Mama B - a Time to Love Page 2

  But that wasn’t the case with Eunice. I got a good feelin’ if me and Libby had let her walk away, she wouldn’t have turned back, not once. As I watched her hobble onto the sidewalk, the Holy Spirit started pinching my heart.

  To be honest, I was waiting on Him to pinch Libby’s heart harder than mine so she could be the one to do all the reachin’ out. I mean, she the one married to a preacher. She the one actually remembered Eunice’s name. Plus, I didn’t have no intentions on driving Eunice home to Mesquite that night. I had other plans.

  Eunice kept on hobbling down that road.

  “B, we have to do something,” Libby whispered to me.

  We? Didn’t we just tell Eunice not to mess with strangers? That same rule should have applied to me and Libby, too.

  Eunice’s body was getting smaller and smaller in my vision. “I can’t take her back home. I got things to do.”

  “I sure can’t. My cheek’s puffing up. I got to get home and get some ice before the swelling makes it up to my eye and I can’t even see,” she informed me.

  One look at her confirmed the medical situation.

  “Libby, you know me and Frank go dancing on Friday nights. I got less than an hour to get ready as it is,” I nearly pleaded with her.

  She blinked her normal eye. “Well, now, you and Frank been dancing every Friday for several weeks now. Seem like the world wouldn’t stop turning if you missed one evening.”

  I wagged my finger in her face. “Watch out. You the one got me started goin’ out with this man. No sense in changing your mind now.” I could have added that I sensed she’d been a teenchy bit jealous about how I’d been going out more with Frank, seeing as our dating and dancing had cut back on the amount of time I spent walking and volunteering with Libby. But I kept that information to myself.

  “I know, I know, B. Don’t have a cow. I’m just teasin’ with you. But we gotta do somethin’ before she gets to the end of the block.”

  I took a deep breath. Libby was right. If I’d turned on the news the next morning and seen a report about Eunice found somewhere in a back alley, I’d have to fight that guilt off until the day I died. Okay, Lord, I hear You. “Eunice! Wait!”

  Chapter 4

  Even after we finally convinced Eunice to get in our car, we still didn’t have a plan. Frank and I had a standing Friday night date. Truth be told, I would have been more upset about missing it than him. The only option I could think of was Eunice going home with Libby, spending the night with her and Peter until Saturday morning. Then I’d come over and me and Libby could take Eunice home together, since Peter didn’t drive no more.

  But Eunice shot that idea down from the back seat of Libby’s car. “Oh no, ma’am. I will not spend the night under a roof with another woman’s husband. That kind of arrangement always turns out bad for me.”

  Me and Libby could hardly keep from laughing. If Eunice thought Peter had a mind to take a peek at her, she must have been living in 1965. Plus, Peter was slower on his cane than Eunice. But if this woman say she got a problem with other women’s husbands, who was I to tell her she didn’t?

  “How about this,” Libby suggested. “Eunice, you’ll stay at my house until B gets back from her night out with Frank. Then she and Frank will pick you up from my house and take you back to B’s house until tomorrow.”

  “Frank won’t be spending the night?” Eunice quizzed.

  “Oh, no. Me and Frank ain’t married.”

  She smacked. “That don’t mean nothin’.”

  “It means something to me,” I quipped.

  Lord, what kind of person you done brought to me now?

  Frank wore his favorite dancing shoes—the black, shiny ones with brown on the tips and sides. To me, they looked like bowling shoes, but he insisted they were comfortable and made him feel like Frank Sinatra.

  I suppose if he could sing, he might have something going there, but Lord knows Frank’s singing voice was not meant for the public. Oh, he’d tried a few times to hum a few bars in my ear while we danced. Them off-key tunes shoulda been kept between him and Jesus.

  My Albert couldn’t sing, either, but that man could sho’ ‘nuff whistle. I ain’t never heard nobody whistle Precious Lord and My Soul Loves Jesus the way Albert did. Seem like he was anointed to whistle on Sunday mornings while we was getting dressed for church.

  You know, mostly it be the little piddly stuff you miss about somebody when they’re gone.

  When I went out with Frank, I always had my moment of remembering Albert before I kissed the past goodbye and moved on with the present. When Frank and I first started going out, I was upset about this hurdle I had to jump over every time I strapped myself into his car and smelled his unforgettable aftershave. No, he wasn’t Albert. He wasn’t the man I’d known, loved and trusted for over forty years.

  He was Frank. And this wasn’t then, this was now. The hurdle was still there, but I expected it, and I expected to jump over it. I noticed it got smaller and smaller every time we went out.

  “Hello there, lovely,” Frank greeted me as he opened the passenger’s side door.

  “Hello there, my handsome escort,” I replied, stepping up into his Range Rover.

  He shut my door and walked around the back of the car. In that moment, I got a short taste of the music he’d been listening to. Sounded like that Beyonce girl everybody’s always rantin’ and ravin’ about. Every time I seen her on TV, she looked half-naked, bless her heart. Now, the girl could sing, but I wondered would folks like her as much if she put on some clothes.

  Anyhow, I reminded myself that Frank was a grown man and he could listen to whatever he wanted to in his own car.

  When he’d gotten settled back into his seat, he took it upon himself to switch the CD changer to another selection. The music of gospel artist Myron Williams came coursing out from the speakers. Inside, I smiled at Frank’s respect for my preference and thanked God for teaching both of us to get over each other’s differences. We both loved the Lord. Just, I was more Pentecostal-like saved and Frank was more Baptist-like. In the Bible, Paul said there was no such thing as this kind of Christian and that kind, though, so I probably needed to set it out my mind.

  “You ready to cut this rug with me, B?”

  “Whew! After the day I had at the food pantry, I need to dance the night away.”

  On the way to the studio, I told Frank all about what happened with Eunice and why we needed to pick her up from Libby’s house.

  Franks forehead dipped low. “She’s going to stay at your house tonight?”

  “Yes. I know, it’s strange, but I got peace about it.”

  “If you say so,” slurred out from him. “I pray that everything works out. I’ll keep my phone’s volume on high in case you need to call me.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. But thank you anyway.”

  Seeing and hearing Frank’s concern was only a preview of what I’d get if I told my oldest boy, Son, about Eunice staying with me. He’d probably come over and take fingerprints first. Between him and Frank, I wasn’t sure which one was the most protective.

  Me and Frank wasn’t no kind of couple, but you know that’s just something men do—they look out for the people they care about. Real men, anyway. I wasn’t complainin’.

  We was one of the first couples there that night. A little early. Instead of rushing inside, Frank turned off the engine, powered down our windows a few inches and sat. A cool fall breeze whisked through the car. Almost too cool.

  I reached down and raised my window a bit.

  “Sorry about that,” Frank apologized.

  “No problem.”

  Then he sat there for a minute, looking out the window. “Sure is a nice night out.”

  “Yes, siree.”

  Frank’s car sits up high, so I got nosy and looked down into the person’s car parked next to us. The front seat was clean enough, but the back seat might as well have been on that Hoarders TV show. Lord, let me stop judging peo
ple.

  When I flipped my head back around, I was deadlocked with Frank. And there he was looking at me with those “goo-goo eyes” is what we used to call ‘em.

  “Wonder if Miss Gavina needs any help setting up,” I declared while scrambling to find the latch so I could get out of the vehicle.

  “Wait,” Frank stopped me. “B, I need to talk to you about something.”

  All of a sudden, I felt claustrophobic. I rolled the window all the way down so I could get some air. Oh Lord, what he want? “Yes?”

  Frank repositioned a little higher in his seat. “I don’t know about you, but I really enjoy our time together.”

  “Me, too,” I could honestly agree.

  “And I’ve been thinking.”

  He waited so long to speak, I had to ask, “About what?”

  “About me and you.”

  Chile, when Frank grabbed my hand on that armrest, I almost lost my breath.

  He squared his eyes on mine. “B, I’d like to be more than your friend and dancing partner.”

  Oh, Jesus. What do I say? Me and the Lord hadn’t had no kind of conversations about me and Frank being more than friends. God, why didn’t you warn me?

  Then, the Holy Spirit reminded me that I’d had some hints. Frank wanted to sign us up for next year’s couples dance-a-thon. He’d brought up the idea of me attending his daughter’s 40th birthday party. The thing was, every time I got a hint, I tucked it in the back of my mind, instead of talking to God about it. Now that it was time to have a discussion, I was at a loss for words.

  “Frank, I don’t quite know what to say.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you could…say what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I’m thinking that…um…we got a good friendship going here and I’m fine with that. I thought you were okay with it, too.”

  He gave a conciliatory nod. “Yes, it is a good friendship. But being with you has reminded me that I miss close companionship. Affection. You know?”

  Maybe last month I could have said I didn’t know, but the truth was, I did. You watch a movie with somebody and you want to talk about it for the next couple of hours, but you can’t when that person’s already gone home and it ain’t decent to call so late.

  “I do understand what you’re saying, Frank. I just…I don’t know how to do…how to be more than friends with a man. I ain’t never had no boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. You know, me and you come from a day when a girl got married and had her first real kiss all in the same day. We didn’t have all this middle ground folk have today. Friends with insurance or whatever they call it.”

  “Now, B, come on. We did court back then,” he countered, his eyes still gleaming at me. That Frank sure did clean up nicely.

  “Yeah, but courtin’ was a family affair. In my day, I courted right there on my parents’ couch with my Momma in the kitchen, the next room over. And my little brother stuck his head in the room every five minutes.”

  Frank and I laughed at the idea. Times were different back then. Folk didn’t do all this tryin’ every Tom, Dick, and Harry on for size. When we courted, we couldn’t give all ourselves to a man. Some folk say that was wrong because we didn’t really know each other real private-like until we got married. But I tell you one thing, when the right one did come along, we didn’t have our heart all calloused up from so many rough relationships. It’s better to go in fresh and naïve than bruised and carrying a whole lotta baggage, if you ask me.

  Of course, me and Frank wasn’t exactly fresh. Neither was the man asking me to marry him. Really, I didn’t know what he was asking me. Fiddlesticks, I was too old to be playing games and trying to read minds. “What exactly is your definition of more than friends?”

  His eyes rolled up into thinking position while I waited for his response. “I want…hmm…how can I put this? I want the opportunity for a closer relationship. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But I want the chance to…hold your hand.”

  Okay.

  “Rest my arm on the back of your seat.”

  Okay.

  “Kiss you goodnight.”

  Now you done crossed the line. “I was alright until you got to the last part.”

  “Kissing?”

  “Yes, kissin’,” I repeated. “All that kissin’ and neckin’ is too much. I can’t agree to kiss nobody I wouldn’t just as soon spend the rest of my life with. And I don’t see myself signin’ up no time soon for that route.”

  “I’m not asking you for a lifetime commitment. I…really, I don’t know what I’m asking, B.” He sighed in frustration. “All I know is I haven’t felt this way about anybody in a long time and I thought this was what I was supposed to ask, but it looks as though I was wrong.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t feel bad, Frank. Looks like neither one of us knows what we’re doing.”

  “You can say that again.” He laughed, too, and the worry wrinkles smoothed out of his forehead. “B, let’s just go inside and dance before I make a fool of myself and make you even more uncomfortable.”

  “Now that I can agree with.”

  Chapter 5

  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.”