Destiny Lingers (9 page)

Chapter
Eleven

I
am halfway done cooking breakfast when I hear the first sounds of the family starting to rise. I look up, and Aunt Joy is standing there with a big smile on her face.

“Whatcha got cookin’, good-lookin’?” she teases.

“Something delicious that reminds me of home.” I flip over a big spot, frying golden in the big cast-iron pan. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Please do,” Aunt Joy happily accepts as she slides her round body into a chair and pulls up to the kitchen table with a hearty “Whew!”

“Feeling any better this morning?” I ask her, still worried about how she became so weak so fast while walking on the beach yesterday.

“Oh, I’m okay.” She shoos away my concern. “Don’t you fret over me now. Ooo! Boy, that fish sure looks good. Nice and golden brown, just like we like it. I sure do miss your breakfasts, kiddo.”

“Yes,” I reply with a sigh. “Everybody does.”

I can’t think of the last time I prepared a home-cooked meal for anyone. I forgot how soothing, therapeutic, generous, and loving it can be. Perhaps I’ll cook more—prepare another special meal when Garrett and I get home, just for us, to express my love. But I know it will take a lot more than home cooking to save our marriage.

“Where’s Garrett? Still sleeping?” Aunt Joy is nibbling on a crunchy fish tail she must have stolen when I wasn’t looking.

“Yes, he’s still asleep. He’s been working really hard lately.”

“You both have.” Aunt Joy looks up at me. “Is he sensitive to how hard you’ve been working up there in that dangerous city, putting your life on the line while trying to save others?”

“I think so …” I try to busy myself with my spatula, taking the sizzling fish out of the pan and draining it on a brown grocery bag.

“How are you two getting along?” Aunt Joy leans in. “Still enjoying newlywed bliss?”

I look at Aunt Joy, and she seems to have a look of knowing all over her face.

“We’re struggling,” I admit. “But we’re trying.”

“
We
are?” Aunt Joy asks.

“Yes,
we.
We’re trying.”

“Hmm. I certainly hope so. I just want you to be happy, Destiny,” she says softly. “You are my concern. You deserve to be happy. You’re my kiddo, and I care about you.”

Aunt Joy winks.

I flip another spot.

“Well, well, well. What’s for breakfast?” Mother suddenly flows into the room wearing one of her many colorful caftans as she carefully eyes my meal. Mother loves her caftans. They make her look and feel as regal as a queen. She also loves running the show. “I’ll set the table,” she offers. “I’ve been dying to use your grandmother’s old china and linens for a special occasion anyway. And Destiny, your cooking breakfast is indeed a special occasion. What in the world’s gotten into you?”

“Well, look here! It’s our baby girl, cooking the family breakfast on this fine Topsail morning.” Daddy sleepily saunters over and plants a big kiss on my forehead. “Oh, my word—look, Mother. She’s frying spots!”

Mother makes a big fuss over setting the table. Every fork, knife, spoon, and seashell-embroidered cloth napkin is in its proper place. Daddy and Aunt Joy sit on the front-porch rocking chairs, sipping coffee, looking out over the ocean, and again talking about how much the island has changed with construction bustling everywhere and the beaches finally integrated today.

While the family moves in its natural order, there is still no sign of Garrett. Why does he not get out of that bed and come spend some time with the family? Is that really so hard to do?

“Wash up, everybody,” I call out as I head back to the bedroom to wake up Garrett. I find him lying across the bed, reading.

“Well, good morning,” I say, a bit of sarcasm leaking into my voice. “I didn’t know you were up. Why don’t you join us?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Garrett keeps reading.

I try again. “I fried some spots, and I have some grits and biscuits too—”

“I said I’d be out in a minute,” Garrett snaps and then turns back to his reading.

I feel so rejected by Garrett right now that I could scream, but instead, I quietly back out of the bedroom. I take a deep breath and hold back the tears that are stinging behind my eyes before facing my family with a fake smile on my face.
Why does he insist on being so damn difficult? Is he purposely trying to piss off every member of my family—before
noon?

“Y’all ready for breakfast?” I ask.

Mother, Daddy, and Aunt Joy are already standing around the table, waiting for Garrett and me to join hands in prayer.

“Yes, DeeDee, everything looks wonderful.” Daddy beams. “Let’s eat. Where’s Garrett?”

“He’s coming,” I say. We stand for a few beats, which seem like minutes. Still no sign of any movement from Garrett. “Well, let’s just go on and say the grace,” I say, trying to make light of the situation. “He’s such a slowpoke. Don’t worry; he’s coming.”

“Well, just how long are we supposed to wait for King Garrett?” Mother is clearly agitated, as she hates rudeness—and Garrett. “You work all morning on this nice meal for the whole family, and he can’t even show his appreciation—much less respect—by just showing up for breakfast on time? It’s not like he has to drive across town. He’s in the bedroom, for God’s sake!”

“Mother, I thought we were going to try to make this a peaceful weekend.”

“Well, we could certainly use a bit more consideration from your husband,” Daddy snaps.

“Pass the spots, and stop all this yapping,” interjects Aunt Joy as she spoons a heap of hot grits on her plate. “Don’t let nothing take your joy like this. Eat. Garrett will be out when he’s good and ready.”

We eat the delicious spots in silence. This is certainly not the joyous morning feast I had envisioned. Everyone is tense, seemingly ready to pounce on any sound or sign of Garrett. Finally, we hear the bedroom door open, and Garrett nonchalantly strolls into the room.

“Good morning,” he announces.

“Morning,” Mother and Daddy murmur without looking up from their now half-eaten meal.

“Grab a seat. You’re missing these wonderful spots your wife cooked especially for you this morning.” Aunt Joy motions to Garrett’s place at the table.

“Thanks, baby,” he says and squeezes my hand as he takes a seat. “Looks good.”

“I hope you like them, Garrett,” I say with a slight smile, still feeling sad and small.

“So when’d you go fishing, Dee?” Garrett attempts humor.

“I didn’t go fishing, crazy. I got up this morning and went to the docks while you slept. I was lucky to get any. The funniest thing—the police chief had bought every last one of them for some big Memorial Day fish fry they’re having on the island, but I convinced him to share.”

“Oh, yes, the police department’s big annual event that kicks off the summer. I tell you, that Chief Chase is a good fellow.” Aunt Joy winks my way. “And a good catch too, if you ask me, just like these fine spots. Thank you, my dear.”

“Anything for you, Aunt Joy.”

I chuckle, as I know my spry aunt Joy has probably been flirting with that local police chief, but in this case, I know why. He is amazingly handsome and quite a southern gentleman, and he did provide our breakfast fish for free this morning. I blush at knowing how great he looks half naked, running on the beach in the Topsail sunset. I laugh quietly at how ludicrous it is that the back of his squad car reads “
To Protect and Ser
vice.”

“Baby, baby …”

I snap out of my musings to Garrett’s nudging my elbow.

“Baby, pass me some hot sauce.” He points across the table.

“
Please,”
I tease.

“Please. Now, come on, baby. Stop playing around.”

I reach over and pass the sauce.

My breakfast is obviously a big hit, as everyone has earned his or her membership into the Clean Plate Club. I am happy to have fed my family this morning. They all seem content. While they’re still not speaking to Garrett, they’re not trying to kill him either.

After the dishes are cleared away, we all retire to the front porch with another cup of coffee. We are screened in from the flies and mosquitoes and shaded from the sun. It is cool here, and the ocean breezes and the sound of the waves bring heaven to earth on my family’s porch.

“So, Garrett, how’s business?” My father is always asking Garrett about business. We are just starting out and not making a lot of money, so we live in Harlem, where we feel we get more for our money. For the first time for both of us, we live in a black neighborhood and are a part of our own community. Daddy does not understand, much less approve of that.

“I raised you in the suburbs,” he often reminds me. “I worked hard to provide for you and your mother, so neither of you would ever have to worry about living in a ghetto. Now, this fool comes along and marries you, and where does he take you? Right to the ghetto!”

Daddy is always trying to give us money too, in his unsuccessful but repeated attempts to get us to move out of Harlem. Garrett refuses to take a dime. It assaults his pride. It’s as if Daddy’s offers make him feel impotent. We would starve on the streets before Garrett would take Daddy’s money. Garrett says he’d feel owned. And although he knows my dad is just looking out for his baby girl, Garrett still resents the “how’s business” question every single time Daddy asks.

“You making any money yet?” my father persists.

“Nope,” Garrett answers frankly. “They’re kicking my ass on the overnight desk. I mostly cover the wires in case anybody dies. If they do, I produce the obit by morning.”

“How morbid.” Mother rolls her eyes.

“Every once in a while a big story breaks, and I get to cover it,” Garrett explains. “But no, I’m not making a lot of dough right now. Just trying to keep my foot in the door.”

“Well, we shouldn’t let that get in the way of your providing a safe home for my daughter,” Daddy surmises. “I think we can all agree that after her life was in such danger up there this week, you need to reconsider my offer to help you get out of there. With the good advice of some of my real estate friends up North, I can help you find a suitable place much farther downtown. I will, of course, help you monetarily as well.”

“Oh, no.” Garrett shuffles in his chair. “Doc, I have told you time and time again, no. I don’t want your money. We don’t need your charity. We’re fine.”

“Oh, you’re anything but fine. What if Dee wants to take time off from chasing ambulances to have a baby? Can you afford that?”

“W-wait a minute. What’s a baby got to do with this? Look, Doc, you really need to back off me right now. I’m doing the best I can.”

“
Romance
without
finance
is
nonsense
and a
nuisance
,” Mother singsongs.

“I advise you not to look away so fast from a gift that’s staring you right in the face, young man. Especially when it can also help you get my daughter out of the ghetto.”

“Harlem is more than ghetto, Doc. We’ll make good money soon enough. You’ll see. But for now, we’re cool. You can keep your money.”

My father’s jaw drops.

Mother glares at Garrett. “So … when do you think your midnight shift with dead people is going to end?”

Garrett rolls his eyes. “I have no idea, Barbara.”

Daddy, apparently ignoring Garrett’s brush-off, continues to press the issue. “I just wish you would take my advice—”

“I don’t want your damn advice!” Garrett snaps. “Doc, I’ve told you. Stay out of our goddamned business!”

“Garrett!” Aunt Joy blurts in surprise at my husband’s profane outburst.

“You watch your language in my house, young man!” my father booms.

“Then keep your nose out of my business!” Garrett retorts.

“Now, you wait just a minute, Garrett!” Mother struggles through her caftan to jump up from her rocking chair. “Don’t you
dare
speak to my husband like that! Who do you think you are? Have you lost your mind?” Mother is so angry, she is red in the face, trembling, and looking as if she’s about to explode into a million little pieces. “How
dare
you disrespect us!” she spews.

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Joy gasps as she begins to fan herself and rock her chair faster.

A dead and deafening silence fills the air as the ocean waves continue their violent pounding and crashing to shore. I hear Aunt Joy’s rocking chair squeaking against the wooden porch planks. I bow my head and close my eyes, praying this is all a bad dream. My parents are looking at each other in that silent language between them—a language only the two of them know, but everyone can see the looks of shock, outrage, and disgust on their hardened faces. I know they find Garrett’s behavior unacceptable. He knows my parents consider any kind of cursing in their home as the utmost disrespect.

As if in slow motion, Mother and Daddy put down their coffee cups and, in suspended silence, head back into the beach house as smooth as ghosts. On the way out, Daddy stops and locks eyes with me. In a low, steady, and serious tone, he informs me that he and Mother do not at all approve of Garrett’s volcanic behavior. Daddy speaks to me as if Garrett is not even in the room.