4

She’s your mother. Try to be patient with her, even if you don’t understand.

Sure, sure. Easy enough for Rosey Bird—Native American wise woman, princess of the Frito pie, water bearer to a small shih tzu—to say. But then, it wasn’t Rosey’s mom who’d risen from the dead.

Sam, back in her room, examined her face once more and brushed her teeth. There was nothing left to do. It was now or never.

Sam sat before the dressing table and stared herself down. What are you afraid of? You’ve covered the knife-and-gun club, witnessed autopsies, stood at crime scenes ankle-deep in blood. What we’re talking about here is just a little old lady come back to life. Where’s your courage, girl?

Then, before she had time for another misgiving, she grabbed up the phone and dialed 0.

“Estela, please.”

“Yes?”

“Sam Adams here. I’d like to speak to J. Hilton.”

“Just a minute, please.”

Then there was a long silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the shuffling of papers. Finally Estela came back on the line. “Could you tell me, please, your mother’s maiden name?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your mother’s maiden name?”

It wasn’t as if she’d lost her VISA card, for god’s sakes. But when in Rome… “Johanna Hewlett,” she said. “The date and place of her birth?”

“September twenty-seventh, 1934. Asheville, North Carolina.”

“And her mother’s maiden name.”

“Samantha Hewlett. No, I mean Samantha Rogers.”

“The room number is four-oh-nine. I will ring Ms. Hilton and tell her that you’re on your way.”

*

Making her way down the million-mile-long hall, Sam recalled a story that Johanna had once told her.

“I guess I was about six,” Johanna had said, “and we’d gone up to Asheville to visit one of my mother’s cousins, Millie. I loved Millie, who was blonde and round and so much fun. And she was a wonderful baker. You know that black walnut cake I make sometimes, Sugar? That was Millie’s cake.

“Anyway, Millie had twin daughters who were about three years older than I. Donna and Darla, and they were as full of the devil as anybody I’ve ever seen.

“This particular visit, they waited until after supper, way after Millie had tucked us in, and they told me to come, we were going on an adventure.

“‘Oh, I can’t,’ I said. ‘My momma won’t let me go out after dark. Can you? Won’t Millie be mad?’”

“‘She won’t know if you don’t tell her. Besides, if you come, there’s a present for you.’

“‘A present?’ My ears perked up. I adored presents. “So they took me by the hand, and, in our nightgowns, we crept down the back stairs and out the door and around the house. They walked me down broken sidewalks through streets that were completely black, past bushes that grabbed for me like ghosts, and more than once my heart nearly stopped. It seemed to me that we had walked for hours, had gone a million miles, though later I found out that they’d been walking me in circles. Finally we stopped at a dilapidated back porch.

“Donna and Darla pushed me up to the crumbling steps of the old house. ‘Go knock on the door. The old woman who answers will give you a present.’

“‘Who is she?’ I asked. ‘And what’s the present?’ But they wouldn’t tell me. They poked me with their fingers. They called me a chicken. They giggled behind my back.

“The rear of that poor house was terribly bleak. An old wringer washing machine listed to one side in the yard. The screen door was ripped, the paint peeling.

“All the while, Donna and Darla were saying, ‘Go on, Jo. Are you afraid, Jo? Don’t you want your surprise, Jo? Chick, chick, chicken, Jo.’

“So I gathered my nerve. I put one foot on that first step, and it creaked like a coffin opening.

“I screamed. Donna and Darla screamed. And then we all ran like the wind.

“We hadn’t quite cleared the yard, when the screen door cracked a bit, and this pitiful old woman stood there at the door, her night scarf wrapped around her head.

“‘Who’s that?’ she cried. ‘Who’s there?’

“I never forgot the sound of that poor old woman’s voice, Sugar, all alone and frightened of the night. Fearful of the sounds of mischievous little girls. And I felt awful that I’d been party to that because I’d been a greedy gut. Because I’d wanted a present.”

And what do you want? Sam asked herself now as she approached room 409.

I want my momma. My momma.

How many times had she cried those words to George, to Peaches, to Horace, when she was small, awaking from a night fright?

And, now, more than ever, she wanted her momma.

Sam stood before room 409, watching her right hand rising. Her knuckles rapping on the dark wood.

“Who is it?” a voice called.

“It’s Sam. It’s Sugar, Momma.”

The door swung wide.

*

One look, no doubt about it, this was Johanna. She was even yet a beautiful woman, but tiny, oh so tiny. Sam knew Johanna was small, but she herself had been only eight, a little girl, the last time she’d seen her, and Johanna had been her whole world…

The years had had their way, silvered the dark curls, drawn lines and furrows, but the catlike chin, the brown eyes—yes, oh yes, this woman in the long purple caftan, ropes of silver at neck and wrists, this was Johanna.

Johanna lived.

Her mother’s dark eyes were wide now, focused hungrily on Sam’s face. I can feel her sucking me in, Sam thought. Then Johanna threw her arms open, and Sam raced into her embrace.

Home. She was home.

Hot tears poured down Sam’s cheeks as she grasped her mother’s warm flesh, felt her breath, as she inhaled her scent, the old familiar fragrance of Shalimar that would always be Johanna. How many times in the intervening years had she smelled her perfume on a stranger, in a theater, at a party, and had had to turn away as her heart broke?

“Oh, Momma,” Sam cried into Johanna’s curls. “Momma, Momma.”

“Baby. Sugar. Sammie. I was so afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Sam pulled back and gazed into Johanna’s eyes, and it was like looking into her own. She saw fear there. Love. Longing. Worlds whirling. An ocean of need.

“I had to come.” Sam heard her own voice, ragged.

“I prayed you would. But I didn’t have any right to hope. Not after all this time.”

Then, somehow, they were on the sofa, their knees touching, their hands entwined.

“If you only knew,” Johanna began, “how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment. How many times I wanted to call you.” She stopped. “I did, actually,” she whispered. “I called you hundreds of times.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Momma. When?”

“I never spoke to you, though. I called and hung up.”

“When? Where?”

“In Atlanta, before you went off to school. Then when you were at Stanford. And in San Francisco. After you went back home to George’s. In Covington.”

Sam was stunned. “You always knew where I was? But why didn’t you…?”

Johanna raised a thin hand. “I couldn’t, baby. I couldn’t. It wasn’t even safe to call.”

“What do you mean, not ‘safe’?”

Johanna shook her head and rushed on. “I had to hear your voice, just once in a while. I’d try not to, but then, sometimes my need was like an addiction; I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d listen to your hello. I’d listen to your breathing. And then I’d hang up.”

How many times, Sam wondered, over the years, had she picked up a phone to silence? Hung up, thinking it was a child, a prankster, a pervert? Had she ever once thought that the caller might be Johanna?

Never.

She’d dreamed of Johanna and her father a million times, constantly at first, then less often. But she had never really thought they might still be alive, that her mother might be reaching out, listening to her breath on a telephone receiver as she’d once leaned over her, tucked in her little girl at night.

“Momma?” Sam reached forward and brushed a silvered curl from Johanna’s forehead. “Why did you say, not safe to call? What happened to you? Where have you been? Why was it not safe?”

Johanna’s face crumpled. “Oh, Sugar,” she began, then stopped. “I can’t tell you how I’ve dreamed of this meeting. How many nights I lay awake thinking how I’d tell you everything, if we were ever lucky enough to arrive at this moment.” Johanna stroked Sam’s hand. “I’ve been so proud of you, baby. You’ve come so far. You’ve done so much.”

Sam drew a long breath. Easy does it. The AA slogan wasn’t just a bumper sticker. It was a way of living your life. And Johanna seemed so fragile. She might shatter if pushed.

“Are you proud of me, Momma?” Sam asked. “Well, you always said that I could be anything I wanted to be.”

“Oh, yes!” Johanna’s dark eyes lit up. “I knew that you could. You were so bright, so full of life.”

“Remember when I wanted to be a train engineer? And you said, ‘Fine, okay, Sammie, if that’s what you want, I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful engineer.’”

Johanna laughed. “I thought then, My God, what have I done? But your daddy said…” Johanna stopped and took a deep breath. “He said that there was no harm in it. That he’d wanted to be a lion tamer in the circus when he was a little boy.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “And he almost was, wasn’t he? Isn’t that what being a partner in Simmons and Lee was like?”

“Absolutely. I can’t tell you how many nights he came home, bloodied to the hip. Not really, but you know what I mean.”

Then they were both quiet.

Finally, Sam said, “Did Daddy…?”

“Yes, Sugar. Your daddy died in the crash.”

A stone rolled from Sam’s chest. “And you…?”

“I was never on the plane. I didn’t make the flight.”

Another silence followed. It stretched and stretched until Sam thought it might snap back and slap her in the face. She wanted to know everything, to let all her questions pour out. But she cautioned herself once more: Take baby steps. Don’t push. Let Johanna come to it in her own time. So she stayed on safe ground, saying, “Do you remember, Momma, when I was going through my train phase, and you took me on the Crescent City to New Orleans?”

Johanna clapped her hands, and the showers of silver bracelets on both her wrists danced. “Oh, my,” she said, “wasn’t that the loveliest time?”

“I had a little red traveling coat and a matching hat with cherries on it.”

“I can’t believe you remember that. You were only—”

“Seven. It was Easter and I was in the second grade. We went to visit—what was her name, your girlhood friend from Asheville?”

“Anita. She married a man named LaRose.”

“You know, when I moved to Louisiana, a couple of years ago, those same places we visited on that trip—Jackson Square and that wonderful statue of Old Hickory on his horse, Canal Street, ever so much wider than Peachtree, the Cabildo with Napoleon’s death mask—well, it was exactly as I had remembered.”

“Sammie, Sammie.” Johanna’s face was flushed. She looked ever so happy.

“And we had dinner at Galatoire’s, do you remember? And oysters at the Acme.”

“I do. I do. Everyone thought it was so odd to see such a small girl slurping down raw oysters.” Johanna laughed, having the time of her life. She asked, “Are you happy there, Sam, in Covington, in your house? And what about your Harry?”

“How do you know all these things?” Then a cold finger poked at Sam’s insides. Had George been in touch with Johanna over the years? How could he? Or Peaches? Or Horace?

Johanna read her thoughts. “No one you know, Sammie. Don’t ever think that. Strangers. Private investigators I hired to let me know about you.”

“But…”

“Please. I know you want to know everything. I want to tell you. That’s why I called you here.” Johanna faltered then. “Mostly why I called you here. But, please—” She stood. She was so tiny. She looked like a child as her hands flew to her mouth. “Please, try to be patient with me.”

“I’m trying, but I have so many questions, Momma.” Then Sam’s own voice broke.

“Don’t cry. I can’t stand it if you do.” Johanna’s mouth trembled. She grew more agitated with each moment.

Sam stood from the sofa. “I won’t. I promise. Now, don’t be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” But Johanna’s voice spiraled higher and higher, almost out of control. “I’m—oh, Christ, what am I? I’m…dear God. I’m nothing. I’m lower than… Why did I think I could do this?”

“Momma.” Sam reached for her.

“No! Don’t!” Johanna shied away. Her eyes were wild. “Don’t, don’t pity me. I’ll burn in hell for what I’ve done, I know that. But I can’t stand pity. Not from you. I’ve injured you beyond repair. I can’t stand that, because I loved you more than the world. You…”

Sam would never hear the end of that sentence, as the phone rang and Johanna jumped to answer it. “Yes?” she said, her dark eyes wide. They grew even wider, the irises completely encircled in white, as she listened. One hand flew to her throat. Finally, still not having said a word, she hung up the phone, then wheeled toward the bathroom.

“Momma?” Sam said, but Johanna just shook her head and fended off Sam’s words with a hand. She closed the door behind her. Sam could hear the medicine cabinet opening, then closing, the sound of scrabbling, then water running. “Are you all right?” she called. There was no answer. Maybe Johanna couldn’t hear her. She tried again. “Do you need me?”

When Johanna reappeared in the bathroom door, her eyes were dull holes. Sam thought she had never seen a sadder face. It broke her heart. “Momma,” she said, “what can I do for you? You said in your letter that you needed help.”

Johanna shook her head. “I can’t do this now. That was…a business matter. Something I…I’m sorry, Sammie.” She faltered. “I’m not doing this very well. I…this has been harder than I thought it would be. I’m so ashamed.” She dropped her gaze.

“Momma, Momma.” Sam reached out for Johanna’s hands. Sticks beneath flesh. “Would you like to take a little break? Rest for a bit?”

Johanna nodded.

“Why don’t you do that? I’ll come back later. Maybe we could have dinner?”

Johanna raised her eyes, and they gobbled at Sam’s face. “Yes, yes,” she said eagerly. “A late dinner. We’ll do that. Then I’ll answer all your questions. I’ll tell you everything.”

Sam gently folded the tiny woman into her arms and held her to her breast. “Oh, Momma. There’s so much I want to know. We’ll talk and talk and talk. We’ll stay up all night.”

“Yes,” Johanna whispered. “Yes, we will. All night, just like girlfriends.” She clung to Sam for a very long time, the two of them breathing together, mother and daughter, even their hearts once more in sync. Then, suddenly, Johanna let go. She took three steps back and gazed once more into Sam’s face with her terrible ruined eyes, eyes so much like Sam’s, eyes that had seen God knows what. “Now, you go, Sugar,” she whispered, pointing toward the door. “My precious baby.”

“I’ll call you later, Momma. You get some rest.”