Around eleven, I look up at the clock and it’s past time for Aunt Ophelia to make it in. Next time I look, a whole hour later, she still hasn’t made it in. At first I figured she was in church, so I didn’t worry. But now I’m ready to peel off a layer of my skin. Late-to-work is not her way. When I dial her number, there’s no answer. Something is dead wrong.
Not two minutes later, here comes Mama Carla prancing into the kitchen, looking like she’s got news. Mr. Marvelle, Kadeesha, Helen, Latonya—we’re all here today and it seems everyone, besides me, is in a happy mood. Even though the staff is exhausted from Rush Week, right along with the members, Bid Day has everybody feeling good.
Mama Carla claps her hands together to get our attention. “Listen up, y’all.” Everyone stops what it is they’re doing to look at her. “The bad news is Miss Ophelia is sick today. But the good news is you’ve got me. I’m hoping we can all pitch in and get Bid Day dinner ready. Y’all okay with that?”
She looks around and everybody nods. Then she looks at Latonya, Aunt Fee’s sous chef. “You might want to put me on chopping duty, Latonya. I’ve been known to burn up an oven before.” She chuckles, turns back to the rest of us. “Don’t start thinking that’s the reason my husband left. That had more to do with a hot young nurse.”
Everyone in the kitchen laughs, besides me. I can’t laugh. Not today. I’m too worried about my auntie.
Mama Carla rubs her palms together. “Okay, y’all, put me to work. What can I do first?” She’s not acting like she’s worried about Aunt Fee. Could I be overreacting?
Mr. Marvelle doesn’t seem worried either. He gives her a hearty chuckle. “You can march yourself right out that door, that’s what you can do.”
“What? I thought y’all might like to boss me around for a change.”
“If you’re still planning on hot chicken and waffles with maple syrup and a nice big salad, then we all know what to do,” Mr. Marvelle says. “Latonya’s chicken is almost as good as Miss O’s.”
“Hey now,” Latonya says. “I know how to fry. Learned it from the best.”
“So you’re saying you can handle this without me?” Mama Carla asks, feigning disappointment with a hand on her brow.
Latonya flashes her a confident smile. “Go on, Mama Carla. We got this.”
“It’s not that hard,” Kadeesha says. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
I whoosh around and get up in that fool’s face. I’ve had about as much of her as I can stand for one lifetime. “Nobody’s putting up a fuss, Kadeesha. Nobody but you.”
She backs away, holding her palms up. “Whoa. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m worried about my auntie. Can’t you understand that?”
She narrows her eyes, shuts her mouth. But I can tell the venom is spewing backward, coating her tongue—all the way back to her throat—with spite.
As soon as Mama Carla leaves, I buy myself a Co-Cola from the machine in the buffet line. It’s about the only thing I know of can calm my nerves—besides an extra-long menthol cigarette—and I put those nasty things down ten years ago last month. Then I walk straight out the back door. All the chairs are folded against the wall, so I pull one out and sit myself down.
I’ve had only one sip of my cold drink when I hear the door creak. Mr. Marvelle walks outside, pulls out his own chair. Then he sits down slowly, right next to me. “I’m telling you, Pearl. Miss O is not well.” Hearing those words—especially from him—puts a twenty-five-below-zero chill through my body.
I take another sip, swallow slowly, then clear my throat. I look that man straight in the eye. “Tell me what makes you say that. Besides holding her stomach, what else have you noticed?”
“For one thing, she looks like she’s dead on her feet. A few days ago, she toted one of these chairs back to the stove.” He grips the seat. “Had to sit down back there. You know Miss O ain’t like that. She runs circles around everybody in this kitchen.”
“I know that’s right.” Why haven’t I been paying more attention? My head feels heavy. I can hardly move. “Notice anything else?”
“Let’s see, now.” He’s rocking nervously in the chair, dragging his teeth back and forth across his lip. “She told me one day that her legs was bigger than normal and that she felt full all the time.”
“Wonder what that could mean?”
“I don’t know.” He’s rubbing the insides of his palms, something I’veseen him do when he’s agitated. “I have noticed she uses the bathroom quite a bit.”
That’s all I need to hear. I reach into my pocket and yank out my phone. Once I punch in the numbers, it rings five times. “Come on Fee, pick up the phone.”
After two more rings I think it’s going to voice mail, but then I hear her answer. “Hello, dahlin’.” Her voice is low and weak. “I was expecting your call.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“Just a cramp; that’s all,” she says calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“This has been going on too long for me not to worry.” She can always tell when I’m upset and today my voice has distress signals blinking at top speed.
