“My auntie keeps telling me that. Matter of fact, she’s been bugging me to get a new job.”
I cover my heart with both hands, lean toward her. “You can’t do that. What would everyone do without you?”
“Everyone would be just fine,” she says, while patting me on the thigh. “Unfortunately, this job doesn’t pay much. Eleven dollars and fifty cents an hour. And that’s after twenty-five years.”
I am not shocked by this news. Things are slow to change in Mississippi. All over the South, really. But I make that much babysitting.
“Aunt Fee does a little better, but the rest of the staff make less than I do.”
“It must be hard for y’all to live on that.”
“Yes it is,” she says, before a deep line forms between her brows. “But I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not your problem.”
“Maybe not, but I’m glad you did. I’m the kind of person that… dreams of changing things.”
“There’s no changing anything around here. Aunt Fee’s been trying to tell me that very thing. She wants me to go to work for the University. So I can get benefits.”
“I guess that means y’all don’t have benefits here?”
She shakes her head. “Now it’s all making sense why she’s been harping on me to get a job with health insurance.” With a hand pressed over her heart she leans toward me. “Here she is laid up with terminal cancer. Never went to see a doctor. That woman is as stubborn as a grape-juice stain. I want to strangle her sometimes. But it’s too late now,” she says, and bursts into laughter.
FIFTY-TWO
MISS PEARL
It came to an end on a Sunday, the thirtieth of October, right before Halloween. I’ll always remember it as the day I became the oldest generation in my family.
Aunt Fee woke up the day before she passed like she was here to stay. I mean it. Everybody thought she would walk out the front door of the hospital and live another thirty years. She was feeling that good. All three of her boys, and all their wives and children, had made it to Oxford, and she was sitting up in her hospital bed, laughing and hugging on all of them. Telling everybody how much she loved them. Even talked to me about next week’s dinner menu.
But it was only temporary. Within twenty-four hours her spirit left and she began her journey. I was in the room when she took her last breath. Right before she passed, she held her arms up in the air, even though she was as weak as a little ol’ straggly weed. My cousins and I figured she was reaching for Him to carry her on Home.
When the news spread that Aunt Ophelia had passed, a hush fell over the House. The spirit of Alpha Delta Beta was put on pause. Mama Carla hung a wreath on the door made of white roses, the Alpha Delt flower, interspersedwith lily of the valley, Ophelia’s favorite. Since our church is relatively small, Mama Carla suggested we move the funeral somewhere bigger so everyone could fit inside. Pastor made all the arrangements to secure the Tallahatchie-Oxford Missionary Baptist Church. It’s a good thing he did. Besides our family and friends, most of the Alpha Delts are planning on attending the service. Mama Carla said she’d heard several of the alumnae would be driving in, one from as far away as Atlanta.
As happy as Aunt Fee would be to know this many people wanted to honor and celebrate her life, there’s one thing I know for certain. She would not be happy about the money going out the door. Marvin insisted on two stretch limos to carry us all to the church, then out to the cemetery.
About four years ago, one night after supper, when we were all sitting around talking in the kitchen, she was adamant. “I’m not leaving nobody with a fat funeral bill once I’m gone. Put me in a box in the ground and it don’t have to be fancy, neither. Hurry up and do it, too, so the undertaker don’t charge for no embalming fluid. But whatever you do, donotput me inside no oven. I want to be buried right next to Ruby. When the Archangel’s voice comes and the Lord sounds His trumpet, I want to make sure there’s bones left to rise.”
FIFTY-THREE
WILDA
There was standing-room only by the time I slid into the back of the church. After thirty-two years as head cook, and with hundreds of Alpha Delts in attendance, there wasn’t a seat to be had. From where I was standing, I could see an indisputable blond high ponytail, belonging to the one and only. Carla was seated on her left and Annie Laurie on her right. Lilith was sitting much closer to the front than I would have imagined. Even as House Corp President, it seemed a contrived show of support, especially in light of how incensed she was over Miss Pearl subbing for Carla.
It took a minute, but I finally spotted Ellie and Cali sitting with the others in their pledge class. Ellie was supposed to have saved me a seat, but since I was caught behind an eighteen-wheeler most of the way down Highway 7 and fifteen minutes late to the service, she must have given it to someone else.
By the time everyone in Miss Ophelia’s family spoke and all the beautiful hymns were sung, the service lasted nearly two hours. Those of us who were late had to lean against the wall for back support. Carla and Selma gave moving eulogies. I couldn’t have kept from crying if I’d wanted to. When I looked around the church I noticed there were only a few people without tears. And, I suspect, one board president.
Now, walking back to my car, I’m trying to decide whether or not I should go to the burial. Before I left Memphis this morning I’d heard the weatherman report that a thunderstorm, followed by a cold front, would be moving across the South later today. Although the sky has yet to fall, I can feel the drop in temperature.
The wind makes me think a tornado is about to blow through here at any moment. Dead leaves whirl around me, as high as my waist. My hair is standing sideways. When I finally make it to my car, in the farthest parking spot from the church, I tug at the door handle. After a hefty amount of resistance, the wind catches the door and it blasts away from my grasp. I jump inside; reach out as far as I humanly can, then tug the door shut with a thunderouswumpth.Once I start the engine and turn the heat on full blast, I point all four vents my way.
With my gearshift in reverse, I look over my shoulder and happen to notice a white Mercedes SUV pulling into the spot next to mine.
It’s her.
What the heck am I supposed to do now? Ignore her? Oh how I wish I could be one of those nervy people who waves and blows right past. Instead, I slam the gearshift into park just before hearing three taps.
With her face pressed against my passenger window, I fumble for the locks then click them open in a hurry, because every time I’m in her presence I revert back to a spineless, yellow-bellied wuss. Before I can give any thought to what excuse I’ll use to leave, she jumps inside my car and settles down into the passenger seat.
