Bitter and Sweet, page 30
I had a few more questions, but she assured me that I was okay and told me to keep her posted on his condition.
My phone rang. It was Sabrina. “I got your note. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Vince is the one who’s not.” I filled her in on his condition.” She promised to take care of the last-minute details for Tabby’s opening and we got off the phone.
I arrived at the hospital and went to the main desk. I was directed down the hall to a waiting area. I was there for about ten minutes before a man who introduced himself as Dr. Warren appeared.
“Mrs. Clark, thank you for getting here.” He took me into a private room down the hall. It was one of those cubbies that belonged to no one in particular—basically, the room where news was given to families.
He tapped on an iPad and said, “So, as you know, Mr. Clark was in a serious automobile accident early this morning. When he first arrived in the emergency room, his condition was grave. It took several hours to stabilize him. He has a broken pelvis, a leg broken in two places—the shin and the femur—multiple broken ribs, and a broken right hand.”
Trying to take it all in, I played with the strap of my bag.
“He also has a head injury that we don’t yet know the extent of. We won’t know until he wakes up.”
“When do you expect him to wake up?”
“We’re hopeful, Mrs. Clark. He was having seizures. We put him in a medically induced coma to stop them.”
He said many more things. Stuff I didn’t understand. Things that sounded simply awful. I was overwhelmed.
“I just saw him last week.”
“I understand that you’re separated?”
“Yes. He has a girlfriend.”
“Miss Daley. She lives with him. She completed the paperwork. She left.”
“She left?”
“She got scared and didn’t handle it well. Her exact words were ‘Let Mariah take care of this.’ She’s the one that told us who you were.”
“Of course.” I sighed. “Vince and I are going through a divorce. I don’t think I’m the right person to make medical decisions for him.”
“You’re the only person. According to Miss Daley, he doesn’t have parents or siblings.”
“He has a few cousins here in the county.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t reassign consent until he wakes up.”
“I don’t want this responsibility. What if I choose wrong?”
“You’d be asking these questions if you weren’t going through a divorce. It’s natural to be anxious. What I can tell you is we will try to give you as much information as we can in lay language so you’re not overwhelmed.”
The doctor continued, “If Mr. Clark does recover, he’s going to require months of therapy, physical and probably occupational. He will need multiple surgeries, and we’ve already had one. And like I said, his head injury could affect all outcomes.
“Right now, he’s in surgery. We had to take him in to relieve pressure on his brain. We need to know if extraordinary measures are necessary, what are his wishes?”
“Vince is too much of a narcissist to go out without a fight. I give you consent to do everything necessary to save his life.”
The doctor left. This was too much. I wasn’t doing it. And I definitely wasn’t staying here in Greenville to deal with Vince’s health issues, not when Tabby’s was opening this weekend.
The only reason he was still my husband right now was because by law we had to wait twelve months for a divorce.
I sat down and thought long and hard about what I was dealing with here. I couldn’t just abandon him like Jess had, but I also couldn’t let him back into my life. I for durn sure wasn’t going to spend a single day taking care of him. I’d already taken care of his mother. I had nothing else for the Clark family. I’d worked too hard on my mental health for that.
I opened my phone and did a search for the courthouse in Turnin County. After getting a clerk on the phone, I asked for Justice Sharon Clark. I was given the runaround at first, but I finally told them her cousin was having a life-or-death medical emergency.
“Mariah, this is Sharon,” her smooth, cool voice came through my speaker. “What’s going on?”
“Vince was in a car accident.”
“What? When?”
“After some bar closed, so 2 a.m. He’s at Greenville Regional. He’s in a coma. They’re trying to keep him alive.”
Sharon muttered a bunch of words that shared her confusion. I waited for her to process. “Are you at the hospital now?”
“I’m on my way back to Georgetown. You should get over here right way. He’s in surgery, and they asked me about his living will.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean on your way back to Georgetown?”
“Vince is not my responsibility.”
“Yes, he is. He’s your husband. You’re not divorced.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to let that ruin my life. You signed the order to have me removed from everything owned by the Clarks. You’re a judge. Sign the papers to make yourself his medical proxy. You’ll be much better at it than I will.”
I ended the call. I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do, but it was all I could do. Dr. Johnson talked about there being no right or wrong decisions. I was certain this fell into that category. I waited for forty minutes. That’s what it took for Sharon Clark, her mother, and her brother to come rushing into the waiting room. Once they reached the desk, I slipped out. Vince was in good hands. He was in the hands of people who still loved him.
* * *
I went to my apartment for the first time in almost three months. Everything was as I left it. I had no plants, no pets. Nothing needed care.
Except me. I needed care when I was here.
I undressed and stretched out on my bed. I missed it, but the one at my grandparents’ house was of better quality. Then I called my lawyer and told her what I’d done about Vince’s medical emergency.
“You left him in good hands,” she said, and I felt good about my choice.
Finally, I texted Hope and told her what was going on with Vince. She was busy at work and couldn’t talk but sent me a thumbs-up for making a decision that was about me and not what others expected.
I felt peace. A perfect peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I didn’t want Vince to die. I hated the thought of him being physically incapacitated, especially if he was alone, but he’d chosen to give up on us in a shady, spiteful way, so even though I wasn’t perfect in our marriage, the nasty conclusion was not my fault.
I texted Sabrina and Dante to let them know I’d left Vince with his family and I’d be back in the morning. Both gave me thumbs-up. Sabrina’s text included hearts and flowers. It felt good to be supported and not judged for not staying.
There was a knock at the door, a familiar one, and I sensed it was my special little friend. I opened the door, and he flew into my body. “Miss Mariah,” he said. “I miss you.”
I pulled him back. “I miss you too. How’s your summer been?”
“Good. I go to camp.”
“Wow. Camp is cool. How’s your mom?”
Jordy smiled. “She’s good. She’s not home.”
“Who’s with you?” I asked.
“Jordy?” a voice called from outside.
Jordy ran to the door and opened it. A college-aged student was on the other side.
“Jordy, what are you doing in this apartment?”
I walked to the door. “I’m Mariah,” I said, giving her my hand. “I’ve been away. We were just catching up.”
She sized me up like that meant nothing. She looked down at him. “You have to go get ready for your grandmother’s call.”
“Has he had dinner?” I asked.
The sitter looked at me like I had two heads. “Of course.”
“I always have dinner now,” Jordy said. And my heart felt like it would burst.
I looked at his sitter. “Can I have three minutes?”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Leave the door open.”
“That’s fine,” I said. I walked to the couch, and Jordy followed. I sat. “Look. I have news that you might not like.”
“You’re moving?”
I looked at him curiously. “How did you guess?”
He shrugged. “You’ve been gone a long time. Where are you moving to?”
“Georgetown. It’s down near the ocean.”
Jordy nodded. “I won’t have your soups anymore.”
“No,” I said.
“I guess it’s okay now that Mom has food.”
My heart smiled. “I bet she makes really good food.”
He shrugged again. “Not as good as yours, but she’s learning.”
I laughed and stood. “Well, make sure you always compliment her for trying. Women need to be appreciated.”
Jordy wrapped his arms around my waist. “Thank you, Miss Mariah. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I said.
Jordy walked through the door. I followed and closed it behind him. He wasn’t hungry anymore. I thanked God.
Once Jordy was gone, I decided to pack. I pulled another suitcase out of the closet and packed my favorite outfits. Once I had everything I wanted, I parked my suitcase next to the door. I cleaned out the refrigerator and took the trash out. Then I showered and made a cup of tea and sat in my favorite chaise by the bay window in the living room. It was the best feature of the tiny place, and I missed it.
I reached across to the bookshelf and picked up my photo album. I flipped through the different pictures of my family. Warmth spread through my chest in a way that it previously had not done. Even when I came to my dad’s pics, I felt a certain way, but not as negative as I had in the past. At the back of the album was a picture that triggered emotions. My grandmother gave it to me when I went to college. It was a picture of my mother and me.
I was perched on my knees on a stool, holding a spoon. The look on my face held anticipation of what was to come next. My mother was standing at the kitchen island behind a mixing bowl. One hand was on my shoulder and the other on her rising belly. So it wasn’t just a picture of her and me. It was a picture of her and her girls.
I sat with that one for a few minutes, tracing the lines and absorbing the beauty of the few memories I had with her. Memories that Sabrina never had.
I turned the page, and the next photo was Mom standing behind a table full of her jar cakes. I remembered the wide smile in this picture and the soft, happy eyes. These cakes were her specialty. I’d allowed losing her to make me resent what she loved.
I flipped back to the picture of the three of us. Mom loved her baby. She’d traded her life for her. And yet while I was successful at Clark’s, my sister was spiraling from the loss of Kendrick. She was living in a van and had given Ellen her daughter. All she needed was a little help, and I had not been there for her. I needed to make that right. I put the album down. I needed to right a few things. I picked up my phone.
Chapter 35
Tabitha
Charleston and Georgetown, South Carolina
June 1925
“Tabitha Moore, nothing else is going to fit on this wagon.” Brady pushed the last box into the bottom of the wagon bed and pressed it closed. “Not unless you are planning to catch another wagon.”
Tabitha stood there holding a bag of shoes and dresses that she could not fit in the trunks. She inspected the items. She would not ride all the way to Georgetown with these things on her lap.
“Can we take these to the YWCA?”
Brady removed his hat, wiped his forehead around the hairline, and put it back on. “Woman, the YWCA was supposed to be done.”
Tabitha knew his protest was less about the time it would take than the simple fact that Brady was tired. He’d gotten a ride to Georgetown yesterday to retrieve the wagon from Mama and ridden it back. Now he was going to have to make the trip again.
They were leaving Charleston. The economy shifted, and with it, many of the businesses in the city suffered. As it was everywhere in the city, Negro men lost their jobs on the docks first.
“Where is Margaret?” she asked, looking around for her daughter.
“Here,” Margaret said, coming down the steps carrying a book. One would think she was summoned for a funeral. She did not want to leave Charleston. It was the only home she knew. She had friends and activities here; Georgetown would be slower paced and quieter. Rather than see it as an opportunity to enjoy more peace, Margaret anticipated boredom.
“Let me help you.” Brady helped Margaret climb into the wagon bed where he had put quilts and other bedding to make the ride more comfortable for her.
“Does it feel like you’re leaving home?” Tabitha asked, looking back at the building they’d moved into after they married two years ago.
“Home is where you are.” Brady kissed her cheek and lingered close to her.
Tabitha lifted his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Are you sure you’re not upset that we’re going to Georgetown instead of Columbia?”
“There isn’t much for me in Columbia but farming. Farming don’t feed anybody these days.”
Brady shook his head, but she knew he hated starting over. There was no plan for Georgetown. All they had was shelter and food at Mama’s house. He’d always worked for himself, and now he would have to find a job. The newspapers did not paint promising prospects of that. South Carolina was suffering. The four-year drought and two years of the boll weevil destroyed harvests of food and cotton. More than thirty thousand farmers and many more sharecroppers walked away from their land. Negroes went north to manufacturing jobs, away from Jim Crow and its vagrancy and other oppressive laws.
Brady helped Tabitha into the wagon. Carrying their first child, she was more belly than anything else these days.
She didn’t have to ask Brady to ride past the docks. He wanted to look at them for the last time too. They passed their boarded-up businesses but carried the ache of their loss with them. At first they combined stores, moving his business into hers, but doing that didn’t help. There were no Negro and very few white dock workers to sell food or goods to. Without cotton, there were no textiles or exports, which meant there was nothing to ship.
“We have each other, Tab.” She tore her gaze from the buildings and found Brady’s beautiful brown eyes. She’d rode into this town carrying Margaret. It seemed a lifetime ago, but as her daughter was only nine, it had not been. Tabitha placed one hand on his thigh and the other on her belly and trusted that each other was all she would need.
* * *
October 1936
“A papermill is coming to Georgetown.” Tabitha turned the folded newspaper around so Brady and Amos could see the headline.
Brady didn’t seem much fazed by it. He was too busy packing their son’s lunch pail. “I saw that. What about it?”
“I’m thinking the men working there will need lunch. I could start up a lunch wagon.”
Brady chuckled. “You’re trying to resurrect Tabby’s Place.”
“I won’t be resurrecting anything. I like new things and new plans, sir.” She shimmied her shoulders at him.
Their son Brady Jr. entered the kitchen and put his books on the table.
“Where is Tom?” Tabitha asked.
“He likes a girl, so he’s dressing slow.” Amos cackled. It was hard to believe this was Tom’s last year of school. He was the book smartest of her four children. He would have already graduated, but the schools weren’t always open during the Depression. She hoped to have money to send him to college.
Amos had already eaten breakfast, but he reached for another piece of salt pork and popped it in his mouth. “I can help make cakes,” he said.
Amos had become a pretty good baker. He made ten cakes for his high school graduation. At the reception, everyone complimented him. Since then, he’d baked quite a few for pay.
Brady Jr. added, “You can name the wagon Tabby’s Meats and Sweets.”
“Somebody was listening to grown folks’ conversations before he came in here.” Tabitha cupped his chin with her hand and kissed him on the top of his head. “I like that idea, but you, sir, need to get down the road to that schoolhouse.”
He hugged his mother and his father, took the lunch pail Brady handed him, and left the house.
Tabitha picked up the coffee cup she’d abandoned and took a sip. She stared at the new announcement again. “If this country ever finds itself out from under God’s heel, I will open another restaurant with just that name.”
“I don’t think God is much to blame for greedy men destroying the banks,” Brady said, “but things will get better. Bad times don’t last forever.”
Tabitha nodded her agreement. “This article says eight hundred men will be hired to build the plant.”
Brady cocked an eyebrow. “You think any of them will be Negro?”
“Whites need to eat too.” She thought some more. “We should be able to get excess from the local farmers. They’ll be glad to sell for something rather than waste the crops like they’ve been doing. All I’d need to buy is some meat.”
“We’ll see,” Brady said, but it wasn’t his vision. It was Tabitha’s. She saw.
In February 1937 Tabitha, Amos, and Margaret set up a food wagon outside the construction site every day at lunchtime and sold out her purloo rice and whatever meat she could get. Amos sold slices of cake for dessert. Tabby’s Meats and Sweets was born. As the heel of God’s foot lifted, businesses in Georgetown started ordering food for their employee parties. Tabitha received orders from people having weddings, birthday parties, and holiday parties. She named her signature purloo dish Tabby’s Rice. It became well known all over the county.
One Sunday afternoon after dinner, Mama said, “We need to go somewhere.”
Tabitha looked at Brady. He avoided her eyes, and she couldn’t help wondering if he knew what Mama was up to. The two of them were as close as mother and son. Brady replaced the two sons who had abandoned Mama with evil disregard.
