Chapter 18

FOR HALF A SECOND, I THINK I’M DEAD. I ain’t never been dead before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. Not like I can see Jesus or angels or Daddy Jim even, but I don’t feel no pain, and it’s kinda like I’m watching the goings’on from in the air somewheres—sorta over Henrietta’s shoulder. I see my body lying there, not moving. Is that what I look like? Great God in heaven, I am right old, sure ’nough.

I’m studying the wrinkles in my face and my chair what’s knocked over—that’s when I see it—my love basket for Jim and me. It ain’t done yet. It ain’t done yet! No, no, I can’t be dying now. My basket ain’t even ready. And Henrietta gave me a birthday card. And she loves me. She’s crying there, look at her! Oh, baby. I love you too. Honey, Mama’s right here. Don’t you cry none. I’m just over here!

This ain’t right. It can’t be my time. Jesus, if You’re listenin’ to me, it ain’t my time! She gonna give me the money! My baby gonna help me keep my house! I don’t gotta go no nursin’ home. Can You send me on back now? I never finished my basket, see? Come on and send me back, Jesus. Can’t You see, my sweet baby, Henrietta’s waitin’ for me. I got to go. It ain’t my time. Go on and tell Daddy Jim I’ll see him right soon, but I got me some more livin’ to do, yes sir. Sweet Jesus, let me live a while longer!

The next thing I know, feels like I got lead in my bones and my chest feels like it might freeze up solid like a wet palmetto leaf on a cold December night. Henrietta squeezes my hand real tight. My eyes ain’t even open but I know it’s her.

“Oh, Mama. Thank God! Oh, Mama. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be just fine. Don’t worry. Mama, listen to me. Can you hear me? I love you! I’m so sorry. I just can’t tell you, I’m so, so sorry!”

I think I’m saying “I love you” and “I’m sorry too” back to her, but none of the sounds come out, I reckon. No matter, I know I’m alive now. I’d know what this old body feels like any day.

I try to put a smile on my lips as we speed away in an ambulance, the siren blaring in my eardrums. And if I ain’t smiling on the outside, you can bet like pecan pie on the Fourth of July, I’m a-smiling on the inside. Thank You, Lord, for keepin’ me alive! Sweet Jesus, I reckon I owe You one.

“She’s weak,” I hear a man say. There’s tingling in my fingers.

“Is she going to be all right?” That’s Henrietta’s voice. Hey, baby. Mama’s here.

“We’re very optimistic,” the man says. “She’s quite a fighter, you know.”

“Yes,” Henrietta walks over and sits down next to me. She grabs my hand and says, “Yes, she is.”

I hear beeping. There it is again. Beep, beep. Sweet Jesus, can’t they turn that beeping off? I hear someone laughing down the way. Footsteps, wheels rolling. I reckon I’m in the hospital. Hope they brung me to East Cooper and they didn’t drive me down to MUSC over that dad-gum skinny bridge. If that don’t kill me, I don’t know what will.

“Hey, Mama. It’s me, Henrietta. I’m here. I’ve been here all night. Can you hear me?”

Yes I can hear you, I say. Can’t you hear me?

“Mama? Can you hear the words I’m saying to you? You’re in the hospital. Mama, the doctors say you’re going to be just fine. You just need to open your eyes now. Can you open your eyes, Mama?”

I try. I push on my eyelids, but they won’t listen to me.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to right now if you don’t want to. You just rest now. All right? Just rest. EJ’s going to be here soon. Won’t that be nice?”

Henrietta leans in close to me. I can feel her breath on my face and smell her faint perfume. Smells like apricots and fresh figs to me. I breathe in good as I can, but there’s tubes up, down, and every which-a-way.

“The doctors say you’ll be just fine, Mama,” she whispers to me. “I know you’ll be just fine. And Mama? You don’t have to worry a thing about your house anymore, okay? I’ve taken care of everything. The house is yours for as long as you want it.”

Glory hallelujah, baby. Praise God.

Retta stops and sucks back a sob, then she stands and moves away, blowing her nose.

Thank you, baby, I say to her. I don’t think she can hear me though. Then she leans in again.

“Mama!” she whispers to me real urgent-like, crying all the while. “I just want you to know, I didn’t want to put you in a nursing home—not really. I just—my marriage, Mama.” She blows her nose again and leans so close I can feel her breath on my ear.

“I knew this would happen. I was afraid you’d get too sick to be on your own, and—don’t get me wrong, Mama, I love you and I’d care for you, and Edward—he’s a good man. We just don’t need any more stress, that’s all. There’s just some things you don’t understand. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Mama. Not like you can . . . hear me . . . ”

Retta boo-hoos like a lost puppy, and it tears my heart plumb to shreds. The last thing I hear ’fore I disappear again is the sound of my baby girl crying for her mama.