When Everything's Said & Done (7 page)

On better days, full of chatter, they had all walked past the cemetery on their way home, but now no one spoke as Michael drove. The only sound was Nebia’s low and mournful humming. Laura stared straight ahead, her life force weakened by the death of her youngest child. Brenda’s eyes were downcast. Every so often she stole a glance at Michael’s face through the rearview mirror. It took all of three minutes until they turned down the familiar narrow street, but it could have been three hours—and felt like much longer. Time, like reality, had been altered by Annette’s passing.

The street was lined with cars, but a parking spot had been reserved for them directly in front of the Robin
son home. Michael got out and opened the car doors. The last was Laura’s. Michael stood and waited beside it, but Laura remained inside. She stared at the house she had lived in for fourteen years as if she had never seen it before.

“You come on out of there, Miss Laura,” Nebia said as she placed her body between the two of them. “And I don’t just mean out of that car.” Nebia leaned inside the vehicle. “We need you here with us. We need all of you here.”

Moments later Michael followed Nebia’s lead. He moved back as Laura got out of the car. She touched Nebia’s arm and smiled weakly at Michael and Brenda before she started up the walkway.

Inside the house Laura went upstairs and changed her shoes then threw herself into the heart of things. She seemed to draw energy from all the people and the activity. Laura made sure there wasn’t a soul that she didn’t speak to or who was without a plate of food.

“Don’t you overdo it now. Mama,” Brenda warned. Laura had gone off her diet while they were in Africa, and had gained a dangerous amount of weight.

“I’m fine, honey.” Laura placed an apron around her midsection. “All of this will do me good. Keep my mind off of things.” She dumped a pile of raw potatoes on the kitchen counter and began to peel them. Laura had bolted from paralysis to not being able to be still. Both reeked of instability.

Lucille came and stood beside Brenda. “Don’t worry,” Lucille said softly. “She’ll be okay.”

Brenda looked into Lucille’s sad blue-grey eyes. Like her dyed ash-blond hair, they seemed so out of place in the sea of browns and blacks. At least that had not changed. It had been that way the entire time Lucille and Warren had lived in the all-black neighborhood. ‘I hope so,” Brenda replied. She squeezed Lucille’s hand.

Brenda walked into the crowded living room. She edged her way behind a row of occupied folding chairs that Michael had brought over from the community center the night before. Despite the somber occasion the room was filled with conversation and subdued snatches of laughter. Like a distant observer Brenda watched the scene. It was surreal. They had buried Annette no more than an hour ago, and now she had only one sister, and Cora was not there.

“Well, Miss Laura seems to be holding up pretty well, doesn’t she?” A husky voice rose from beneath a fussy feather hat.

“Yes, child. It seems that way, doesn’t it? But you know she’s got to be hurting something awful inside. Mmm-mmm-mmm,” another woman sitting in front of Brenda sounded.

“They’d just have to bury me with them if one of my children died before me.” The feathers quaked as the woman spoke. “And they say Miss Laura and Annette hadn’t really made up before the girls went traipsin’ off to Africa. That had to make her death doubly hard.”

“But gir-rl, what’s even worse...” She leaned in so close one set of feathers mingled with the other. “Cora didn’t come back for the funeral.” The woman paused dramatically. “What’s she doing over there in Africa? Some folks say she’s grievin’ so hard she couldn’t come back. But I heard,” she whispered, “she may have lost her mind.”

“Now wouldn’t that be something.” The hat fol
lowed Laura’s movements about the room. “Lawd, sometimes when it rains it pours.”

Brenda wanted to put a stop to their gossiping, but the truth was she couldn’t. She didn’t know if Cora was crazy or sane, dead or alive. Nobody in St. Pete knew.

She looked out the window and saw Michael standing beside his car. Making more commotion than was necessary, Brenda made her way through the chairs and went outside to join him.

“So, how you doing?” he asked, his tone low.

“I guess I’m doing okay.” Brenda crossed her arms in front of her. “It’s just hard for me to accept this.” “Yes. It is very difficult,” Michael replied.

They stood in silence before Brenda spoke again.

“I heard a couple of women in there—” Brenda motioned toward the house with her head “—^talking about Cora.”

It was the first time Brenda had spoken of Cora to Michael since she saw them embracing through the window of Michael’s efficiency. Michael’s eyes grew in
tense before he looked down. “What were they saying?”

“They were wondering why she stayed in Africa and didn’t come back home.”

“I can’t say I hadn’t wondered the same thing.” Michael looked at Brenda again. “What did she say when you were about to come back?”

“She wouldn’t say anything,” Brenda replied. “She wouldn’t talk to anybody. Cora wouldn’t bathe and she wouldn’t eat. There was nothing I could do to make her come back home with me.”

“Damn.” He covered his eyes. “Sounds like somebody needs to go over there and get her. ”

“Get her from where? Reverend Pete called this morning and said Cora was no longer in the village where we stayed. He doesn’t know where she is.” “Damn,” Michael repeated. He looked up the street. “But Nebia says Cora’s going to be alright,” Brenda said softly.

“And how would she know?” Michael swiped at a tear.

“She says that Yemaya, who’s under God, has things for Cora to do right here on earth. That she’ll protect her. ” “Do you believe her?” Michael asked with guarded hope in his eyes.

“No.” Brenda looked down. “I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, but for Cora’s sake I hope Nebia’s right.” Michael put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not a believer, either, but sometimes I hear different voices in Nebia’s apartment when I know she’s alone.” He looked at Brenda. “And you and I both know Nebia’s got a good command of her senses. And I don’t think she was talking to herself.” He paused. “Have you ever heard them?”

“No.” Brenda looked skeptical.

“Well,” Michael looked up the street again. “Voices or not, I hope Nebia’s right.”

Nebia’s Story...

“So where was Cora?” Erica demanded.

“She was taken in by the widow of a leader of a small Bemba tribe. The woman’s name was Chiti.” Nebia nodded as she recalled. “Cora told me the only reason she survived Annette’s death, the only reason her mind came back to her was because, in the beginning, she thought this Chiti was me.” Nebia looked straight ahead. “But that girl stayed gone for months.” “Months?” Sheila repeated.

“This is the craziest stuff I ever heard,” Cynthia declared. “It just don’t seem real to me.”

“It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t seem real to you or not.” Nebia cut her eyes in Cynthia’s direction. “It’s what happened.”

“So are you telling us that part about you talking to ghosts and spirits is true as well?” Sheila leaned forward. “I guess what I’m asking is, do you really talk to spirits?” “This story isn’t about me. It’s about the Robinsons.” Nebia searched the pocket of her shift. “But Yemaya did say that Cora was going to be alright. And at the time it was all we had to go on. To Laura, Brenda and Michael it wasn’t much, but it had to do.” She lit a thin brown cigarette.

“I tell you. I’ve just about heard everything.” Cyn
thia crossed her legs and eyed Nebia with disbelief.

“No. You haven’t heard nothing yet.” Nebia in
haled and blew a steady stream of white smoke into the clear night air.

CHAPTER 8

Brenda tapped on the door several times and waited. There was a rapid approach of footsteps before Michael opened the door.

“Hey. Come on in.” He smiled before he walked back inside the efficiency. “I came back to get the rest of my stuff. You don’t realize how much you have until you move.” He motioned toward a pile in the middle of the floor. “I had no idea I had left all of this.”

“I was wondering what was going on,” Brenda said. “I heard someone walking around up here and I thought you were over at your new house.”

“I was. As a matter of fact, I’ve been over there all morning.” Michael faced Brenda. “The place really looks good now. You and Miss Laura got to come over and see it.” He forced some of the articles from the pile into a garbage bag. “The carpenters finished up this morning. So it looks a lot different from when you last saw it. And it doesn’t look anything like what Miss Laura saw before the work started. ”

“You sound like a proud father.”

“I guess I am bragging.” Michael gave an embar
rassed smile.

“But it’s okay.” Brenda’s eyes softened. “If I were mov
ing into my own newly refurbished home, I’d brag, too.” Michael smiled again. “So what are you up to today?” “Nothing much,” Brenda replied. “Mama, Nebia and Lucille have gone to the Saturday flea market, so I was just laying around, looking at a little television. I’d love to go over to your house with you and see it.” “Sounds good to me.” Michael’s eyes sparkled. “It won’t take me but a minute to finish up. Then we’ll head on over there.”

With Brenda’s help it didn’t take long for Michael to tie up the loose ends, and about thirty minutes later they were pulling up in front of Michael’s new home. The freshly painted, two-story building stuck out like a new Saskatchewan dollar from the rundown houses around it. They were just as ornate, but their architec
tural beauty had been marred by time and neglect.

But that didn’t bother Michael. “And this is just the beginning.” He turned off the car as he continued to talk. “I believe there will come a time when most of these houses will be restored and Roser Park will be a historic neighborhood.”

“You think so?” Brenda tried to visualize Michael’s dream.

“I most certainly do.” He put his arm on the top of the front seat behind her. “You see, I have plans here in St. Pete. I’m going to make my fortune and my mark, right here, even it if means opening up my own bank and loaning money to folks like us, who can’t get loans anyplace else.” He looked up and down the street. “Those kind of people will be able to get the money from me. Then they’ll be able to buy a house in a neigh
borhood like this and help restore it.” Michael looked at Brenda with determination. “Some kind of way it’s going to happen.”

“I’ll bet you’ll do just that,” Brenda said, then added softly, “and I hope I’m around to share it.”

“Of course you’ll be around.” Michael got out of the car. “Unless you plan on moving away from here.” Brenda joined him on the sidewalk in front of the house. “Nope.” She continued with a sigh, “I don’t plan to.” “Well, good. Things just wouldn’t be the same if all of the Robinsons left St. Pete.” His smile lightened his words, but still there was a remote sadness in Michael’s eyes. “Come on. Let me show you inside.”

Michael opened the door with pride. Inside the sunny, spacious rooms beamed, compliments of a repeated pat
tern of double windows with raised shades. Michael and Brenda’s footsteps echoed along with their voices as they examined each one. Once in a while they came across a few choice pieces from Michael’s old apartment.

“Is this the same light fixture that was in here the last time I came?” Brenda looked at an antique globe jut
ting out from the dining room ceiling.

“Sure is.” Michael nodded. “It’s amazing what a lit
tle water and bleach can do.”

“Water, bleach and paint. ” Brenda turned in a slow cir
cle. “This place looks wonderful. I could see the potential before but I had no idea it was going to look like this.” “Yeah.” Michael took a deep breath. He looked from the formal dining room into the walk-in pantry inside the kitchen. “Now all I got to do is get some furniture. And get some paintings on the wall.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot to do. You have a living room, dining room, library—” Brenda counted on her fin
gers.

“There are nine rooms in all, including the two bath
rooms,” Michael said.

“Babcock’s is having a furniture sale this weekend. I saw it in the Times this morning.”

“Yeah?” Michael’s interest rose.

“Uh-huh. And I’m pretty good at picking out furni
ture.” She looked down. “Plus I love decorating. I could go with you, and give you my opinion, if you like.” Michael slid his hand into his jean pocket. “I don’t want to take up all your time.”

“You wouldn’t be taking up all my time. I’d enjoy it,” Brenda assured him. “Right now I can’t think of any
thing better than shopping with somebody else’s money.” “Oh, I see.” Michael smiled. “Well, let’s do it this way. If you help me pick out furniture and decorations, I’ll cook you and Miss Laura dinner tonight as payment.”

Brenda leaned back. “I didn’t think you knew how to cook.”

“Oh, I can cook. I just never had to while I was living in the efficiency,” Michael replied. “Between Miss Laura and Nebia, somebody was always inviting me to eat or bringing me food.” He folded his arms. “The truth is I can burn when I want to.”