in this picture with her gray tweed skirt, long gray sweater vest, face frozen in dismay, the contrast was grotesque.
“Why,
Aunt
Cleva.” Angela thumped her cigarette into the yard and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “It’s been such a long long time.”
“Yes, it has.” Mama turned to me then and began speaking in high gear. Why didn’t I go pack my things to go to Misty’s and wasn’t it nice of them to invite me to go to Hardee’s but she insisted on paying for mine and just to go right in her bedroom and get the money from her purse. It was so sweet of Mo to even have me when that baby could come any day now especially since it’s the third child. I felt her pulling me, a quick hug and then she pushed me into the foyer and shooed me upstairs. There was a lilt in her voice and laugh that I’d never heard before; it was as unnatural as those strange yellow lights they had put up nearthe interstate to make you think it was daylight. My mother was not herself; it was as if Angela had some strange power that had reduced her to a nervous babbling stranger.
I quickly grabbed my gown and toothbrush, a couple of dollars from my parents’ room, and then waited quietly at the foot of the stairs, hoping that I could hear what they were saying. “I don’t understand why you do this to us,” my mother said, and I leaned up against the dark wall as she walked past, the front door closing behind her, cutting off Angela’s words, what sounded like a laugh. I could hear Mama in the kitchen so I carried my overnight bag out onto the porch, carefully easing the door so Mama wouldn’t hear. Angela was still just sitting there with a cigarette, one leg pulled up under the other while she leaned her head against the chain. I spoke to her again and hopped up on the porch rail, my feet locked behind the spindles. It was getting colder and I pulled the neck of my coat up closer. It was not even five o’clock and already it was dark. Soon the streetlights would come on and slowly the neighborhood would light up, Christmas trees and all the adornments that Mrs. Poole had called sheer tackiness. “And to think they do all this bulb-blinking and snow-spraying and so forth in the Lord’s name,” she had said.
“Kate?” Again Mama was at the door, and this time her face was serious as if I had committed a crime by coming back out on the porch without telling her. “Can you come help me just a minute?” She smiled and gave Angela a quick nod before closing the front door behind us. “Now, before you go over to Misty’s I want you to help me do one thing.” I followed her into the kitchen, where she had a little bag of garden peas which she wanted me to shell. I mentioned that they were having spaghetti and surely weren’t going to have peas with it, and she said she needed these for a casserole she was making to send to a woman whose husband was in intensive care and would I
please
just shell them. Her face was red as she stressed each syllable while buttering more garlic toast than the two of them would ever eat. Iknew that she was nervous and that she had gone to great lengths to
find
something for me to do.
“Why is Angela here?” I asked and she just shrugged, shoulders sloping as she leaned forward to wash the dishes in the sink. After having looked at Angela, I thought she looked so large; her broad back moved up and down as she rinsed each piece of flatware, turning it over and over in her hand, the steam making her hair damp and still flatter than before. “Is she here to visit or what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, how did she get here?”
“I don’t know.” I could see her vague outline in the window, but shifted my gaze instead to take in the houses on the other side of the field, several of them lined in brightly colored bulbs that had already begun the nightly blinking. “I guess your father will know why she’s here.”
“Shouldn’t we ask her in, though?” I threw the hulls into
“Why,
Aunt
Cleva.” Angela thumped her cigarette into the yard and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “It’s been such a long long time.”
“Yes, it has.” Mama turned to me then and began speaking in high gear. Why didn’t I go pack my things to go to Misty’s and wasn’t it nice of them to invite me to go to Hardee’s but she insisted on paying for mine and just to go right in her bedroom and get the money from her purse. It was so sweet of Mo to even have me when that baby could come any day now especially since it’s the third child. I felt her pulling me, a quick hug and then she pushed me into the foyer and shooed me upstairs. There was a lilt in her voice and laugh that I’d never heard before; it was as unnatural as those strange yellow lights they had put up nearthe interstate to make you think it was daylight. My mother was not herself; it was as if Angela had some strange power that had reduced her to a nervous babbling stranger.
I quickly grabbed my gown and toothbrush, a couple of dollars from my parents’ room, and then waited quietly at the foot of the stairs, hoping that I could hear what they were saying. “I don’t understand why you do this to us,” my mother said, and I leaned up against the dark wall as she walked past, the front door closing behind her, cutting off Angela’s words, what sounded like a laugh. I could hear Mama in the kitchen so I carried my overnight bag out onto the porch, carefully easing the door so Mama wouldn’t hear. Angela was still just sitting there with a cigarette, one leg pulled up under the other while she leaned her head against the chain. I spoke to her again and hopped up on the porch rail, my feet locked behind the spindles. It was getting colder and I pulled the neck of my coat up closer. It was not even five o’clock and already it was dark. Soon the streetlights would come on and slowly the neighborhood would light up, Christmas trees and all the adornments that Mrs. Poole had called sheer tackiness. “And to think they do all this bulb-blinking and snow-spraying and so forth in the Lord’s name,” she had said.
“Kate?” Again Mama was at the door, and this time her face was serious as if I had committed a crime by coming back out on the porch without telling her. “Can you come help me just a minute?” She smiled and gave Angela a quick nod before closing the front door behind us. “Now, before you go over to Misty’s I want you to help me do one thing.” I followed her into the kitchen, where she had a little bag of garden peas which she wanted me to shell. I mentioned that they were having spaghetti and surely weren’t going to have peas with it, and she said she needed these for a casserole she was making to send to a woman whose husband was in intensive care and would I
please
just shell them. Her face was red as she stressed each syllable while buttering more garlic toast than the two of them would ever eat. Iknew that she was nervous and that she had gone to great lengths to
find
something for me to do.
“Why is Angela here?” I asked and she just shrugged, shoulders sloping as she leaned forward to wash the dishes in the sink. After having looked at Angela, I thought she looked so large; her broad back moved up and down as she rinsed each piece of flatware, turning it over and over in her hand, the steam making her hair damp and still flatter than before. “Is she here to visit or what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, how did she get here?”
“I don’t know.” I could see her vague outline in the window, but shifted my gaze instead to take in the houses on the other side of the field, several of them lined in brightly colored bulbs that had already begun the nightly blinking. “I guess your father will know why she’s here.”
“Shouldn’t we ask her in, though?” I threw the hulls into
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