Chapter 5 Sabrina
If I had a hundred dollars for every time my sister greeted me with that question or any other disdainful “why are you, what are you, why must you” kind of question, I’d be driving a two-hundred-thousand-dollar luxury RV. She never, ever just said hello.
Mariah’s hair was bone straight, like she’d just walked out of the salon. Her dark brown skin shined like she was using a high-quality shea butter all over. Dressed cute as always, she wore a pink sundress with a white T-shirt underneath. She looked fashionably cool. Wedge-heeled sandals made the three-inch difference in our height six inches. A to-die-for leather bag hung off her shoulder, and I could smell money in the rose and jasmine notes of her perfume.
But I could not process a statement to convey all that I saw when I looked at her, so I said, “You changed your hair.” Last month when we’d come after Grandpa’s stroke, she’d been wearing her hair the way she always did—in braids. The change in her appearance was drastic.
Bob Marley’s voice got louder. I looked through the window and saw the top of Kenni’s head. She was in the front seat playing with the stereo buttons.
“Kenni, turn that down,” I yelled.
“Maybe off,” Mariah added. “You know Grandma would not want all this noise.”
“There was no one here though, except you now.”
“I heard it all the way on the main road.”
“I doubt that. These are the original speakers.” I laughed to brush off her foolishness.
“I did,” Mariah insisted, because of course she didn’t joke or exaggerate anything. Well, she did the latter, but she’d never admit it.
The offending music was gone. Kenni had done her job.
And then we stood there, in a standoff of sorts. After the first words of disagreement, my sister and I always assessed each other—or rather, she always assessed me, determined me unfit, and sighed. Five, four, three, two...
Mariah released a long breath and pulled the shoulder strap of her bag tighter.
“It’s good to see you too,” I said.
Kenni popped into view and then dropped to her belly and scooted backward out of the van. She grabbed Mariah by the legs.
“Auntie!”
Mariah dropped to a squat, opened her arms, and let Kenni in for a deep, loving hug. “Hey, Kenni girl. How are you?”
Kenni pulled back out of her grasp. “Do you have McDonald’s?”
Mariah stood. She eyed the pot on my camping stove suspiciously and then asked in the most condescending voice she could possibly have in her body, “Have you fed her?”
“It was a long drive. We’re about to eat.”
Mariah frowned. “Why are you cooking on that?”
“Because I don’t have the new alarm code. Grandma gave it to me, but then once I got over here, I forgot it, and she didn’t answer my text.” Grandma only sent text messages. She did not answer them unless she had to.
I watched my sister’s eyes travel from my stove to the inside of the van. Mariah’s eyes widened, then widened some more as she took it all in—my twin mattress, makeshift sink, cooler, and other storage containers. It was a mess right now. I felt like an uninvited guest had caught me with a dirty house.
“Are you living in there?”
I turned off the stove and reached for one of the bowls to spoon soup into. “Sometimes,” I replied, purposely being vague.
“Sometimes. Is she”—Mariah cast her gaze toward Kenni and lowered her voice as if my daughter wasn’t going to hear her—“living like this?”
“Kenni, would you get your spoon, please?”
Kenni climbed back into the van and disappeared again. I could hear the squeak of the rusty drawer that held my dishes.
“She lives with me and Ellen sometimes. A lot of the time, but that’s only because I’m working. Ellen likes to babysit her so she can spend time with her.” I was whispering, hoping my sister would take the hint and do the same when she replied.
“So she’s living with Ellen?” Mariah whispered, but it was still as breathy and bothered as it had been when she was speaking in a normal tone.
“Yes.”
“Why not your own family?”
“Like who?” I cocked my head. “You?”
“Here, Mama!” Kenni said, joyfully holding the spoons out to me.
“That is too hot for her.” Mariah reached for the bowl, and I yanked it back, feeling the sting of hot liquid on my thumb. “I know. I’m not giving it to her like this.”
Mariah and I locked eyes again. We mirrored our emotions with furrowed brows, tight lips, and tense jaw muscles. How dare she even imply that I would give my daughter a bowl of hot soup?
If I could get up the nerve to cuss her out one good time, she’d stop disrespecting me, but I didn’t have any four-letter words in me, and my sister could out-shade the best of them, so I didn’t even get my feelings hurt.
Mariah gave my setup another once-over. Still dissatisfied, she said, “Mr. Sweat would have told you about the key to the house.”
“Grandma wanted me to meet you here, so I figured I’d wait.”
Mariah broke eye contact, turning her attention to Kenni again. “I have an idea. Let’s go inside Gran’s place so you can wash your hands and sit at a table.”
I growled under my breath. “Her hands are clean.”
“Let’s go in anyway.” Mariah reached for the bowl of soup again. This time she waited for me to release it.
Kenni climbed out of the van and followed my sister to the back door. After a minute, the door closed behind them. I rolled my eyes and packed up everything, leaving the camping stove on the table to cool.
My sister had snatched my appetite, but I took my bowl and went into the restaurant.
I stepped inside the quiet, somber, vacant space and instantly missed my grandfather. Although they were in their usual formation, the tables and chairs were unoccupied. The countertop was clear of menus, dishes, and plastic to-go cutlery. To the far left, a heavy black curtain hung, similar to the kind you’d see on the stage of a theater. It separated the existing space from the area Grandma told me they were building out as a part of the restaurant’s expansion.
I put my bowl down on the counter next to the one that held Kenni’s soup and followed the sound of my daughter’s voice to the kitchen where I found Mariah standing in the freezer.
I’d never seen this kitchen empty. It was always busy and bustling. My grandpa and his help, be it some other cook or my grandmother, were always at the grill station cooking meat or at the fryer station. Someone was in the prep area slicing and dicing vegetables and other ingredients. At the sauté station there were sights and sounds of sizzling, chopping, tossing, and spooning over the open flames. I missed the sweet and savory smells of slow-cooked ham hocks and smoked turkey combined with peppers, cumin, garlic, and onion. All of that was missing. The kitchen was as cold as the items in the freezer.
“Grandpa keeps meals in here for quick grabs. You want some meat and rice?” Mariah was asking. I watched her pull a small container out. She examined it. “I think this is chicken.”
Kenni bobbed her head yes. “Good. I’m hungry too, and it’ll go good with your soup.” Mariah closed the freezer door and put the container in the microwave. She turned around and looked startled to see me as if she’d forgotten I was just outside. I ached a little inside. That was the story of our sisterhood—Mariah wanting to forget me.
“It’s weird seeing it like this,” I said.
Mariah looked around. “Well, I’m used to the early morning and late night quiet of a restaurant.”
I nodded. Of course she was, but this wasn’t her spot. “Did Grandma tell you to come here?”
Mariah nodded. “She told me LaWanda had it handled at the hospital.”
“I mean home.” I raised my phone. “I got a text.”
Mariah scowled. “Georgetown is not your home. You only lived here for four months.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I knew my history. Dad sold the house after Mom died and moved us to Greenville. I spent summers here with Grandma and G-Pop too. Memories tethered me to the area just as our grandparents’ love had, but Mariah didn’t want to hear that, and I didn’t want to light the match that would result in fire between us. Not yet.
Mariah removed her leather bag from her shoulder and reached in for her phone. “She asked me to come home,” she said, finally answering my question. “But I don’t understand why she would tell you to come here.”
I shrugged. “She told me to help. I have no idea what she wanted me to help with.”
Mariah’s look of confusion deepened. She groaned and walked through the rear of the kitchen to the back office.
I walked to Kenni and took her hand. “Come on, baby girl. Let’s take a look out front.”
We left the kitchen and moved through the dining room, venturing toward the dark barrier that stood between us and the unknown. I stepped forward and slowly pulled back the thick veil of fabric. Treading lightly, we stepped through the door.
The space was a cavernous, two-story event room, with upper windows that overlooked the grassy field that ended with a pond behind the building. The beams of the ceiling and the heating and ventilation pipes were exposed. Dust covered everything, even the ceiling. The door and windows were boarded up, and splotched paint dotted the floor. Drywall dust and a hint of musk hung in the air. It smelled like sweaty workers had just vacated.
“What’s this?” Kenni asked.
“Grandma and Grandpa are making the restaurant bigger.”
“Why? There’s already nobody here.”
I chuckled, picked her up, and planted her on my hip. “There are usually people here. It’s closed right now while Grandpa gets better.”
“This is messy,” Kenni said.
“You don’t know the half of it, baby,” Mariah said, and it was obvious she was bothered by all of this. Nothing new there.
“It’s a mess that can be cleaned up.” I stepped over a two-by-four to walk farther into the room. I could see my grandparents’ dream for this place and was proud of them. Even at such an advanced age, they wanted to expand and do more with Tabby’s.
I felt Mariah before I heard her.
“I told them not to do this,” she said.
I gave my sister a sideways glance. Here I was being proud of them, and she was disappointed in their efforts. If two people never agreed on a thing, we were the two. Glasses were always half full in my world, but to Mariah they were bone dry.
I looked up. “I like the two-story room. The windows will let in a good amount of light.”
“I’m not sure that will matter. Most events are in the evenings.”
I disagreed. “Not baby showers or other afternoon receptions. Work meetings.”
Mariah grunted. “If they attract that kind of business.”
“They’d market to do that.”
“Oh, and you know so much about restaurant marketing from doing what... cooking on a butane camp stove?”
Irritation rolled through me. “I happen to run a small business too.”
“One that affords you the luxury of living in your automobile.”
I couldn’t hold my temper. I no longer wanted to. “You don’t have to be such a...”
Kenni screamed, cutting into my words. “There’s a man!”
Mariah and I turned, and sure enough, a man was standing behind us.
“Sorry to scare you, but do you know you left the back door open?” he asked, removing his well-worn painter’s cap.
The man was bald, and his brown eyes were tired. He looked like someone who kept a smile handy, but his disappointment over the door had stolen the pleasure. His hands were rough, with calluses and age spots. He’d seen his share of hard times. I could see that because he was missing a pinky finger.
“An unlocked door doesn’t mean come on in,” I replied.
“Unfortunately, it does, miss,” he replied firmly.
Mariah didn’t seem alarmed at all “You’re?” She waited for his answer.
He gave Mariah his full attention. “Abel One, ma’am.”
Kenni giggled. “That’s a funny name.”
I shushed her and waited for an explanation, but my daughter wasn’t wrong.
“It’s Abel Oner Wilson. Folks ’round here call me Abel One seein’ as though when I’m not doin’ this kind of work, I’m a handyman.”
Mariah shook his hand and said, “You’re early.”
“I finished up a job down the road and thought I would stop by and see if anyone was here to meet with me.”
“You’re expecting him?” I asked.
Mariah pressed her lips together and looked at me like she didn’t owe me an answer. “Your soup is getting cold.”
I blinked a few times, wanting to fight for my right to stay for the conversation, but Mariah was right. My daughter was hungry, so I stepped back through the curtain, put Kenni down, and pulled a few chairs off a table for us to sit in. Kenni climbed and moved around until she was seated, and I grabbed our bowls off the counter and put them on the table with the spoons. I tested it to see that the food was indeed well cooled.
“Say your grace while I get the rice.”
I walked into the kitchen, removed the plastic container from the microwave. The rice and chicken were warm. I could see and smell the stewed chicken seasonings Grandpa used. Garlic, thyme, onion, okra, and tomato. I grabbed two paper plates from one of the shelves. As I was headed out, I got curious about the office and took a detour into the room. Mariah had busied herself quickly with records. Several accounting logs were open, and a contract for Abel One Contractors was on top of it all.
What was my grandmother up to? If us being here was about the restaurant, what did I have to do with that? Restaurants were Mariah’s area of expertise. The last thing my self-esteem needed was to be overshadowed, outdone, out-knowledged, and outranked by my sister.
I returned to the dining room and settled into my chair just as Mariah and Abel One appeared from behind the curtain.
“You have my number. The sooner the better,” he said. He turned to me, slapped his cap on his head, and nodded. “Take care of yourself, and enjoy that good-smelling lunch.” He smiled at Kenni, and she waved to him.
He walked out, and Mariah followed him to the door, turning the dead bolt behind him.
“So, what was that about?” I asked. I put a pile of the food on plates for Kenni and me, leaving some in the container just in case my sister intended to eat.
“The build obviously,” she replied, reaching for the fork, sliding it under some rice and taking in a mouthful. “That’s good.”
She’d dodged my question with the full intention of not telling me.
“What about the build?”
“The timeline, remaining cost...” Mariah shrugged. “It’s all bad news. She walked back to the kitchen door and reached into her purse. She returned with a key, which she put on the table on the counter. “You and Kenni should go to the house. I’m going to spend some time with these books.”
I was dismissed on day one. “Okay.”
“I put a roast in the Crock-Pot. I thought Grandma might be hungry when she gets home.”
Glad to have something to contribute, I replied, “I’ll make some vegetables.”
“Yell to me on the way out so I can lock the door.” Mariah turned to go back to the kitchen.
“Bye, Auntie.” Kenni’s voice squeaked. She was sure to feel the tension between Mariah and me, and I hated that. I hated it so much.
Mariah turned. Her face read disappointment in herself for forgetting her niece. She walked over to the table and kissed my daughter on the top of her head. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She raised her head and our eyes caught. Hers were sadder than they’d been just a minute ago. I looked from her to Kenni, and she looked from me to Kenni. I felt a heaviness radiating from her. She’d been married nine years and had no children. Was that by choice, or was something wrong?
I pondered this question over the meal, and then after cleaning up and washing the silverware, I let Mariah know we were leaving. Kenni climbed into her car seat and waited for me to strap her in.
I removed my phone and sent my cousin LaWanda a text. I had no details for Grandpa’s rehab center.
She called me right back. “He’s not going today. It might be tomorrow or the next day.”
“Why?”
“His blood pressure isn’t where they need it to be to transport him. Sometimes a patient’s blood pressure goes up when they’re moving. Stress. They have to get it under control.”
“Okay. I want to see him.”
“Grandma is going to say it’s not a good day.”
“Seeing us might cheer him up,” I said. “Besides, we haven’t seen him since he first got sick. I’m coming.”
LaWanda understood. I felt she should. She lived in this county, so she got to see them all the time. I didn’t, so I didn’t want to hear someone tell me to wait.
I cranked the engine and drove to the hospital.