Chapter 22 #2
I grabbed jeans off a hanger in the closet. “Son, I don’t blame you. If I had somewhere to run, I’d be running too!” I slammed jeans in Justus’ suitcase and went back for more.
I chose to forget my age and threw in pair after pair like a teenager on a rampage.
“Mom…” The quiet wonder in his voice stalled my shenanigans. “We’re not supposed to cuss. You said cussing’s for people with limited imaginations and broken vocabularies.”
If you think “screw it” is cussing, baby boy, you ain’t heard nothing!
Air seeped out of my mouth as I sat on the edge of his bed and draped the pair of jeans I intended to throw over my arm. I massaged my left temple and slowly reclaimed my calm before looking at my son. “You’re right. I did say that.”
“It’s fine, Mom. You’re stressed.” The mattress dipped as Justus joined me.
We sat a long time saying nothing.
My son was the first to speak. “I’m sorry for throwing things. I’ll try not to do that again.”
I touched his hand. “Thanks for knowing that’s inappropriate even when you’re frustrated. I apologize for doing likewise. And for using inappropriate language.”
“Uncle Ross and Uncle Thad say worse things when their team loses at Spades. I know we can’t do it again, but throwing things was kinda fun, huh?”
I waggled a hand indicating so-so when in truth it felt damn good. “Let’s visit one of those rage rooms and tear up some stuff.”
“Cool. Are you really gonna be okay?”
I raised my hand like the Girl Scout I used to be. “I promise to cooperate with my doctors and do everything required to manage my health.”
“And let Aunt Nichelle help?”
Bestie had already arranged to pick him up for school tomorrow so I could stay in and enjoy my medically authorized absence. “Yes, sir.”
“And Aunt Shay. And Aunt Bria. They said they’d give us DoorDash gift cards when you start college, so you don’t have to cook. But you said you can manage. And then you wouldn’t let me tell Dad about Thrive Time so he can pay half.”
“Dude, that was last week. I’m an improved, more receptive specimen.”
“Well, can I call Dad to tell him you’ll be fine and not to worry?”
I’d informed Rodney via text but chose to let Justus have the joy as well. “Sure, Mr. Persistent, after this room is clean. I’ll handle my contribution to the mess.”
“I got it. Go rest.”
I kissed his forehead. “I appreciate you.”
“I appreciate you, too. Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I’ma ask Dad if you can live with us when I move in with him so we can take care of you.”
I smiled to keep tears at bay as I headed to my room.
I nearly cried when Nichelle dropped off turkey bacon breakfast sandwiches Clay made when she picked Justus up for school the next day.
My little jeans-tossing tantrum must’ve unlocked my emotional cage.
I’d never not appreciated my family or friends. But my health scare dismantled unnecessary pride. It was time to fully allow and accept life’s sweet showers of love without mental duress or conditions.
“Thanks, Clay!” I hollered as if Bestie’s boo could hear me as I bit into my breakfast and sucked back grateful tears.
Get your life, Lynette.
I laughed at myself while pouring hot water into a mug and breaking off a sprig of mint from the tiny potted plant on my windowsill. Mama had given me a shoot to see if I could get a green thumb and grow it. “It’s not dead yet.”
I put mint and a tea bag in the mug to steep, celebrating that win and thankful for another day of rest.
Funny how not moving reveals the true extent of tiredness.
I’d hibernated all weekend. I was rested. And exhausted. I inhaled deeply and stared out the kitchen window at the tiny backyard patio and my wilted flower patch.
Like me, it did its best. Like me, it could use my TLC and attention.
I went outside while my tea steeped. I mimicked Granny—got down on my knees and stroked those dried blooms and wilted leaves. I talked to them, thanked them for being. Unlike Granny, whose yard was always lush, I promised to buy needed nourishment.
I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. That didn’t keep me from doing what I’d witnessed Granny do for years. I sang to them. Singing the first song that popped in my head might not have been the best for encouraging revitalization, but I sang Cardi B’s “I Like It” like nobody’s business.
“Hey, Nette.” Aunt Pauletta opened the door, all smiles and kisses. “Shouldn’t you be at home recuperating?” Clearly, Mama had put my health condition on the family highway.
My gardening like Granny rerouted me here after showering and dressing. “I’m good. Where’s our girl, and how is she?”
“In the family room. So far, today’s a good day.”
“Y’all know I hear you discussing me?”
My aunt headed for the kitchen. I headed down the hall, laughing. “Look at my Sweet Tee! How’re you feeling?”
“Bright eyed and bushy tailed. The real question is why’s my beautiful grandbaby visiting the emergency room?” She patted the sofa.
I sat beside her and kissed her cheek. “I’m fine, pretty lady.”
“Don’t try sweettalking me.” She leaned so close our noses touched. “I’m not having it, Nette. You gotta take care of yourself, little girl.” She cradled my face. “You listening?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, ‘cause I need you just like you need me.”
Funny how the simplest truths spoken in purest love have great impact. I couldn’t even respond. I simply stretched out on the sofa and laid my head in her lap, one of my favorite places since childhood, and wept.
She stroked my head, letting me cry like the baby I’d become. I shed tears and the weight of my world knowing there was nothing like a grandmother’s love.
“Everything’s fine, baby. Even when it feels like a lot.” She patted my hip affectionately as she hummed a church hymn before stopping abruptly. “Grandma Zinnie didn’t understand your song but you singing to your plants is promising. You gonna get that green thumb yet.”
“What?” I whirled onto my back and stared at her, open-mouthed.
“Most things flourish with music and a little attention.” She continued without acknowledging my shock.
“Did you know Grandma Zinnie walked from Mississippi to California?” I did thanks to Justus’ research and that stage play.
“And she was a root woman! That’s probably why we like plants so much.
Even your mama and Bert. They’re educated nurses and still love the herbs.
” She played with my hair. “Grandma Zinnie’s not always talkative, but I’ll ask if she sang to her plants next time she visits. ”
I wasn’t sure what was happening. Was Granny’s mind sending her backwards, unlocking Grandma Zinnie memories? And how did she know about my plant serenade?
I felt shook and chose a safe question. “How’re we exactly related to Grandma Zinnie? How’s she connected to Nana Nettie?”
“Yeah, Mama. Veda and I can’t find her in the family archives,” my aunt added as she entered the room sipping what smelled like cinnamon tea. “At least nowhere near Nana Nettie.”
“That’s ‘cause she ain’t family. Not biologically.”
I sat up, hoping Granny wasn’t slipping behind what she called “brain clouds,” and that she was still clear-thinking. “Wait… what? But we’ve been calling her Grandma Zinnie.”
“Terms of endearment don’t make you blood related. She was a midwife. She delivered Nana Nettie. And she gave her the blue keepsake.”
My hands warmed as something shifted into place. “You mean Queen Lazuli?”
“Mmm-hmm. One of y’all find the remote and play yesterday’s recording of that loud preacher from The Potter’s House.” She was finished talking.
Aunt Pauletta and I exchanged looks as I did as my grandmother requested. My aunt and I huddled up as Granny zoned into yesterday’s live stream. We consulted photos from The Treasury I’d screenshot with my phone and went back and forth, quietly.
“Assuming that’s correct and we aren’t related, then Grandma Zinnie isn’t Nana Nettie’s mother.” I’d been erroneously leaning towards that assumption and experienced disappointment that we weren’t related to the esteemed Zanitha Freeman. “If not her, then who?”
“She’s our missing puzzle piece,” my aunt conceded, “and we don’t even know her name.”
Granny chimed in without breaking her concentration on the TV. “It started with an A and ended with an E. Wait. Started with an E and ended with an A?” She waved her hand dismissively. “It was two vowels from the alphabet.”
Aunt Pauletta and I chuckled beneath our breath as I tried but couldn’t remember other names from the stage play or research. Other than Lovie.
“No worries,” my aunt consoled. “We’re gonna find this ancestor with vowels bookending her name… and her connection to Zanitha Freeman.”