Page 28 of The Party Line

“I’m not sure we’ll ever be over it totally, not even after we reach that final step of acceptance,” I said around the lump in my throat.

Silence filled the car for a few seconds before she went on. “She came to the house when she found that my folks were throwing me out because I was pregnant. According to them, I had disgraced the Matthews name. While Mama was cramming my things into garbage bags, I called Aunt Gracie. I’d only just gotten out to the front lawn with everything I owned in two black plastic bags when Aunt Graciedrove up in this very car, in her best red pantsuit, and stormed into the house without even knocking. She lit into my folks like a mama bear and told them what she thought of them for what they were doing, in a voice so loud that folks all the way to Poteet probably heard her. There was a lot of screaming and Bible verses quoted, but she finally came outside and told me to put all those bags in the back seat of this Ford.”

“What did she say to you?” I asked.

“She said that I was not to look back but to keep my eyes forward.”

“Did you?”

“Of course I did.”

I turned toward Poteet and tried to imagine Aunt Gracie raising her voice but couldn’t. “Was she talking about right then or the future?”

“Both,” Mama said. “She wanted me to go to college that fall, but by the time I graduated, I was sick of school. Sometimes I wonder if our lives would have been different if I had taken her up on her offer to pay for me to go.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” I reminded her. “We have always had plenty, Mama. I never knew that we weren’t as rich as all the fancy kids I went to school with.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“Do you think your folks are still alive?” I asked.

“Have no idea,” Mama answered. “I’ve never heard from them, but Jasper told me they had moved to Wyoming.”

“Want me to get in touch for you?” I asked.

“They know where I am,” she said with a serious expression on her face. “Let’s talk about ... Oh my goodness!”

“What?” I almost stomped on the brake.

“Beans and corn bread is one of Jasper’s favorite meals, too. We should have asked him to come with us,” she said.

“We’ll order a take-out box for him.”

I snagged a parking place close to the front entrance of the small café. “He’ll like that. It’s hard to think that Annie won’t be running thisjoint in just a couple of weeks. Both this place and Madge’s Diner have been around longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Honey, they’ve been in business since before I was born. Madge told me once that Gracie bailed her out during the tough times when the pandemic shut down so many places.” Mama got out of the car and ducked when a loud clap of thunder right above our heads sounded like it was raining potatoes down from the sky. “Good Lord! Where did that come from?”

I pointed to the southwest. “Looks like we’re in for some bad weather. Must have something to do with Annie’s Café. It rained when Jasper and I came for Sunday dinner last week.”

She laughed at my remark as dark clouds obliterated the sun and lightning shot through the sky. Thunder followed and several folks came running out of the café.

“Want to go in or head back home for a sandwich?” I asked.

“I’ve got my heart set on a bowl of beans. We can wait out the storm inside. Even if we get wet, I don’t expect a little rainwater will melt either one of us.”

A memory popped into my head of a day when I must have been four or five years old. A spring shower came up, and since there was no lightning, Aunt Gracie and I had gone outside and played in the rain. We had held hands and played ring-around-the-rosy and giggled for the better part of an hour. Then we had run inside, gotten into dry clothing, and had hot chocolate and cookies. I remembered asking her if she had done that when she was a little girl, and she shook her head.

“Mother said I had to be a lady and live up to the Evans name.” Her voice became harsh and she shook her finger. “‘Ladies do not dance around like heathens in the rain. What would people think?’” Then her tone softened, and she smiled at me. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t dance in the rain.”

We barely made it into the café before raindrops the size of lemons began to fall. The place had emptied out except for Annie and a couple of waitresses, who were having a glass of tea in a back booth.

Annie waved from the back of the dining area. “Did the storm blow y’all in here?”

“Almost,” Mama said. “There’s only one place in Poteet to get pinto beans and corn bread.”

“You’re in luck,” Annie said. “There’s probably enough left for a couple of plates.”

“Think you could make that three?” I asked. “We’d like to take some to Jasper.”

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