Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,10
and a review of the syllabus. I’ve got forty minutes, maybe an hour, max, if you leave for the store right now.”
“Does that mean the vehicle thing is over?” Randall laid down the law when Kendrick came home. No driving until he had clearance from his parents and his doctor.
“No.” Lena sighs. “I’ll go. But take the garbage cans to the bottom of the driveway. Now.” Lena purses her lips so that Kendrick understands she is in no mood to awaken at five tomorrow morning to drag the heavy containers from the backyard to the front of the house.
“I’m watching the fight right now. Later, for sure.”
What did her sister say when Lena complained how Camille, Kendrick, and even Randall forget to clean up, pick up, take out, bring in? When she fusses, and she always fusses, they complain, and they always complain that she fusses too much. It’s not the messes and the forgetfulness but the assumption that she will take care of it all. And she will. Bobbie said, “Get over it. That’s what Mother’s Day flowers are for.”
She removes Kendrick’s medicine and a bottle of vitamins from her pocket and tosses them in his direction. Kendrick’s therapist believes in integrative medicine. Kendrick follows most of his instructions: support group on Mondays, therapy sessions on Wednesdays, and long runs.
“You’re embarrassing me.” Kendrick drops his voice to a deep, quiet timbre and tucks the bottles into his pocket.
“If you don’t do what I ask, you’re going to be even more embarrassed.”
Kendrick steers Lena to the door like an impatient escort on the dance floor. “Just call us when the food is ready.” The door slams shut when she steps beyond the threshold. Behind the door, a voice mocks Lena in a high-pitched, falsetto: “Yeah, Kendrick, you’re going to be even more embarrassed when I kick your ass across this room.”
In the kitchen, the granite counters are covered with the remains of Kendrick’s pantry raid: wrappers from two packages of Double-Stuf Oreos, empty, oversized potato chip and pretzel bags. The clock blinks 5:45 and Lena calculates her time: drive to the store, shop, wait in line, cook, clean up. A lone can of soda sits on the counter. Lena pops the top, sips, and scribbles a grocery list wishing all the time that she knew someone to call and find out what she missed in class.
f f f
When the last of the plates have been loaded into the dishwasher, Lena sets cookies on a saucer and covers them with a napkin. The kitchen still smells faintly of frying oil—another reason why she no longer cooks this way—and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. She saunters through the back hallway, stopping halfway through to shut the laundry room door on the heap of dirty clothes that will stay there until hours before the housekeeper comes. Thursday she will wash them and leave the clean clothes piled atop the dryer for the housekeeper to iron or fold. She ignores a dead bouquet of flowers on the antique table she found at a garage sale and the vase’s murky water and heads for the stairs.
“Camille?”
Camille has not made a sound since she emerged from her room to grab a hefty helping of chicken and cornbread. Kimchee mewls behind the bedroom door, and Lena thinks the cat might mean for her to stay away. “I mean, Starless. I have cookies.” Lena realizes, maybe for the first time, that her conversations with Camille through closed doors have become a metaphor for their relationship—another barrier to keep them from seeing eye to eye. “Can I come in?”
A chair scrapes against the hardwood floor. Not once, but twice. Camille is not heavy footed, but Lena can tell from the abrasive sound that she has backed away from, not moved closer to, the door. So much for Camille’s promise to differentiate herself from friends who withdraw into their rooms and never talk to their parents. The door opens no more than five inches when Lena leans against it. Kimchee slides through the gap and trots down the hallway like he owns the house. Cookies tumble from the saucer when Camille dashes after her cat.
Lena stifles a sneeze against the immediate tingling reaction that starts whenever she comes in contact with the furry feline. When Randall surprised Camille with the cat to motivate her, Lena had no idea she was allergic. No animals of any kind were part of her childhood household except for the summer night when she was eight