Chapter 24

I would’ve sat on the floor if I’d thought I could get to my feet again without the help of Lillian or a crane. The floor would’ve been the ideal place to spread out the papers I had to go through and sort, but I didn’t want to chance having to call for help when I finished.

So I cleared the top of the large desk in the library and began sifting through piles of papers, pages torn from magazines, envelopes, sheets of notes and scribbles, recipes, and folders with more papers. It’s a caution what we tend to hold on to and cram into drawers, thinking that we might someday need that very thing. And we never do. So somebody ends up having to go through the accumulation and separate the valuable from the trash.

I determined right then that as soon as I was through with Mattie’s things, I would go through my own accumulation so that somebody else—who? Sam? Hazel Marie?—wouldn’t be saddled with the job.

Just as I found an insurance policy that I couldn’t make head nor tail of, the phone rang. I answered before Lillian could get it in the kitchen and was pleased to hear Etta Mae’s voice.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Julia,” she said, and before she continued, I quickly assured her that she wasn’t.

“It’s good to hear from you, Etta Mae, and I’m glad to have a break. You’re not disturbing me at all.”

“Well,” she went on, as I detected a hint of hesitancy in her words, “I didn’t know who else to call, ’cause, see, I think I have a problem and I was hoping you could maybe help.”

“I can certainly try, but I’m sorry you’re having a problem. What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s a little hard to explain on the phone. I kinda have to tell what led up to it, so I was wondering if you’d have time for me to come by for a few minutes? Maybe tomorrow? Or I could take you out for lunch if you have time.”

“I’d love to go to lunch with you, Etta Mae, but we might be pushed for time. I have a funeral to go to at two, and to be sure it doesn’t turn into a carnival sideshow, I should be there by one. Why don’t you drop by in the morning? I’ll be here doing just what I’m doing now—sorting and clearing out.”

We decided that around ten would suit us both, and I returned to going through Mattie’s papers. Finding an insurance policy had given me a lift—maybe it meant money would be coming in, which I could disburse without having to scrounge for nickels and dimes to meet Mattie’s inflated ideas of what she was leaving behind. I set the policy aside to take to Mr. Sitton, checked the time on my watch, and saw that I’d soon have to stop to check on Helen and Diane—not that I didn’t trust them to lock the door when they left, but I wanted to make sure. Then I’d have to get ready for the visitation, have some supper somewhere in between, and in general be pushed to get everything done.

When the doorbell rang, I listened as Lillian answered it, then heard LuAnne’s voice in the hall coming toward the library. I stood up and started toward the door just as she sailed in, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“Oh, Julia,” she said, collapsing on the sofa. “I am simply a mess, and I had to come talk to you. I know we have to get ready to go to the visitation—I set the time too early, but they told me it was the usual time, so I went with six o’clock. But, anyway, I just needed to talk to you.”

Lillian stood in the doorway, looking troubled. “Y’all want some tea? Or something?”

“I don’t think so, Lillian,” I said, then walked over to her. “If you’re planning to go to the visitation, just leave everything, and Sam and I will fix our plates. As for Mrs. Conover, she won’t be long.”

“No’m,” Lillian whispered. “I got Latisha to see to this evenin’, so I won’t be goin’. And the onliest time Miss Mattie talk to me was when she tole me my chicken salat be better with Duke’s ’stead of Hellman’s. She won’t care if I don’t go, ’cause I’m still using Hellman’s.”

“I’m glad you are. Your chicken salad is the best in town, and everybody knows it. But you run on home now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Turning back to LuAnne, who was wiping her face, I sat down beside her. “What’s wrong, LuAnne?”

“Oh, Julia,” she said, then had to stop for a sob or two. “It’s just hit me all at once. I’ve been so busy arranging everything. . . .” She stopped and looked at me through weeping eyes. “Did you know you have to pay to have your obituary in the paper? I didn’t, but thank goodness the funeral home had included it on their bill, so Mattie had already paid it. But when I thought of Mattie paying for her own death notice—who knows how long ago—it just got to me so bad. And I thought of how often I’d resented her—having to pick her up every time I turned around, and having to manhandle that walker of hers into the car. And, Julia, she was always so cranky, like she was entitled or something, but now, now the poor old thing is gone, and I’m, well, I’m grieving.”

“Oh, LuAnne,” I said, moved in spite of myself, “I think we all feel that way. She wasn’t the easiest person to be around, and that’s the truth.”

“Well, still,” she said, blotting away the tears, “I wish I’d been kinder, more understanding, or something. And, Julia, I apologize to you, too, for giving you such a hard time about the funeral. I think I’ve been grieving ever since she passed and just didn’t realize it. Instead of crying, I’ve just gotten harder and harder to get along with.” She managed a strangled laugh. “If I’m not careful, I’ll turn out just like Mattie herself.”

We both looked at each other, the same thought blooming in our minds. “You think. . . ?” I started.

“I do!” LuAnne said, her tears instantly drying up. “Oh, my goodness, Mattie must’ve had some great and awful grief in her life, and it finally turned her into a plain, ole, ill-tempered crab. That’s it, Julia! I’ll bet that’s it.”

“Could be,” I said, thinking of a young soldier moldering in his grave, as well as that convict somewhere in Mattie’s past, to say nothing of a sloshing flask in her pocketbook. I didn’t dare mention a thing to LuAnne—right at that moment, anyway. Furthermore, I’d have to think hard before revealing any of it to her at any time.

But at the same moment, I began to look forward to meeting Andrew F. Cobb and learning more about Mattie Freeman. I hate to admit this, but Mattie had become much more interesting now that she was gone than when she’d been with us.

But having designated LuAnne the funeral director, I had to tell her about Mattie’s self-proclaimed, recently arrived relative. “Mr. Sitton told him about the visitation, so we should be on the lookout for him. He’ll probably be the only person none of us knows.” Except, I mentally added, the mechanic who kept Mattie’s car on the road.

“Why,” LuAnne said brightly, “it’s almost like a romance novel. A strange man shows up just as his dearly beloved aunt or whatever has passed on, and now he’ll have to prove who he is. Although,” she said, frowning, “it’s usually a beautiful young woman who gets there just a little too late. Anyway, what’re you going to do about him?”

“Not one thing. Mr. Sitton is in the process of checking him out, then we’ll go from there. But, LuAnne, I do want to thank you for handling the visitation and the funeral and for dealing with the funeral home. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but it’s been a tremendous help to me.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I haven’t minded. Besides, now I’ll know what to do when I have to do it again. Leonard is a good bit older than I am, you know. But, listen,” she said, getting to her feet, “it’s getting late and we have to be there before anybody else. You and I will be the receiving line, so make sure you’re there early.”

We walked toward the door, and just as we reached it, LuAnne turned to me. “Oh, I almost forgot. I had the church put in the service bulletin that a reception would be held here at your house right after the interment. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, your house is more central than anybody else’s, and I’ve asked several people to bring food over in the morning, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. And I’ll be helping, of course.”

Well, what could I say? She had it all arranged and announced except for one minor thing—informing the hostess. I just nodded my agreement and, after seeing LuAnne on her way, went to the kitchen to warn Lillian that we would be receiving mourners after the funeral.

Then I went back to the library but was in no frame of mind to continue sorting through the piles of papers. LuAnne’s belated sadness had gotten to me, and I realized that I, too, had barely given a passing thought to Mattie’s passing, other than to moan about what she’d passed along for me to do. So I took a few moments to regret that I had not cultivated her friendship, had not taken the time to really know her. For one thing, if I had, I might’ve learned something about her family. Namely, if she had any.

_______

Sam and I quickly ate the supper that Lillian had left, got dressed, ran by Mattie’s apartment to check the door—it was locked—then hurried to the Good Shepherd Funeral Home. It was going to be an interesting two hours—not only did I have to be a gracious greeter in the receiving line, I had to watch for a strange man purporting to be an heir who wanted no part of Mattie’s estate—which I didn’t believe for an instant—but also be available to Pastor Ledbetter, who was expecting to have a word or two with me before the visitation was over. And on top of all of that, LuAnne had gotten her way about an open casket, so I’d have to look at least once.

“Sam,” I said, taking his arm as we walked from the parking lot to the funeral home, “I’m telling you right now, I do not want an open casket when my time comes.”

He smiled and pressed my arm to his side. “That’s a long time off, sweetheart, and I hope I’m not around to make that decision.”

After thinking about it for a few minutes, I decided that his response didn’t make me feel one bit better.