Stepping to a New Day (15 page)

Gary shot him a grin. “Let me go up and see the girls first.”

He climbed the stairs and a pleased TC went back to the game.

W
ednesday afternoon as her plane began its descent and the land below came into view, Paula thought back on the very first time she'd come to Oklahoma. It had been right after her mother's death and because her then fourteen-year-old self had no other family, her grandfather had agreed to take her in. Her mother Pat rarely mentioned the relatives she'd left behind in Blackbird, Oklahoma, so Paula knew next to nothing about them. Upon being met at the airport by her grandfather Tyree and her mother's younger sister, Della, Paula began to understand why her mother had been so closemouthed. The distaste her grandfather displayed as his dark eyes raked her up and down was mirrored by Della. Instead of being met with the comforting open arms she'd imagined, there was a bristling hostility so chilling she wanted to run back to the plane. However, she had no choice but to follow them to his aging gray Buick in the parking lot. Too afraid to speak, she climbed into the backseat and rode the two hours to Blackbird without uttering a sound. Neither adult asked
her about her flight, how she felt about her mother's passing or if she was hungry. Both adults stared ahead as if she weren't there. When the car left the interstate, the dirt roads they turned onto were foreign to a girl born and raised in Sacramento, as were the vast, undeveloped stretches of open land. The weathered houses they passed looked as tired and worn as the people she spied on the dilapidated porches, and the stillness and quiet made her feel as if she were entering a stagnant, lost-in-time world. Little did she know how correct that first impression would turn out to be.

The jolt of the plane's wheels making contact with the runway brought Paula back to the present. Knowing no one would be meeting her, she'd made arrangements for a rental car just as she'd done for last winter's visit. To his credit, her then dying grandfather tried to make amends for the painful years she'd spent under his care by asking for forgiveness and of course she'd granted him that, but she wondered if anything would ever totally eradicate the still open scars on her soul.

As she left the interstate and drove up the dirt road leading to her grandfather's place, nothing had changed. Houses were still in disrepair. Generations of men loitered outside the small concrete building that served as the general store. Teens who should have been in school walked down the edge of the road heading who knew where. Two of the girls had babies riding their hips and they all stared suspiciously as she drove by. As in many rural areas of the country the dropout rate and incidence of unwed teen pregnancy was high. Yet one more reason to be concerned about her young cousin, Robyn. Paula didn't want her searching for the love and validity she should be getting at home in a relationship that would leave her behind with a child of her own.

When Paula visited her grandfather in the hospital last winter he'd given her a key to his house so she'd have somewhere to stay when it came time for his funeral, or
home going
as it was sometimes called, because he knew he wouldn't see her again in this life. Inside, the shades were drawn and the space was filled with shadows and silence. The small front room still held the plastic-covered gold sofa and two matching chairs she'd never been allowed to sit on. Between the chairs stood a single end table that held his collection of decades-old issues of
Ebony
and
Jet
magazines. Both table and magazines lay beneath a thin layer of dust. Her attention moved to the wooden mantel above the old whitewashed brick fireplace often used for heating in the winter. On it stood Della's graduation picture. The sparkle in her aunt's young eyes and the smile on her face bore little resemblance to the bitter, tart-tongued woman she'd become. Beside it lay another picture turned facedown. With shaking hands and tears clogging her throat Paula picked it up and took in the portrait of her mother. The glass was dusty and dirty, but the smiling face resembled Della's so much they could've been twins even though Patricia was five years older. According to the story, the day her mother left Blackbird, Tyree placed the picture facedown. For all intents and purposes she became dead to him, and no one, not even Paula when she came to live with him, was allowed to look at it. The one time he caught her with the picture in her hands, he'd snatched his belt free of his pants and whipped her until she lay screaming and curled into herself at his feet. She never touched the picture again. Until now. Ignoring the dirty glass and the tears pouring from her eyes, she traced a loving finger down her mother's cheek. Going from her mother's abundant love to life with an old
man who never offered a smile, let alone a kind word, had been so incredibly difficult she'd quietly cried herself to sleep each night for months. “I still miss you, Mama,” Paula whispered.

“What the hell you doing in here!”

Paula didn't so much as flinch in response to her aunt's harshly voiced demand. While growing up, she'd learned to imagine being encased in battle armor to shield herself and her feelings from the verbal and sometimes physical attacks Della meted out with such twisted glee. That same armor enveloped her as she placed the picture upright on the mantel and replied evenly, “Papa gave me a key when he was in the hospital. He said I was to stay here when I came back for the funeral.”

“He didn't say anything to me about you having a key.” She was in her seventies now, average height and thin. The gray hair was severely pulled back and framed a dark face whose default expression had always been a mix of anger and disdain. Eyes gleaming with suspicion scanned the room as if to make sure everything was in its place. “Don't be bothering his stuff or thinking you're taking anything back when you leave.”

“I'm not here for that. Just to pay my respects.” She would be returning home with her mother's picture, whether Della pitched a fit or not. She also planned to clean up the place. Tyree Grant had been snake mean but he'd kept the house spotless and would be appalled by its present condition.

The sound of a car door closing caught Paula's attention. Della walked to the door and sneered through the screen at the unseen person. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

Seconds later, Calvin Tyree Spivey, her grandfather's out-
of-wedlock son, entered. “Had the morning shift,” he responded easily, his eyes shifting momentarily to Paula. “Saw the rental car, figured it must be Paula. Came by to see if she needed anything.” He moved his attention her way. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

“How was the flight?”

“Not bad.”

He'd asked all the questions Della hadn't bothered with and it was a small balm. He was only a few years older than Paula. His mother, Anna Lee, had gotten involved with Tyree right out of high school. Much to Della's fury, her half brother had been shown all the affection she was denied. It also irritated her that he and Paula got along.

“Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight if you don't want to cook,” Calvin said.

“I'd like that,” Paula replied. While growing up, Della had forbidden her any contact with Anna Lee. “She still live in the same place?”

“Yes.”

“She's having dinner with me and Robyn,” Della declared.

That caught Paula off guard. She knew the only reason Della was laying claim to her time was to thwart Anna Lee and using Robyn as bait, but because Paula wanted to see her younger cousin, she ceded her aunt the round. “Tell your mother thank you for the invite. I'll take a rain check before I go home.”

“No problem. I'll stop by tomorrow. Got some things I want to talk to you about.”

“Like what?” Della demanded before Paula could reply.

In response, his eyes reflected a chill so reminiscent of
Tyree's, Paula was instantly transported back to her teen years when drawing her grandfather's ire could turn her to stone. Even Della took an unconscious step back. Then in a voice also reminiscent of his father's, Calvin stated, “It's none of your business.”

Della's unbridled hate flared but he appeared unfazed. “I'll see you tomorrow, Paula.”

“Thanks, Cal.”

He left.

In the silence that followed, Paula knew retribution was coming. Della didn't like being challenged, especially by her father's bastard child and as always, Paula would have to pay, but just as Della's hand whipped out to slap her, Paula grabbed her aged wrist, held, and said through gritted teeth, “I've forgiven you for abusing me as a child but I will not let you abuse me as an adult.”

Della showed surprise.

Reminding herself they were both children of God, Paula released her hold. “Now, let's go. I want to see Robyn.”

Following Della in the rental car, Paula drew in a few deep calming breaths. The Bible said turn the other cheek, but she was pretty sure that didn't mean she was supposed to let her aunt assault her, and if it did, then she'd have to seek forgiveness in her nightly prayers. As a teen she'd endured whippings with belts, ironing cords, and doubled lengths of plastic-coated clotheslines. There'd been countless slaps to the face, punches to her chest and stomach and no one to make it stop. Her grandfather never intervened, nor did the neighbors. Della was the adult, Paula the child. No one in Blackbird saw fit to call the authorities. It just wasn't done. So she'd retreated into her books and got good grades and applied for
scholarships, and eventually earned one to Spelman. On her eighteenth birthday, a letter arrived with a check for more money than she'd ever seen. It was her mother's life insurance money. It had been set aside for her and her alone. The check and scholarship were her ticket out of Blackbird and she never looked back.

Della's house was as run-down as its neighbors, and just the sight of it triggered painful memories. Paula parked and followed her up the warped wooden steps and inside. The dreariness of the interior was brightened by the smile that came over Robyn's face when she saw Paula, but the girl took one look at her grandmother and turned her attention back to stirring what smelled like a pot of beans on the stove. “Hi, Cousin Paula.”

“How are you, Robyn?” Each time Paula saw her, Robyn's resemblance to her mother, Lisa, became more and more pronounced. Paula truly wished she knew why Lisa had left her behind.

“I'm good,” she said, casting a wary glance at Della. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Come give me a hug.”

She shot another quick look at her grandmother, placed the lid back on the large pot, and walked into Paula's embrace. Robyn's strong hug told all. Paula responded with all the love in her heart and silently prayed for the help the teen needed to be set free. After placing a kiss on the teen's forehead, Paula released her and asked, “How's school?”

“Good.”

“Grades?”

Robyn offered a small smile. “Real good.”

“Excellent.”

Della asked, “You fry the chicken?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's in the oven keeping warm.”

“Those beans done?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Then let's eat.”

The meal was a silent affair. Robyn seemed afraid to speak and Paula understood. What she didn't understand though was how Lisa could have abandoned her. Granted, Lisa and Della had never gotten along but to disappear for fifteen years with no word? “Chicken's good, Robyn,” Paula said.

Robyn's eyes slid Della's way before she responded. “Thank you.”

Della said sharply, “Finish eating and clean up. Need this kitchen mopped before you go to bed.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Paula asked, “Do you have homework?”

Robyn nodded. “Yes. Geometry test tomorrow.”

“Then how about I help you with the chores so you can get to your studying.”

“She doesn't need help. Do you?” Della asked her granddaughter pointedly. Paula heard the veiled threat beneath the words and was certain Robyn did, too.

Her response was a softly spoken, “No, ma'am.”

Paula wanted to insist but knew the price Robyn would pay if she forced the issue so she let it go. “Okay. Thanks for the great dinner. I'll be here until the funeral, so we'll talk soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Ignoring the smugness in Della's eyes Paula rose from her chair. “I'm going back to Papa's. Aunt Della, if you need me, just call.”

No reply was offered. Paula gave Robyn's shoulder a parting squeeze and left them alone. On the short drive back, she wiped at her angry tears and offered up a prayer on Robyn's behalf.

Inside her grandfather's house, she took her suitcase into her old bedroom and was again flooded by memories. The hard-as-a-rock twin bed was still there, as was the small, rickety nightstand that needed a magazine beneath one of its uneven legs to keep it upright. The walls appeared to have been painted at some point but they were still stark white. How many nights had she lain awake wishing to be elsewhere? In reality it had been four years' worth and each day crawled by like a century. Back then, her only escape had been school, where she'd been encouraged by teachers like Mrs. Cramer, who taught typing, and Mr. Ellis, who'd taught both English and Biology, and where she'd giggled with friends Fanny Jones and Kathy Stevens over the cute boys
du jour
. Over time, she'd lost touch with them, and wondered how their lives had turned out. Were Fanny and Kathy still around? She'd have to ask Calvin. It might be nice to reconnect. Putting the past aside, she unpacked and set about cleaning the house. She'd be staying at least until Sunday and the dust had to go. She found cleaning rags and detergent in the cabinet beneath the sink but when she turned on the tap the water came out in a thin stream and the pipes groaned in protest. Wondering what was up with that, she went into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. It worked but the bowl refilled at an incredibly slow pace. She hoped it wasn't something serious and made a mental note to ask Calvin about that too when he came by tomorrow. Issues with the water meant she couldn't mop the floors, but she didn't need water to dust or sweep
so she threw herself into that. Once she was done the house looked better. She opened the back door and stepped out onto the small porch to get some fresh air. As she took in the large tree-lined yard the nightmare she'd had Sunday night came back. She saw her mother and the old woman digging, heard the butterflies moaning, felt their sharp wings beating like tiny razors against her face, but she remembered the skull in her mother's hand with the most clarity. It made her shudder and the sense of foreboding returned. Determined to ignore it, she walked back into the house and firmly closed the door behind her.