He ought to take a look at the rest of the eaves, and the roof too.
Why had he not noticed that sagging gingerbread when he was here last? Because he hadn’t looked closely—couldn’t stand to. And now he was supposed to just walk up on that porch and into that house, like it was his second home—like he used to do.
He got out of the car. It was now or never and it couldn’t be never. The porch was swept and the mechanical twist doorbell, which was original to the house, had been polished recently. Nothing shoddy about the maintenance of Big Mama’s life at eye level. He spun the bell and backed off to inspect the porch ceiling.
The door swung open and he pasted on his happy mask. He spun around to find not his grandmother, but Evelyn.
Evelyn was as broad as she was tall, and the color of milk chocolate. Her hair should have been white years ago, but it had been bright red as long as Brantley could remember. He suspected this was her one indulgence in “foolishness.” Evelyn did not hold with foolishness. The only thing she hated more was debauchery.
She put her hands on her hips to stop herself from hugging him. Evelyn was stingy with her hugs, if not her grits.
“Boy, what are you doing here this time of morning? Does Miss Caroline know you’re here?” She couldn’t quite hide her smile.
“Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” Brantley hugged her in spite of her floundering and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“I asked you a question! Miss Caroline did not tell me you were coming. Of course, you never give any warning. You swoop in here for fifteen minutes, eat, make a mess, and leave.”
He followed her into the house. “Not this time. I’m here to stay. Where is Big Mama?”
“She’s down at the church getting the flowers ready for the altar tomorrow. What do you mean ‘here to stay’?”
“I mean I intend to eat and make a mess for more than fifteen minutes. I am moving into the carriage house. At least I hope I am. Nobody has moved in there since Tolly moved out, have they?” Now that he thought of it, that might have been a good question to have asked before now.
Evelyn shook her head. “Moving in, huh? Well, you aren’t doing it today. That place has got to be cleaned top to bottom. It’s been empty for months now, ever since Tolly and the coach bought the old Patterson house.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No way I can get to it before Tuesday. Miss Caroline’s got her card club coming Monday.”
“I can get a cleaning service. I swear by all that is holy that I do not intend to cause you extra work.”
“Humph.” Evelyn put her hands on her hips again. “Don’t swear to the Lord and don’t lie. You’d get me up to Nashville at high noon on Christmas Day to iron you a shirt if you thought you could.”
“Not anymore. You can iron my shirts here—at least for the time being. I am done with Nashville.”
“Are you now? And that Jezebel, Rita May?”
“Her too. But I do think calling her Jezebel might be going a little rough.”
“Humph. Well, you just plan on staying in this house or out with your daddy till I get that place cleaned up.”
“I have to go to San Francisco in the morning for a few days. My furniture is arriving Monday. But really, Evelyn, I can get someone to clean. You have enough to do.”
“Nobody is cleaning but me.”
He knew better than to argue. This was Evelyn’s turf and she intended to defend it. “Then I will pay you extra.”
“I don’t want your money, Brantley Kincaid. Bring me a t-shirt with a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on it and a magnet for my refrigerator that looks like a street car. That’s all I want out of you.”
Brantley made a mental note to write it in his DayRunner.
“Welcome home,” Evelyn said. “It’ll make your big mama and your daddy happy.”
“Or break their hearts.” He immediately regretted saying it, so he smiled his I’m just joking smile.
“I reckon you won’t have eaten anything,” she said. “I’ll just get in there and make you some breakfast.”
He opened his mouth to speak when, like a ghost riding a tidal wave, piano music blared from the other side of the house. Brantley gasped and plastered his back against the wall as Frankie Valli’s “Walk Like a Man” rocked the floorboards of the old house. He clamped his eyes shut and felt the blood drain from his face.
He was going crazy. Nobody played that piano. No one could play it—except him and Papa. They couldn’t read a note of music but they had played by ear and what they had lacked in skill, they made up for with enthusiasm.
Yes. Crazy.
“Baby?” He felt a warm hand on his arm and when he opened his eyes the concern on Evelyn’s face matched the tone of her voice. “It’s all right, baby. It’s just old Tiptoe Watkins in there. Miss Caroline called him to come tune that piano when she thought you might be coming home.”
So not crazy. That was something. He laughed uneasily.
Evelyn resumed her haughty manner. She knew what he needed. “Go on in there and mind your manners. Ask Tiptoe to stay for breakfast. I’ll get to it.”
As she walked away, Brantley said, “Evelyn, don’t tell—”
“Don’t tell what?” she asked without turning around. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Nothing to tell.”
The last thing Brantley wanted to do was walk toward that room with music spilling out of it, but one did not disobey Evelyn.
When Tiptoe saw him, he ended the piece with an elaborate flourish and rose from the bench of the baby grand, extending his hand.
“Brantley Kincaid. You are going to make your grandmother one happy woman.”
Tiptoe Watkins owned the local cemetery and had more money that Midas. After all, death wasn’t optional. He presented himself as a simple man with cornpone wisdom, but he was Harvard educated and had done the world tour, back when young men did that before settling down.
He had been one of Papa’s best friends. Who knew why he tuned pianos? Probably for the social aspect and to amuse himself. Tiptoe was a talker.
“We all live to make Miss Caroline happy,” Brantley said as he shook Tiptoe’s hand.
“Fine instrument.” Tiptoe laid a hand on the piano. “Got a fine sound now. Want to take her for a spin?”
That wasn’t happening. It was never happening.
“Maybe later,” Brantley said. “Evelyn is fixing some breakfast. She said to make sure you stayed.”
Tiptoe laughed. “I had my Raisin Bran, oh, about six o’clock, but I’ve always thought Frodo and the boys had the right idea.” Tiptoe winked. “Second breakfast. Especially when Evelyn is doing the cooking. Reckon there’ll be cheese grits?”
“I reckon there will.”
Brantley motioned for Tiptoe to have a seat on the sofa and he let himself down in the chair across from him.
“So you’re going to see what you can do with that old building downtown?”
“My grandmother seems to have spread the word,” Brantley said. “Odd. I thought this was not for public knowledge.”
“I am not the public,” Tiptoe said. “People tell me things.”
“Odder still, I have not told my grandmother that I will do the restoration.”
Tiptoe laughed. “Yet you are going to do what she wants.”
Brantley nodded. “I am.”
“See, your grandmother is a wise woman. She knows the secret to getting what she wants—something that works every time.”