I could hear Jock snicker. I gasped and dropped the record. Lucky for me, Rhoda returned a few seconds later.
“Granny, now you know you ain’t supposed to get out that bed. You could fall down the steps and break your hip again,” Jock said, shaking his head, facing the old woman with his arms folded.
“Granny Goose, this is my friend Annette from across the street,” Rhoda told the old woman, then turned to me. “This is our grandmother. The doctor told us to make her stay in bed as much as we can, but as you can see, she sneaks out.” Rhoda laughed nervously.
The woman looked me up and down, frowning. Her hair was as white as snow, and her pale face was heavily lined and dotted with moles and age spots. It was hard to tell if she had ever been attractive. Her nose seemed too big for her face, and her green eyes were too far apart. She had almost no lips. “You leave them albums and that stereo just like you found ’em,” she barked at me, waving her cane threateningly. For a brief moment I had a flashback. She looked like mean old Mrs. Jacobs, the woman who had whacked Muh’Dear with her cane. I had to close my eyes and count numbers in my head to keep from losing my cookies.
“Sit down, Granny Goose.” Jock attempted to lead the old woman to the couch, but she raised her cane and swung at him, missing only because he ducked. Rhoda tried not to, but she laughed.
“Get your black hands off me!” the woman cried.
Uncle Johnny came running into the room. “Mother, don’t get excited. Come on with me now so you can take a pill and get some rest. You ain’t got no business gettin’ out of bed after what Dr. Thompson told you. You ain’t well, sugar.” He had on a pair of plain black pants and a leather apron with a bib over a white shirt. I had a feeling he had been in the room helping Rhoda’s daddy prepare some deceased person for burial. He smiled and nodded at me. “How you doin’, Annette?” Before I could answer he turned to Jock, “Boy, get back yonder where your daddy’s waitin’ on you!” The old woman ranted and raved and swung her cane as Uncle Johnny steered her out of the room. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Jock, get a move on!” I looked at Jock, hoping he would leave the room immediately so that my heart could stop jumping around in my chest. The boy just stood there like he had not even heard a word his uncle said. Then he picked up another stack of records and sat down on the floor.
“That’s daddy’s and Uncle Johhny’s mama,” Rhoda explained.
“I thought so.” I nodded. I eased down on the floor and crossed my legs at the ankles.
“None of her other kids will have much to do with her,” Jock added, looking at me. “Just Daddy, the only Black one and the only one she rejected.”
“Didn’t she raise him?” I asked. Like Mr. Boatwright there was a lot about Rhoda’s family I didn’t know.
“His daddy’s mama raised him. Once Daddy got back from the army and the Antonosanti family put up the money for his trainin’ and to get him started, his white relatives had a sudden change of heart.” Jock shrugged. “None of them had a pot to piss in and didn’t know where the next meal was comin’ from. Right away Daddy started helpin’ out his poor white relatives. To make a long story short, Granny Goose got to be too much of a problem for the rest of her kids. They wanted to put her in the state old folks’ home. We were all up here by then. About eight years ago Daddy left the house one mornin’ while we were all still asleep and when he came back two days later Granny Goose and Uncle Johnny were with him. She’s been here ever since, and so has Uncle Johnny off and on.”
“What does Uncle Johnny do for a living?” I asked. I had heard a lot about Rhoda’s favorite uncle, but nobody had ever mentioned his line of work.
“That’s a good question,” Rhoda said seriously. “He works as a dishwasher at Antonosanti’s, off and on, and of course he helps Daddy out, off and on.” Rhoda nodded. “He’s been tryin’ to preach the gospel for years, but he keeps