Wouldn’t Change a Thing (19 page)

“I missed your passion punch.”

“Thank to Whipple, I do it with a strawberry lemonade mix now instead of powdered Kool-Aid. Gives it a better flavor.”

She tears a huge sheet of aluminum foil from an industrial-sized box and covers two baking sheets. “Pass the lemons.” I give her lemons I'd emptied from bags earlier. “Did you squeeze them?”

“Forgot.”

“The secret to good fried fish is the lemon juice. You don't need seasoning on the fish; that's why you let the juice marinate in the fish for an hour and season the cornmeal. Cut those lemons in half and squeeze the juice.” She wipes her hand on her apron and demonstrates. She swipes a lemon from the bowl and glides it across the counter with her hand, running it back and forth until it softens. “See. It's soft now. Squeeze-ready.”

“Please tell me who gave you the apron.” The smart-alecky quips have me in stitches.

“May gave it to me years ago. You like it?”

“Sounds like all the women in our family.” I read some of the sayings aloud. “Get your hands off your hips. You don't know what tired is. Wear clean underwear in case you have to go the hospital.”

We laugh at the last saying because Aunt Mavis shared ER stories of ripped undies and stretched bras. I take the stainless steel bowl of lemons and press them.

An incoming call from Willa interrupts my lemon rolling. “Taking a call. Be right back.”

“Are you close?” I ask as I walk to the dining room with the bowl.

“Getting off on exit one thirty-eight. You need anything before we get to the sticks?”

“Oh Progressive One, two bags of ice would be nice.”

“Anything else?”

“A better attitude.”

“You know I'm nervous about this. I'm doing this for you.”

“Don't do it for me. It has to be for you. You have to be the bigger person.”

“I don't want to be the bigger person. Midget is my middle name.”

“Wouldn't you want someone to take care of you if you were sick?”

“Yes.”

“Mama is sick. We have to look at it that way.”

“She never accused you of poisoning her, though.”

“She didn't mean it. She was sick then and she's sick now.”

“Has she taken her medicine today?”

“I made sure she did.”

“How do you know?”

“I stood outside the bathroom door and waited until she finished.”

“If she says one thing out of the way, I'm going back to Birmingham.”

“Toni, are you done with the lemons?” Mama calls from the kitchen.

“We're dressing the fish. I'll see you when you get here. I love you, Willa.”

“Love you too, Toni.”

My hands are red from squeezing as I take the bowl back to the kitchen. The cake cools on a wire rack. I reach for a knife, slice the lemons, and squeeze them over the fish. Mama grabs a brown paper bag from the pantry and scatters meal and seasonings inside. She drops the fish in a bag and puts the dredged pieces side by side on the baking sheets.

“Spread some Saran over the fish and put it in the fridge. I made us some lemonade so we can sit on the porch while the fish marinates.”

“It's chilly out there. Let's sit in the den.”

She takes a tray of lemonade and finger sandwiches to the den. We sit on the sofa and chat about different subjects. Curiosity drives her conversation.

“You never told me about the guy who dumped you.”

I try not to take her comment personally. Aunt Mavis told me she would say or do things that weren't polite and to go with it.

“His name is Lamonte. He's an architect and lives in Conyers.”

“Hmm, sounds like a good job.” She sips her lemonade. “Does he have his own house?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“But you had your own place too, correct?”

“I do.” She makes me nervous as she draws small circles on her legs. A far-off gaze overtakes her and her neck snaps.

“He sounds like your father. See, the world tells women to find a man with all these material things. But what about staying power? What about a man who's willing to weather storms with you or be there for you when you're not yourself?” She points to a saying on the apron and repeats it. “Buy a man a pair of shoes and he'll walk out on you.”

She wants an amen, but I continue listening.

“I'm not saying those things don't matter. Shoot, it's a sorry dog that won't wag his own tail. I'm saying you need more than
things
to make a marriage work.”

Tears stream down her face and I take her lemonade. “Let me take your apron while you get a nap.”

She jerks her shoulder when I touch her. “You all are always trying to put me to sleep or dope me up with medication. Let me enjoy myself for a change.”

I glance at my watch. “Willa should be here in a few minutes. She called when they got off the exit.”

She follows me to the front porch. She grabs a jacket from the hall tree and paces near the oak tree. I bite my bottom lip when I see Don navigating their SUV over the hill. I didn't tell Willa the party starts at four. I said one. This gives us time to talk and relieve tension before the crowd arrives. He parks in front of the oak; Mama runs back to the porch and stands next to me. Don opens Willa's and McKenna's doors. Their steps are slow as they head toward the porch. I make eye contact with Willa and telepathically communicate,
Bigger person, bigger person.

Mama meets Willa halfway in the yard. Willa hugs her and they fall into a loving embrace.

“Look at you. All grown up now. Thirty-eight years old and you don't look a day over twenty-five. Turn around.” Willa unbuttons her fleece coat and exposes her casual outfit. “Still got those baby-making hips.” She turns to Don. “Bet that's why you married her, didn't you?”

They both blush. “I married her because I love her and she's a good woman. The beauty was an added bonus.”

Willa punches his arm. “Mama, this is my husband, Don, and my daughter, McKenna.”

Mama reaches out to McKenna. “Come hug your grandmother.”

McKenna is a statue. Willa pokes McKenna's side and tilts her head toward Mama. She finally takes two steps and wraps her arms around her grandmother.

“You sure are a pretty little thing. Your mother looked the same when she was your age. I heard you're into sports.”

McKenna shifts her stance and unthaws. “I'm in traveling soccer and I want to play volleyball. Mom and Dad want to me concentrate on academics, though.”

“Whatever you do, give it all you've got,” Mama says. She is quiet, reflective. She disappears from us briefly with an odd look. She comes back to us and says, “It's good being here with you all.” She points to the front door. “Let's have some lemonade.”

McKenna's phone is hidden today and her attention is focused on family. Mama directs everyone to the den and continues chat ting. She pours cups of lemonade and offers everyone sandwiches.

“You all live in Birmingham, right?”

“Yes, ma'am. I've been in Alabama since—”

Something inside Mama clicks. She cups her lemonade, rocks back and forth, and tilts back on the sofa. “Go on and say what you were about to say, Willa.”

“Since I moved away. Birmingham's been good to us.”

Mama wrings her hands and jumps up. “I need to check on the food in the kitchen.”

Stunned, we sit in silence. I give them an apologetic look. “I'll go in and see about her. Give me a second.”

The low mumbling of Mama's voice seeps from the kitchen. She paces back and forth. Aware I'm near, she continues. “Told you she couldn't be trusted.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The poison. She has it in her pockets. 'Halia told me.”

“She doesn't have anything in her pockets.”

“You don't see it because she can make it invisible. She has that arsenic and those D-Con pellets.” I reach out to her. “Don't put your hands on me! The longer she sits in here, the better chance she'll have to kill me. Look at all this food. She can come in here and take us out like an assassin!” Her voice raises several octaves.

I back away from her and call Willa. The three of them come quickly from the den and stand in the kitchen doorway.

I walk toward Mama. “Do you really think she'd drive three hours with her family to poison you?”

“I sure do. She came back to finish what she started all those years ago.” She moves toward Willa and the kitchen door, away from me, but I can't let her leave. I don't want her to harm herself or Willa.

I hold my hands up in surrender. “Come sit down and talk to me about it. I'll get the poison from Willa and make sure I cover your food the whole time she's here.”

“See how you're defending her? You'd pick
her
over
me
!” She points to Willa. Don kneads her shoulders, and the three of them assume their leaden stance.

“I'm not taking sides. We can sit down and talk about this.” Aunt Mavis and Cousin Clayton's premonitions come full circle. I can't handle her break from reality.

“Yes, you are. You see she is trying to kill me and you don't care. I thought you were the good daughter, the one who had my back!”

She stalks to the refrigerator, bends down, and rises with a jar of pickles. She hurls the jar at me and I duck. It narrowly misses my ear and crashes on the cabinet. Glass and pickle juice surround me.

“Mama, you have to calm down!” In my brain, the words were softer, but my tongue expresses my true feelings. Raw fear bubbles inside me.

“I don't have to do a damn thing! You probably plotted with her to get me out of the hospital.” She turns her back to us and breathes heavily at the sink. Her shoulders heave as she whispers unintelligible phrases and coughs.

How do you know she took her medicine?
Willa's question pricks me as I head to the bathroom to check the Zyprexa bottle.

“McKenna, go outside.” To Don and Willa, I say, “Call Aunt Mavis and dial nine-one-one.”

Don remains in the doorway while Willa fumbles in her purse for her phone. There is no way she'd react this way if she'd taken her meds. I'd allowed her to go to the bathroom on the honor system to take her medication the past two weeks. I pop the cap off the bottle and count the pills. Sixteen remain, the accurate number per her dosage.

I go back to the kitchen, keeping my distance as she stands near the sink. “Empty your pockets.”

She whips her head around. “What for?”

“If Willa has something in her pockets, then it's fair that I check yours to make sure you're not planning to do anything to her.”

“No!”

I pretend to leave, then double back, slipping my hands into her apron pockets. Her pills are in hiding in Saran Wrap in a knot. I snatch them out and point them in her face.

“Yes, I took my meds, Toni!” I mock her earlier profession.

“Give me back my medicine!” She slams her fist on the counter, then spits in my face. I pivot toward the paper towels as spittle drips. Outraged, she topples me from behind, her fist pounds raining on my back and face. I kick as Don pulls her off me.

She stops wrestling against Don's strong arms. We wait for Aunt Mavis, an ambulance, someone, to arrive. My back is sore and my face aches.

Still restrained by Don, Mama sits in a chair where she whispers over and over, “Howdy howdy, and never goodbye.”

E
than joins us in a small room at Oconee Regional Medical Center ER. Not only is Willa still here, but she rubs my back and applies an ice pack to my face. She morphs into the protective mechanism of our youth and fields questions from Ethan.

“Can you tell me what happened again, Willa?”

“We were in the den, Mama got antsy and went to the kitchen.”

“Once inside?”

“I overheard Mama saying something about me poisoning her. Toni called me into the kitchen, and things got crazy. Next thing I knew, Mama was pounding Toni on the floor.” Willa holds me tighter.

“Toni, do you feel like talking about it?”

I shift in my seat. “She was doing well. She prepared food like she did when we were younger. She sipped wine, dressed the fish—”

“Wine?”

“A little muscadine wine.”

“Alcohol is dangerous. It's toxic with medication, and she shouldn't drink it given her mental state.”

“I can't believe I was so stupid.”

“You didn't know. That's why I need to know what led to the outburst.”

“She went to the kitchen, and when I got there, she paced back and forth.” I stare straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with Willa. “She said Willa had invisible poison in her pocket and planned to put it in our food. She was scared.”

Ethan scribbled notes in a leather binder. “How did the clinical follow-up visit go?”