Chapter One #2
“Up in Northern California. My folks live there now and said I could stay with them a couple of days,” Tina answered. “And I didn’t call because I haven’t kept in touch, so I was ashamed. I didn’t even know if you would let me in the house!”
As long as you aren’t a bother, don’t get in our way, and most of all, don’t stay too long. Her father’s words were burned into her brain.
“Honey, we prayed that you would find your way back home every single night, and like we told you when you left: You are always welcome here. This is your home. Do you really have to go all the way to California?” Mae asked.
“I . . . Well . . . not really . . . but . . . ,” Tina stammered.
“Stick around here for a few days or a couple of weeks and then make the decision about leaving or staying at home where you belong,” Mae said.
Home, a little voice in her head whispered, with a small flicker of what home really was versus what her parents and society thought it meant: Home is really where the heart is, and yours is here.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Cleo brought a platter of cookies to the table and motioned for Tina to sit down. “Of course we’re sure. There’s plenty of room—and, Mae, would you listen to that Southern accent.”
“Got to expect that she’d sound like the folks that she lived among for all these years,” Mae said.
“Did you really live in Louisiana all this time?” Cleo asked. “If you did, why didn’t you come back to Benson for holidays, or at least call us once in a while?”
Tina stood off to one side, unsure whether she had heard the two elderly ladies right. Were they demented? They had to be at least eighty years old. Maybe they didn’t realize so many years had passed, or that Walker and Gracie might not be so quick to welcome her back with open arms.
“Sit down,” Mae’s tone ordered. “Those are oatmeal-raisin cookies to have for after-school snacks. They’re still warm, so we can have some of them with a glass of iced tea, unless you’d rather have milk.”
“Milk would be great, but I can get it myself.”
There was something comforting about the milk still being in the door of the refrigerator and the glasses in the same place they had always been.
A memory surfaced and put a lump in her throat about all the times she’d teased Walker and Gracie about not being able to reach the cabinet shelf where the glasses were stored.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked out and saw you sitting in that tree. It was a miracle,” Cleo said as she took her regular place at the end of the table.
Tina sat down in the chair that had been where she always sat until the day she drove away in the little compact car her folks had given her when she graduated from high school. “How did you know it was me?”
“Honey, I would know that mop of curly red hair anywhere. If I’d known you were coming, I would have made chocolate chip cookies,” Cleo said.
“You remembered?” Tina said.
“Of course I did,” Cleo growled. “Gracie wanted oatmeal with white icing on them, Walker’s favorite was peanut butter, and you liked chocolate chip.”
“We’d never forget what our kids liked.” Mae poured coffee for her and Cleo, set the mugs on the table, and went back to the stove to stir a pot full of what smelled like beans and ham. “You never did tell us if you’d been in Louisiana all this time.”
“No, I roamed around a little. From Louisiana to Beaumont, Texas, and then to Houston, but this is where I wound up today.”
“You ain’t never going to put down roots if you don’t sit still,” Cleo said.
“So welcome home,” Mae said, and finally sat down at the table. “There’s an empty room upstairs that has your name on it.”
“But . . . ,” Tina started to argue.
Cleo scooted the plate of cookies over closer to her. “No buts.”
“Are you serious?” Tina could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Mae sat down at the other end of the table. “After we didn’t babysit you kids anymore—”
“We couldn’t hardly bear y’all going away, so we never took in no more kids to keep,” Cleo butted in. “We moped around here and shed tears for a month.”
Tina took comfort in Mae and Cleo finishing each other’s sentences, sitting in the same places at the kitchen table, and still bantering. Most of all, she loved that, even after she had ghosted them, they still considered her family.
“We finally put on our big girl panties and decided to run a bed-and-breakfast for a couple of years, but there is little in Benson to support that kind of business,” Mae explained.
“Besides, those folks coming and going didn’t fix the hole in our hearts from losing you kids.
We wanted you to follow your dreams, but . . .”
“That didn’t mean we weren’t lonely without y’all popping in almost every day to visit with us even after you were teenagers.” Cleo took a sip of her coffee. “You got a little too much sugar in it, Mae. You know I only like two spoonfuls.”
“Ain’t even possible, and if you don’t like it, push yours down here to me and I’ll drink it,” Mae argued.
“But back to them B and B days. Most folks wanted a private bathroom. As you know, there’s only one at the end of the hallway upstairs, and we wasn’t about to spend the money or time to remodel this old place. ”
“So, we figured out a couple of years ago that permanent boarders work best for us. The kind that don’t mind sharing a bathroom, and . . .” Cleo took another sip. “I’ll drink this so you don’t get diabetes. With that sweet tooth you got, it’s a wonder you ain’t dropped dead from a sugar attack.”
Mae shot a scalding-hot look to the other end of the table. “My ancestors are all healthy as horses, and we live to be a hundred or more.”
Tina had missed their arguing almost as much as she had the oak tree. The two old ladies had defied social standards and been best friends since Black students had integrated into Benson public schools when they were in first grade. Most likely they had bickered from the first day they met.
“How many boarders do you have now?” Tina asked.
“We only have two,” Mae answered. “And other than you moving in here, where you belong, we ain’t interested in taking any more.
There used to be four bedrooms up there.
Now there are three because we turned one into a sitting room.
Your room has been waiting for you to come home.
” She nodded toward the back stairs. “Me and Cleo’s knees have gotten so bad that the only set of them things we go up and down are on the porch, so the condition of you staying here is that you help take care of the second floor.
Our boarders have a roster that tells them who is to clean the bathroom once a week, sweep and dust out in the hallway, and take care of the little sitting room we made for them. ”
“What kind of work are you looking to do?” Cleo asked.
“Whatever I can find. I broke my arm during the first year of college, so my softball playing ended. I got my business degree, and worked at all kinds of office jobs, from banking to oil companies. When the pandemic hit, I worked from home for a few months. Then . . .” She shrugged.
“Let’s just say I’m not too proud to flip burgers or clean hotel rooms. I’ll do whatever I can find. ”
“You know there ain’t much in Benson, especially since the pandemic, but I bet we can figure out something,” Mae said. “Drink your milk before it gets warm and then go bring in your stuff. According to the weatherman—”
“I’m praying he’s right,” Cleo butted in and locked her nearly black eyes with Tina’s blue ones.
“It’s not nice to tease us with the smell of rain and then not give it to us.
Kind of like you coming home and not staying right here.
You got to know it was God who put you in that tree for me to see today and that He’s the one bringing you back home. ”
“If the weatherman is right, Cleo will fuss even more at you kids for tracking mud into the house.” Mae turned to focus on Tina.
Kids? Tina wondered once more whether they might be living in the past rather than the present.
“You need to bring in your stuff before the rain hits. My joints have been aching for two days, so it’s coming, and we need it.
This part of Texas has been dry for weeks,” Mae went on after she took a sip of coffee.
“You’ve got time to put your things away before supper.
We’ve got a pot of red beans simmering on the back of the stove, and we eat at five thirty. ”
“We’ve also got some leftover ham from yesterday to slice up to go with the beans. I’m going to fry up a skillet of potatoes and slice tomatoes I just picked this morning, fresh from the garden,” Cleo added.
“And I made a peach cobbler for dessert,” Mae said.
“Well, I sure can’t turn that down.” Tina couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a home-cooked meal or sat down around the table. Mostly she just grabbed takeout on her way home and ate in front of the television. “You are still gardening?”
“Yep, still got my greenhouse, so we can always have fresh produce, even in the wintertime,” Cleo answered.
Tina picked up a cookie and took a bite. “This tastes just like I remember. I’ve missed you.”
“Right back at you,” Mae said with a smile. “But we knew you’d come home someday.”
Gracie took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall at the back of her classroom.
Only twenty more minutes until the last bell rang, signaling not only the end of the day but also the end of the school year.
The kids were always rowdy when the school day was nearly over, but even more so on the last day, when they were ready for summer.
So was Gracie.