to
anyone. You’ve got to live every day like it could be your last. And if that
stuff I ate at Libby’s was my last supper, I can assure you, I am very
disappointed.”

The expression on Eunice’s face was so
funny—eyes bucked, lips puckered—I couldn’t even get offended. I
could see now how she won over people she’d never met. Maybe because she didn’t
have no hidden agenda, didn’t pose no threat, people didn’t have a reason
not
to open up to her.

“Well, when my great-grandson, Cameron,
comes over, I do have to indulge him.”

She looked around again. I assume taking
in the grandfather clock, the china cabinet, the custom drapes and heirloom
quality furniture, all the results of God’s blessings set on Albert’s hard work
and good money-sense. “You live in this big house all by yourself?”

“Yep. Just me and Jesus.”

“And you don’t want a man like Dr. Wilson
living here with you?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking
about her question. “Naw. Can’t say that I do. I guess if God says different,
I’ll take a husband. But other than that, nope.”

She gave an exaggerated frown. “I don’t
blame you. Men have all kind of problems. They leave facial hair all over the
sink.” She held up one finger.

“Ooh, tell me about it,” I raised my hand
in agreement.

She shot up another finger. “They still
think gross stuff is funny.”

“You got that right, too.”

“Now, I’m not trying to be vulgar, but my
second husband used to fart so loud and hard, one time I thought somebody was knocking
on the front door. And girl, I said, ‘who is it?’”

Lord knows I don’t normally sit up and
talk about this kind of unlady-like stuff, but she sure was telling the truth.

“And don’t get me started on the
snoring.” She threw her head back on the couch, gaped her mouth open and
started honking through her mouth and nose like…well, like a man!

“Eunice, stop!”
Whoo!
My eyes got
to waterin’ from laughin’ so hard.

“Graaaaaaw, uuuuuuuuh, graaaaaaw,
uuuuuuuuuh,” she inhaled and exhaled.

“Girl, you need to quit!” I couldn’t
hardly see her no more for the tears, and my stomach had started aching, thanks
to her perfect re-enactment.

Then she leaned over and began laughing
at her act, too. Only her giggles led to a coughing spell she had some trouble
coming out of.

“Eunice, you alright?”

“Water,” she croaked.

I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a
bottled water from the ice box, and rushed back to her side.

She took a few swallows. “Mmm, thank
you.” Eunice coughed a few more times. “I haven’t laughed like that in a very
long time.”

“I don’t see why not. You’re a comedian,”
I told her.

“No. I just call it like it is. Men give
us plenty to joke about, if nothing else.”

Eunice yawned, and I took that as my cue
to lead her to the spare bedroom she’d be using. “You ‘bout ready to retire for
the night?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eunice rocked herself up
from the couch and followed me down the side hallway to my daughters’ old room.

Hadn’t been too long since my
granddaughter, Nikki, and my grandson had used that room to escape her deranged
ex-boyfriend. And shortly after that, my nephew, Derrick, had stayed with me
while he was on judge-ordered lockdown.

Now, I know the Lord would definitely
have me open my doors to family members. But that night, as Eunice and I worked
together to spread out the fresh sheets on Debra Kay’s old bed, I had to listen
and let the Spirit minister to me. See, it’s easy to feel obligated to help
your own flesh and blood. Even though Derrick was my nephew by marriage, he was
still blood-kin to my late husband and my kids, so I expected myself to be
there for him.

However, Eunice was different. She was
quite literally off the streets. Even though she was only staying for the
night, I knew this was a big step for God and me.

Thank you, Lord, for giving me a heart to
share Your love with people I don’t even know.

At the time, I didn’t realize exactly how
much love-showin’ He had in store for me.

The Lord got me up extra early Saturday
morning and took me through First Corinthians. Took a whole page of notes in my
journal—some on division within the church, wisdom from His Spirit, the
apostles, immorality in the church, marriage, food, freedom in Christ, love,
and the gifts of the Spirit. His word is so rich!

Individually, the notes made sense, but
taken together, it seemed like a hodgepodge. But I know He’s purposeful in all
His ways, ‘specially when He’s training up His children. I bowed my head and
prayed in the Spirit for a while, but no extra revelation pertaining to those
verses transferred into my mind. Instead, I found myself praying for Eunice and
her son, whatever problems they got between the two of them.

I also felt led to pray for my pastor and
for my fellow Mother’s Board member Henrietta’s continued healing following the
diabetic coma. So far, her long-term memory was perfect, and her speech was
almost back to normal. I laughed and told the Lord I wished He’d made her a
little quieter, but I know He didn’t really want a shy, soft-spoken Henrietta.
That ain’t the way He made her.

Still, I wasn’t clear on what exactly He
wanted me to meditate on or see in First Corinthians. So, I ended our quiet
time with a prayer for my own understanding. “Lord, I know you gon’ make it all
clear to me, so I’m just gon’ wait and see what You want me to hear from Your
word. I know You are faithful to teach me, and I praise You in advance. In
Jesus’ name, Amen.”

I checked in on Eunice. She was sprawled
out on the bed like somebody who’d collapsed after spending fifteen hours
working in an underground mine. I mean knocked O-U-T, out! If it hadn’t been
for her belly heaving up and down to show her breathin’, I might have gotten
worried.

Gently, I closed the door and thanked God
again for allowing me and Libby to help Eunice. No telling when was the last
time she spent a night in a bed, let alone a bed
room
all to herself.

I left her to sleep for a little while
longer. Didn’t have nothing on my agenda until noon. I could get to Libby’s, to
Mesquite, and back to Peasner within two hours, so there was no particular
rush.

After all the time I’d spent in the Word,
I really wasn’t hungry. Praying first thing in the morning fills me up, but
unless I’m fasting, I do make a practice of eating breakfast to get my
metabolism going. That’s one thing they taught me and Libby back when we met in
the weight loss class: you got to keep your metabolism working like a big dog
until a few hours before you to go to bed. Otherwise, it’ll take off work early
and leave everything you eat to turn into blubber.

Eunice had already made it clear she didn’t
like to eat healthy stuff. Normally, I wouldn’t contribute to somebody’s
deathly habits, but since she was probably all healthed-out from Libby’s
cooking, and since she was only an overnight guest, I decided to whip up some
old-fashioned pancakes. Just so happened, I had some real butter left over from
when I made the 7-up cake for Cameron the previous weekend. (I thought he was
gonna eat himself sick!)

I threw a little salt and pepper on some
turkey bacon and left the yolks in the scrambled eggs. A little low-fat cheese
topped off the eggs—with the right brand, nobody can tell the difference
about cheese.

A few minutes after I’d finished all the
cooking and rinsed off the last skillet, I heard Eunice’s cane tapping up the
hallway. She’d changed from the one-size-fits-all muu muu I let her borrow back
into the clothes she’d been wearing the day before, fanny pack and all.
“Morning, B.”

“Back atcha.”

“Smells so good in here, I thought I’d
died and gone to heaven.”

I chuckled, “Well, if heaven smells like
bacon, my late husband is rejoicing right now.”

I noticed how Eunice took a look at my
Bible, then sat clear on the other side of the table, as if the Word might bite
her.

“You hungry?”

“Most certainly,” she squeaked.

Decided I’d sit on Eunice’s end, keep her
company. Soon as I set her plate down, she tore into it. Bless her heart,
probably only used to eating pre-packaged, cold meals.

As usual, I said a blessing over my food
and then took a bite of pancake.

“Just so you know, my mother taught me to
pray over my food, too. I’m no heathen.”

It tickles me when people who were
brought up the right way as children apologize for strayin’ from their
home-training. Their conscience be confirming the promise of God. It’s just a
matter of time before they come back to their training, according to the Word.
“You alright with me, Eunice.”

She angled her forehead toward my study
area. “I’m only saying, since I see you’ve been reading the Bible, now you’re
saying grace and all. I say grace in my heart. Thank God every day for my life
and what little health I’ve got left.”

“He is good,” I affirmed the praise. “Do
you get to church often?”

She shook her head emphatically, her
jowls jiggling accordingly. “No way, Jose. I don’t do church.”

“Why not?”

“I like God and Jesus just fine, but I
don’t like rules.”

“What kind of rules?”

“Can’t do
this
, gotta do
that
.
Can’t wear
this
, talk like
that
,” she griped, emphasizing her
words with a swing of her fork. “But when you catch them breaking their own
rules, they start preaching about forgiveness. Huh! Church is a farce.”

Now, y’all know I
love
the church.
Me and Albert donated the land for the church I attend to this very day. Next
to Jesus and my family, the church is my heart. “Not every church is like
that.”

Eunice rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You
and I both know if I walked into any church right now wearing these shorts and
this shirt, the people would stare me down.”

I wouldn’t say it out loud, but people
were probably staring her down every place except the homeless shelter. Not too
many women with her shape were brave enough to wear a fitted T-shirt anywhere,
let alone a church. “That may be so, Eunice, but you can’t throw out the baby
with the bath water.”

The corners of her mouth tightened. “B,
you’re a fun person. You’ve got your life and I’ve got mine. Let’s leave it at
that.”

Seeing her struggle to rise to a standing
position, I grabbed the empty plate from her hand so she could push herself up.

“Thank you.”

“Sure thing. You ‘bout ready to head to
Mesquite?”

“I’m gonna take a smoke outside first
before we leave, if that’s alright with you.”

“No problem.”

Eunice helped herself to the front porch
while I finished getting dressed for the day. I unfastened the rollers from my
head, let my silvery gray curls fall, then swept them over to the side with a
wide-tooth comb. At my age, I couldn’t help but thank God I still had a head
full of hair.

Next, I dusted my face with powder. A
little ruige on my cheeks, eye brow pencil to fill in the rest of my arch. I
picked a peachish-red lipstick and pressed my lips together to spread the color
out.

I’d already laid my clothes out for the
day. White eyelet blouse with a pair of denim pants, a little dressier than
jeans but not too formal. Leopard-print ballet slippers added a little spunk to
my attire. I took in my whole presentation in the full-length mirror handing on
the inside of my closet.

Not bad, sister
.

I reckon my gettin’ ready took all of
fifteen minutes. I still hadn’t heard Eunice come back in the house, but since
I have no earthly idea how long it takes to smoke a cigarette, I didn’t get a
notion to check on her for a bit longer.

Chile, by the time I went outside to see
about Eunice, she was nowhere in sight.

“Eunice?” I called for her.

No answer.

“Eunice!”

My neighbor’s dog barked in response.

I stepped off the porch and around to the
side of the house. Then, I checked the other side. No Eunice. With hands on my
hips, I stood in my front yard and took a whole three hundred and sixty degree
turn. Still, no sign of her. “Lord Jesus, where did she go off to?”

Then my mind got a wild thought—did
somebody kidnap her? Snatch her right off my porch? “Lord, protect her, in
Jesus’ name.”

Unsure of whether I should call Libby or
call 9-1-1, I swiveled to go back inside. That’s when I noticed the greenback
sticking out from under my flowerpot. I lifted the bright orange container and
retrieved a fifty dollar bill. On it were three words written in blue ink:
“Thank you, B.”