Page 8 of The Party Line

He chuckled again. “Might be a good way to check out of this world,” he said. “I’m ready to go home now.”

“Which one?” I asked.

He straightened up to his full height and dried his eyes on a white handkerchief he pulled out of the pocket of his khaki dress pants. “I only got one home on this earth, and God ain’t ready for me yet.”

“Don’t you usually use a red or blue bandanna?” I asked.

“This is my Sunday britches and hankie, and we need to get our takeout stuff put away. Be a shame for it to go bad after Gracie paid good money for it.”

“She didn’t like to waste anything, especially food,” I agreed and remembered all the times that Gracie and I had madegotta go, which was simply getting all the leftovers out of the fridge and heating them up.

He nodded off a couple of times on the trip home, but when I pulled into the driveway, he awoke. “It’s been a good day, Lila. I look forward to next Sunday.”

“Me too,” I told him. “I’ll take your food to your house for you. Was your friend Davis related to the Poteets that the town was named for?”

“Most likely, but Rita’s daddy was the black sheep of the family, and she kind of followed in his footsteps. Thank you for everything today, Lila. I’m needin’ my Sunday-afternoon nap for sure.” He covered a yawn with his hand.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“What do you mean about Rita following in her daddy’s footsteps?”

“Her daddy was the town drunk. Her poor mama had to scrape by doing ironing for other folks so she could feed their six kids. And then Rita wasn’t married when she had Davis. You got to remember, that was almost a hundred years ago, and things were different then.”

I picked up the bag with his food in it and followed him around the house and into the backyard. “I would have liked to have known them.”

“They were good people. I’m glad I got to talk to Gracie and Davis. Me and Gracie went once a week to see Davis ever since he was brought home to be buried. I bet he didn’t even know I missed a few weeks, since he’s got his Gracie up there with him now. He’s waited for her for a long, long time. Her daddy didn’t like us going to the cemetery, but she never was one to take orders from him, not after ... That’s a story for later.”

That was another little tidbit of information I filed away in my mind. Aunt Gracie seldom mentioned her father to me—or her mother, either, for that matter. Come to think of it, there were few pictures in the house of either of them. I couldn’t imagine them not being good people, since Gracie was such a sweetheart to me and my mama. Gracie had no time for my biological grandmother—her cousin, twice removed—because she kicked her daughter, Sarah, out of the house when she got pregnant with me. That was when Aunt Gracie gave Mama the little house down the road, just plumb signed the deed over to her and told her cousin she wasn’t welcome in her house anymore.

“Where is your mind, Lila?” Jasper asked.

His voice jerked me out of the past and into the present really fast, and I was surprised to see that we were standing on his porch. “Woolgathering,” I said honestly. “What did you say?”

“I said that I could take my food from here,” he told me. “I’d invite you in, but you need to get one of them boxes down to your mama.”

“I really do.” I refused to let the tears damming up behind my eyelids fall. Good memories seemed to pop up and hit me at the strangesttimes, like makinggotta gosoup orgotta goomelets with Aunt Gracie. “See you tomorrow sometime.”

“I hope so,” he said and slid a wink my way. “If I ain’t out on the porch at dawn, just kick the door in and call the undertaker.”

“Oh, no!” I shook my finger at him. “You’ve got more stories to tell me before we make that phone call.”

“Gracie said you would keep me on my toes,” he replied with a chuckle. “Tell Sarah hello for me, and to not be a stranger.”

“I will,” I agreed and headed back around the big house to my vehicle. A strong scent of chicken and dressing filled the SUV, making me really glad I’d brought home a for-later dinner for myself.

Just as I slid under the wheel, my phone rang. I tapped the front of the screen to answer my mother’s FaceTime call, and her picture popped right up. “Hello, Mama. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I am. You know how allergic I am to cats? Well, a stray one left hair all over my porch swing. I didn’t even notice it when I spent at least an hour out there last night. I’ve sprayed it down real good, and I’ve had some ginger tea and taken my allergy pill.”

“That’s great because I’m on the way to your house right now. We ate at Annie’s Café today, and I’m bringing you a chicken-and-dressing dinner.”

“That would be wonderful.” Her voice sounded strained, but I attributed it to the allergy attack. “I was about to heat up chicken noodle soup from a can. Can you stay awhile? I’ve got some peach cobbler in the fridge, too, and there’s always a beer if you want one.”

“Of course—and, Mama, you don’t have to entice me with pie and beer to get me to come spend time with you.”

“Be aware that I’m weepy today,” she said and then the screen went dark.

---