Sweet Caroline(67)
Mario’s expression hardens. “A deal is a deal.”
Miss Jeanne mutters again. “Caroline, you’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I thought I’d shop around.”
“A deal is a deal,” Mario repeats with a white, smarmy smile.
Miss Jeanne lays the back of her hand to the side of her mouth and whispers, “You’re giving us white folks a bad name.”
Oh, well, in that case . . .
Sigh. To Mario: “Do you take credit card?”
Mario beams. “Right this way.”
After squeezing fifteen hundred dollars onto my credit card, I sign my name with a whimper. An oven. For fifteen hundred dollars, I could be on a shopping trip to Madrid with Hazel, purchasing a very small piece of original art from the Prado.
Humming to himself, Mario asks, “When can you pick up oven?”
“When I have a truck.”
Mario escorts Miss Jeanne to her car while I peek again into the small dining room. They’re still here.
I walk across the room, the heels of my clogs tapping against the tile, announcing me. The little boys stare with cute expressions. “Hey, Henry.”
My brother jumps up, tipping over his chair. “Caroline, what are you doing here?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Hi, boys.”
“Hello,” they say.
Henry smiles at them. “Boys, this is my sister, Caroline. Caroline, this is Roberto, Trey, and David.”
“Very nice to meet you boys.”
With the pleasantries over, Henry grabs me by the arm and steers me away from the table. His posture is stiff as if I caught him in some heinous act. “Don’t say a word to Cherry.”
“Why not? Henry, she thinks you’re having an affair.” I lean back to see the boys again. “Are you? Whose kids are those?”
“She thinks I’m having an affair?” His tone and expression deny any sort of hanky-panky.
“Henry, talk to her. What are you doing here with these boys?”
“It’s no big deal. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Buying a convection oven, and it is a big deal if your wife believes you’re cheating.”
“Okay, look, I didn’t want to tell anyone or make a big fuss about it, but I’m a Big Brother. I’m hanging out with these guys because they don’t have a dad.”
Shut my mouth. “Since when?”
“Few months.”
“Oh my gosh, Henry, does Cherry know this?”
“No.” He runs his hand over his head and looks back at the boys. “She’ll flip and want to start trying for a baby.” Henry switches his gaze up to meet mine. “Part of this is me testing the kid waters. You know, seeing if I even want kids. So, please, don’t tell her.”
“Henry, I won’t, but you have to. She can’t go on thinking you’re cheating.”
He flinches. “I’ll tell her.”
“Do you realize the night you told her you were having dinner with Foster Spears, she ran into him at Blockbuster?”
He utters a sour word.
I press my hand to his arm, a soft spot forming in my heart for him.
“You best fix this.” Then I smile and pat his cheek. “Well, well, Cindy Lou Who, my brother the Grinch has a heart after all.”
DAILY SPECIAL
Wednesday, August 29
Chicken Pot Pie
Green Salad
Yeast Rolls or Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits
Sweet Potato Pie
Tea, Soda, Coffee
$7.99
29
Andy, Mercy Bea, Paris, Russell, Luke, and I stare at the TV Dad installed a few days ago in the back corner of the Café. “Got to have Fox News running or something,” he insisted.
Now, bad news depresses my dining room: “The National Hurricane Center has issued a hurricane warning for north-central Florida. And a hurricane watch for coastal southern Georgia and South Carolina. You can expect high winds and torrential rains over the weekend.”
“A hurricane.” Mercy Bea twirls her cigarette between her fingers. “Don’t that beat all. Caroline, there goes Reminisce Night.”
“Just pray, y’all.” I mean what I say too. It beats all those years I spent talking to the stars from the ancient limbs of our live oak. How great to know Someone loves me and is truly listening. “Come on, we’ve all been through storms before.”
Paris’s hand goes up slowly. “Not me.”
Wide-eyed and white-faced, Russell squeaks, “I’m terrified.”
“It’s wind and rain.” I clap my hands. “Buck up, bubbas. Tell you what, we’ll have a hurricane party at the carriage house. We’re going to be fine. Just fine.”
She says, she says, she says. All my cheering is sugarcoated bravado. Russell said it best: “I’m terrified.”
Andy turns the TV volume down as early lunch customers walk through the door. Paris grabs a couple of menus and seats a group of young professionals. They are smart and classy in their business attire and thick-heeled pumps.
Standing behind the counter, I absently run my hand over my soiled apron (I dropped a plate of pancakes). Isn’t my top the one with the Tide-resistant stains? I subtly check. Yep.