The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(8)

“Go, Korey!” Patricia screamed, breaking the silence. “Run!”

Korey circled the bases and her team took the game, 6–4. Korey was at bat for every single one of those points.



* * *



—

Six months later, it became clear Miss Mary could no longer live on her own. Carter and his two older brothers agreed to take turns having their mother stay with them four months at a time, and Carter, being the youngest, took her first.

Then Sandy called the day before he was supposed to drive down and pick her up, saying, “My kids are too young to be around Mama when she’s confused like this. We want them to remember her the way she used to be.”

Carter called his oldest brother, but Bobby said, “Mom wouldn’t be comfortable in Virginia, it’s too cold up here.”

Harsh words were exchanged, and then Carter, sitting on the end of their bed, jammed his thumb down hard on the portable phone’s hang-up button and held it there for a very long time before he said:

“Mom’s staying.”

“For how long?” Patricia asked.

“Forever,” he said.

“But, Carter…,” she began.

“What do you want me to do, Patty?” he asked. “Throw her out on the street? I can’t put her in a home.”

Patricia immediately softened. Carter’s father had died when he was young and his mother had raised him alone. His next-oldest brother was eight years his senior and so it had been Carter and his mother on their own. Miss Mary’s sacrifices for Carter were family legend.

“You’re right,” she said. “We have the garage room. We’ll make it work.”

“Thank you,” he said after a long pause, and he sounded so genuinely grateful, Patricia knew they’d made the right decision.

But Korey was starting middle school, and Blue couldn’t focus on his math and he needed a tutor and he was only in fourth grade, and Carter’s mother couldn’t always say what she was thinking, and she was getting worse every day.

Frustration poisoned Miss Mary’s personality. Once she had doted on her grandchildren. Now, when Blue accidentally knocked over her buttermilk she pinched his arm so hard it left a black-and-blue mark. She kicked Patricia in the shin after finding out there was no liver for her supper. She demanded to be taken to the bus station constantly. After a series of incidents, Patricia learned she couldn’t be left home alone.

Grace stopped by early one afternoon on a day when Miss Mary had already thrown her bowl of cereal on the floor, then clogged her toilet in the garage room with an entire roll of paper.

“I wanted to invite you to be my guest for the closing night of Spoleto,” Grace told Patricia. “I have tickets for you, Kitty, Maryellen, and Slick. I thought it would be nice if we did something cultural.”

Patricia ached to go. Closing night of Spoleto took place outdoors at Middleton Place. You had a picnic on a blanket on the hill facing the lake while the Charleston Symphony Orchestra played classical music and it ended with fireworks. Then she heard Ragtag yelp from the den and Miss Mary say something ugly.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Patricia said.

“Can I help?” Grace asked.

And it all came out, how scared Patricia felt about Miss Mary living with them, how hard it was for her to sit at the table for dinner with the children, how much of a strain it was on her and Carter.

“But I don’t want to complain,” Patricia said. “She did so much for Carter.”

Grace said she was sorry Patricia wouldn’t make Spoleto, then left, and Patricia cursed herself for talking too much.

The next day, a pickup truck pulled into Patricia’s driveway with Kitty’s boys in the back along with a portable toilet, a walker, bedpans, washing basins, large-handled plastic cutlery, and boxes of unbreakable plates. Kitty heaved herself out of the driver’s seat.

“When Horse’s mother lived with us we wound up with all this junk,” she said. “We’ll bring the hospital bed over tomorrow. I just need to round up some more fellas to lift it.”

Patricia realized that Grace must have called Kitty and told her the situation. Before she could call Grace to say thank you, her doorbell rang again. A short black woman, plump but sharp-eyed, her hair set in a stiff old-fashioned helmet, wearing white slacks and a white nurse’s tunic under a purple cardigan, stood on her front porch.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh said you might be able to use my help,” the woman said. “My name is Ursula Greene and I take care of old folks.”

“It’s very nice of you,” Patricia began. “But—”

“I’ll also look after the children occasionally at no extra charge,” Mrs. Greene said. “I’m not a babysitter, but Mrs. Cavanaugh said you might step out from time to time. I charge eleven dollars an hour and thirteen dollars an hour at night. I don’t mind cooking for the little ones, but I don’t want it to become a habit.”

It was cheaper than Patricia thought, but she still couldn’t imagine anyone being willing to deal with Miss Mary.

“Before you make a decision,” she said, “let me introduce you to my mother-in-law.”

They walked onto the sun porch, where Miss Mary sat watching television. Miss Mary scowled at the interruption.