did let me cook the meals for the rest of the day and take care of the kids and clean the house from top to bottom, per her explicit instructions.
The next morning I was up before Nana for the second day in a row. It was unheard-of in all our years together.
While I waited for her to come to the kitchen, I took in the familiar sights. Paid attention, that is.
The room is dominated by her old Caloric gas stove. It has four burners and a large space she uses to hold goods cooling or waiting to be cooked. There are two ovens side by side. A large black skillet sits on top of the stove at all times. The refrigerator is also an older model that Nana refuses to give up for a newer one. It’s always covered with notes and schedules about our life together: Damon’s choir and basketball schedules; Jannie’s “whatever” schedule; emergency phone numbers for Sampson and me; an appointment card for Little Alex’s next pediatrician checkup; a Post-it on which she has written her latest sage advice:
You will never stumble while on your knees.
“What are you up to, Alex?” I heard the familiar scuff of her slippers. I turned and saw her standing there, hands on hips, ready for battle, or whatever.
“I don’t know. The ghost of breakfast past? How are you feeling, old woman?” I said. “Talk to me. You okay?”
She winked and nodded her tiny head. “I’m just fine. How ’bout yourself? You okay? You look tired. Hard work taking care of this house, isn’t it?” she said, and cackled. She liked the sound of it so much that she cackled again.
I went across the kitchen and picked her up in my arms. She was so light — less than a hundred pounds. “Put me down!” she said. “Gently, Alex. I might break.”
“So tell me about yesterday. You going to make an appointment with Dr. Rodman? Of course you are.”
“I must have needed a little extra sleep, that’s all it was. It happens to the best of us. I listened to my body. Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I’m listening to it now, and it’s voicing some serious concern about you. Will you make an appointment with John Rodman, or do I have to make it for you?”
“Put me down, Alex. I’m already seeing the doctor later this week.
Regular
visit, no big thing. Now. How do you want your eggs this morning?”
As if to show me how fine she was, Nana said that I should go back to Fort Bragg with Sampson and finish up my business there. She insisted. I did need to go to Bragg at least once more, but not before I got Aunt Tia to come and stay with Nana and the kids. Only after I was sure that everything was under control did I set out for North Carolina.
On the ride, I told Sampson what had happened with Nana, and also a blow-by-blow of my day with the kids.
“She’s eighty-two, Alex,” he said, then added, “she’ll probably only be with us for another twenty years or so.” We both laughed, but I could tell that John was worried about Nana too. By his own admission, she’s been like a mother to him.
We finally arrived at Fayetteville, North Carolina, about five in the afternoon. We had to see a woman about an alibi that maybe could save Sergeant Cooper.
Chapter 24
WE DROVE TO the Bragg Boulevard Estates, which was less than half a mile from Fort Bragg. The jets were still flying nonstop overhead, and the artillery kept pounding away.
Just about everyone at Boulevard Estates worked on the base and lived in what is known as basic allowance housing. BAH is based on rank and pay grade, the size and quality of the residence improving dramatically with rank. Most of the places we saw were small ranch houses. Several of them looked to need serious maintenance work. I had read somewhere that over 60 percent of the current army was married and had children. It seemed that statistic was about right.
Sampson and I walked up to one of the brick ranch houses, and I knocked on the battered and bent aluminum front door. A woman in a black silk kimono appeared.
The next morning I was up before Nana for the second day in a row. It was unheard-of in all our years together.
While I waited for her to come to the kitchen, I took in the familiar sights. Paid attention, that is.
The room is dominated by her old Caloric gas stove. It has four burners and a large space she uses to hold goods cooling or waiting to be cooked. There are two ovens side by side. A large black skillet sits on top of the stove at all times. The refrigerator is also an older model that Nana refuses to give up for a newer one. It’s always covered with notes and schedules about our life together: Damon’s choir and basketball schedules; Jannie’s “whatever” schedule; emergency phone numbers for Sampson and me; an appointment card for Little Alex’s next pediatrician checkup; a Post-it on which she has written her latest sage advice:
You will never stumble while on your knees.
“What are you up to, Alex?” I heard the familiar scuff of her slippers. I turned and saw her standing there, hands on hips, ready for battle, or whatever.
“I don’t know. The ghost of breakfast past? How are you feeling, old woman?” I said. “Talk to me. You okay?”
She winked and nodded her tiny head. “I’m just fine. How ’bout yourself? You okay? You look tired. Hard work taking care of this house, isn’t it?” she said, and cackled. She liked the sound of it so much that she cackled again.
I went across the kitchen and picked her up in my arms. She was so light — less than a hundred pounds. “Put me down!” she said. “Gently, Alex. I might break.”
“So tell me about yesterday. You going to make an appointment with Dr. Rodman? Of course you are.”
“I must have needed a little extra sleep, that’s all it was. It happens to the best of us. I listened to my body. Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I’m listening to it now, and it’s voicing some serious concern about you. Will you make an appointment with John Rodman, or do I have to make it for you?”
“Put me down, Alex. I’m already seeing the doctor later this week.
Regular
visit, no big thing. Now. How do you want your eggs this morning?”
As if to show me how fine she was, Nana said that I should go back to Fort Bragg with Sampson and finish up my business there. She insisted. I did need to go to Bragg at least once more, but not before I got Aunt Tia to come and stay with Nana and the kids. Only after I was sure that everything was under control did I set out for North Carolina.
On the ride, I told Sampson what had happened with Nana, and also a blow-by-blow of my day with the kids.
“She’s eighty-two, Alex,” he said, then added, “she’ll probably only be with us for another twenty years or so.” We both laughed, but I could tell that John was worried about Nana too. By his own admission, she’s been like a mother to him.
We finally arrived at Fayetteville, North Carolina, about five in the afternoon. We had to see a woman about an alibi that maybe could save Sergeant Cooper.
Chapter 24
WE DROVE TO the Bragg Boulevard Estates, which was less than half a mile from Fort Bragg. The jets were still flying nonstop overhead, and the artillery kept pounding away.
Just about everyone at Boulevard Estates worked on the base and lived in what is known as basic allowance housing. BAH is based on rank and pay grade, the size and quality of the residence improving dramatically with rank. Most of the places we saw were small ranch houses. Several of them looked to need serious maintenance work. I had read somewhere that over 60 percent of the current army was married and had children. It seemed that statistic was about right.
Sampson and I walked up to one of the brick ranch houses, and I knocked on the battered and bent aluminum front door. A woman in a black silk kimono appeared.
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