Chapter 54

Chapter 54 of 56 · 8-minute read

Late November

Wednesday – Moon in Sagittarius, Waxing Crescent

Instead of sitting in a local restaurant, I should be back at my mom’s place, cooking chicken and dressing with mushroom gravy in preparation for Thanksgiving, but I just can’t. It’s hard for me to be in my mom’s house, especially alone and especially this time of year. Thanksgiving was always such a big day for Mama. I’ve been spending the last six weeks cleaning out her house and slowly executing her will, and all the while hoping she’ll make an appearance, even in my dreams.

She hasn’t, though. Not a peep out of her. Not even in visions. Maybe her soul needed some time away, but I can’t feel her nearby.

There’s something to be said for the often repeated stories of forty days and forty nights, whether in the Bible or in stories of ghostly appearances after death. The six-week mark is about the right time for spirits to move on, Virgil says, and yet, nothing from my beautiful mother. Would she move on to a new incarnation without an appearance? As a witch, I can see the dead, so why can’t I see her?

Wherever she is, she’s not with me.

I feel close to her, though. Probably because I’ve cherry-picked some of her favorite clothes before donating the contents of her closet to the First Baptist Church thrift shop. The outdated gray blouse I’m wearing now was one of her favorites, and if I’m dressed like an old woman, I don’t care. Even after laundering the blouse, I can imagine it smelling like her signature scent—before her decline—of jasmine and vanilla. When I put on the clothes she used to wear when she was younger and whole, before her mind faded, it’s like having a piece of her with me again, even if she isn’t actually here. And as much as I miss her physical presence, it brings me comfort and solace knowing that some part of her will always be with me.

I slump over my salad. Sure, I could’ve made lunch back at Mama’s place or Virgil’s. I could’ve asked Virgil or Pamela or Dottie and Niecie or a couple of newer friends to join me at Mama’s favorite restaurant for a late lunch, but I can afford to be solitary today.

Company’s coming. Lots of company, and that lifts my heart.

The last six weeks have been a rollercoaster of emotions. A fast funeral with a few locals—Virgil, too, of course—but not my kids or brother. We all agreed that we’d visit her grave in the green cemetery between Virgil’s home and my mom’s old farmhouse when we could all be together again.

For the first few days, I was numb, but then I flew to Rhiannon and Declan to see my granddaughter’s birth and help out for the first two weeks while handling probate paperwork long-distance with locals who act like they don’t understand how to use email or online portals. Strange how the circle of life works. I still haven’t sorted out all my emotions over holding my baby’s baby for the first time and recognizing my mom’s eyes and frown in her namesake’s tiny face.

Not that I think my mom has reincarnated as Baby Emmaleigh—though that might explain why I haven’t seen her in the last six weeks. Still, holding the baby and singing “I Gave My Love a Cherry” to her felt like I, now an orphan at midlife, was bridging the past and future.

Surreal.

The rest of my time has been spent decluttering Mama’s things. She’d hate it, but I’ve thrown out some things that are nothing but garbage. Others, I’ve given away to people who need them, particularly boxes of shoes she never wore and winter coats with the tags still on them. The deputies’ ransacking destroyed things that were already old or ragged. Really, it wouldn’t have taken much for those things to fall apart, and they’d had the advantage of not being touched for years or they’d have been trashed long ago. Most of the furniture, including the beds, are gone, too. She’d lived such a frugal life, and little is worth keeping—though taped under a desk drawer, I did find photos of her first love, the soldier she’d never forgotten.

Even without most of the furniture, the house is now habitable, but I don’t feel right being there. It’s not the same without Mama, and the house deserves to have light and joy that I’m not ready to give it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Too much abuse happened there for me to learn to love it now. I don’t know how to overwrite the energy into something loving and light. I’m grateful that I’ve been able to stay with Virgil instead. Even with the numbness of getting used to life without my mom, it’s been a contented time with Virgil, and we’ve settled into something I don’t know how to describe except as comfortable, natural… affectionate.

As I finish my salad, I realize that I’ve been staring at the empty plate for the past few minutes. The food is long gone, but my thoughts are still roaming. I can’t help but wonder what my mom would say if she saw me now, sitting alone in one of the hometown restaurants where I took her for special days and where she always tried to slip a brand-new fifty under the edge of my plate as if I couldn’t afford to treat us both.

I smile at the thought. Mama had almost made it a game, but I never let her win. Her, always trying to buy my dinner with a fresh fifty. Me, always sneaking the cash back into her purse when she wasn’t looking but where I knew she’d find it later and know that I’d paid for both our meals.

A pang of guilt hits me. I should be at her house, cooking and cleaning, getting everything ready for the family dinner tomorrow. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not this year. Not without her. Thankfully, Virgil has offered his place.

I push my plate aside and take a deep breath. Maybe it’s time to head back to Virgil’s. He’s been so kind to let me stay with him during this difficult time, even with him wrapping up business with local law enforcement over Little Ray’s assault, and I should really make an effort to show Virgil how much I appreciate it. Every day is one step forward, and he’s there for me in every way, especially when I’m sad that I’ve not seen anything of her in this transition period.

“What can I do to show you as much support as you’ve shown me?” I keep asking Virgil.

All he ever says is “Just let me be part of your family.”

He doesn’t just mean during the upcoming holiday season. He’s lost his mom, too, and still struggles with memories of his late wife. He doesn’t even have his brother to hang out with now that Dix and Margaux are back together and she’s demanding he kowtow to her wishes—and he happily does. Even though Virgil and I are both happy for them, neither of us wants to be alone right now, and neither of us has to be.

And neither of us wants to be anywhere else but with each other.

“You’re absolutely part of my family,” I tell him every time.

As I signal the only waitress in sight for my check, I glance at my watch. According to the last text message from Sonnet, the girls and their partners and my new granddaughter will be arriving at Virgil’s within the hour. Shelby should be in late tonight—first time I’ve seen him since Daddy’s funeral.

“You want another refill on that sweet tea, darlin’?” The waitress’ voice is a drawl, her words a soft, melodic lilt.

Eyes closed, I give my head a slight shake, but she’s already pouring. I hear it, the swirling of the ice cubes, the tinkling in the glass on the wood tabletop. I open my eyes and frown up at her.

The waitress doesn’t look much older than my daughters, with an apron as white as a cloud and her name stitched in cursive script above her right breast. Her smile is bright and genuine, so large and open her eyes have to squint a bit to stay open.

“Anything else for ya, Miss Laurie?”

“Just the check. You have a happy turkey-day, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that. Oh, and you don’t owe me anything. It’s all taken care of. Tip, too.”

I sit up straight, surprised. “Excuse me?”

The waitress just nods, her smile still beaming. “The couple over there paid for your meal before they left. They said not to tell you until after they were gone. They wanted to make your day.”

I follow her pointing finger to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant where dirty dishes remain on the table.

“Wh-what? Who?”

“Don’t know. They were just passing through on their way to Birmingham, they said. Said you looked like you needed a pick-me-up. Said they buy a stranger’s meal every now and then, and both felt compelled in a way they couldn’t explain to buy yours today.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Never in my life has anyone ever bought my meal like this. Or ever tried to. Except for⁠—

Mama.

I glance back at the waitress as she quietly cleans off the table in the corner. I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts to even notice any other diners, especially this late in the afternoon. I want to ask her more, but I don’t know what else to say.

She looks up at me with a knowing smile and says, “It’s nice when somebody does something kind for no other reason than just because. To be frank, though, I’ve never seen it happen in here. And so generously, too!”

I can’t stop myself from smiling back at her. “Yeah, it really is. Thank you for letting me know.”

“No, Miss Laurie, I mean they were really, really, really generous. They’d already paid for their meal and were getting ready to go when they called me back over. They didn’t even ask me how much your meal was, and it wasn’t that much. Just handed me a brand spankin’ new fifty-dollar bill and told me to keep the change. Oh, yeah, and to tell you that you are loved.”

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