Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,8

conflicted seconds, she shook her head.

I didn’t know much about that sister. Only that she was wild to the point that she wasn’t invited to the funeral when granddaddy died. My dad had remained silent about grandpa’s funeral. But I guess not inviting her to grandma’s must have sat on his conscience. I overheard them arguing about it when I came downstairs for a glass of water the night before grandma’s funeral.

“It just doesn’t seem right to me, Mari.”

“What would be right about inviting her? That heifer left in the middle of the night and we haven’t heard from her ever since.”

“She sent that letter apologizing…”

“If she was really sorry, she would have come down here and said it to Mama’s face.”

“But…” Dad had started to argue.

“And who’s to even know if she’s still off the bottle like that letter said?” Mama had asked before he could finish that sentence. “For all we know she’s out there somewhere turning tricks to get another bottle.”

“But…” Dad had tried again.

“Don’t but me, Mac. Just don’t. My mama is dead and the last person I want to deal with is my sister on top. And don’t you forget, she could ruin everything!”

Dad had opened his mouth to argue again, but then he saw me standing there in the kitchen door. “Aw, pumpkin, how long have you been standing there watching us go on?”

Pumpkin. That was what he always called me, whether he was happy, angry, or sad.

“I came down to get a glass of water,” I had answered, squinting at Mama. She seemed frozen in place, like someone who’d been caught doing something bad. Which had made me suspicious enough to ask, “Why would she ruin everything?”

“Let me get you that water, sweetie.” Mama had turned around with what she called her “make pretty smile.” Because as she’d put it, “I’m not anything to look at until I put on a pretty smile and a pleasant attitude. That smile’s what made your daddy fall for me at first sight. And my pleasant attitude is what keeps him loving me to this day.”

I’d been doing pageants since the age of six, so I knew I was pretty, whether I smiled or not. And I’d always thought Mama was pretty too. But whenever I’d tried to tell her that, she’d said, “Stop that now. I’m just all right. Like my mama told me, growing up, one beauty in the family is quite enough.”

I’d always assumed she’d said that because in the old black and white photos, anyone could see grandma had been the kind of pretty that turned heads back in the day. But as I had watched my mother fetch the glass of water, a new thought had occurred to me.

Had the younger sister been the designated beautiful one? The one I’d never seen a picture of…the one she was refusing to invite to grandmama’s funeral?

Instead of answering my question about her sister ruining everything, my mother had handed me the glass of water and said, “There you go. Now get back to bed. We got to be up early tomorrow to make all of Mama’s arrangements.”

I’d gone back to bed, but I wondered about the sister who wasn’t invited to either of her parents’ funerals for days afterward.

“Yes, I’ll have some, thank you.”

The Fine Prince’s acceptance of my invitation drew me out of my memory. And took me by complete surprise.

If that fireman I dated for a few seconds had only eaten dinner at steakhouses, Dr. Prince struck me as someone who wouldn’t let anything that wasn’t presented on fine china pass his lips. He had an air of refinement about him that you really didn’t see often in St. Louis, even with the visiting fellows.

But okay…

I grabbed one of the paper bowls from the cabinet and used a spoon to put half my Chinese food in a bowl.

He took it, but his face fell when he saw what was in the Styrofoam dish. “Ah, I thought you were having Chinese food.”

“That is Chinese food,” I answer.

“Then why is it covered in gravy?” he asks.

I laughed. “Welcome to Black St. Louis, Dr. Prince. Our version of Chinese food is a mashup of the basic boring kind you find in most places and Black soul food. So that’s basically pork fried rice smothered in Egg Foo Young gravy.”

“Oh, I see.” Dr. Prince nods as if he understands. But then he asks, “And could you explain to me what Egg Foo Young gravy is?”

Once again