The three of them walked back to the Civic. Jaris said, “Thanks man, for helping us find him.” Trevor said nothing. Trevor’s heart was filled with a terrible crushing sadness that this was his father. His father’s life had come to this. Yet he felt a strange sense of peace that he had been able to salvage one good memory of Harry Jenkins.
They all went inside the Jenkins’s house and Mickey Jenkins looked up. “Did you find him?” she asked.
“Yeah Ma,” Trevor answered. “He was in the shed behind the thrift store. He sleeps there a lot.”
“What’d he say?” Trevor’s mother asked.
“Nothing,” Trevor replied. “He didn’t say anything, Ma.”
Trevor’s mother nodded. “But he got it, huh?”
“Yeah Ma,” Trevor said. “It was about sixty-five dollars. And Jaris gave him his raincoat.”
Mickey Jenkins looked at Jaris and smiled. There was a look of peace on her face. As Jaris and Chelsea left, she smiled faintly and said goodnight, adding, “Thank you, children.”
When Jaris and Chelsea got home, Mom told them that their grandmother, Jessie Clymer, had called. She had said she was coming to dinner on Sunday. She had something important to discuss with the whole Spain family.
“This I can hardly wait for,” Pop declared. “There are four things that I really look forward to. One is seeing my boss’s sour face in the morning. The next is finding termites in the walls. Then there’s the sewer backing up. And the fourth is your mother coming to dinner. And I can tell you, the first three I prefer to the fourth.”
“Lorenzo,” Mom chided in an aggrieved voice. “That is so unkind, especially in front of the children. You know how much my mother loves our family.”
“Especially me!” Pop affirmed in mock cheeriness. “From the first moment I met this lady when I was a callow youth, I could feel the warmth of her hatred searing my eyebrows.”
“She never hated you,” Mom protested.
Jaris tried to focus on the burrito on his plate. Pop had made the burritos for dinner, and they were delicious. Now Jaris bored his gaze into the rich, red salsa, trying to tune out the conversation going on around him. Once he locked eyes with Chelsea, who was also studying her burrito.
“Maybe hatred is the wrong word,” Pop suggested. “Loathing. Is that better?’
Mom sighed so deeply that her entire body seemed to shake. “I expect everyone in this family to be courteous and friendly on Sunday when Mother comes,” she demanded in a stern voice.
“Oh man!” Pop whined in an unusually high-pitched voice. “The kids and I were planning to burn her at the stake. You mean we can’t do that? Chelsea’s already cut up the little sticks to start the fire, and Jaris brought the coals. Right Jaris?”
“Uh,” Jaris replied desperate to change the subject. “It sure is great that Athena got home safely. She’s doing good too. She’s coming back to school tomorrow, right, chili pepper?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said. “She’s really anxious to be back at school. She’s bored out of her mind at home.”
Pop was now in a thoroughly bad mood. Anticipating his mother-in-law’s visit was enough to drive every benign thought from his mind. The weekend, so precious to him as a respite from his hated work, was destroyed. “If Athena is bored around the house,” he suggested glumly, “maybe she could get some literature on the perils of alcohol. That ought to be good, Chelsea. Or maybe she and her mom could read a bedtime story. It could be about how parents ought to keep an eye on their kids when the moon is shining in the sky.”
Jaris finished his dinner and fled to his room to go on the Internet. Chelsea quickly followed him.
“I wish she wasn’t coming,” Chelsea confided to her brother.
“You and me both,” Jaris agreed. “By the way, do you think Athena really doesn’t know the guy who gave her the liquor? Or is she covering up for somebody?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I’m not sure, Jare. I know it wasn’t Heston. He’s too nice a guy. But that Maurice, I don’t know him.”
“I’d sure like a piece of the creep who did that to a fourteen-year-old kid,” Jaris said. “Keep your ears open, chili pepper, in case you hear anything.”
Jaris intended to keep his ears open the next day at Tubman High. Maybe he could pick up something from the conversations around the lunch tables in the freshman area. Athena said the guy who gave her the liquor looked about fifteen. That would make him a Tubman freshman, if she was right. Jaris wasn’t close to anybody at Tubman with a freshman brother or sister. So he wasn’t sure he could pick up anything.
On Sunday, at eleven thirty, Jessie Clymer pulled into the Spain driveway in her sporty red convertible. At sixty-eight, with fine skin and classic features as well as an erect posture for her slim frame, she looked years younger. Even though Jaris did not want to see her, he had to admit she was a fine looking older woman.
Grandma Jessie hugged and kissed her daughter on both cheeks. Then she kissed a reluctant Chelsea and an even more reluctant Jaris. She shook hands with Pop. She looked at him as if he were a marginally friendly ape who had just come out of the jungle and who may be a bit dangerous if approached incorrectly. Pop looked at her as if she were a beautiful but deadly coral snake, making its way out of the sofa cushions with the intent of fatally biting him.
A wonderful dinner was on the table, unlike what usually appeared on the Spain table, even on Sundays, except when Pop was cooking. This time, Jaris’s parents agreed that Pop would not do the cooking. Mom was afraid his soul food would distress her mother. And Pop did not feel inclined to do his mother-in-law any favors.
Mom relied on Sami Archer’s mother, Mattie, and Alonee’s mother, Dawna, who produced a beef and artichoke fettuccine with roast beef, marinated artichoke hearts, and grated Parmesan cheese. A honey-lime fruit salad, gorgeous with melons and strawberries, completed the meal.
“Well,” Grandma Jessie exclaimed with delight, “this looks wonderful! Monica, you have outdone yourself!”
Pop sat there mouthing the words while Grandmas Jessie wasn’t looking: “No dinner out of cardboard boxes today, Granny.” Dawna and Mattie had long ago escaped the scene of their accomplishments.
“Well, how are you doing in school, Jaris?” Grandma Jessie asked as she nibbled on the artichoke heart. She had let Mom know how partial she was to artichokes.
“Great, really good,” Jaris replied. “Everything is going great.”
“My,” Grandma Jessie commented, “two ‘greats’ in one sentence. Let’s hope we do not ‘protest too much’!” She laughed with a sound like breaking glass.
Then Grandma turned her attention to Chelsea. Chelsea felt like a poor butterfly pinned to a frame. She always hated to see a butterfly skewered and unable to flee. “I understand you’ve become quite the little fashion plate,” Grandma Jessie remarked, “wearing all the newest clothes, dear. The young girls dress quite differently today than in my day. Goodness, we thought it daring if the bottoms of our knees showed. Now girls are wearing skirts that barely cover their derrières!”
“In your day,” Jaris thought bitterly, even though he knew that wasn’t true, “girls wore hoop skirts and bonnets.” As he’d done so many times before, Jaris fervently wished again that Mom wouldn’t share every detail of their family life with her mother. Grandma Jessie knew all about Chelsea and Pop fighting over her clothing even though it was none of her business. Jaris thought that what happened in the Spain house should stay there.
“I just wear regular clothes like all the kids,” Chelsea replied glumly. She stared at the artichoke hearts as if they were worms.
“And what about your friends, sweetie?” Grandma asked in a voice both syrupy and sharp. “I understand one of your little friends got into serious trouble after a drinking bout. I believe her name is Athena?”
Chelsea glanced at her mother. Jaris could see the rage in his sister’s eyes, and he thought it was deserved. Chelsea was thinking, “Oh no, Mom! Did you have to even tell her about that? Is nothing private around here? Oh Mom, how could you?”
Mom just sat there eating a strawberry. She had always said she was very close to her mother, and even as a teenager she told her mother everything. She couldn’t change that pattern now, even though she was nearing forty. Whenever anything happened in her life, Grandma was the first to know.
“Athena was tricked into drinking some liquor and she got sick is all,” Chelsea answered bitterly. “But she’s fine now. It was no big deal.”
“Oh, I understand it was a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Grandma stated sternly. “The poor girl was lying unconscious in an alley. And any evil person coming along had her at his mercy. Fortunately, some wretched homeless man called the police, and the child was taken to the hospital. How distressed you must have been, Chelsea, to see the dangerous streets almost claim the life of your little friend.”
Chelsea looked at her mother again with anger. “Mom,” her eyes silently demanded, “did you have to share every ugly detail? How could you?” To Chelsea, Grandma began to resemble the big bad wolf in the “Little Red Riding Hood” story. Her perfect dentures gleamed with malice from her red-rimmed mouth.
“It is, unfortunately, the neighborhood,” Grandma Jessie declared. “The children who live here are caught up in the chaos of this place. Drinking, drugs, the gangs running wild. No wonder this poor Athena fell victim. It wasn’t the child’s fault. She fell victim to the evil around her.”
Pop had remained silent until now, but Grandma Jessie’s agenda was beginning to emerge. Pop had been dutifully eating his artichoke hearts, which he hated, and the roast beef, which didn’t taste like roast beef that he was used to. Now it was time to join the conversation. He avoided looking directly at his mother-in-law for fear the distaste for her in his face might be too apparent. He said, “This is a good neighborhood, Jessie. Lot of good people helping one another out. We couldn’t ask for better neighbors, better friends. Jaris and Chelsea have good friends, and they’re doing fine in school. We’re pretty happy here.”
“Ah, easy to say, Lorenzo,” Grandma Jessie countered, “but not quite accurate. Look at that murderer who was dealing drugs in this neighborhood just a few months ago. Look on the Internet for the crime statistics of this neighborhood. And the dreadful denizens of the streets staggering around looking for money. On my way over here I saw some of those pitiable creatures wandering about. I thought, ‘How unwholesome for the young people.’” Grandma Jessie shook her head. “And the way the streets are named for Indian tribes . . . what is that all about?”
“We like our street names, Jessie,” Pop stated. “It’s good to have the streets named for the Native Americans who were here before us. Better than naming streets after nuts . . . Almond, Walnut, Acorn.”
Chelsea giggled a little, encouraging Pop to go further. “See, Jessie, lot of streets named for old white guys, but our great nation is made up of lotta different people. And it’s time we recognize the first Americans who got run off the land, right?” There was a wild look on Pop’s face. He changed from being sullen and silent to deliberately provocative. Mom shot nervous glances at him, wondering how far he would go.
“What a quaint perspective,” Grandma Jessie replied, in a stately tone. “Well, I believe it’s time now to get to the heart of the matter.”
“No!” Jaris thought, “Just go home, Grandma. You’ve had the artichoke hearts that Mattie and Dawna made because you said you liked them. We’ve been pleasant up to now. Please just go home now and leave us in peace.”
“Jaris,” Grandma Jessie started, “probably remembers the lovely dinner he and I had on the coast, just the two of us, that heavenly shrimp salad. Wasn’t it wonderful, Jaris?”
“I remember,” Jaris thought. “The shrimp tasted funny and being with you, Grandma, was so stressful that I almost barfed.” Out loud he replied, “Uh-huh.”
“Well,” Grandma Jessie went on, speaking to the table at large, “at that time I offered Jaris the chance to do his senior year at a wonderful private school in Santa Barbara. But he declined. He said his funny little friends at Tubman High School were more important than his education. Well, so be it. But right now I am deeply concerned about Chelsea’s future. Chelsea, you are completing your eighth grade at that woefully inadequate Marian Anderson Middle School. What a crime to name such a miserable place after such a marvelous woman of song as Marian Anderson. Now the crime-ridden environs of Tubman High are about to claim you, child. And I have come today with a plan to rescue you. This splendid high school in Santa Barbara has a beautiful dorm where you could live, and I would gladly pay all the expenses.”
A frantic look came to Chelsea’s face and she yelled, “No! I don’t want to go to some freakin’ boarding school in Santa Barbara. I don’t want to leave here. That’s the craziest thing I ever heard of. I love it here with Mom and Pop and Jaris, and I’m looking forward to going to Tubman next year. This is the most stupid—”
“Chelsea, calm down,” Mom implored.
“Grandma, forget it!” Chelsea continued in a high-pitched voice. “Why would I want to go to some stupid school in Santa Barbara and live in some old dorm? I love my bedroom and my family and all my friends right here! Where did you get such a stupid idea?”
“It is not a stupid idea,” Grandma responded in a shaken voice. She looked almost distraught at Chelsea’s fury. When she made a similar offer to Jaris, he at least was fairly civil. This child was out of control. “This school is one of the most respected in the state. And you would be living and learning with the best and the brightest children of—”
“No!” Chelsea cut into her words. Chelsea jumped up from her chair, knocking over what remained of her artichoke hearts and almost spilling them into Grandma’s lap. Chelsea yelled at her grandmother again. “I don’t want to hear about your freakin’ school in Santa Barbara! Why are you coming here to meddle in our lives anyway? Why don’t you leave us alone?”
“Chelsea,” Mom cried as she tried to scoop up the artichokes from the floor. “Stop it! Stop it this minute.”
“I won’t stop it,” Chelsea insisted. “She’s got no right to come here and stick her nose into my family’s business. Why do you just want to make trouble, Grandma? You make me sick! You really make me sick!”
“Ohhh!” Grandma Jessie moaned. “This is far worse than I expected. The poor child is out of control. She’s like a wild thing.” Grandma Jessie turned toward her daughter, who was halfway under the table retrieving an artichoke heart. Bent over to see Mom under the table, Grandma asked, “Is she seeing a counselor for these anger issues, Monica? Please tell me that she is.”
“Ohhhh-kayyy!” Pop boomed. “I think dinner is over now, and we can all go our separate ways. It was really a delight having you here today, Jessie. Like always, you have added to the tranquility and happiness of this family. That is thanks largely to your dear daughter, who shares with you the most intimate details of our private lives.” Pop’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Lorenzo!” Mom groaned.
Pop walked to the closet where Grandma Jessie’s light, fashionable little jacket hung. “Here, you may don your jacket now, dear lady, and be on your way,” Pop said. “We have shared artichoke hearts together, and someday we will dine again. But I pray not soon.”
Grandma walked to the closet and retrieved her jacket, putting it on. Her face was a study in restrained rage. “I do not think I have ever been so insulted,” she announced.
“Mom, I am so sorry,” her daughter whimpered.
“Good day to you,” Pop said as Grandma Jessie almost jogged out the door toward her car in her haste to leave the Spain house. Pop flung the door shut after her, causing the house to tremble.
Then Pop strode over to Chelsea who sat slumped at the kitchen table. He grasped Chelsea’s hands and pulled her to her feet. Then he began whirling her around the floor in a dance as he sang in a lusty voice.
The witch is gone, the witch is gone,
Hurrah, hurrah, the wicked witch is gone away!
Chelsea had been near tears, but now she began to laugh as she and her father spun around the floor. Jaris watched the spectacle, hiding his own glee behind a serious and thoughtful look. Occasionally he glanced at his stunned mother. Then he looked quickly away, grinning behind his hand.
“I am humiliated,” Mom declared as the red convertible vanished down the street. “I am mortified.”
Pop turned to scraping the remains of the meal into the garbage disposal. “No more artichoke hearts for this family, thank you very much,” he announced.
“Lorenzo, you almost threw my mother out of this house,” Mom cried.
“Nah,” Pop objected, “I didn’t do that. I think she was ready to leave, don’t you think? I mean, hey, she’d accomplished what she came for. She got everybody upset. In her ballpark that’s a home run. You hear what I’m saying?”
Mom turned to Chelsea. “What got into you?” she demanded.
“I was just so scared,” Chelsea responded. “It was like she wanted to send me away. Like Sereeta Prince’s mean old stepfather and her mom, they wanted to get rid of Sereeta. I was scared she’d talk you guys into sending me away. I love you, Mom and Pop and Jaris, and . . . how could anybody think I didn’t want to live here anymore?”
Tears ran down Chelsea’s face. Mom walked over and enveloped her in her arms. “Baby, I’d die before I let anybody send you away from us. I love you so much it hurts. My mother was thinking of your best interests because she loves you too. Don’t you ever think for one minute that you’d be sent away to boarding school,” Mom assured her.
“Excellent,” Pop proclaimed, winking at Jaris. “Now everything is back to normal. The artichokes are in the garbage. Grandma is riding her broom home. And all is well in the kingdom of the Spain clan.”
“Lorenzo!” Mom snapped.
“Oh!” Pop said. “Did I say ‘broom’? I meant to say ‘convertible.’ ” Pop winked at Jaris again.