Mom got to her feet. “I suppose we should go inside. Have you eaten?”
Speaking of food, I told her about lunch. About Papa’s new girlfriend. I left out the part about Robert Johnson and the harmonica, but I told her how he’d sung a poem like it was a song he’d known all his life.
Mom stood at the doorway. “Clem has a gift, Caleb. There’s no denying that.”
That was for sure. I was just scared he was going to lose it.
Dinner was spaghetti and garlic bread. Mom wanted to talk school. Seventh grade was staring me down, and before she even started talking, I knew what was coming. Do your best. You’re a special boy. All that mess.
A special boy. Buck-toothed and ugly as a water bug. Not only that, even if I studied my tail off I was lucky to manage a C. It was exhausting, working so hard just to be average.
The thought of school got my skin flashing with heat rashes. I changed the subject, surprising myself with what came out of my mouth. “I’m going to get Papa to teach me guitar.”
Mom smiled, nodding to herself. “I figured. But is that why you didn’t clean this place up like I asked?”
“I did, some.”
She made a show out of looking around. “Oh, right, I see now. That cup on the counter has definitely been moved.”
I started chuckling, which made her chuckle. Then we had a laugh and I was thinking about going out on the porch and soaking up what was left of the evening when Mom set her fork down and did that head tilt look thing at me as she reached over and patted my hand.
“Caleb, I want you to try and make some friends this year.”
I started to get up from the table but Mom took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I knew what came next, tick-tick-tick like a roller coaster climbing the first steep hill before the drop. “Baby, Papa’s getting worse. I hate to say it, but he’s not going to be around forever, okay?”
My breath caught short. I blinked a few times, hoping the dam would hold. “He’s still here now, Mom. You act like he’s already dead.”
She started to say something else but didn’t. I nodded, picked up my guitar, and headed for the door. I’d been hoping for that ice cream and cake, but there was no way I was going to listen to all those things about Papa. Yeah, he had his not-so-great moments and today had been one of those. But just like he had a bad moment at that fountain, he had an awfully good moment with Mrs. Magnolia.
I strummed the guitar and smiled, thinking about Uncle Clyde and that harmonica. At least someone in my family had done things. Had an adventure. At least that’s what Papa had said. And I had no choice but to believe him.
Mom was in a rush for work the next morning. She fed me the usual mess about not worrying those poor folks to death by showing up at Autumn Springs so early. A while back she would have been right. Papa had never been much of a morning person, even when he did his farming. He was too much of a blues player for early bedtimes. All that changed when he got to Autumn Springs.
Papa said he wasn’t sleeping much anymore, so I knew he would be up and waiting for me. Besides, I had a stop to make before I got there, anyway. I never bothered to tell Mom about the dry cleaning.
Sure enough, I found him in a great mood. Too great, really, humming and singing and just smiling like a lunatic.
“Hello there, Sir Caleb.”
Sir Caleb? Okay, sure, today it was Sir Caleb. But I’d take what I could get, who knew when the switch would flip? I laid his clean suit at the foot of the bed. The suit, the mood, sniff sniff, the aftershave. I crossed my arms. “What’s going on?”
He removed his suit from the plastic for inspection. With a whistle, he brushed off his hat then smiled at me with just enough crazy to set off my alarms. “Going on? I just thought it was time for our adventure, that’s all.”
I exhaled. Back to that. “What do you have in mind?” I turned to the couch, snatched up his latest AARP magazine. “It’s nice outside. You want to head over to the park?”
Man, I missed the days he used to take me fishing. Piling in his little pickup truck to hit the bait shack for night crawlers. Papa would fill up his cooler, buy me three Cokes and a bag of salt ’n’ vinegar chips, and we’d spend the entire day with a line in the water. Came back empty-handed more times than not but with my face hurting from sun and smiling.
Papa looked at me and chuckled like it was the funniest thing since Marvin Peel and that electric fence. “Ah, the park, yes.”
I eyed him carefully. Nothing wrong with a good mood, but Papa wore good moods like he did nose hair: more on the outside than inside. I wasn’t buying this giggly act. It folded my stomach wondering just what he might be scheming.
He tossed the suit over his back, his finger hooking the hanger as he started for his bathroom. “Do you mind giving me a just a few minutes to get ready?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” I got to my feet.
Walking out, I noticed his guitar in its case instead of lying against his recliner. What was he planning? And where was he planning it?
I shut the door, glanced down the hall to where we’d made our exit yesterday, then started for the lobby. I passed the pictures and memories on the identical doors, just sort of wandering and wondering when heard a commotion in the cafeteria.
“Oh, good heavens. What does it take to get a good cup of tea around here?”
I smiled, picking up the pace and following the clinks and clacks of the kitchen until I found Mrs. Magnolia in all her glory. Silk robe, Oriental style, hair blazing and unrestrained by a thin green scarf. Her flowery dress completed the collision of colors. I smiled and headed her way.
Besides Mrs. Magnolia, the cafeteria was empty. Most folks were sleeping, or maybe at a morning service at the small chapel down the west end. Mrs. Magnolia saw me coming and made a fuss.
“Caleb! Oh, heavens, dear. Can you believe this? There’s no tea!”
I hooked a thumb towards the hallway. “I can get you a Lipton out the machine if you’d like.”
Her face lit up with laughter. “Oh? A Lipton? Come now, that just might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.” She motioned to a table. “Sit, please.”
I followed her, watching how she drifted, her arms outstretched as she did a twirl. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone so completely comfortable before. She moved like no one was watching her, or if they were, they were awfully lucky to see the show. A server from the kitchen rushed over and Mrs. Magnolia politely asked her to be a dear and find some tea. “Two,” she said. “With lemon, dear.”
We took a seat. I kept my back straight. I couldn’t help but feeling like I was having tea with the queen of England.
“Okay, Mr. Caleb, now that we’ve settled this injustice, what’s going on in your life?”
“I don’t know.” I stumbled some because I had this lady in front of me, her eyes beaming with anticipation like there was nothing in the world she’d like to hear more than what I had to say. Didn’t happen every day, people hanging on my words. Then again, usually all the attention would have made me clam-up nervous, but with Mrs. Magnolia, it was different. Heck, I was different.
I just dove in and started talking. “It’s just that, well, my mom thinks I spend too much time here. She acts like Papa—not her Papa but my deadbeat daddy’s Papa, uh, Mr. Wallace—she acts like he’s already dead. Which as you’ve seen, he’s not. Not even close. I just wish she could understand. I mean, spending time with him is just as important as having friends my age. More, really.”