Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (26 page)

Oletta shook her head. “So, you’ve been doing this just for ugly’s sake? Is that right?”

The look on her face was worse than if she’d raised her voice and scolded me. The way the corners of her mouth sagged was so awful that I crashed, fell right out of the sky of our friendship and watched myself go up in flames.

She rose to her feet, slid the note and photograph inside the envelope, and pushed it deep into her apron pocket. Her voice was barely audible when she leveled her eyes on me. “You got any more pictures?”

I knew better than to lie, so I got down on my knees, flipped over the edge of the rug, and handed her the envelope. Oletta pulled out the one remaining photograph: the one of the brassiere looped over the lion’s ear at the Cotton Exchange. It was my favorite picture of all, and I had been saving it for last. In fact, I loved it so much I’d been contemplating keeping it for myself.

She shoved the picture into her apron pocket. “Where’s the b rassiere?”

Unable to speak, I headed toward the closet, wading waist-deep in shame. Slowly I opened the door, pulled the brassiere from beneath my hat, and handed it over.

“Get dressed and come downstairs.”

That was it. That was all she said. But it was the way her shoulders slumped when she turned and shuffled out the door that blew a hole into my world. I sat on the bed and studied my reflection in the cheval mirror, amazed at the damage I’d caused. How I’d begin to repair it was something I simply didn’t know.

Oletta didn’t so much as glance my way when I got to the kitchen. She took my plate into the breakfast room, set it on the table, and went about her business. But her silence was like the ticking of a bomb.

The day stretched on, minute by agonizing minute, and still she said nothing. I had been exiled from the warmth of her touch and the delight of her laughter, and it was killing me. I figured it was best if I stayed out of sight, so I spent the majority of the day in my bedroom, reading. When I went downstairs in the afternoon to get something fresh to drink, Oletta was standing at the counter chopping onions.

I walked to her side, hoping she’d look at me. But she didn’t. I took in a breath for courage and said, “Oletta, I know what I did was wrong. It’s just . . . just that I got so mad when you told me what Miz Hobbs called you. I hate that word.”

She stopped chopping the onions and put down the knife. “You can’t run around town tryin’ to get even with every person who done you wrong. Ain’t enough hours in the day to do that. Besides, two wrongs don’t make a right. Understand?”

I hung my head and nodded. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I ain’t mad. I’m disappointed is all. Since the first day you came here, I been thinkin’ you was one of the nicest young people I ever did know. Didn’t think you had a mean bone in your body.”

“I’m sorry, Oletta. Will you forgive me?”

“Don’t worry. I forgive you. We all do things we ain’t proud of. That’s human nature.”

“So . . . so, I’m not in trouble?”

She raised her eyebrows and peered down at me. “I said I forgive you. I never said you wasn’t in trouble. Them’s two entirely different things. You’re in trouble plenty.”

I leaned against the counter and fidgeted with a button on my blouse. “What kind of trouble?”

She picked up the knife and went back to chopping onions. “I ain’t figured that out just yet.”

The tone in her voice made it clear that our conversation was over. I pushed myself away from the counter and glanced at the clock above the stove. It was three-thirty. I knew I’d crumble if Oletta left at four o’clock and didn’t hug me good-bye like she always did, so I decided to go feed the birds at Forsyth Park and stay out of sight until she went home for the weekend.

I wandered into the pantry, and while stuffing my pockets with sunflower seeds, I noticed Oletta’s purse hanging on a hook on the back of the door. Sticking out of one of the side pockets was the envelope I’d addressed to Miz Hobbs. I felt sick to my stomach. Aunt Tootie would be home any minute, and I knew Oletta would give it to her. The envelope wasn’t sealed, and I silently slid my fingers inside to see if the note and picture were still there. They were. I was doomed. Not only had I lost my best friend but I was about to fall out of Aunt Tootie’s favor with a big bang.

I slipped out of the house and headed toward the park.

While I was sitting on a bench throwing sunflower seeds to a chickadee, two girls pedaled toward me on bikes. One was wearing a floppy straw hat, and the other had a pink sun visor shading her eyes. They were riding one-handed while licking ice cream cones. Perfect little belles—that’s what they were. I was certain they’d never had a single worry in their lives. All they had to do all day was have fun, eat ice cream, and be their darling little peaches-and-cream selves. I looked away as they passed me by, the spokes of their bikes whirring and their laughter flowing behind them.

After throwing the remaining seeds into the grass, I decided to take the long way home. I walked around the massive fountain and took a narrow path that spit me out on Drayton Street. As I approached Gaston, I saw Oletta. She was shuffling down the sidewalk on her way to the bus stop. I thought I’d die if she didn’t look my way and speak to me, but then I thought I’d die if she did. Deciding it was in my best interest to stay out of sight, I plastered myself against a tree and peeked around the trunk.

She stopped at the corner, and from her handbag she removed the envelope I’d addressed to Miz Hobbs. I could hardly believe my eyes when she licked it closed. Then she let out a laugh and shoved it into the mailbox. A moment later the hiss of air brakes sounded as the bus rolled to a stop. Oletta pulled herself up the steps, and I heard the
clinkety-clink
as she dropped coins into the receptacle. Relief flowed over me like a fresh breeze. Oletta had changed her mind. I wasn’t in trouble after all. When the bus pulled away from the curb, I leaned my forehead against the tree trunk and let out a sigh of pure relief.

Monday morning arrived, and I went down to the kitchen for breakfast, wondering how Oletta would be. When she saw me in the doorway, she smiled her usual smile. Never once did she mention anything about my chronicles of Miz Hobbs’s traveling brassiere. And believe me, neither did I. Nor did I tell Oletta that I’d seen her mail the envelope. We took up our friendship as if nothing had happened.

Late Wednesday afternoon, I was lounging in the den with the newest issue of
National Geographic
when Aunt Tootie arrived home. I overheard her talking with Oletta about Miz Hobbs, so I put down the magazine and walked into the kitchen as Oletta pulled a covered dish from the oven.

“Oletta, thank you for making that ham and cheese casserole for Violene. I know she’s a thorn in your side. Mine too. But maybe that fall she took has knocked some sense into her. We can always hope.”

Oletta let out a grunt as she wrapped the casserole in a dish towel and placed it in a basket along with a loaf of her homemade bread and a jar of preserves.

Aunt Tootie tied a ribbon on the basket handle, and while making a bow, she said, “I’ll go over and drop this off right now while the casserole is still nice and hot.”

When Oletta saw me standing in the doorway, she turned to Aunt Tootie and smiled. “Cecelia asked if
she
could take the get-well basket over to Miz Hobbs. Would that be all right with you?”

I wanted to see Miz Hobbs about as much as I wanted to set my hair on fire. My mouth dropped open in protest, but I quickly clamped it shut when Aunt Tootie turned and looked at me with surprise. “That’s so thoughtful of you, Cecelia. Bless your heart. It’ll brighten Violene’s day to have you deliver this basket. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. I’ve got some flowers too,” she said, walking into the pantry and returning with a small vase fi lled with roses.

“Now, you know how Violene is, so no matter what she says or how annoying she gets, just do your best to be real sweet. If she talks for more than an hour, then just be polite and excuse yourself. Tell her you have to come home and help me do some work in the garden.”

I slouched against the doorjamb and telegraphed a look to Oletta that said,
How could you do this to me?

A devilish twinkle sparked in Oletta’s eyes when she handed me the basket and said, “Miz Hobbs sure will be glad to see you.”

So
this
was my punishment. The black boomerang of karma had circled through the sky and was about to land at my feet, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. With the basket in one hand and the vase of flowers in the other, I headed out the door. From the open kitchen window, I heard Oletta laugh.

Around the side of the house I went, muttering about the cruelty of my punishment. Had I walked any slower to Miz Hobbs’s house, I would have fallen over. I even stopped a few times to tie and retie my shoes.

Just as I reached up to knock on her door, it swung wide open. Miz Hobbs stood there with a gauze bandage wrapped around her head, grinning like we were best friends.

“Well, what a treat
this
is!” she trilled. “I was on the sofa just startin’ to doze off when I saw you comin’ down the sidewalk with that basket and flowers. I wondered if they were for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t want to interrupt your nap,” I said, pushing the vase of roses into her hands. As I leaned over and shoved the basket inside the door with the intent of a quick escape, she took hold of my arm and yanked me inside.

“Come in and keep me company!” she said, pushing the door closed so fast I had to jump out of the way. “My neck and shoulders ache somethin’ awful, so while we’re talkin’, you can rub them for me.”

My insides sputtered like spit on a griddle as she ushered me into her living room. In my mind I envisioned Oletta tidying the kitchen before she went home. There was no missing the smile on her face.

I
t was a dismal, rainy afternoon. I was sitting at the kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle while Oletta stood at the counter, peeling potatoes. The radio was turned down low, and predictions of strong winds and flood warnings for low-lying areas crowded the airwaves. When the lights flickered and the radio began to crackle, Oletta turned it off and looked out the window. “Big storm’s comin’. I hope we don’t lose power before I get these scalloped potatoes in the oven.”

“I love scalloped potatoes. I made them a few times with Mrs. Odell,” I said, glancing at all the ingredients on the counter. “But what’s the brown sugar for?”

“I sprinkle it on the potatoes after I pour in the cream.”

“Sugar on potatoes?”

“Where you been, child?” Oletta said with a laugh. “Don’t you know that sugar is food’s best friend?”

Just then the back door swung open with a windy
bang
, followed by the sound of Tootie’s footsteps. “It’s miserable out there,” she said, shaking off her raincoat and hanging her umbrella on a hook in the hall. “I wish this rain would let up. If I don’t do some work in the garden soon, it’ll turn into a jungle.”

“You won’t be doin’ no gardening for a few days,” Oletta said, pushing the potato peels into a paper bag. “Weatherman says it’s gonna rain till Saturday.”

“Saturday? We’ll all float away by then, so I guess it won’t matter what the garden looks like.” Aunt Tootie stepped across the kitchen and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “How’s your puzzle going?”

I looked up and shrugged. “I’m stumped.”

She rested her hand on my back and leaned over my shoulder. “What’s the clue?”

“English explorer and the first European to reach Lake Victoria. His last name is five letters long and begins with an
S
.”

She furrowed her brow and thought for a moment. “I have no idea. Sorry, honey.” She walked across the kitchen and lifted the kettle from the stove. While fi lling it with water, she said to Oletta, “I had lunch with Minnie Hayes today. She wanted me to be sure to give you her best.”

“I haven’t seen her in ages. How’s she doin’?”

“She’s fine, busy as ever. She’s a grandmother now. Her eldest daughter just had a baby girl. They named her Dorie Bree. Isn’t that precious?”

Oletta smiled and nodded, but I kept my mouth shut. I thought it sounded like the name of a tugboat.

Aunt Tootie returned the kettle to the stove and switched on the burner. Blue flames shot up and licked its sides. “After we got caught up on family talk, Minnie told me the strangest story. Her neighbor’s son claims he was attacked by Negroes over on Tybee. Did you hear anything about that?”

Oletta and I exchanged a brief, paralyzing glance. Her lips barely moved when she said, “Yes, ma’am. I heard some about it.”

“Well, wait till you hear this. His name is Lucas Slade, and Minnie said when he was a teenager, he got mixed up with the wrong crowd and started getting into trouble—stealing cars, drinking, and then taking drugs. His parents got so tired of bailing him out of juvenile court and paying lawyers that they all but disowned him. His daddy sent him off to some sort of military school, hoping they’d straighten him out, but Lucas got himself expelled. He left home when he was seventeen and never came back.

“Out of the blue, he showed up at his youngest sister’s house a few weeks ago and demanded money. When she refused, he beat her up something terrible and left with all her jewelry and her wallet. His own sister! Isn’t that dreadful?”

Beads of perspiration bloomed on Oletta’s forehead. “Yes, it surely is,” she said, avoiding my aunt’s eyes as she closed the bag of potato peels, one slow fold at a time.

“Now, here’s where it really gets interesting. It was that very same day that Lucas went to the hospital and claimed that
he
was attacked at Tybee. Well, Minnie said when a detective went to the hospital and started questioning him, his story just didn’t add up. One thing led to another and apparently Lucas up and snapped. He went after the detective’s throat with his bare hands! He was hauled off to jail and the police got a search warrant for the apartment he lived in. When they went there, guess what they found?”