Chapter Fifteen

As for the heron, it . . .went about searching for food in its slow, magisterial way.

– Blue Heron/Avi                

 

                                   Chapter Fifteen

 

Thanksgiving morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon frying and strong coffee brewing. Then the sound of a marching band reached my ears.

“I must be dreaming!” I slumbered into the kitchen half asleep.

“Blue honey, hurry! Macy’s parade’s on! ” Mama squealed with a schoolgirl’s delight at my astonishment.

“Where’d the new T.V. come from?” I asked, squinting sleepy-eyed, knowing that our other one was busted.

“Remember Wilma, the older waitress I’m always talking about? She went to Ohio to see her grandbabies. I told her I’d work her shift today. Wilma was so grateful she give us her old T.V. Claimed she didn’t use it no more. She has three more in the house. Imagine that! Girl, we done got us a new TV!” Mama said giggly-giddy.

All morning long we didn’t move – stuffing our stomachs with eggs, bacon and grits – watching the parade. Commercials and all! Little before noon, Mama was hustling around late for work.

“Blue honey, thanks for being so understanding about me working today,” Mama said heading towards the door. “Nothing like a new T.V. to keep you company!”

“It ain’t new, Mama,” I argued, not wanted to spend the day alone again.

“Well, it works Emma June! Besides, I’ll bring home lots of turkey leftovers tonight. Tomorrow I’m off all day. Maybe we could drive into Michigan City, eat lunch in the Mall, and check out them pretty Christmas decorations. That is, if tips is good. Maybe even buy those fancy jeans you been wanting. Girl, you’ve been showin’ about a foot of floods lately! Time for some new britches!” Mama said, lovingly smacking me in the hindy. “How’s that sound, Blue?”

“Whoo . . .ee! Won’t that beat all, Mama, if I strutted in Monday in front of them snobs in a new pair of jeans! Think our old clunker will make it a fer piece like that?” I asked perking up a bit.

“You let me worry about the car,” Mama said winking.

“Besides, we may be getting us a new one and a few other things we need around here. I talked to a lawyer about child support. Mr. Pratt thinks he can help. First, we got get some kind of paternity test done. Then fight him. Ain’t that good news?”

“NO!” I screamed at Mama. I don’t want no car instead of a daddy!”

“Blue honey, we’re just taking what your Daddy owed us for a long time,” Mama said with a silly smirk on her face as she headed out the door for work.

“Darn Mama!” I said out loud after she left, kicking the front door with my foot. I knowd she was up to something.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, practicing Mama’s signature from one of her notes, when I heard the TV weatherman predicting the first heavy snow of the season. I ran quick to the window and feasted my eyes on snowflakes drifting down heavy, like in one of them shook-up snowball glass globes. It was better than any old turkey dinner feast, cause I ain’t never seen snow before. Wow! Fast, furious flakes fell in the whipped wind outside my window pane. Even in that weak November light, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. White magic!

“Around Lake Michigan we get what is called, ‘lake-effect snow’. More than in other parts of the state,” the T.V. announcer explained. “It will continue to fall heavy for several hours, so drive careful out there folks. And Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Drive!” I snickered, talking out loud to myself. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Or am I?

I was impressed by my forgery job, which looked just like Mama’s handwriting.

 

Woody,

My daughter, Emma June Johnson ,

has my permission to be at the

Lakeside Nursing Home.

Sincerely,

Jolene June Johnson

 

 

Glancing out the window at the powder-white snow, my eyes caught a glimpse of a neon-red flag blowing brightly in a white mist of new fallen snow. Woody!

I seen he was all bundled up, riding his scooter through the snow to be with Kathryn on Thanksgiving. I’ll go wish them a “Happy Thanksgiving,” I thought elated, grabbing my coat and forged note. Besides, I was itching to be out in that snow. Plus, I needed to talk to somebody about Mama hiring a lawyer! Gabrielle wasn’t no help with her criminal theory.

My feet felt numb, cold, and wet by the time I arrived at the old folk’s home. But I did mind none. Because, my mood was flickering on the sour side sitting around in that empty apartment. Walking in that snow done perked me up.

The Lakeside Nursing Home was a flurry of activity. Smiling visitors were carrying in packages, food, and flowers. Inside the lobby, I spotted me a warm, ember-glowing fireplace. So, I plopped my feet right in front of it until they thawed a bit, and I could move them. Then I headed for Room 239. The smell of turkey followed me down the hall, making my stomach growl. I was hoping Woody and Kathryn didn’t have no visitors, so I could cheer them up. I listened for the sound of conversation at her door. Nothing! I knocked softly. Then I remembered them old folks is hard-of-hearing. So I banged with all my might.

“Come in! come in!” Woody shouted in his friendly voice.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” I said cheerfully.

“Well, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Miss Emma June Blue!” Woody said, surprised as all git out. “Young lady, why aren’t you home with your relatives celebrating the Holiday?”

“Mama’s working at the restaurant. But don’t worry. She signed me a note,” I said, digging through my wet pockets. “Besides, all my relatives live in Turkey Creek, Alabama,” I explained. “Don’t matter none. We ain’t going to Turkey Creek!”

“Turkey Creek. Now that’s an appropriate name for today,” Woody chuckled.

“How about you? You got company coming?” I asked.

“Nope. But you’re here,” Woody said elated.

“Wake up kitten. We have a visitor for Thanksgiving. Miss Emma June Blue!” Woody announced loud as a bugle blowing taps, opening the venetian blinds.

Kathryn was asleep, curled up like a kitten. A shaft of sunlight slashed through the blinds, illuminated her coconut-white hair, and began warming her thin, translucent skin.

“I’ll bet she was a good cook and didn’t serve no restaurant leftovers,” I said to Woody, watching her lie there all peaceful as the new fallen snow outside her window.

“The best!” Woody said, tearing up.

“You got grown-up kids?” I said, changing the subject right quick.

“Heavens to Betsy, yes. Three. Cameron’s the oldest. And the twins, Donna and Patty are both married, living on the East Coast. They have jobs. Kids and grandkids. Complications! But all three of them called earlier. We’ll see them at Christmas time.

Want to see the newest additions?” Wood said maneuvering his scooter around, reaching for the photo on Kathryn’s table.

“These your grandbabies? They sure are cute, Woody.”

“Great grandchildren. Two and four years old,” Woody said proudly, correcting me.

I handed the picture back to Woody. Took a deep breath. Then dove into all my troubles, hoping I didn’t depress them on Thanksgiving.

“My daddy lives in Turkey Creek. I ain’t never seen him. He claims things will change on my birthday in June.”

Woody looked confused. So I explained.

“He’s got hisself a lawyer. Something about when I turn twelve.”

“Maybe the courts will let you decide who you want to live with when you turn twelve. I’ve heard of that,” Woody said.

“I don’t know. But Mama’s fighting it. She’s got herself a fancy lawyer, Mr. Pratt. I’m afraid I ain’t ever gonna see my Daddy, if I don’t get to him before Mama’s lawyer does. I feel like running away to Turkey Creek.”

“Running away never solves anything. Leads to more problems. At first when I found out Kathryn had Alzheimer’s, I wanted to run away too.” Woody confided.

“You did?”

“Sure. Everybody entertains that thought once in a while. But you can’t act on it. I stuck around and helped her through it. If I hadn’t, who would have helped her? Makes a person stronger when you fight through your problems.”

“How does a person catch it?” I bravely asked Woody about his wife’s sickness.

“Well, . . .” Woody said coughing, tearing up, and choking on his words. “It’s not like a cold. It’s in your genes. Alzheimer’s is a nasty disease that erases memory.”

“Like pushing the delete button on the computer?” I asked.

“Guess so. I don’t know much about computers, though. Probably same thing. At first, she was confused, disoriented. Then Kathryn entered a phase where she was agitated, frightened”, and cried all the time. In another stage, she swore like a soldier. If she had known, she’d been mortified!”

Poor thing! My heart was reaching out to Kathryn as he spoke, wishing I could give her heart a big ol’bear hug.

“Or going to Confession all the time, confessing her sins, devout Catholic that she was.” Woody added.

“My friend, Gabrielle goes to Confession,” I interrupted.

“Now . . . Kathryn’s in the last stage where she sleeps like an infant all the time,” Woody said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

That was the saddest doggoned tale I’d ever heard. I felt like sobbing right along with him. Instead, I gave him a big ol’ bear hug. I figured he needed one.

“What was she like before?” I said trying to perk him up.

“Firecrackers, she could beat you good at a game of rummy. Do you play cards?” Woody asked with hopeful eyes.

“Me and Mama play rummy all the time,” I said enthusiastically.

“Well, Miss Emma June Blue, let’s have us a game of rummy right now. Could you hand me that deck of cards from Kathryn’s night stand?” Woody said perking up.

I watched Woody shuffle with wobbly hands on Kathryn’s hospital-type bed stand. But I let him do it. Let him beat me, too. He was enjoying it so.

“Mama’s lots of fun playing cards,” I said after we’d finished, and I was picking up the cards. “But she always beats me. Mama sure don’t like to lose! That’s what scares me most, Woody, Mama isn’t gonna lose to my Daddy, neither. And I ain’t got much time to figure it out. Only seven months!”

Woody didn’t hear me. He had dozed off, snoozing upright in his scooter. So I tiptoed out of the room, feeling good about spending Thanksgiving, cheering them up. But also bad. I had lied. And I still didn’t know how I was gonna get Mama to change her mind in seven months.

I was scurrying down the hall to the elevator, whistling, and pretending that Woody and Kathryn was my “grandparents” when I bumped smack into a familiar face.

Mrs. Stankoski!

“Why, Emma June Johnson, what are you doing here?”

My heart stopped cold. Froze.

“I . . . I’m visiting someone in Room 239,” I stammered.

“For goodness sake. My mother, Bertie Stubblefield’s right next door in Room 237. What a coincidence!”

I gaped bug-eyed and nodded with a sick feeling in my gut. Bertie’s gonna squeal on me to Mrs. Stankowski. Then she’ll tell Mama. I’m dead! I thought.

“Well dear, see you in class Monday,” Mrs. Stankowski said smiling sweetly, while I swallowed a lump in my throat the size of a darn frog.

“Lord, now what am I gonna do?” I worried, kicking snow all the way back home, talking out loud to myself. “What if Mrs. Stankowski figures out that ‘Woody’ is the ‘Woody’ in my poem and tells Mama.

I was really in a pickle.