Chapter 10
ten
GREER
I’m lucky enough to be born into a family of strong women. I believe with my whole heart it’s because they’ve all had to keep up with Maw Maw.
People say they broke the mold when my grandmother was made, but I think she’s never fit into one.
Exhibit A: The list of things I’m supposed to bring to the assisted living facility.
Along with a crawfish pie from the gas station, Maw Maw wants a drive-thru daiquiri with an extra shot, a tub of Pond’s cold cream, and the new Yungblud vinyl.
Well, to be precise, she says his new record.
I know from experience she wants to play it on that ancient 1970s console she’s insisted on squeezing into her small living space.
We’ve tried to teach her about streaming music and even bought her a Bluetooth speaker, but Regina Guidry likes what she likes.
She says that’s why three of her four husbands were bald men with beards. I know people talked about her back in the day, in part because she’s been married so many times. In a time when divorce was unheard of, Maw Maw had the audacity to end her marriage.
Twice.
In her defense, her other two spouses died of natural causes…we think. One of them was running around on her, and Maw Maw has a temper. It was in her fourth and final marriage that Maw Maw settled down and had all her children.
With my hands full of plastic bags, I walk through the lobby to the elevators that lead to the apartments.
A long line of rollator walkers are parked against the wall, their owners seated in front of tabletop easels.
I don’t bother scanning the crowd to check for my grandmother.
Last month, she was asked to leave during art class after the facilities director discovered the cleverly hidden phalluses in an architectural sketch.
To be fair, it was her third offense for similar crimes.
There was a lot of discussion about what to do when Maw Maw started to get a little less able.
Each one of her children asked her to live with them, but Maw Maw is the type of senior these facilities are intended to house.
She’d wilt if she weren’t given the ability to socialize.
I’ve learned to call ahead because the odds are she’s on some sort of outing or at an activity.
Today, I find her waiting in the recliner we gave her for Christmas, her short hair teased and a fresh swipe of fire-engine red lipstick applied.
She still colors her hair the same shade of red box dye she’s used my entire life, but the silver roots are sticking out.
Is she too tired to do it? Her color looks good, and she’s maintaining her weight, though.
“Hey, old woman,” I tease. After placing the bags on her small dinette table, I go over to the recliner to place a kiss on her cheek. As always, she smells like the same expensive perfume she’s worn since the 1970s and hairspray. “How’s your hand?”
“It’s fine. My body just needs a little maintenance, that’s all. Don’t you go fussing at me.”
“You know I’m a nurse, right?”
Gesturing to the bags, Maw Maw asks, “What’s all that? You’d think you were moving in.”
“I brought some home cooked meals, plus I found everything you wanted.”
“Is my son trying to barbecue again? Marcel’s just gotten the grass to grow back.” My grandmother laughs at the memory of the recent Mother’s Day meal. I’d been on my very last visit before coming back for good.
“No, worse. I made the roux,” I tease, turning to head back to the table. “It’s stewed chicken and a couple of other meals for when you don’t feel like eating downstairs.”
“You make it the way I taught you?” Maw Maw challenges.
“We haven’t cooked bacon to have the grease. Plus, it’s not good for your heart,” I point out, putting the groceries in her small refrigerator.
“You sound as bad as your mama,” my grandmother huffs.
“Not quite as bad…” I remark with a hint of mischief in my tone.
I hold up the white Styrofoam cup from the daiquiri shop.
Walking over, I set it on the end table next to her, the straw already inside, and place the fried crawfish pie beside it.
“Don’t let anyone find out I brought it to you. I got in trouble with Mom last time.”
“You get me an extra shot?”
“Are you allowed more than one drink a day now?” I throw back.
Maw Maw is an adult, and I very much respect her choices, but she does not need to get tipsy.
There’s a one drink per night limit for all residents of the facility.
She tries to skirt around every opportunity, but only because she doesn’t like people telling her what she can and can not do.
Besides, there was already a situation that started out with a THC edible and ended with a stroke evaluation. She insisted it was for her glaucoma, like we don’t know better.
To appease her, I rummage on the table and pull out one of the two vinyls I’ve brought. She’s going to love Sabrina Carpenter, but Yungblud first.
After pulling off the plastic wrapping, I pull out the vinyl, then hand it to my grandmother to peruse.
The oak music console is a remnant of a time when electronics were a piece of furniture in the home.
Two speakers are built in on each side, and when you lift the heavy top, you find a radio and the record player that was the soundtrack of my childhood.
I knew how to put a vinyl on a player long before they came back into fashion, always rummaging through the long row of albums for favorites when I’d grown bored playing outside with my cousins.
A grungy tenor voice leads a song that’s undeniably rock. I keep the volume low, not wanting another phone call from the office downstairs about noise.
“This is one of my favorites too,” I admit, sitting criss cross on the floor near the speaker. I’m not at all surprised Maw Maw discovered Yungblud. The musician is, after all, a tatted bad boy who knows just how to look at women.
Guess I’m more like Maw Maw than I thought.
A small flannel bag with a drawstring catches my eye.
A mojo bag to manifest intentions. It’s impossible to completely avoid Hoodoo while living in the bayou.
Maw Maw learned the practices from her aunt by marriage.
Probably because it’s more trouble for her to get into.
Unlike Voodoo, which is a religion, Hoodoo is a mix of Native American root knowledge, folklore, and a system of “magic”.
We try to discourage Maw Maw’s practices while she’s in the assisted living facility.
Some of the things are more noticeable than others, and it scares off her caretakers.
I don’t say anything about it though, since it’s not conspicuous.
The mojo bag is likely meant to heal her wrists.
While she eats her crawfish pie in a comfortable silence, I open the cabinet underneath the console and start rifling through the aged paper covers.
Harry Connick Jr., Bette Midler, The Mamas and the Papas.
Ozzy’s autographed, of course, because that’s absolutely on brand for my grandmother.
She has a wild story about sneaking into the hotel lobby the night it was signed.
She was eight months pregnant at the time and still finding adventures.
Finally, I come to a recent addition to my grandmother's collection. With the new surge in popularity, I’m slowly replacing her C.D.
collection with vinyls that have never been pressed before.
I have no idea what urged me to buy this particular album, but she’s played it several times around me since.
Vinyls are easy gifts when space is limited, and you have no idea what else to buy her.
On a red background, the Lovers of Valdaro are posed together on a wooden bedroom floor, the pose slightly different from the one in the image on my phone.
“That doesn’t seem like your taste in music,” Maw Maw remarks.
“It reminds me of when your daddy and uncle were young. It was their favorite.”
“I met someone recently who has it tattooed on their chest.”
“And who would this gentleman be?”
“Who said it was a guy?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, young lady.”
“Jude. I was curious if the album photo was exactly the same as his tattoo.” I shake off the mental image in my head, then slide the paper cover back into its slot. Why does this man occupy my every thought? I’m completely infatuated with him.
“So, tell me about your Jude. What’s his last name?”
“Clairmont.”
“Jeremiah and Kate’s son? Or do they have a nephew…let me think.”
Jude doesn’t have any cousins. I remember him mentioning that distinctly. My voice is a little nervous when I confess, “Yup, that’s him. He’s a little bit older than I am.”
“Good. He’ll want to settle down and find himself a wife,” Maw Maw pronounces. “If he’s smart, he’ll marry you.”
Boy, did Maw Maw call it right with that one. “Who says I want to get married?”
“Now you’re being sassy, young lady. Where does this man of yours work?” Maw Maw demands, a penciled eyebrow arched in interest.
“He works at White Dog Garage in Parran.” Maw Maw isn’t judgmental, but she’s lived in the area so long she knows everybody’s business and isn’t afraid to say what she thinks.
Without a doubt, there’s countless “his grandfather sold my great-uncle a cow” type connections over the two centuries our families have lived in the area.
“Is he one of those motorcycle boys?”
“He’s a prospect for the Bayou Dogs.”
“Marry him. I can go to my grave knowing you’re taken care of.”
“Because of his job?”
“No, on account of his being a member of that club. I let one of the boys court me for a season, but I ended things with him to start seeing my first husband. The biggest mistake of my life. Believe me when I say to snatch him up.”
“You’ve never even met Jude.”
“He got past Odin to become a prospect. That says more about his character than a year of knowing him ever will.”
“I’m not saying he’s not a good person,” I argue. “But what if we’re not a good match?”
Maw Maw grins wide, conspiring to help me catch a good man.
If she only knew I’m the one who was chased.
“When you have him over to your new place, make him my fried chicken to eat during the football game. Soak it in buttermilk overnight, though, so it’s real tender.
Men want to be fed and not bothered while they’re watching television.
Those Clairmont men love college football. ”
“If you know them so well, why haven’t I ever met any of Jude’s family? I’ve never even heard their names.”
“Memories run long. You know how it is here, everybody’s got a history with everybody else. I wasn’t even allowed to play with the Clairmont children growing up. Of course, I didn’t put those rules on my own kids, or abide by it myself when I was old enough to decide.”
“Did someone sell someone else a lame horse?” I joke.
“Worse. One of the Clairmont men stole my great-grandmother from her deathbed.”
I stutter out, “He just broke in?”
“No, he walked straight through the door, brazen as can be, swearing she was the love of his life. Nobody saw it coming. The pair had fought non-stop since they were children.”
“Who told you this?” Any adults who bore witness would be long dead when Maw Maw was born.
“I found an old newspaper clipping tucked in a recipe box when I was cleaning out my grandfather’s house.
The headline was something like ‘Banker presses charges against local man for kidnapping.’ So I invited my old nanny, Ms. Charity, over for lunch one day.
Her family had worked for us for generations.
When I showed her the clipping, she admitted she saw the entire thing go down as a child. ”
“Wait, is this your great-grandma Delphine from the photo?”
“The one you look like? Yes.”
“So did Delphine get rescued?”
“Rescued? Oh no, she went willingly. She wouldn’t leave her children behind to be with her lover, but she spent her last days with him.”
“That’s sad.”
Maw Maw chuckles. “If Delphine hadn’t married the banker, none of us would be here right now. Ms. Charity was quick to point out that Delphine and her husband lived in New Orleans after they married. They’d come back to Parran because Yellow Fever was spreading in the city.”
“So my great whatever grandfather decided not to let his children play with her lover’s children?”
“These were his nieces and nephews. I don’t think he ever married. It’s what came later that made things ugly. The banker denied the Clairmonts a loan just to get back at the family. Then our family was shunned in the town for their treatment of the Clairmonts. It went on for a while.”
And now I’m letting a Clairmont do filthy things to me.
No, not letting. I crave every bit of his touch.
“You’re thinking of your man, aren’t you?”
Face warming, I admit, “Yeah, he’s kind of amazing.”
“I like seeing you happy, my girl.”
“I’m working on it. So are our ancestors rolling in their graves watching us together?”
“It means that some of them might finally find peace.”