Chapter One
My sister McCall always said it was just too hard growing up in the South when you didn’t believe in Jesus, and you didn’t think black people were stupid.
Grandmother Randol nearly had a fit when she heard that one.
I stood on the porch of my grandmother’s house, the house where I’d lived practically my entire life, and watched my sister pull into the gravel drive, her dark gray Volvo bursting with adult possessions. The car door opened, and one long, gray-sheathed leg came into view, followed seconds later by its mate. McCall raised her arms about her head and stretched languidly, looking for all the world like a movie star who had taken a wrong turn and ended up in our small town.
It’s been fifteen years since McCall last graced us with her presence. She couldn’t even be bothered to make it to the funeral. I bet Grandmother’s complaining to Jesus himself right about now.
McCall, the sister so unlike me, is finally here, along with her beauty and confidence.
Before she'd gone away, she'd been my world. When someone breaks your heart the way she did mine, you do your best to gather the pieces. But there’s always that bit you missed, the little piece under the couch or hiding in a corner. You recover, but you’re never quite whole.
“Hey, stranger,” I said as I made my way down the steps.
“Hello, stranger than me,” McCall replied with a smile, sliding the sunglasses from her eyes and letting them fall so they hung suspended by a long black cord at her breasts. McCall the grown-up had a way of smiling where she turned up the corner of her mouth but you never actually saw her teeth. It made it awfully hard to know if she was being sarcastic. McCall the girl had a much different smile, usually accompanied by a hearty guffaw of a laugh, a count-my-molars-while-you’re-at-it laugh.
I stood there like an idiot, looking for a place to put my hands, not knowing whether to walk closer or keep my distance. What should I say to this woman I’d barely seen or spoken to in over a decade? How should I connect with the beautiful remains of my family?
I'd done my part, calling her and asking how she was. When she did call us, it seemed forced and obligatory and left me wondering why she even bothered.
I peered through the car’s rear window. “You sure have a lot of books in there.”
McCall standing here now is the mirror image of when she'd driven away all those years before, her old Rambler loaded down with clothes and books. At the time, my brain had known she was going off to college, but my heart felt as though she was driving right out of my life.
And wouldn’t you know it? That’s exactly what had happened.
After she'd graduated from college, McCall had gone to work in Baltimore for a while as an advertising copywriter, then later went to Washington, D.C. as a speech writer. She'd thought the two occupations weren't all that different from each other, but with the last election she'd found herself out of a job and reduced to writing for technical journals.
McCall flicked the long bangs from her forehead with a finger, not making eye contact with me. “I read a lot.”
I felt as awkward and gangly as a twelve-year-old. The air was thick and quiet, the way it is before a storm, and I turned at the sound of the screen door slamming behind me, grateful to see Nora. Nora has been the family maid for the past forty years, but she’s so much more than that. She’s my rock. She held my hand crossing the street, explained to me about the curious changes happening in my body, tended to my sicknesses, and swatted me on the behind when I needed it. After McCall had gone off to college, it was Nora who dried my tears.
“McCall! My sweet little girl!” she cried, running down the stairs with her arms open wide. She wrapped her arms around McCall and began to rub her delicate hands in small circles along my sister’s back. “Oh, my darling girl. We are so happy to have you home.”
Nora wasn’t supposed to work today, but with McCall on the way home I couldn’t keep her away. She just had to see her “other baby.”
“Thanks, Nora. It’s good to see you,” McCall said.
Nora pushed her away to arm’s length in order to have a good look. “Well, you left here a girl, but you’ve come back a woman.” She beamed with pride. “A beautiful young woman.”
“A tired young woman,” McCall said with a weak smile. “I’ve been in that car for thirteen hours.”
On the surface, McCall’s reasons for moving home were clearly more practical than emotional, since claiming her inheritance gave her a rent-free place in which to write her great American novel. To suddenly become half owner of a large Victorian home was a blessing to me as well, since I had been without a home of my own after my brief marriage ended. Three years earlier I had married Nick, the Coca-Cola delivery man for the A&P where I'd worked as a cashier. I found out too late that he gambled away most of what he earned. My one brief attempt at building a life outside of this house had been a miserable failure.
McCall led the way up the wide, white wooden steps of the front porch and into the hall. I followed, carrying four bags to her two. We were barely three feet inside the foyer when my sister stopped suddenly, nearly causing a collision.
“Jeez, Louise,” I sputtered. “You didn’t put on your blinker.”
She was looking around, disbelief clear in every feature. “How in the world do you stand this house, Harper? It’s so damn depressing.”
“I guess it was just in my job description to be damned depressed.” I took a moment to look around the all too familiar foyer. “I’m so used to the dark and the dust I really don’t even notice it anymore.”
“Supper will be ready any minute now,” a smiling Nora told McCall. “We can eat as soon as you get freshened up, honey.”
“I actually ate on the road. I didn’t know you were planning on having me here for dinner. I’m sorry.”
I searched Nora’s face for some sign of disappointment but saw none.
“It’s all right, darling. That pot pie will keep just fine. Ya’ll have it for dinner tomorrow,” she said, coming back to give McCall another hug. “I’m going to call my boy to come pick me up, and I’ll be heading home. I’ll see you in a couple of days, once you’ve had a chance to get moved in. You get some rest tonight.” And with that, she headed back toward the kitchen.
“Okay, then.” I tilted my head toward the stairs. “Let’s go get you settled.”
I struggled with the bags, bouncing slightly off the banister and wall as I went. McCall was ahead of me on the stairs, and she glanced back with a look that suggested I might need help.
“I got it, I got it,” I said indignantly, hitching up the bag that was sliding down my right hip.
I stopped at the top of the staircase to take a breath, but it quickly became a gasp. Rather than making a turn in the direction of her old room, McCall had taken a left toward Grandmother’s bedroom. I closed my eyes and prayed she was just going to take a look, but when she disappeared into the room, I dropped bags left and right then jumped them like hurdles.
“McCall! You’re not … you can’t seriously … wouldn’t you rather …?” I babbled, but she walked on, my string of negatives falling behind her like a bridal train.
Though the open door to Grandmother’s room I saw mainly darkness, except for the few rays of sunlight that dared to sneak under the hems of the heavy, floor-length drapes.
“My God! Was that woman a vampire or something?” McCall exclaimed, flinging the curtains open with a whirl of the runners.
We stood together in the stone quiet with the sunlight pouring in, and I began to feel as though I were in a movie. You know the scene: it's like you’re standing still, and the camera pans the room in slow motion. My eyes travelled across Grandmother’s ivory chenille bedspread to the polished wooden headboard. On her nightstand stood a small, gilt-framed photograph of Granddaddy alongside Grandmother’s ever present Bible. The head cover of the overstuffed rocker wore a cotton doily, yellowed and worn from the many nights Grandmother had drifted off to sleep as she'd reread familiar biblical passages. I knew that if I opened the closet door, her bathrobe would still be hanging on the inside hook, and a dozen pairs of size five shoes would be neatly arranged on the floor.
“Everything is just the way she left it,” I said softly. “Only thing missing is the navy dress she was buried in.”
McCall glanced sideways at me. “Sorry about missing the funeral. I try to avoid dead people. I’m funny that way.” Then she turned and really looked at me, offering something akin to sadness. “I’m sorry, Harper. I didn’t mean to sound so flip, really. I just wasn’t around much when she was alive, so it seemed sort of hypocritical to show up at the end.”
“It’s okay. It’s not like you murdered the family dog or anything. You just weren’t real good at keeping in touch. I don’t think she’d disown you for that.”
McCall gave me one of her no-teeth smiles. “It actually came as a shock that she left me anything at all.”
In addition to the house and all its possessions, Grandmother Randol had left McCall and me her ‘73 Buick and a small trust. She'd also left ten thousand dollars in cash for each of us to “do something frivolous”, and there was additional money so Nora would continue to receive her weekly salary whether she kept working at the house or not. The rest—and there was a lot—had gone to the First Baptist Church of Comstock, where Grandmother had been a loyal member for sixty-one years.
“She really wasn’t as much of a witch as you like to think, McCall. We talked about you, you know.” Echoes of those conversations swept like smoke through my mind, and my voice softened. “She asked after you. You two were very different, but you’re blood.”
McCall sighed and leaned against the windowsill, peering out. “The garden looks good.”
“Nora and I have been trying to keep it up,” I told her, “but I’m afraid I just don’t have the green thumb.”
Our Grandmother had been into garden-clubbing in a big way. It was one of the few things—besides being a Baptist—that truly made her happy. Whenever she won “Yard of the Month” she’d be in a good mood for days. I don’t think The Rapture could’ve put a bigger smile on her face.
“The weird thing is she never picked any of the flowers,” I said. “We never had them in the house. They just stayed in the yard in their perfect arrangement. ‘God’s bouquet’ she liked to call them.”
“We can pick some now,” McCall declared, turning to look at me. “A lot of things can be different. It’s our house now.”
She was right, of course. It just didn't feel right. “You’re going to be staying in this room then?”
“I’d like to.” A one shouldered shrug. “I’m not really asking your permission, but I don’t want you to get your panties all in a bunch over it, either.”
“No, no,” I assured her, trying to sound thoughtful. “It’s okay. I mean … I guess we can’t keep the room like this forever. That would just be weird, right? Tomorrow we can pack up her stuff so you can have some space.”
She deflated. “I’m so tired from the drive, tomorrow seems like an eternity away.”
It was strange, standing in Grandmother’s room, having a conversation with a sister I barely knew. In a way I didn’t quite understand, I felt little tears welling up in my heart. I guess I was just so happy to have somebody here. Anybody.
“Get some rest then.” I quietly closed the door and walked away, wondering if rest would come easily to someone sleeping in their newly dead grandmother’s bedroom.
My sister McCall always said it was just too hard growing up in the South when you didn’t believe in Jesus, and you didn’t think black people were stupid.
Grandmother Randol nearly had a fit when she heard that one.
I stood on the porch of my grandmother’s house, the house where I’d lived practically my entire life, and watched my sister pull into the gravel drive, her dark gray Volvo bursting with adult possessions. The car door opened, and one long, gray-sheathed leg came into view, followed seconds later by its mate. McCall raised her arms about her head and stretched languidly, looking for all the world like a movie star who had taken a wrong turn and ended up in our small town.
It’s been fifteen years since McCall last graced us with her presence. She couldn’t even be bothered to make it to the funeral. I bet Grandmother’s complaining to Jesus himself right about now.
McCall, the sister so unlike me, is finally here, along with her beauty and confidence.
Before she'd gone away, she'd been my world. When someone breaks your heart the way she did mine, you do your best to gather the pieces. But there’s always that bit you missed, the little piece under the couch or hiding in a corner. You recover, but you’re never quite whole.
“Hey, stranger,” I said as I made my way down the steps.
“Hello, stranger than me,” McCall replied with a smile, sliding the sunglasses from her eyes and letting them fall so they hung suspended by a long black cord at her breasts. McCall the grown-up had a way of smiling where she turned up the corner of her mouth but you never actually saw her teeth. It made it awfully hard to know if she was being sarcastic. McCall the girl had a much different smile, usually accompanied by a hearty guffaw of a laugh, a count-my-molars-while-you’re-at-it laugh.
I stood there like an idiot, looking for a place to put my hands, not knowing whether to walk closer or keep my distance. What should I say to this woman I’d barely seen or spoken to in over a decade? How should I connect with the beautiful remains of my family?
I'd done my part, calling her and asking how she was. When she did call us, it seemed forced and obligatory and left me wondering why she even bothered.
I peered through the car’s rear window. “You sure have a lot of books in there.”
McCall standing here now is the mirror image of when she'd driven away all those years before, her old Rambler loaded down with clothes and books. At the time, my brain had known she was going off to college, but my heart felt as though she was driving right out of my life.
And wouldn’t you know it? That’s exactly what had happened.
After she'd graduated from college, McCall had gone to work in Baltimore for a while as an advertising copywriter, then later went to Washington, D.C. as a speech writer. She'd thought the two occupations weren't all that different from each other, but with the last election she'd found herself out of a job and reduced to writing for technical journals.
McCall flicked the long bangs from her forehead with a finger, not making eye contact with me. “I read a lot.”
I felt as awkward and gangly as a twelve-year-old. The air was thick and quiet, the way it is before a storm, and I turned at the sound of the screen door slamming behind me, grateful to see Nora. Nora has been the family maid for the past forty years, but she’s so much more than that. She’s my rock. She held my hand crossing the street, explained to me about the curious changes happening in my body, tended to my sicknesses, and swatted me on the behind when I needed it. After McCall had gone off to college, it was Nora who dried my tears.
“McCall! My sweet little girl!” she cried, running down the stairs with her arms open wide. She wrapped her arms around McCall and began to rub her delicate hands in small circles along my sister’s back. “Oh, my darling girl. We are so happy to have you home.”
Nora wasn’t supposed to work today, but with McCall on the way home I couldn’t keep her away. She just had to see her “other baby.”
“Thanks, Nora. It’s good to see you,” McCall said.
Nora pushed her away to arm’s length in order to have a good look. “Well, you left here a girl, but you’ve come back a woman.” She beamed with pride. “A beautiful young woman.”
“A tired young woman,” McCall said with a weak smile. “I’ve been in that car for thirteen hours.”
On the surface, McCall’s reasons for moving home were clearly more practical than emotional, since claiming her inheritance gave her a rent-free place in which to write her great American novel. To suddenly become half owner of a large Victorian home was a blessing to me as well, since I had been without a home of my own after my brief marriage ended. Three years earlier I had married Nick, the Coca-Cola delivery man for the A&P where I'd worked as a cashier. I found out too late that he gambled away most of what he earned. My one brief attempt at building a life outside of this house had been a miserable failure.
McCall led the way up the wide, white wooden steps of the front porch and into the hall. I followed, carrying four bags to her two. We were barely three feet inside the foyer when my sister stopped suddenly, nearly causing a collision.
“Jeez, Louise,” I sputtered. “You didn’t put on your blinker.”
She was looking around, disbelief clear in every feature. “How in the world do you stand this house, Harper? It’s so damn depressing.”
“I guess it was just in my job description to be damned depressed.” I took a moment to look around the all too familiar foyer. “I’m so used to the dark and the dust I really don’t even notice it anymore.”
“Supper will be ready any minute now,” a smiling Nora told McCall. “We can eat as soon as you get freshened up, honey.”
“I actually ate on the road. I didn’t know you were planning on having me here for dinner. I’m sorry.”
I searched Nora’s face for some sign of disappointment but saw none.
“It’s all right, darling. That pot pie will keep just fine. Ya’ll have it for dinner tomorrow,” she said, coming back to give McCall another hug. “I’m going to call my boy to come pick me up, and I’ll be heading home. I’ll see you in a couple of days, once you’ve had a chance to get moved in. You get some rest tonight.” And with that, she headed back toward the kitchen.
“Okay, then.” I tilted my head toward the stairs. “Let’s go get you settled.”
I struggled with the bags, bouncing slightly off the banister and wall as I went. McCall was ahead of me on the stairs, and she glanced back with a look that suggested I might need help.
“I got it, I got it,” I said indignantly, hitching up the bag that was sliding down my right hip.
I stopped at the top of the staircase to take a breath, but it quickly became a gasp. Rather than making a turn in the direction of her old room, McCall had taken a left toward Grandmother’s bedroom. I closed my eyes and prayed she was just going to take a look, but when she disappeared into the room, I dropped bags left and right then jumped them like hurdles.
“McCall! You’re not … you can’t seriously … wouldn’t you rather …?” I babbled, but she walked on, my string of negatives falling behind her like a bridal train.
Though the open door to Grandmother’s room I saw mainly darkness, except for the few rays of sunlight that dared to sneak under the hems of the heavy, floor-length drapes.
“My God! Was that woman a vampire or something?” McCall exclaimed, flinging the curtains open with a whirl of the runners.
We stood together in the stone quiet with the sunlight pouring in, and I began to feel as though I were in a movie. You know the scene: it's like you’re standing still, and the camera pans the room in slow motion. My eyes travelled across Grandmother’s ivory chenille bedspread to the polished wooden headboard. On her nightstand stood a small, gilt-framed photograph of Granddaddy alongside Grandmother’s ever present Bible. The head cover of the overstuffed rocker wore a cotton doily, yellowed and worn from the many nights Grandmother had drifted off to sleep as she'd reread familiar biblical passages. I knew that if I opened the closet door, her bathrobe would still be hanging on the inside hook, and a dozen pairs of size five shoes would be neatly arranged on the floor.
“Everything is just the way she left it,” I said softly. “Only thing missing is the navy dress she was buried in.”
McCall glanced sideways at me. “Sorry about missing the funeral. I try to avoid dead people. I’m funny that way.” Then she turned and really looked at me, offering something akin to sadness. “I’m sorry, Harper. I didn’t mean to sound so flip, really. I just wasn’t around much when she was alive, so it seemed sort of hypocritical to show up at the end.”
“It’s okay. It’s not like you murdered the family dog or anything. You just weren’t real good at keeping in touch. I don’t think she’d disown you for that.”
McCall gave me one of her no-teeth smiles. “It actually came as a shock that she left me anything at all.”
In addition to the house and all its possessions, Grandmother Randol had left McCall and me her ‘73 Buick and a small trust. She'd also left ten thousand dollars in cash for each of us to “do something frivolous”, and there was additional money so Nora would continue to receive her weekly salary whether she kept working at the house or not. The rest—and there was a lot—had gone to the First Baptist Church of Comstock, where Grandmother had been a loyal member for sixty-one years.
“She really wasn’t as much of a witch as you like to think, McCall. We talked about you, you know.” Echoes of those conversations swept like smoke through my mind, and my voice softened. “She asked after you. You two were very different, but you’re blood.”
McCall sighed and leaned against the windowsill, peering out. “The garden looks good.”
“Nora and I have been trying to keep it up,” I told her, “but I’m afraid I just don’t have the green thumb.”
Our Grandmother had been into garden-clubbing in a big way. It was one of the few things—besides being a Baptist—that truly made her happy. Whenever she won “Yard of the Month” she’d be in a good mood for days. I don’t think The Rapture could’ve put a bigger smile on her face.
“The weird thing is she never picked any of the flowers,” I said. “We never had them in the house. They just stayed in the yard in their perfect arrangement. ‘God’s bouquet’ she liked to call them.”
“We can pick some now,” McCall declared, turning to look at me. “A lot of things can be different. It’s our house now.”
She was right, of course. It just didn't feel right. “You’re going to be staying in this room then?”
“I’d like to.” A one shouldered shrug. “I’m not really asking your permission, but I don’t want you to get your panties all in a bunch over it, either.”
“No, no,” I assured her, trying to sound thoughtful. “It’s okay. I mean … I guess we can’t keep the room like this forever. That would just be weird, right? Tomorrow we can pack up her stuff so you can have some space.”
She deflated. “I’m so tired from the drive, tomorrow seems like an eternity away.”
It was strange, standing in Grandmother’s room, having a conversation with a sister I barely knew. In a way I didn’t quite understand, I felt little tears welling up in my heart. I guess I was just so happy to have somebody here. Anybody.
“Get some rest then.” I quietly closed the door and walked away, wondering if rest would come easily to someone sleeping in their newly dead grandmother’s bedroom.
