'How about some eggs and grits?'" she asked. "And I have some fresh homemade bread." "I'm not that hungry, thank you. I'll just have some juice," I said, anxious to get out to Uncle Linden, Now, mare than ever, despite his charm. I was as afraid as Heyden was that he might do or say something strange. Adding any more tension or disappointment to Mrs, Stanton's life, and especially to Bess's fragile world at this particular moment, would be horrible. I thought.
"Oh, that's no way for a girl your age to live, I know y'all are just rushing about, skipping this and that. You just sit yourself down there and let Grandma Stanton prepare one of her best breakfasts. Go on now or I'll o
rder Chubs to stop working on your vehicle," she threatened playfully.
I had no choice, and besides. I could see the happiness my permitting her to dote over me brought to her. For too long her world had been overcast with dark gray clouds of sorrow. For one brief day or so, the clouds had parted, and there was enough sunshine to bring her back to happier times. If I was at least partly responsible for it. I was happy, too.
Mrs. Stanton rattled on and on about earlier days when her husband was alive and when her daughter was alive. Just talking about it flushed her face with so much pleasure that she looked as revived and buoyant as she probably was back then. I sat there vaguely aware of the smile that had settled
comfortably in my own face. Her memories of happier times stirred my own. I could hear Mommy laughing again, see her and Miguel playfully teasing one another, recall our walks on the beach, our sailing trips and beach picnics, the parties and the music and the food the family took such pride in preparing and sharing with us.
Happiness like that was truly hard to hold on to. It was like a beautiful bird that perched for a while on a nearby branch, but the moment you got too close, would fly off and sail away, leaving you with only the memory. Cherish me as I am, it said, but never, never try to put me in a cage or tie me down. My picture can be pressed into scrapbooks, my voice can be recorded singing melodically. You can make a video of me and look at me repeatedly, but don't ask me to stay. I have other places to visit, other people to whom I must bring joy. I am happiness, a bird, fleeting and oh, so very precious.
How I knew that now. I thought.
You haven't told me anything about your mother. dear." Mrs. Stanton said after she had served me my eggs and grits and slices of homemade bread. She sat with me at the kitchen table hovering like a mother hen making sure her chicks took in their nourishment.
"My mother is a psychotherapist," I began. "She is very successful, very well respected."
"In Palm Beach?"
"Her office is in West Palm Beach, but we live in Palm Beach.' "Isn't it very, very expensive to live there?"
"We inherited the property."
"I see. I'm sure it's hard for you not being able to be with both your parents. I feel so sorry for all those children from broken homes. sharing
Thanksgiving and Christmas and even their own birthdays, I imagine. Is that what you do?"
"Sometimes, but you are right. It is hard, although my mother remarried and her new husband is a very nice man. He's a college teacher, and I get along very well with everyone in his family."
"I see. But so many personalities, so many people crowding into one small room and competing for your attention and love. It can't be easy."
"It isn't." I admitted. "Jealousy has its own room in my house," I said. "Sometimes. I feel like I have to dole out my feelings in teaspoons."
"My husband and I were married for fifty-one years. People were always asking how we did it, like it was something magical or supernatural."
"There has to be something special." I said "You had to have some secret."
She laughed. "No secret, no magic. It was simply living up to the same vows everyone recites. Maybe more and more people recite them these days without thinking or understanding the words.
"I had a younger sister." she continued, tracing a line in the tablecloth with her thin right forefinger as she spoke. "who was always jealous of me. I knew it. but I pretended she wasn't. I did all I could to make her happy. She never married, and she died alone in her own bed. Once, when she went on and on about how lucky I had been to find a man so devoted to me. I looked her in the eyes and said. 'Mattie, you know as well as I do that you're just too self-centered to love someone else.
Every man you meet realizes that, some sooner than others, and bids you a fond farewell.
"'You know what love really is?' I lectured her. It's recognizing that the person you lave isn't perfect and forgiving them for that. And then its hoping that he or she will forgive you for not being perfect. too. It's tolerance and compromise and that takes a lot of selflessness, not selfishness. In the end we all have to realize that we are never going to be happy unless the person we love is happy, too. If that's not important to you, you are not in love, and it will come to some bad ending sooner than later.'"
"What did your sister say?" I asked. While she had spoken. I could think only of Mommy and myself and our need to forgive each other. The air around us was so still. too. I felt like an abrupt word, even a heavy breath, would shatter the special moment.
"Mattie?" She laughed and waved her hand at the memory of her sister. "She just looked at me like I belonged in some institution for the socially retarded and shook her head. 'That's all nonsense, romantic slop, 'she said. 'If I want that. I'll watch my soap opera.' she added. and I thought, that's all you will ever do. Mattie. watch."
She pressed the tips of her fingers an the table a moment and looked deeply thoughtful.
"At best." she said, still looking down, "life is a balancing act between happiness and unhappiness." She sighed deeply and then she looked up at me and smiled.
"You like those nits? Made 'em with a secret ingredient my mother taught me."
"They're delicious." I said, scooping up the last spoonful. "Let me help with the dishes," I offered.