Читать книгу Legacy of Love - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 10

“Did you talk to your mom again?” Sharlene asked as they took their seats.

“I called last night. She said Nana was resting, still asking for me.” She stuck her carry-on into the overhead compartment and slid into her window seat.

Sharlene followed suit. She grabbed Zoe’s hand. “It’s gonna be fine. Nana Zora is as tough as they come.” She offered a reassuring smile.

“I know. My heart says that Nana will outlive us all. But reality is a different story, Sharl. She’s been getting weaker year after year. She’s ninety.”

“Keep positive thoughts. Don’t let your imagination run wild.”

The pilot’s easy drawl floated over the public address system. “Good morning. Welcome to Flight 1109 to New Orleans. I’m Captain Harris and I’ll be your pilot today. The temperature in The Big Easy is a sultry 98 degrees.” He chuckled. “And it’s still early folks. We’re third in line for takeoff, so sit back and relax and we’ll be up in the air and back down again before you know it. Attendants, please prepare the cabin for takeoff.”

Two blonde flight attendants strolled down the aisle, checking seat belts and telling passengers to put their seat backs upright. Moments later they were coasting down the runway then up in the air.

Zoe settled back and glanced out of the window watching the city of Atlanta grow smaller in the distance until the plane rose above the clouds and the earth disappeared.

“Speaking of imagination. I saw him,” Zoe said.

“Huh?”

She turned in her seat. “I saw him. Actually saw him. Yesterday.”

“What? Him, him? The him? Where? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was yesterday morning and—”

“Yesterday!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed from between her teeth.

Sharlene looked around. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed right back.

“There was so much going on and I guess I forgot.” But she hadn’t forgotten. Between worrying about her grandmother and preparing for her trip, her mind was on the man she’d met on 9th Street. She’d tried to convince herself that it was the stress of the moment, her feeling light-headed from the smoke. But her spirit told her differently and so did the dream she’d had. This time, her suitor, her lover was not a faceless man who teased and taunted her. It was him.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened or sit there staring with that silly grin on your face?”

Zoe blinked away the images and her gaze settled on Sharlene’s face, with her lemon-puckered lips.

“Yesterday,” she began. “I decided to walk to work…”

When she’d finished they both stared at each other in silence.

“Are you starting to believe, even just a little?” Sharlene asked.

Zoe breathed deeply. “I don’t know what to believe. I mean, it’s all so crazy, you know?” She gave a little laugh. “Destiny and legacy, and the man of your dreams come to life. Crazy.” She reclined in her seat and stared out at the clouds. She propped her elbow on the armrest and pressed her fist to her mouth. “Crazy,” she whispered.

Barely an hour later, flight 1109 was taxiing on the tarmac at Louis Armstrong International Airport.

“My mother said she’d meet us at baggage claim,” Zoe said as they rode the escalator to the lower level.

“Mom still driving that big old Caddie?” Sharlene teased.

Zoe laughed. “You know she’s not letting that thing go.”

“How much gas do you think that bus guzzles?”

“Enough to pay off the national debt, especially at these prices.”

“I know that’s right.”

“There she is. Ma!” Zoe called out and waved catching Miraya’s attention.

At fifty-two, Miraya Beaumont was a stunning woman. She’d been mistaken for Lena Horne more times than she could count and still carried herself like the star she longed to be. Miraya had a string of suitors a mile long. And although she wasn’t touring the country like she once did, she still sang in the lounges in the French Quarter.

Miraya took off her dark glasses and waved back.

Zoe instantly saw the heaviness in her mother’s wide eyes and the waning of her smile. Her heart raced.

“Mom.” She embraced her mother and realized for the first time how petite her mother was, fragile almost. Had she always been this thin? When had she seen her last—five, six months? She held her a moment longer then kissed her cheek. She stepped back and held her mother at arms length, searched her eyes. “Nana?”

Miraya’s smile was tight. “She’s hanging on.” She took Sharlene’s hand. “Good to see you, Sharl. It’s been too long.” She pulled her into an embrace. “How did you manage to get on a flight with such short notice?”

“I heard my family needed me,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly. “Well, come on. Let’s get you girls to the house and fix some breakfast. I know they didn’t feed you on the plane.”

They walked through the terminal to the airport garage arm in arm.

The short ride from the airport was spent in light conversation, and on the slow progress of rebuilding the Lower Ninth Ward. Much of the area had still not been rebuilt, as many residents had moved away along with their hopes of returning slowly fading.

Miraya pulled onto their street in the Garden District. Even in the early morning heat, neighbors were out and about, sweeping front porches or doing yard work, mostly because it was too hot to work as the day progressed.

“There’s Ms. Ella,” Zoe said, pointing to the octogenarian who knew everything about everybody on the street.

“The whole neighborhood will know you’re home before the clock strikes nine,” Sharlene teased.

“Be nice, girls,” Miraya playfully warned as she pulled up and parked in front of the house.

The trio got out and Zoe and Sharlene took their bags from the trunk. “’Morning, Ms. Ella,” they chorused and waved.

Ms. Ella pretended that she hadn’t spotted them from the moment the big blue caddy came onto the street and craned her neck. She gave a delicate wave. “That you, Zoe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she called out.

“That Sharlene you got with you?”

“It’s me, Ms. Ella.”

She bobbed her wobbly head. “Zora’s waiting for you,” she said, her simple declaration carrying the weight they all held in their hearts.

The door of the row house on Sixth Street opened up and Zoe’s aunts Flo and Fern stood in the doorway all dolled up in flowing, bright, floral-print caftans. The sisters were variations of the same face in shades of sandy brown to milk chocolate. It was the unpredictability of the genes, Nana Zora always said of her daughters.

Zoe’s heart suddenly overflowed with emotion. The strain of caring for their ailing mother had taken its toll on her mother and aunts. Zoe could see it in their eyes. Yet, they still appeared formidable standing side by side against come what may. Zoe hurried toward them, embracing both of them in her arms.

“Auntie,” she whispered in each ear and against butter-soft cheeks.

“Welcome home, chile,” Flo whispered.

“Come inside,” Fern urged. She reached out her hand to Sharlene. “I knew you’d come.”

The Beaumont women and their surrogate daughter went inside to see Nana.

From the front door of the two-story house, you could see straight through to the backyard, which was in full bloom thanks to the loving hands of Aunt Fern. Long, narrow windows with sheer white curtains filtered in the morning sunlight that reflected off of the oak floors. The furniture hadn’t changed since the sisters were in their teens. Lovingly worn overstuffed armchairs were upholstered in a sea-green, brocade fabric, and antique, maple side tables with white doilies dotted the room. In the chair near the window, Nana Zora dozed as the rays of morning light warmed her face. Her lids fluttered and slowly opened. She turned her head. A slow smile spread across her face. “Zoe.”

Zoe hurried across the room. She dropped her bag on the floor and knelt down beside her grandmother. She took her hands. “Nana.”

“I knew you would come.” Her eyes sparkled. She glanced around Zoe and saw Sharlene. “Come here and let me see you.”

Sharlene did as she was told and knelt on the other side of the chair. “How are you doing, Nana?”

“Fine now that my Zoe is here.” She patted Zoe’s cheek. “And you, too, sugah,” she said to Sharlene.

“Breakfast is ready,” Aunt Flo called out.

“I’ll bring your plate, Nana,” Zoe said.

“Oh, no, you won’t! I’m not an invalid,” Zora insisted, as she seemed to regain her old strength in her voice. She reached for the cane propped up against her chair. Zoe grabbed her grandmother’s elbow and helped her to her feet.

The three sisters moved back and forth between the stove and the round kitchen table bringing plates of fluffy eggs, fruit, sausage, bacon and grits.

“Let me help,” Zoe insisted, taking a platter from her aunt Fern and bringing it to the table.

“Sharl, sweetie, would you get the juice from the fridge?” Miraya asked.

“Sure.”

Finally, when everyone was settled at the table, the food was passed around and the plates were filled. They joined hands, bowed their heads and Nana Zora blessed the food.

“Thank you for this food and bless the hands that made it. Thank you for my family and for bringing Zoe home. Watch over her in the coming months, give her guidance and open her heart and her spirit to what will happen in the months to come. Amen.”

Zoe opened her eyes and looked surreptitiously at her family.

“Amen,” they chorused.

“How long can you stay?” Aunt Flo asked, directing her amber eyes at Zoe.

“As long as I need to.”

“This will be a short visit,” Nana said. “You have things to do.”

“Nothing is more important than you, Nana Zora. Work can wait.”

Nana waved a thin hand. “Yes, but not work in the way you mean. Rather the kind of work you need to do and you can’t do it here.”

All eyes turned to Zoe.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“You will,” said Aunt Fern.

“Let’s eat, and leave that talk for later,” interrupted Miraya. “You know how Zoe is about all that.” She flashed her daughter a quick look of understanding.

“So what have I been missing around here? Are you ladies staying out of trouble?” Sharlene asked, changing the subject.

The sisters alternated telling stories about their neighbors, their new aches and pains and the changes in the world around them.

Nana Zora sat at the head of the table, observing her family like a queen on the throne. There wasn’t a lot of time, she thought. She had so much to tell her granddaughter. Zoe needed to be prepared. Her own dreams were becoming stronger and she knew Zoe’s were as well.

Her daughters were worried about her, about her health and her mental state. She wasn’t slipping. Some days she simply preferred to live in the past, at the moment when things could have almost been different had she only used her gift. But she didn’t. Now it was up to Zoe and the man who awaited her.

The glass of juice slid from her hand and onto the floor.

Everyone jumped up, practically tripping over each other, cleaning and wiping and checking on Nana.

“I’m tired,” Nana said, her voice frayed and worn like an old housedress washed too many times.

Zoe’s pulse leaped. “I’ll take you to your room, Nana.” She wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s narrow waist and let her lean her nearly waiflike body against her own.

Zora’s bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house overlooking the garden. Zoe opened the bedroom door and led her grandmother across the room with the intention of putting her in bed.

“No, I want to sit by the window.” With surprising strength she shook loose of Zoe’s hold and walked unaided to the chair by the window. “Come sit near me,” Nana said, patting the window seat next to her. “Close the door first. Don’t want those nosy daughters of mine listening to what I need to tell you.”

Zoe crossed the room, which always smelled of baby powder, and closed the door. She came back and sat down on the window seat.

“Your birthday is soon.”

“Yes. Three months.”

“Seventy-eight days.”

Zoe lowered her head and laughed. Only her grandmother knew exactly how many days until her thirtieth birthday. “Okay, seventy-eight days.” She tucked her feet under her and let her gaze travel slowly over the history of her grandmother’s face—from the thick silvery hair that hung in two braids down her back, her high forehead, thin arching brows, her wide, almond-shaped, all-knowing eyes, to the aquiline nose, high cheekbones and full lips. Zora Beaumont was still a stunning woman.

“You don’t have much time. He’s already here.”

Zoe’s pulse began to race.

“Isn’t he?” Zora leaned forward.

“I…”

“You’ve seen him in your dreams.” She smiled and looked off toward the garden. “It’s how it begins you know. It happened with my mother and with me. It skipped right over my girls. But not you,” she said, her voice taking on an air of storytelling. “You are the one. The one, Zoe.”

Zoe leaned forward and clasped her grandmother’s hands. “The one to do what, Nana?”

“Fulfill the legacy, Zoe. Bring happiness back to the Beaumont women. He’s been searching for you, too.”

A shiver ran through her and the fine hairs on her arms tingled. “What do you mean he’s been searching for me?” Her breath quickened.

Zora smiled. “I want you to open your mind and listen to me.”

Zoe slowly nodded her head.

Zoe gently closed the bedroom door so as not to disturb her grandmother. She had been numbed by everything she’d heard. Although the story of the Beaumont women and the family legacy was something that had been talked about while she was growing up, she’d never really heard the story. She had listened to the tales of love between her great-great-grandparents who’d been torn apart and swore to find each other again. Zoe had always dismissed the stories as simply a romantic tragedy, one of many that happened during slavery. But she’d heard it this time, saw it in her mind, understood it and felt it in her heart in a way that changed her.

She felt light-headed and tired as if she’d been on a long journey. Maybe she had, she thought as she walked past her aunts in a daze. Her mother’s and Sharlene’s curious gazes followed her as she walked out the front door and sat on the porch steps.

She looked off, above the treetops that stood guard at the entrance to the house where her family lived.

The rational, analytic side of her, the part of her brain that dealt with facts and science, still struggled with the Beaumont part of her—the side that wanted to embrace the possibility of something spiritual. And maybe if she did, love would finally fill her life.

“Hey, you okay?”

Zoe glanced behind her. Sharlene stood in the doorway.

She gave a short mirthless laugh. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

Sharlene stepped out and sat beside Zoe. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Did you at least have a good talk with Nana?”

“Nana did all the talking and she told me to go home and get ready.” She twisted the end of her hair between her fingers. “This time I listened.” She sighed. “I want to believe that there is someone out there that’s just for me. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the one responsible for my family’s happiness. I don’t want to have their future in my hands. I’ve seen what relationships have done to my family. Every one of them has loved and lost, tragically. Knowing that and witnessing their pain, I don’t want it to be me.” She looked at Sharlene, hoping to find understanding in her eyes.

Sharlene rested her head against Zoe’s. “It won’t be you, girl,” she softly assured.

“Promise.”

Sharlene pursed her lips and wished that she could promise happiness for her friend.