I sat back down.
“More cake sounds lovely, Miss Cordelia.”
Not Hasty
At the hospital, David unwrapped a peppermint and popped it into his mouth. He pulled out a small cologne sample from his pants pocket and dabbed a drop behind each ear with his index finger.
“How I look?” he asked.
“You look okay,” I said.
“How I smell?” He lifted one arm and then the other, sniffing.
“Who are you trying to impress? Stop all that.”
Another early morning phone call, only two weeks after I’d returned to North Carolina. This time, my mother had been weeping violently.
“What’s wrong, Mama? Slow down, now.”
“Ailey, he’s in the hospital. They moved him to Atlanta.”
“Who, Mama?”
“Root! The doctor at Crawford Long said it’s only gone be a couple of days.”
“You mean until he’s dead? Are you serious? What happened?”
“They don’t know, Ailey. His blood pressure kept spiking, and he was having trouble breathing. His regular doctor had him airlifted to Atlanta. Said they didn’t have time for me to drive him. Ailey, please come. I don’t know if I can go through this without you. Coco offered to fly down, but you know she’s working.”
“Of course I’ll come, but can I borrow a few dollars? I’ll pay you back when my fellowship check comes.”
I put aside my panic and fear and moved into autopilot. I slid from under the sheets, dragging the phone cord to the closet. Something in case there was a funeral, dark this time. My navy crepe.
“You don’t have to pay me back. It’s all right. Thank you, baby. Mama loves you so much.” I’d known it was critical when she’d referred to herself in the third person.
I grabbed David’s hand, preparing myself to see Uncle Root lying against the hospital pillows, his fluffy, silver hair combed out. Wearing the silk pajamas that he favored, pressed by one of his many female relatives who were scheduled to drive over in shifts. Tears filled my eyes. David pulled me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head.
“Aw, sweetheart. Everyone’s got to pass.”
“Your platitudes aren’t consoling me, David.”
“It might not be what you want to hear, but we’ve all got to go. Dr. Hargrace has had a long and good life, so don’t cry, okay? Your mama and granny will be upset as it is. You’ve got to be strong now. That’s your job.”
“You’re a little funky under your pits,” I said. “Now that you mention it.”
He pulled the tiny bottle of cologne back out.
In the hospital room, Uncle Root was perched on the edge of his hospital bed. He was telling a story, his head thrown back dramatically. Mama sat in the armchair by the door. She shook her head, grinning.
The old man held out his hands and David helped him down from the bed.
“Dr. Hargrace, you’re looking well! This is a wonderful surprise. God is so good.”
“He sure is! Don’t count me out just yet.” He turned to me and opened his arms. “There’s my young scholar. What you know, sugarfoot? Coming to take me away from all this?”
The doctor decided not to keep Uncle Root for another day, saying he’d made a miraculous recovery for ninety-nine. Maybe it was the garlic he was eating, but it went without saying that he should take it easy.
*
Back at home Uncle Root shuffled into his study and stayed until I went in after him. I hovered, putting a palm on his shoulder, hoping he took the touch as love and not as a caution. If he fell, I could catch him before he hit the ground.
“What did I do with it?” A pile of books overturned and slid to the floor. He opened the drawers on his oak desk.
“Do with what? Uncle Root be careful, please. You know what the doctor said.”
“Ah! Here it is!” He held up a bottle. “David’s coming over this evening. You think he’ll like this?”
“I’m sure, but you know he has to drive back to Atlanta.”
“His mother lives not even a mile away. And if it gets too late, there’s the other guest room. Unless you want to sneak him into your room.”
He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Uncle Root, stop that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I know I should. However, I am not.”
That evening Uncle Root, Mama, David, and I sat at the dining room table, eating pie. The old man had begged Mama to go in the kitchen and make some strong coffee; at his age, the caffeine couldn’t hurt him anymore. When we moved into the living room, the old man produced the scotch, and Mama rose from her chair.