The Pecan Man (21 page)

By the time Grace was eighteen
years old in 1988, she had two children, not much more than a year apart. She
dropped out of school when she got pregnant the first time. It was hard for me
to watch her life unravel the way it did. I wanted to help her, but Blanche
kept her away from me for the most part. I suppose she figured I had already
done enough.

Grace stayed home with her
children during the day, but I found out soon enough that Blanche kept them at
night while Grace went out. That must have been when Grace started doing drugs.

The twins graduated in 1984.
Sweet, quiet Danita married her high school sweetheart within the year. She
grew up with Curtis Bledsoe and knew his heart was for the Lord. They moved
away for a time, while Curtis went to Bible College and became a pastor, then
they moved back to Mayville and started a family together. They are together to
this day.

ReNetta went to a cosmetology
school after she graduated. She has never married and is a hairdresser at a
local salon. I always thought that was a perfect vocation for her, something
that would always satisfy her inquisitive mind and creative spirit. She's good
at it, too. She stops by every now and then with pictures of the hair shows she
does. My goodness, I never knew how many wild and intricate styles were
possible with hair. I've kept the same simple hairstyle I've worn for as many
years as I have been gray. ReNetta has tried to get me to go for something different,
but I put my foot down on that one.

Twenty-seven

1998 was a tough year for us. I was approaching my 80th
birthday and slowing down fast. Blanche was a few years shy of her 60th and
doing just fine. I don't know what I would have done without her. She was the
reason I was able to work as long as I did. She basically handled everything; I
was just along for the ride.

Blanche was also raising
Grace's children by herself. Grace started out disappearing for days at a time.
Blanche had Shawn and Rochelle start riding the bus to my house when she
realized she just couldn't count on Grace being home in the afternoons. I was
happy for them to be there. I'd learned long ago to enjoy a full house.

Eventually, Grace was gone for
good, or at least for several years. She didn't leave a note, but word got out
to Blanche that she'd run off with a known drug dealer and pimp. We both began
to tire easily.

Once again, we dropped out of
the various clubs and charitable organizations to which we now
both
belonged, and this time it was for good.

I knew I was not going to live
forever and, even though Walter had made many plans of his own, I hadn't really
done all the planning I should have in anticipation of my own mortality.

I had no heirs, no one to take
over Walter's business or care about my personal effects. I sat for hours on
end, rocking on the front porch, wondering what in the world I would do.

Patrice was an attorney by then
and worked for a firm near the courthouse. They did mostly criminal law, and
Patrice did quite a bit of pro bono work in the community on her own time. She
stopped by my house fairly often. I knew she was really coming to see Blanche,
but she spent time with me, too, and I enjoyed seeing and talking with her.

On one of her visits - it was
early spring, I remember, because the flowers were blooming but it was still
cool enough to enjoy the porch. Anyway, on one of her visits, Patrice brought
up the subject of the Pecan Man.

“I saw Eddie last week, Miz
Ora," Patrice said. “He said to tell you hello."

“Eddie," I said fondly.
“How is he doing?"

“He's getting old and frail,
but he says he's doing fine. I left him playing a rousing game of dominoes the
other day. He keeps the young guys on their toes, I can tell you that."

“I think I always
underestimated the man," I admitted.

Patrice laughed. “I don't think
you were the only one who underestimated him. I've learned quite a bit about
him lately."

“Do you go out to see him
often?"          

“Not as much as I would like,
but I try to stop in when I have to make a trip to the prison, or when Mama
bakes him some cookies. I'm the most popular attorney out there."

“I'll just bet you are," I
laughed.

“I've been thinking of
reopening Eddie's case." Patrice dropped that bombshell like it was just
another batch of cookies and, Lord help me, it was as if someone had touched me
with a cattle prod. My skin tingled with the shock for several minutes and I
had trouble gathering my thoughts to respond. If Patrice noticed, she didn't
let on.

“Something just bothers me
about the whole thing. He won't talk about it, but I read through the file and
something doesn't add up. I don't think he killed anyone, do you?"

“Well, no," I fumbled for
words. “I've never thought he killed a soul, but he entered a guilty plea. Can
you reopen a case that's closed like that?"

“Not officially, no," she
admitted, “but I can do some digging and see what I turn up."

And, just like that, the lie
that never ends cropped up yet again. I bit my tongue until I thought it would
actually bleed.

“Does Eddie want you to do
this?"

“I haven't asked him yet. I
thought I would ask around and see what I come up with first."

“Patrice," I said finally,
“I know you mean well, but I think you should ask Eddie if he wants you to do
this before you go stirring up a pot that settled years ago."

“I'll ask him," she said.

“I
promise
I'll ask
him," she repeated when she saw my dubious expression. “But, will you just
tell me what you know about it? I know you had him to dinner that day; I
remember spending Thanksgiving at your house and he was there. It was the day
before Marcus died."

“I really just don't want to
talk about it, hon," I said. “I'm sorry, but it was an awful time and
we've all suffered enough."

“But if you could just..."

“Patrice!"

She flinched as if I’d slapped
her.

“You ask Eddie first," I
continued. “If he agrees, I'll tell you what I remember. Otherwise I think it's
best that we let sleeping dogs lie."

“Okay," she said softly.
“I meant no harm, but - okay. I'll ask him first."

I knew she was upset that I
yelled at her, and Lord knows she was confused, but I knew better than to even
try to remember all the lies I told so many years ago.

“I've been thinking about my
will," I said, abruptly changing the subject. “Do you do any estate law at
all?"

“Goodness," she said. “No,
I don't, but there are some great attorneys in the area if you want me to
recommend someone."

“No, that's okay. Howard
Hunnicutt has been handling our stuff for years. I'll just get him to dust the
paperwork off and see where we are. I wonder, though..."

“Wonder what?" Patrice
asked when I hesitated.

“If you would mind being the
Executor of the estate." I finished.

“I don't mind at all. Anything
you want to go over with me, so I'll be sure to get it right?"

“A few things, maybe," I said.
“I'm not positive what I'm planning on doing, but I'd like to get your opinion
on some ideas I have - if you have time, that is."

Blanche interrupted then,
bringing us each a glass of sweet tea and taking a seat in one of the rockers
herself. She looked tired and drawn and I couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You feeling all right,
Blanche?  You’re looking a little peaked today.”

“Just a little tired, tha’s
all. Ain’t been sleepin’ good lately.”

“When’s the last time you had a
checkup?”

“I had my yearly,” she said
vaguely.

Blanche was not big on doctors,
though I had convinced her a few years back that she’d best take care of her
health if she was going to be raising grandchildren from now on. I had enrolled
Blanche and her family in our company health plan when I first went back to
work. Don’t ask why I hadn’t done it when Walter was alive or why he hadn’t
suggested it, either. I just don’t have an answer.

“That’s not the kind of checkup
I was talking about.”

“I don’t see the point. He’s
jus’ go’n tell me to lose weight.”

Well, I knew better than to go
down that road, so I just let the issue drop.

We stayed on the porch for a
little while longer, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the occasional
passing car.

When Patrice and I finally sat
down to discuss the will weeks later, I had formulated a plan of sorts, but I
wanted Patrice's thoughts on the whole thing. We talked at length about the
details and, when we were done, I felt confident of the decisions I made.

Howard put me in touch with a
good business broker and the insurance agency was sold within a month. I was
surprised at the bottom line on the income from the sale, but Howard was not.
We followed Walter's lead on a good bit of the estate planning, but we made a
few changes. We increased the coffers of the scholarship fund quite a bit and
set up another charitable remainder trust to offset the taxes on the sale.

What Patrice did
not
know
about my will was that I planned to leave my house to Blanche for as long as
she was alive. She probably spent as much time at this house as she had at her
own, and I was certain it felt like home to her. After that, it would be sold
and the proceeds sent to the scholarship fund, which Patrice had agreed to run
after my death or when I could no longer handle my affairs. That was a huge
load off my mind. Of course, she would now know how her own education had been
funded, but I suspect she knew it all along anyway.

There was a monthly stipend
earmarked for each of the twins. They were successful in their own right, but
what I set out for them would make their lives a little more comfortable and it
made me feel good to know that.

Grace's children would be able
to attend the college of their choice. They were good kids, good students. I
wanted to make sure nothing would stand in their way. Blanche would always have
income, a retirement plan of sorts - enough for herself and enough to take care
of Shawn and Rochelle.

As much as it tore my heart
out, I did not leave anything for Grace. If we could even
find
her, the
money would only go to drugs. I resigned myself to knowing we had already lost
her. We lost her long, long ago and we were partially to blame.

Twenty
Eight

As I said, 1998 was not a good
year for me. My childhood friends were dropping like flies. I never expected to
outlive as many people as I did, but if it's any indication how many funerals I
attended, I bought four new dresses that year and all of them black. I've never
been terribly vain, but I still held to a few social standards, even in my old
age. I didn't want to be seen in the same black dress every time I turned
around.

Poopsie died on a fishing trip
out west. God love him, he went out with a bang, doing what he loved most. They
had a time getting his body shipped home for burial, but Clara Jean handled all
the details and got it straightened out. She was devastated, of course, and I'm
not sure she's over it to this day.

The hardest thing for me, the
worst day of my life, came in late November of that year. We had a lovely
Thanksgiving dinner. Patrice and the twins cooked the entire meal in my kitchen
and the house was brimming with food, friends, family and a whole lot of love.
We all ate too much, but Blanche complained the most about it. She said she
just felt full all over. Danita and Curtis drove her home afterwards, taking
Shawn and Rochelle back to their own house to play with their cousins.

When Blanche didn't show up the
next morning, I knew it was not good. I forced myself not to panic as I called
a taxi to take me to her house. I decided not to call the children first. I
didn't want to worry them in case I was wrong. On the other hand, if I was
right...well, if I was right, I would be the one who found her.

She didn’t answer the door when
I rang the bell, but I knew she never kept it locked. She always left it open,
just in case Grace came home. I opened the door and entered the house, which
had not changed much in the years since I came to take Patrice shopping. I
could hear Blanche's snoring in the back bedroom and I breathed a sigh of
relief. I figured she must have overslept, though she'd never done it before. I
laughed at myself for overreacting and headed for her bedroom, scolding the whole
way.

“Blanche, you old fool, you
scared me to death!" I spoke loudly so I wouldn't startle her when I
entered her room. “Blanche!" I repeated as I cleared the doorway. She was
lying flat on her back, the covers kicked to the side and one arm hanging limply
off the bed.