I sat quiet for a moment feeling the breeze and sunlight on my face, letting my thoughts go where my mind wandered. Daniel drifted into my meditation, not speaking, not moving, just a calm image of him. His dark eyes glistened as the wind caught his hair. I didn't allow my mind to jump into the state of why, who, or how; this wasn't the place for analysis, just reflection and observation. A slight sigh woke me from my contemplation, and I couldn't remember how long I had been there.
Still by the grave, Ruby kept her head down, lips moving. I got up, brushed off my pants, and strolled from one grave to the next, idly reading markers to give Ruby time to finish up. Walterene had the same kind of mind as me: logical, a little emotional, sometimes too judgmental, a lust for pleasure, but she had the wisdom to handle it. I did miss her. What would she do in my situation?
I smiled as the answer came to me.
Chapter Twenty
FUCK 'EM. THAT was the spiritual message I'd received from my prayer to Walterene, the woman who taught me how to get along with people I didn't like, to take the polite, Southern approach to conflict. Of course, that had been fifteen years earlier; maybe as she aged, she'd decided being genteel wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Certainly, Vernon and Gladys had never employed the tactic. Are these words to live by? I sat on the front porch of Walterene and Ruby's house smoking a cigarette and contemplating the meaning of "Fuck 'em."
"Ruby," I called. "Want to go see Grandma?"
She pushed the storm door open and asked, "You going over to the Dilworth house?"
"Thinking about it," I said.
Ruby wiped her hands on a dishtowel she seemed to always have nearby. "You go ahead. I might take a nap in a few minutes." She started to turn away, then stopped. "You know, Gladys will probably be home."
"I know."
MARTHA ANSWERED THE doorbell; the dark skin surrounding her eyes sagged with wrinkles and time. On my previous visits, I hadn't taken a good look at how she had aged like the rest of the family. "Good afternoon, Mister Derek. I'm sorry, but your grandmother is sleeping and your mother and father aren't home."
"That's okay." I walked in the door she had opened only a crack. "I had a few things I wanted to ask you."
She scurried after me as I headed for the kitchen. "What do you want to talk to me about? You should be talking to your parents if you got questions, not me. I don't get involved in the matters of this family, never have, never will. Mister Derek, you stop walking away from me." Her frantic monologue pulled out my smile.
"Martha, relax." I sat down at the small kitchen table in the breakfast nook. "Come sit down." As she fidgeted and settled down on the chair across from me, I jumped up. "Let me get us some tea."
"I'll get it." She almost rocketed out of her seat.
I smiled and returned to my chair. "Is it okay to smoke in here?" I placed my Marlboro Lights on the table.
The iced tea swirled in her hands as she checked the door. "Okay." Her reluctance evaporated. "In fact, I might just join you."She handed me two glasses and placed the pitcher of tea on the table, then, with the slow movements of someone not wanting to make any noise, she pushed the sash of the window up to let the anticipated smoke drift out of the room.
I poured our drinks while Martha slid into her chair and produced a pack of Camels from her dress pocket. She touched the end of her cigarette to my flickering lighter and inhaled.
"Whew," she exhaled stormcloud-gray smoke, "I needed this."
Lighting one for myself, I asked, "Hard day?"
"Almost over. I don't like to smoke in the house, but if anybody asks, I'll blame it on you." She grinned, and I knew we had a common vice that bound us. "Now, I told you yesterday that I don't know anything about that old man."
"Mr. Sams?" I asked.
"Don't get coy with old Martha. I reckon that's why you're here, talking to me." She gulped her tea.
"Martha," I soothed, "when I was little, I'd come in here and watch you cook and talk for hours. You used to call me your daisy."
"Daisy." She laughed, then opened her mouth to say something, but she must have thought better of it.
"Daisy," I repeated. "Pansy is what you meant, wasn't it?"
"No, oh, no, Mister Derek. I never thought that." Her eyes pleaded for forgiveness as she held my hand across the table.
"Martha, this isn't the fifties. I'm gay. It's not a secret; it's not something to be ashamed of; I love men, always have. That's why I liked being in here with you. I knew you were a strong woman who loved men. I remember seeing you and your husband together and wishing that my parents acted as in love as you two did. I always thought you knew a secret to make men love you that the women of my family didn't have."
She blushed a little. "Mister Derek, you flatter me."
"And you can stop calling me Mister Derek. We're both too old for that."
"You know," she began, "since Oscar died, this job and this family have been my life. We never had kids of our own."
"I'm sorry to hear that." I ground out my cigarette in a cereal bowl she had placed between us.
"Oh, don't be. I have a bunch of nieces and nephews just like Ms. Ruby and Ms. Walterene do, although it does get lonely going home to an empty house. I used to watch all of you playing around here and wished me and Oscar had a big place for the whole family to gather." She wriggled the bowl back and forth. "My niece, Gloria, is a vice president at Bank of America downtown. She does some kind of computer work. Janeen, another niece, is a nurse over at Presbyterian Hospital."
"I'm sure you're proud of them." I watched as the memories played across her face.
"They were all such good children. Reminded me a lot of you and your brother and sister. That Tim sure would get into trouble from time to time." Tim's reputation as a rascal never wavered in the eyes of those who knew him. "And Valerie was such a sweet girl."
"Since I came back for Walterene's funeral," I decided to get to the point, "stories and denials about Mr. Sams seem to be everywhere. I'm curious about that. I know Walterene loved him like one of the family, and now that she's gone, I can't find anyone who wants to talk about him or his memory."
Martha lit another cigarette and took two quick drags. "Like I told you yesterday, that was before my time here."
"But you must have heard something."
"Mister Derek, let the dead stay dead."
"That's not the way to honor their memory. I won't do that for Walterene, and I know you won't do that for your husband Oscar. I want the same respect for Mr. Sams; he meant a lot to Walterene."
She stared at the bowl of ashes for a second, then took another drag from the cigarette.
I waited.
"I see what you mean. I never mentioned this to anyone in your family, not that it matters, but Mr. Sampson lived across the street from my mother. He loved working here, just like I do." Her tired eyes held me for a moment. "I remember him always talking about what a good family Mr. Ernest Harris had. Mr. Sampson didn't have any family of his own, just this one."