Easier Said Than Done (13 page)

“I guess they do.”

“What about you, Damon? How long have you been back in Kingston? Last I heard your practice was in Montego Bay.”

“You've been keeping tabs on me?”

He laughed at my expression, but answered, his eyes caressing mine. “I've been back in Kingston for about six months now, but I still travel back and forth. It'll probably take another few months to get my replacement in the Mo Bay office settled into the routine. After that, I'll be here full-time.”

“You've done wonders with this house,” I muttered for no other reason than to say something. “It's always been beautiful, but now it's amazing. And the way you've converted part
of it into a health center—you've always wanted to come back to the community and do that. Plus it must be the perfect living situation.”

“Yeah, Mon. It's definitely alleviated a lot of the pressure. My Aunt Brigitte from Hope Bay did the decorating. You remember her?”

“Yes. How is she?”

“Good. She actually planned the whole layout—construction, decoration, everything.

Oversaw the whole thing, too. It took about nine months to complete.”

“Wow!” That was a pretty quick construction job for Jamaica.

“Yeah. Auntie doesn't play around. She kept her foot in their behinds.”

“She did a great job.” I looked around again and tried to come up with something else to say. Awkwardness rolled in waves from one end of the room to the other.

“I'm not married either,” he said, “and no kids.”

“I'm sure you've been very busy. Your schedule probably doesn't leave much room for children and a wife.”

“True. But I would make room for the right woman.” He winked and my heart thumped wildly in my ears. “Speaking of which, how long do you plan on staying in Jamaica?”

“Well, Mama Grace's funeral is tomorrow afternoon. Then it will probably take another couple of days to settle her estate. I hope to be back at home within the week.”

“So soon? You should stay a few weeks, relax, and take a vacation.”

“That would be wonderful. Unfortunately, with this big deal on the table there's a lot of work to do. I can't stay around too long.”

“I would've liked to spend some time with you.”

The long beep that whined from the intercom startled us both and saved me from responding. Damon pushed a button and Tiny's voice followed.

“Excuse me, sir. Your next appointment is here.”

Damon pressed the button again. “Thank you, Tiny. Please seat Mrs. Langston in the waiting room and offer her some tea. I'll be with her in less than five minutes.” He looked at me and tilted his head to the side as if there was more that he wanted to say. Was that regret that flickered in his eyes? Good. Served him right.

We both stood at the same time and Damon took both my hands in his. “It was good to see you, Kingston. I didn't realize how much I missed you until today. I hope we can spend more time together before you leave.” Then with a sheepish grin, he added as if only an afterthought. “ Catching up, of course.”

“Well, I hope to see you at Mama Grace's funeral and of course, there will be dinner at the house following.” Damon's gaze turned intense, but he didn't say anything more. We could have probably kept the whole city of Kingston in lights for at least a month, maybe two, with the kind of electricity that was crackling in the room. He showed me out of his office and then followed me down the long hall to the front door.

“The funeral is at three o'clock at Coke Methodist.”

“I'll be there,” he assured me before firmly shutting the door behind me, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened.

Chapter 12

Bianca was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by hundreds of pictures in and out of scrapbooks, her back facing the door when I returned. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she was wearing a pair of my shorts with a bikini top, her model thin legs bent in front of her forming a V. My arrival was announced by Toy jumping on the pile of photos, scattering them with her wagging tail.

Bianca swatted her away then went to work restoring order to her project. “It's about damn time you brought your fast ass home. Queenie told me you went to visit that doctor down the street. You couldn't have waited a few more days before turning the male population of Kingston out! And isn't old man Whitfield a little too old for you? Not that I'm knocking it. Old dick is better than no dick at all. And I should know.” She punctuated all of her sentences with laughter, not bothering to allow me to respond. “Come here,” she beckoned. “I found the cutest picture of us together when we were up in Swift River one summer. Here's a picture of us with your little friend. What was her name again?” She pointed at a little girl standing in the middle. All three of us dressed in colorful polyester.

“Joanne.”

“Yeah. That's it. She was the one that . . .” She turned her head and looked me up and down with bulging eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Wow!”

“Is that all you have to say? Wow?” I said irritably.

“Look, don't get testy with me!” She swiveled around and gave me another once-over. “ What a way to get all dressed up just to visit the neighbors. You didn't give that old man a heart attack, did you?”

“First of all, you of all people should talk about how I look. You act like you're going to some blasted beauty pageant just to go to the grocery store. Second of all, if you must know, old man Whitfield as you call him has been dead for a very long time. It's his grandson, Damon—also a doctor I might add—that took care of your grandmother while she was on her sick bed. The least I could do was go and say thank you.”

Bianca crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“And you have met him before, Bianca. He's Joanne's brother. He was in Swift River the summer that picture was taken.” I found a picture where he stood in the background. “Here he is.” I stuck it in Bianca's face and tapped the photo with my index finger. “Remember?”

“Hmmmmm.” She pulled the photo close to her face and peered down at it for a moment before she shook her head. “Nah, I don't remember him.” She picked up a few more pictures and continued sorting through them. “You missed Aunt Bea.”

“She came by?”

“In all her splendor. She had her ‘going to church' clothes on. Her hat was fierce.”

“You gotta be kidding!” I laughed, flipping my hair into a knot and securing it with a bobby pin.

“Nope. She said she wanted to see if you needed help with anything.”

“And what did you say?”

“That you didn't need a damn thing from the likes of her!”

“Bianca, you didn't!” I gasped, amused and appalled at the same time. Bianca stuck her tongue out. “Nah, come on! I would never do that. I did tell her though that you needed about five thousand U.S. dollars to help with the burial and if she couldn't come up with it then she wasn't welcome here anymore!

“Bianca, that's even worse!”

“You're such an easy target,” Bianca said dryly. “She only stayed for a minute and I was nice to the old cow. Queenie fed her some iced tea and crackers and I told her that we'd see her at the service.” When I tossed her a skeptical look, she shrugged her shoulders. “Honestly. That's all I told her.”

I knelt down and started looking at the albums. “What're you doing?”

“Just going through some of Mama Grace's things before tomorrow, trying to put them in some kind of order. You gonna help or just sit there and look cute?”

I bent over and thumped her on the ear before jumping up and running to my room. She swiped at my leg, but I was too quick. Her laughter joined mine as I disappeared down the hall.

Queenie was standing on her tiptoes dusting the shelves that ran along the top of all four walls in my room. The overage of Mama Grace's knickknacks had been relegated to these shelves for years. I looked at the chipped burnt sienna polish on Queenie's toes and made a mental note to give her a pedicure before I left.

She ducked her head when she saw me. “I just wanted to tidy up a bit. I'll be done in a minute.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm just gonna change.”

“Mister Winston and his family are on their way over for dinner. He called while you were gone. They should be here any minute.”

“That should be interesting, don't ya think?” I didn't expect a response. Queenie was way too discreet to comment. But it was no secret that she wasn't particularly fond of Uncle Winston either.

“Is chicken and spiced rice okay?”

“Yep. That's good.”

“For you, curried catfish.” She hadn't forgotten.

When I gave up red meat, Queenie had been very resistant to my change in diet—grumbling about fads and the new school way of doing things. During my yearly visits, I would leave pamphlets all over the house that contained illustrations of colons and arteries after a lifetime of fatty abuse.

“It's my favorite, Queenie, and you know it. Oh, and Damon said thanks for the mangoes.

I told him to stop by later for some tarts.”

“Good. I like that young man. Maybe he'll leave with more than some tarts!” With a conspiratorial wink, she left the room.

Dogs barked and the iron gate squeaked, signaling that Uncle Winston and his brood had arrived. I finished tucking my t-shirt in my jeans and joined them in the front room. Toy pranced
around, sniffing everyone, her tail wagging so hard she almost knocked herself over. Uncle Winston picked up the pictures Bianca had put on the coffee table, while Auntie Dawn walked around fingering Mama Grace's crystal as though she was about to rack up during a red-tag sale at Macy's. Bianca was perched on a chair on the opposite side of the room, poised for battle. I took a deep breath to quell the anxiety swelling inside of me.

Let the games begin.

“My what a way you've grown!” Auntie Dawn said, clasping my hands tightly in hers.

She looked smaller each time I saw her, her back noticeably stooped. She was close to sixty, only a few months older than my mother would have been. Her hair had more gray strands than black and the former fine lines of age were now thicker and etched at the corners of her mouth and eyes. Spider veins had claimed even more territory in the past few years, shooting up and disappearing underneath the wide openings of her lime green culottes. She had a handkerchief embroidered with antique lace tucked in her watch's wristband.

I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled like peppermint. “It's good to see you, too, Auntie Dawn. I wasn't sure if I was going to see you before the funeral or not.” I turned to my cousins. “Hi, Andrew. Hi, Adana.” I hugged them, grabbing more air than person. Andrew seemed to hold on a little bit longer than necessary and I pushed him away, tousling his curly, jet-black hair like the little cousin that he was.

They said their hellos in unison then sat down together as if on cue. They always took that twin stuff too far, looking like carbon copies of each other with Adana now sporting a short,
boxy haircut. Auburn tendrils curled against her forehead, drawing out the beauty of her face. Andrew looked exactly the same, except he had a mustache.

Auntie Dawn shuffled past the china before settling on the couch. The peppery smell of curry invaded the front room, pushed by the warm evening breeze.

Bianca had cleared away most of the pictures and was looking over the program that Uncle Winston had picked up at the funeral home earlier in the day. The paper was parliament beige and two pictures covered the front—one of Mama Grace when she must have been in her twenties, clutching a bouquet of flowers, her smile brilliant, infectious; and the other picture was her and Pa-pa at their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Bianca and I must have been nine years old. That was two years before he died. The same picture had been on Pa-pa's funeral program.

Bianca's eyes watered and I grabbed her hand and forced memories of a happier time. I was going to need all my strength just to get through this. I would release the sadness in private.

I looked over at Uncle Winston and shook my head. Mama Grace always treated him well, but he definitely had not returned the favor. She took him into her house and cared for him as if he were her own; but when she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. And now here he sat with his money-hungry wife and idiot children, pretending like they actually gave a damn. Sniffing, I read through the program while Bianca seethed beside me.

“Looks good,” I commented as I studied the front of the program again.

“Mama Grace had it printed up at the funeral home before she died. Seems she didn't trust us to take care of it.” Auntie Dawn yanked a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her nose. “ She was always so independent.”

Do ya really blame her?
I wanted to scream, but instead said quietly, “I'm sure she wanted to alleviate some of the pressure from us. This way, we'll know that everything will be done exactly the way she wanted.” I passed the program back to Bianca. “Have they printed up the copies?”

Bianca's teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. As crazy as it sounded, it was almost comforting that she was taking this as hard as I was. I was also glad that she had enough respect for Mama Grace not to turn this into an out-and-out brawl.

Uncle Winston crossed the room and collected the program. “Yeah, Mon. The only thing we have to do is show up. She had Queenie set some clothes aside before she died. I took them over to the funeral home before I came to pick you up yesterday.”

“I wonder why she didn't want to have a viewing before the service? Did she say anything to you about it, Uncle Winston?” Bianca asked.

Auntie Dawn answered with a humph. “We tried to talk her out of it. But she wouldn't hear of it. Mama Grace wasn't quite right toward the end.”