didn’t look one minute older, though I knew she had to be in her late sixties. Her brick-red dancing curls, black eyeliner, and sky blue eye shadow were as classic as she was. She greeted me with a rib-crushing hug the minute she spotted me.
“Benni Louise, it’s been a crow’s year since I’ve seen you.” She felt my hair. “And you need a good conditioning.”
“I’ll make an appointment,” I said. “We’re just visiting today.” I introduced her to Elvia.
“Now there’s some healthy hair,” she said, reaching out and feeling a lock of Elvia’s hair. “Good cut, too.”
“Thank you,” Elvia said.
Beulah turned back to the woman in her chair. “We’ve got years to catch up on, Benni,” she said, teasing the woman’s short taffy-colored hair. “You make sure and drop back by.”
“You know I will,” I said.
“Where y’all going now?” she asked. She gazed down at the woman’s roots. “Hon, these roots can last one more week and that’s it.”
“I know, Beulah,” the woman said. “I’m waiting for my egg money to come in.”
“Better tell them chickens to lay a little faster,” she said, giving a big hoot of a laugh.
“We’re going to stop by the 3B,” I said. “Say hey to John Luther.”
“He’ll be real proud to see you,” she said. “See you at the quiltin’ on Tuesday?”
“Probably,” I said, though I had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s probably a quilting bee up at the church,” I told Elvia as we walked the block to Billings’ Bean-N-Biscuit.
“John Luther Billings is another kid we used to hang out with,” I continued. “But he lived out of town on a farm, so we only saw him on Saturdays and Sundays. He used to be able to burp the whole National Anthem.”
“Impressive,” Elvia murmured.
I laughed. “It was when we were ten.”
A cattle bell attached to the front door announced our entrance.
A pretty young blond girl in her late teens carried three plates of eggs, grits, and bacon to some men in overalls sitting at one of the ten booths that lined each side of the narrow cafe. The air smelled of butter and coffee and maple syrup.
“Hotcakes are comin’,” she told the men. She gave us a shy smile. “Y’all can sit anywhere you like.”
“Thanks, but we’re just here to say hey to John Luther. Is he around?”
She gestured toward the double doors at the end of the aisle. “Daddy’s cooking today. Leon’s home with the flu.”
In the kitchen, John Luther had his back to us and was flipping two rows of pancakes.
“Hey, Johnny, make sure all the bubbles have popped,” I said.
He swung around, and a huge smile lit up his broad, hound dog face. “Benni Harper, you little twit. Come over here and hug my neck.”
After quick introductions, he continued to flip the hotcakes while I filled him in on the last ten years.
“I heard about Jack,” he said, his golden brown eyes drooping slightly. “Sure am sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Heard you got hitched again, though. Did he come with you?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow. He’s . . .” But before I could tell him more, his daughter burst into the kitchen, her face white and terrified.
“Daddy,” she cried, her voice trembling. “He’s out front again!”
John threw down the metal spatula. It hit the concrete floor with a loud clang, splattering batter. He pushed through the swinging doors and strode down the cafe’s short aisle. I followed him, wondering what the ruckus was about. The three men eating breakfast stopped talking and watched him head for the front door.
“Be cool now, J L,” one called.
“Cool, my ass,” he replied.
Except for his daughter, who seemed to have disappeared, we all flocked to the window to see what was going on.
He walked over to the passenger side of a bright green jacked-up Chevy pickup with a Confederate flag in the back window. Painted on the truck’s door in fancy script were the words WHITE IS BEAUTIFUL .
“Benni Louise, it’s been a crow’s year since I’ve seen you.” She felt my hair. “And you need a good conditioning.”
“I’ll make an appointment,” I said. “We’re just visiting today.” I introduced her to Elvia.
“Now there’s some healthy hair,” she said, reaching out and feeling a lock of Elvia’s hair. “Good cut, too.”
“Thank you,” Elvia said.
Beulah turned back to the woman in her chair. “We’ve got years to catch up on, Benni,” she said, teasing the woman’s short taffy-colored hair. “You make sure and drop back by.”
“You know I will,” I said.
“Where y’all going now?” she asked. She gazed down at the woman’s roots. “Hon, these roots can last one more week and that’s it.”
“I know, Beulah,” the woman said. “I’m waiting for my egg money to come in.”
“Better tell them chickens to lay a little faster,” she said, giving a big hoot of a laugh.
“We’re going to stop by the 3B,” I said. “Say hey to John Luther.”
“He’ll be real proud to see you,” she said. “See you at the quiltin’ on Tuesday?”
“Probably,” I said, though I had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s probably a quilting bee up at the church,” I told Elvia as we walked the block to Billings’ Bean-N-Biscuit.
“John Luther Billings is another kid we used to hang out with,” I continued. “But he lived out of town on a farm, so we only saw him on Saturdays and Sundays. He used to be able to burp the whole National Anthem.”
“Impressive,” Elvia murmured.
I laughed. “It was when we were ten.”
A cattle bell attached to the front door announced our entrance.
A pretty young blond girl in her late teens carried three plates of eggs, grits, and bacon to some men in overalls sitting at one of the ten booths that lined each side of the narrow cafe. The air smelled of butter and coffee and maple syrup.
“Hotcakes are comin’,” she told the men. She gave us a shy smile. “Y’all can sit anywhere you like.”
“Thanks, but we’re just here to say hey to John Luther. Is he around?”
She gestured toward the double doors at the end of the aisle. “Daddy’s cooking today. Leon’s home with the flu.”
In the kitchen, John Luther had his back to us and was flipping two rows of pancakes.
“Hey, Johnny, make sure all the bubbles have popped,” I said.
He swung around, and a huge smile lit up his broad, hound dog face. “Benni Harper, you little twit. Come over here and hug my neck.”
After quick introductions, he continued to flip the hotcakes while I filled him in on the last ten years.
“I heard about Jack,” he said, his golden brown eyes drooping slightly. “Sure am sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Heard you got hitched again, though. Did he come with you?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow. He’s . . .” But before I could tell him more, his daughter burst into the kitchen, her face white and terrified.
“Daddy,” she cried, her voice trembling. “He’s out front again!”
John threw down the metal spatula. It hit the concrete floor with a loud clang, splattering batter. He pushed through the swinging doors and strode down the cafe’s short aisle. I followed him, wondering what the ruckus was about. The three men eating breakfast stopped talking and watched him head for the front door.
“Be cool now, J L,” one called.
“Cool, my ass,” he replied.
Except for his daughter, who seemed to have disappeared, we all flocked to the window to see what was going on.
He walked over to the passenger side of a bright green jacked-up Chevy pickup with a Confederate flag in the back window. Painted on the truck’s door in fancy script were the words WHITE IS BEAUTIFUL .
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