Oh God. Here we go. This is exactly why I didn’t want to go to lunch alone with her in the first place. I blurt my answer before I have time to shut myself up. “We’re not wealthy people. My family has had to spend so much money on—” I catch myself mid-sentence. I almost told her they’ve spent all their money trying to get my mom sober.
“On what? Your family has spent all their money on what?”
Shit.“On… I don’t know. Blue Mountain is not a booming metropolis.”
Annie Laurie wrinkles her nose. “Working while you’re in college must be tough. Poor you.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief—for dodging a big one. “It’s not like I have a choice.” After a pause I add, “Don’t worry about me, though. I actually enjoy working.” Then I glance at my phone for the time. “I better go. Hope you have a great day, Annie Laurie.”
I turn around and haul ass to class.
TWENTY-ONE
MISS PEARL
Once work is over, after walking briskly around campus for an hour—all alone, I might add—I drive through Handy Andy’s for a barbeque, a side of beans, and a nice slice of chess pie. Having that bag of sweet-smelling goodness next to me on this long drive home has nearly killed me, but I’m waiting to eat once I get in front of my television set. I’ve got my heart set on a dinner date with the man of my dreams—Usher.
At least once a day, I daydream he’s single, makes it to Oxford for some reason, and fate brings us together. Maybe he’s on his way to Clarksdale to play at Morgan Freeman’s Ground Zero Blues Club. Maybe it’s a fender bender. Or how about we see each other over the top of a gas pump? It’s love at first sight. Then he takes me home with him—wherever home is. Lord Almighty, I’d be a willing, sinning fool if I could get just one face-to-face minute with that man.
My apartment is on the second floor, right out front and open to the parking lot. Every time I walk up these rickety metal steps, I’m reminded that I need to check to see if there’s an opening on the ground floor.
When I turn the key and open the door, I glance at my watch. It’s seveno’clock already. Where does the time go? Seems like I just picked up my pocketbook this morning, now I’m laying it back down in the same spot.
First thing I do is hunt for my remote, which I find stuck behind the couch cushion, then I flip on the box and scroll through my saved shows till I findThe Voice. Once I hit play, Usher’s fine face is the first thing on the screen. “Here I am, baby,” I holler at the TV. “Come on to Oxford. You are looking sharp tonight.” Then I set up my TV tray. Mrs. McKinney gave the set to Mama when it didn’t sell in her carport sale. When Mama died, I took it home with me. Use one every night.
As soon as the first commercial comes on I head into the kitchen, pop my sandwich and beans in the microwave. But only for a few seconds, there is nothing worse than hot cold slaw. Then I take it out and put it on a plate. I grab a roll of paper towels—barbeque is messy business—and head on back out to the den to wait on my man to return to the screen.
Just as I’m raising the sandwich to my mouth—sauce oozing out the sides—here comes a rap on the door. Lord have mercy, it’s that fool James Hardy down the way. He’s the sole reason I can’t let light into this room. I haven’t opened my blinds since I met him, the day after I moved in. He can keep on knocking because I’m not answering.
I take my first bite, feel it melting on my tongue—the bread, meat, slaw, and sweet sauce mixed together lets me know what heaven tastes like—and here comes the knock again. Only this time it’s louder. Seems like I hear a faint voice, too, and it’s not from a male. I reach over for the remote, turn town the volume. “Pearl, baby, are you home?”
Fee? What’s she doing here? She’s usually wiped out and home by this hour. Once her feet slide into her bedroom slippers she never leaves the couch. I put Usher’s pretty face on pause, scoot around the tray, and unlock the door. Still in her uniform, Aunt Fee’s standing there with her pocketbook hanging from her shoulder.
“What are you doing all the way out here this late? I almost ignored your knock.” Fee lives in town, on the east side, near a smattering of other low-income folks.
“I need to talk with you. Mind if I come in?”
“I was just sitting down to watchThe Voice. Come on in.”
Now she knows I loveThe Voiceand she really knows I love Usher. But she pushes on past me. “These old knees,” she says, straining to sit, “keep lettin’ me down.” Her behind is big like Mama’s was, and I notice the sofa cushion curl up underneath her. “Fetch me a glass of water, baby, if you don’t mind. My mouth is dry as toast.”
“All right,” I say, and head into the kitchen. “What’s on your mind? The suspense is killing me.”
“I’ll wait till you get back. I’m in no hurry,” she hollers.
“Maybe not, but I sure am,” I mutter under my breath.
I bring her a Co-Cola with ice, because I know that’s what she’s after, and sit back down next to her. I pick up my sandwich, hold it out her way, but she shakes her head.
“All right then, tell me what’s on your mind. You drove a long way. Must be important.”
“It is important.” She gulps half of her Coke down without a breath, then finishes with a loud, “Ahhhh.”
Before I take a bite I ask, “Is this about me finding a husband again?” Then I dig my teeth in.
She never answers that question, just slides onto something else, and puts a serious tone in her voice. “I promised your mama on her death bed I would look after you. Like I’ve done since you were a baby.”
I hurry up and swallow. “You’ve told me this before.”
