His For Keeps: (50 Loving States, Tennessee) Read online

  “So you decided to use your driverless car trip to come see me,” I say, touching my heart.

  “You don’t sound insulted.”

  “That’s because I’m too happy you’re here,” I answer with a smile. “You are the best thing in a very sad week. Plus, I’ve seriously always wanted to be your sister.”

  Now he smiles. “I’m glad I could make this sad time a little brighter for you, then. Should I call you Kiki?”

  I groan. “Please don’t.”

  “Yep, I guess that means I should. My first act as an annoying older brother. I’ll tell Josie that’s what she has to call you, too.”

  “Seriously?” I say, wondering, if anyone I know will ever call me by my actual first name.

  The thought of nicknames brings my mind back around to Colin, and more specifically something Beau said earlier.

  “What did you mean when you said, you and ‘Fairgood’ solved the Mike Lancer problem?”

  Beau grinned. “Oh, did I forget to mention Nerd Book Club showed up at my house with two bats about an hour after you left? Said he didn’t want to talk about you, but he did want to talk about going over to Mike Lancer’s to have a little chat with him. So we did.”

  “And what happened?” I ask, my eyes wide.

  “Well,” says Beau tilting his head to the side. “I can’t say we got much talking done, but Fairgood and me let Lancer know what it feels like to be on the other side of a beat down. Then Colin and me used some of our connections to make sure Mike didn’t use his connections to fuck with Josie or her shelter anymore.”

  “Weren’t you afraid he would sue?”

  “Nah. Colin said Mike would be too scared about keeping up appearances to take us to court, which would mean us saying exactly why two otherwise upstanding members of our communities decided to take bats to that abusive piece of shit. Asshole actually called 9-1-1 and claimed he was the victim of a home invasion… then refused to hand over the security footage from his home cameras.”

  Beau chuckles, “Let me tell you, me marrying a black woman over the holidays barely registered in Forest Brook, because everybody was still too busy talking about Mike.”

  “Wow,” I say, surprised but not really. Colin loved Josie. He wasn’t in love with her. I knew that now. But he loved her. And of course, he’d do whatever it took to protect his friend. “I’m glad he came through for Josie.”

  Beau tilts his head again in that way of his. “You sure he was only coming through for Josie?”

  “I’m sure there was some beef left over between him and Mike, too,” I add, thinking about that night Mike broke his violin.

  “Are you really going to pretend him going after Mike Lancer with a bat had nothing to do with you?” Beau asks.

  He’s not looking directly at me, but I look straight at him when I answer, “No, I really don’t think he’s giving me a lot of thought these days after what I did.”

  “Hmm,” Beau says. “I don’t know what went down between the two of you, and the truth is, I don’t want to know. I’m just starting to accept that you’re my little sister, so I’m really not wanting to think too hard on you hooking up with the guy who tried to steal the love of my life away—”

  “Only because he was confused and trying to get over losing his mother—”

  Beau puts a hand up to stop me before I can finish defending Colin.

  “Whatever, Kiki. All I’m saying is he came to the wedding, wished me and Josie all the best, and it sounded like he meant it. Before with Colin, I’m not going to lie, the only thing that kept my jealousy in check was knowing Josie left me the last time I let it take over. But I didn’t have to hold myself back with Colin this time. Whatever feelings he used to have for Josie, they just weren’t there at the wedding.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m glad he’s moved on. But that doesn’t mean…” I swallow, hating how painful this is to say out loud, “That doesn’t mean he wants to move on with me.”

  “Hmm,” Beau says again.

  Then he goes so quiet, I feel compelled to say, “What?”

  “It’s just that I always thought guys were the dumb ones when it came to relationships. I mean, I pretty much proved that a few times in my own relationship with Josie.” He tilts his head towards me and lifts his eyebrows. “But now I’m realizing girls can be pretty dumb, too.”

  37

  Beau and I stay in his Hello Smartie car for a long time talking. So long, the sun’s setting in the sky by the time we both start feeling a little hungry.

  I’ve got all that food in the house, so it seems natural to invite him in for dinner, despite my family still being there when we came back, like a SWAT team waiting out a hostage situation while Beau and me had been having our long overdue talk in the car.

  Beau ends up having to answer all sorts of football questions from my male cousins, and by the time the moon’s up, it’s been decided. Beau will sleep on the couch. My cousin Darnell, who used to play for the Tennessee State Tigers, goes out to his car and gets Beau some workout clothes to sleep in, and promises to bring him his other good black suit for the funeral tomorrow.

  Despite his generosity, Tyrone and my other male cousins tease Darnell mercilessly about me having to discover a half-brother in order for us to get a family member who actually made it into the pros. Beau takes the heated discussion that starts up after that as his cue to call Josie, while I all but push everybody out the door.

  “Is she okay with you staying?” I ask after he gets off the phone and the house has been emptied of trash-talking cousins.

  A fond smile spreads over Beau’s lips. “You know Josie. Plus, she’s an only child with half-siblings floating around somewhere out there, too,” he says. “Of course she’s happy I’m staying. Says she’s glad I can be here for you.”

  “Me, too,” I answer, thinking about how little he or Josie has to worry about when it comes to being good parents. I have no doubt my future niece or nephew is going to be one of the luckiest kids in the world.

  I’m happy to have Beau spend the night before my grandma’s funeral. But still, morning comes too soon. Too soon, it’s time for me to put on a black dress and for Beau to put on Darnell’s second best black suit. I’m surprised when I lead Beau back outside to find his car gone.

  “What?” Beau asks when I suddenly stop beside him.

  “Your car’s gone.”

  “Yeah,” Beau says with a half-hearted shrug. “Only problem with self-driving cars—when you tell their makers you’re going to be staying longer than originally planned, they can just call them back.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, realizing my family majorly inconvenienced Beau by deciding he’d be staying on for the funeral of a woman he’d never met.

  “I’m not,” Beau answers. “Rather have you drive me back to Alabama than that car. Prove to Josie that Mission “Get this Child a Real Aunt” has been completed.

  I’m more than happy to drive Beau home after, but actually walking into the church with him is another matter.

  Beulah Mae planned the whole funeral, not just because she was my grandma’s best friend, but because even a retired pastor’s wife never loses her calling. She decided to combine the wake and the funeral, since so many people were coming from out of town to attend and couldn’t stay more than a day. This seems like a good decision to me until I walk into the church and realize this is it. The last time I’ll see my grandma before we put her into the earth after the service.

  When we walk through those doors, and I see her closed coffin at the front of the church, suddenly it’s me clinging to Beau and not the other way around. And I don’t realize I’ve started to unconsciously pull back, until he starts tugging me forward.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. You can do this,” he whispers, pulling me into one of the back pew rows, away from the incoming stream of funeral guests.

  I shake my head. I’m not sure I can, but then Beulah Mae comes up to us, like a Panicking Granddaughter al
arm went off somewhere, and she’s here to provide back up.

  “You all right, baby?” she asks, taking my other arm. “You need to sit down?”

  “No,” I decide, getting a hold of myself. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

  “Yes, you will,” Beau says, firmly, like it’s something I have to be because he’s my older brother and he said so.

  “You want me to go get you something to drink?” Beulah Mae asks.

  “No,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  I look around at the crowd. People filling up the church from front to back. Family members. Friends. And a bunch of other people I don’t recognize. As far out in the country as grandma lived, she had a way of bringing folks together, whether it was for a Sunday Dinner, or to say good-bye.

  “Thank you for doing this, for making all the arrangements,” I say to Beulah Mae.

  Beulah Mae reacts like I’ve spit in her face. “You better hush, child. You know you don’t need to be thanking me for putting the last call together for my favorite cousin.”

  Her answer makes me realize how deep family love goes. It’s the kind of love that makes you want to put together a funeral for the woman who snatched your wig and burned it in front of the whole county.

  “Well, I know Grandma wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t thank you properly, so I’m doing what she’d want me to do.”

  Beulah Mae’s shoulders slump when she finds herself caught in the complex politeness trap that is a Southern family with any kind of manners. “I know she would have, but…”

  She trails off, looking away from me toward the church doors. Then she freezes. I follow her gaze and freeze, too, when I see who she’s looking at.

  It’s my mother, in a fur coat, huge leopard print sunglasses, and a tight red dress that barely makes it halfway down her thighs. She’s easily the brightest, most inappropriate thing at this funeral, but she barely seems to notice all the heads turning and jaws dropping as she makes her way over to me and Beulah Mae.

  “Hi, Aunt Beulah,” she says, taking off her sunglasses and dropping a kiss on each of the shocked old woman’s cheeks.

  Her eyes then go to Beau, only the barest flicker giving away any surprise, before she says, “Beau, it’s nice to see you again, even if you can’t see me.”

  “Miss Val,” he answers with easy Southern boy charm. Then he adds, “Always a pleasure,” in a tone that makes it sound like the exact opposite of what he’s saying.

  My mother’s eyes finally find me. She looks my plain black dress up and down like it’s me, not her, who’s dressed inappropriately for a funeral.

  “So,” she says, like it hasn’t been over a decade since we last talked. “I know you’re not singing Mama’s favorite song, so I guess it will have to be me.”

  MY MOTHER CONTINUES TO THINK the thing standing between us now, the only thing standing between us now, is the fact that I have refused to go back on stage to sing. In her mind, the only reason we’re not as close as the Gilmore Girls is because of my stubborn refusal to get back on stage. Because I’m weak. Because I’m scared.

  Her dropping me off with Paw Paw and Grandma like a sack of potatoes and heading on to L.A. without me has nothing to do with it. The chicken most definitely did come before the egg. In her mind.

  My mother would have to be steamrolled dead before she stopped wanting people to look at her on stage, and I honestly don’t think she can even fathom not using every asset you have to your advantage. I can feel her heavily mascaraed eyes on me during the wake, still judging me for letting that incident traumatize me out of possible fame. She hasn’t seen the videos of me singing online, I know for sure now, or she would have already asked me about them.

  Instead, she swans around the room, hugging folks like she just saw them yesterday last, and receiving congratulations. Most of my family didn’t see the documentary she was in, Standing Back, but they saw the clip of her that they used during the Oscar presentation. And when you live in back country Tennessee, just seeing your relative on television for something not associated with a crime scene is cause for wonderment.

  The only thing my mother has to say to me when she finally circles back around is, “Everybody’s saying you were dating a country singer. Colin Fairgood. Is that for real?”

  “For a little while,” I mumble, feeling like I’m fifteen again. “Not anymore.”

  “So he dumped you?” My mother looks me up and down with my now long past due for a re-dye, faded blue hair and the same black dress I’d worn to Paw Paw’s funeral, and seems to silently agree with Colin’s decision.

  “It was his loss,” Beau says beside me.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it at grandma’s funeral,” I say to both of them, before my mother can respond.

  Which is true. But since my relationship with Colin is pretty much the only thing that would make me remotely interesting to a person like my mother, she soon moves on again. Talking loud and flirting with distant cousins and friends of the family alike.

  I wonder, not for the first time, what a man like Mr. Prescott would have ever seen in her. But I guess he had a southern debutante at home. In my mother, he got something else.

  Thankfully it’s not too long after that before we’re told it’s time to begin the service, which turns out nicer than I thought it would. Short and to the point, just like my grandma. The people who get up on stage keep their speeches, mostly sweet memories of things my grandma had done for them or said to them, short, under threat from Beulah Mae, who had it from my grandma herself that she couldn’t stand long speeches at a funeral. And Beulah Mae’s husband even temporarily comes out of retirement to deliver a powerful sermon about the roots from one small, strong tree holding an entire community of trees together.

  I dab at my eyes, thinking how much Grandma would have liked to be compared to the same trees she could stare at for hours towards the end. My mother, on the other hand, doesn’t shed a single tear. In fact, she looks a little bored throughout most of the service. And at one point I catch her discreetly checking her smartphone and typing a short message back.

  Why she’s here, I have no idea. It’s obvious her heart’s not in it. Maybe she just wanted the attention. I know my mother has done worst things than get on a cross-country flight in order to get some attention.

  But it makes me want to scream. When Beulah Mae calls her up to sing during the final viewing of the body, I want to grab at the back of her too-tight dress and tell her butt to sit back down.

  The only thing that keeps me in my seat is knowing Grandma wouldn’t have wanted me to. Her youngest daughter coming back to sing her favorite song at her funeral would have pleased her mightily. My grandma had cursed Valerie, and regretted not taking a harder hand with her, but I knew she’d never stopped loving her or missing her.

  So instead of grabbing my mother, I grab Beau’s hand. And I keep my tongue trapped tight behind my clenched teeth as I watch her take a place on the raised dais. Even when she gives everyone in the pews a little bow, like it’s obvious to her that they all really came here to hear her sing.

  Only after she’s scanned the church and made sure she has everyone’s attention does she launch into a big-voiced version of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” And of course she manages to put in a couple of runs before she’s even through with the first verse.

  Her overly dramatic singing sets my teeth on edge, and I’m almost happy when a lady in white touches me on the shoulder to indicate I should go with the rest of the row to view Grandma’s body first, because it gives me something to do, other than fume. Beau, who of course will be staying behind, squeezes my hand before letting it go, so I can say my last good-bye to Grandma, which is already feeling pretty dang tainted by the peacock singing on stage.

  The sight of Grandma’s body softens my heart, though. Her face is relaxed with the same little satisfied smile I’d seen her wear after everyone has left and the dishes are clean and the house is once again quiet after Sunday
Dinner. Now I can see what I couldn’t when I found her dead on our porch. She’s at peace. She did good work here on this Earth, and now she is completely satisfied, because she served a one heck of a Sunday Dinner.

  Tears fill my eyes as I lean down to kiss her cool forehead.

  Up on stage, the singing suddenly stops, and when I look up to see why, my eyes go wide.

  My mother is on stage, her shoulders caved in, doing the only thing she knows how to do quietly. Crying.

  It’s not so much a decision to go to her, as an automatic response. I’ve spent most of my working life as a home health aide. And she’s my mother.

  When I reach her, she grabs on to me like a buoy in a stormy black ocean. “I can’t—I can’t—” she gasps. Her sobs sound like choked screams inside her throat. Barely able to get out, they’re so intense.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mama,” she keens, looking toward the sky. “I’m so sorry for everything …” She looks at me, then, her face a crying rictus of strangled regret. “I never got to tell her.”

  “Mama…” I say. Holding her, comforting her, despite everything that’s come between us before.

  The organist is still playing, either unable to hear that the singing has stopped or so used to singers breaking down he’s made it a policy to continue on to the end of the song no matter what.

  Everyone is looking at us. Including Grandma, whose body, I can now see, my mother has had a clear view of the entire time she’d been on stage. Me kissing Grandma’s forehead, that’s what broke her. That was her tear cue.

  “Mama, I know you’re sorry,” I say to her, my own voice choked with tears. “That’s why you’ve got to finish. For Grandma. It’s her favorite song.”

  But Mama continues to shake her head. “I can’t… I can’t.”

  And suddenly I know what I must do. I take the handheld microphone from Mama, and put a hand around her shoulder. “Stand up with me,” I tell her, pulling her to her feet.