“Problem solved.” Granny tucked her Bible into her purse, then clicked the clasp shut with a loud snap. “Rebecca’s moving in with me.”
“Wait, ah—what?”
Dr. Carter smiled. “Good. Where?”
Granny gave a small smile. “Dahlia, South Carolina. About as far from New York City as a body can get, heart, mind, and soul.”
“We’ll have to line up counseling there, of course,” Dr. Carter said.
“Of course. Charlotte’s an hour away. We can go there if needed.”
“But—but what about a job? And Granny, I can’t leave my apartment. I have fixed rent, and—”
Granny just smiled. “Don’t you worry about a thing, sweet girl. I have it all worked out.”
CHAPTER 2
Devon
He shut the back door with a light click, padded his way down the concrete steps and over the soft blanket of leaves that had fallen during the light rain the night before. The rain was so gentle it didn’t even wake him, though when he’d woken on his own in the night and peeked out the curtains, he’d seen the water trickle like a miniature river down the driveway and to the street beyond. The tiny river comforted him somehow. Water was always a comfort.
“Have a good’un, sugar,” his Memaw said from inside the house.
He looked up to see her standing at the cracked-open window, white curtains around her shoulders like a cape. He gave a wave, got a toothy smile in return.
Today would be a good day.
He hadn’t even realized she was awake yet. He tried to be real quiet in the morning, tiptoe so she’d stay fast asleep. Memaw stayed up long into the night now. Aching bones, she said, and the summertime made it worse. When her asthma got to flaring up, she’d stay awake a long, long time, listening to her portable radio and reading her large-print Bible, the one her church friends had pitched in and bought her when her eyesight got real bad.
Often he woke up in the night now. It started way back when Mama was in the hospital. After the funeral, after he came back to Memaw’s alone, he kept it up. He wasn’t awake long, usually. Long enough just to peer out the window, see the moon or the stars, take a full deep breath and let it go. Let it all go. The burden’s heavy, Mama liked to say, and sometimes you gotta put it down. But it’s your burden, Devon Robinson. It stays where you stay.
God spoke to him the strongest in the night. Then he could more easily drown out the noise and the bustle and the pace, hear God’s words, know his strength. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d sense just a little bit of Mama, too.
Last night was one of those God nights—no moon, stars tucked behind thick clouds, the only light coming from Mrs. Brown’s porch across the way, shining onto the street and, just barely, onto Mama’s memory garden, the stones and the cross and the tiny little plants like a beacon in the wet night. Maybe that’s why he stayed up awhile, watching the river of rain in the glow from her porch light, waiting for God to give him a word, something so he could go back to sleep for the night.
At least Uncle Terrence hadn’t come around last night, bringing his bad news and smoky clothes, picking through Memaw’s wallet for whatever he could get his paws on. For that, Devon could be grateful.
Devon’s own porch had no such light. They only ran power a little while in the afternoons and evenings, when Memaw had the strength to cook. Social security checks only ran so far. When she didn’t feel up to cooking, they just opened up some of the pop-top cans he got from the backpack program at school. They didn’t need much.
Last night, maybe it was thinking of Mama and the memory garden so much before bed, or maybe it was that they’d only had some of the leftover oatmeal packets mixed with warm water fromthe sink, he found himself up an unusually long time. He’d finally pulled out the Bible, the one she’d given him, the one that had been hers with all the underlines and notes in the margins. Now his underlines were in there, too. He used blue pen for his, so he could tell which were his markings and which were hers. Hers were black and far more numerous, but in the two years he’d had the Bible, he’d done his share of blue, so that now when he flipped through, the black and blue markings jumped out, mixing together. His words were in there, too, mixed with hers.
“Be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you,’” was last night’s verse, from Hebrews. He thought about it now as he walked across the leaves and onto the rutted pavement. That verse was one of Mama’s favorites, the one she’d clung to at the end, in the hospital bed. The soft prayer shawl knitted by the grannies at church had been tucked around her thin bones, blues and pinks and greens like springtime against her caramel skin. She’d looked so small those last few days, and he’d known what was coming. Mama had told him, and Memaw, and the grannies from church. Rev and Marla, too.
But it was one thing to know and one thing to see. And some nights he remembered the seeing all too well.
No matter. One day he’d be with her again. Jesus himself had promised that.
For now, he had living to do. Surviving. Taking care of Memaw. Him and her.
He passed the memory garden, making sure to kiss his fingers before bending down and gently touching the small wooden cross, the one Mama had helped him set in the center. So you’ll remember me, she’d told him, and remember I’ll always love you, and remember that one day we’ll be together.
He reached the stop sign early, tugged on the cords of his backpack while he waited for the school bus. Theirs was the middlestop, so he didn’t have too long to wait. And he’d get the hot breakfast when he arrived. That would calm the rumbling in his belly for sure. Today was eggs day.
“Yo, Dev, seen your uncle lately?” came a voice from behind, and some laughter, the bad gonna-get-you kind. Devon’s heart skipped, then settled into a dull thud. It’s nothing. Someone cursed in Spanish, and Marquis, who used to be his friend and now hung out with the mean kids, gave him a good-natured smack on the head, shoved by.
Devon just nodded hello, walked past to stand on the corner. He caught Shenise’s eye, gave her a smile.
CJ walked up then, stood by him. In no time, the bus pulled up, and they all piled on.
