Chapter 4 Mariah
Georgetown, South Carolina
Present Day
I didn’t drive at night if I could help it. When I couldn’t reach my grandmother, I called my cousin LaWanda to find out what was going on. LaWanda lived in Georgetown. She was also a nurse practitioner, which was helpful for decoding the seriousness of health emergencies. She advised me that Grandpa was still in the hospital but nothing had changed. He was stable, therefore she didn’t know why our grandmother sent me the mysterious text.
“Must have to do with something else,” LaWanda said.
I couldn’t imagine what the something else could be. After talking to LaWanda, I tried calling my grandmother a few more times, but when she didn’t answer I packed a bag. I got on the road first thing in the morning. Four hours later, I pulled into my grandparents’ driveway. I welcomed the sight of the old craftsman-style house with its wraparound porch and hanging flower baskets. The thick stone columns with brick supports were covered in ivy. The steps, also brick, were lined on both sides with potted plants. Grandma grew lemongrass, citronella, and catnip in those pots to keep mosquitoes and other annoying bugs away. And it worked. Their porch had been a source of bite-free enjoyment for my whole childhood.
I parked in front of the detached garage next to my grandfather’s pickup truck, and sadness washed over me. My grandfather was not here, and since I didn’t see my grandmother’s car, she probably wasn’t either. They didn’t keep their cars in the garage.
I eased out from behind the wheel, stretched my arms over my head, and shook the stiffness out of my legs. I spotted their neighbor, Mr. Sweat, moving about in his yard. The May heat burned warmer than it did in Greenville. It sucked the strength right out of me. After popping the trunk, I pulled my suitcase out and placed it on its wheels.
“The key is under the mat.”
The voice came from the other side of the hedges. Mr. Sweat appeared in a small opening between the shrubbery and the fence. As always, a strange hat was perched on his head—it was more like a bucket—and he wore thermal underwear as cringeworthy gardening clothes.
“She don’ gone to the hospital already. Told me to tell you guls how to get in.” His baritone voice rumbled like a truck idling at a traffic light.
“Thank you, Mr. Sweat.”
He threw a hand up to indicate no bother and disappeared into his yard again.
I retrieved the key and entered the house. I dialed back the anxious thoughts that I’d been fighting with all morning. My emotions rolled into a massive ball of knots, and it had nothing to do with my grandparents. This house reminded me of my mother. Memories of her in tangible spaces were limited to their home. That reality hit me every single time.
I stepped into the living room. The room was filled with puffy floral furniture in varying shades of tan, orange, and brown. The drapes on the window blended nicely with the furniture, and a bowl of nuts and fruit sat on the coffee table.
I walked through, passing several rooms off the hallway. Grandma’s presence was everywhere, but so was my mother’s. In the sitting room, Grandma still had the writing desk that my mother used when she visited. Grandma promised me she’d never get rid of it.
I dragged my suitcase to the stairs and entered the kitchen where I found a roast in the sink.
This is defrosted.
I wished Grandma would defrost meat in the refrigerator, but she was old school. The sink it was. I washed my hands, removed the packaging, washed the meat, and seasoned it before putting it in the Crock-Pot.
At the end of the day, we’d be grateful it was already done. Once I was finished, I placed a call to Grandma. I’d been calling her on and off for hours, but she hadn’t answered. I was shocked to hear her greeting on the other end.
“Grandma. I’ve been calling you.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night and then forgot my charger today. One of the staff loaned me one. They’re transferring your grandfather to a rehab center.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Today, I think.”
“I just got to the house. I’ll come over there.”
“No need for that.”
My eyes drifted to a family portrait over the fireplace. My father was a teenager in that photo, and my grandparents weren’t much older than I was now. I pulled my attention back to the conversation. “I don’t want you dealing with that alone.”
“I’m not alone—or I won’t be for long. LaWanda will pass through here soon. I need you to go to the restaurant for me.”
“The restaurant? Okay. What do you need me to do there?”
“Everything,” Grandma said. “The contractor is stoppin’ by around four. Just figure something out with him.” Someone interrupted on her end, and she responded to them. Something about a scan and some tests. I listened but couldn’t make it out.
“Okay, baby. Do you understand?”
I understood nothing, but I didn’t want to add to her stress.
“You have the key?”
“I know where it is.”
“Good. I changed the alarm code last week.” Grandma rattled off the new number just before someone interrupted her again. “They’re taking your grandfather for a test. I need to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
She was gone, and I was still without an explanation for the urgent text she’d sent. I went to the kitchen and rifled through the drawer for the keys.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled my car into the rear parking lot of the restaurant. I wasn’t the only one here though. I recognized the old junky van in the first parking space.
I got out of my car and walked to it. The sound of music blared from speakers too powerful to be inside of the rusty old tin box. The driver’s seat was empty, so I walked around to the side where I found my sister standing over a table and some kind of camping stove, stirring a pot.
Sabrina’s hair was an enviable big afro. Her almond skin glowed with sweat that she was unbothered about. Her attire—ripped denim shorts and a purple T-shirt that looked faded from many washes. Abandoned flip-flops were on the grass next to her. I think they were the only footwear my sister owned.
“Sabrina,” I called to her.
She kept swaying to the soulful lyrics of the late Bob Marley.
I stepped closer and repeated myself. “Sabrina.”
Still, she did not hear me. Finally, I tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned. Shock filled her eyes.
“I called your name twice. You literally could have been kidnapped.” Before she could reply, I asked, “What are you doing here?”