“That explains Honey Friedrichs’s presence at the house the other day,” she said with a laugh. She patted Ibby’s hand. “I would have done the same thing, dear. Guess we’ll just have to find someone else for you to play with.”
When they finished lunch, Numa cleared their plates and scraped bits of French bread off the tablecloth with a blunt knife. “Coffee for Madame?”
“Yes, lovely,” Fannie said. When Numa was gone, she turned to Ibby. “Let me ask you something, Ibby dear. Your mother told me in no uncertain terms the other day that your father hated me, that I was the reason he moved away from New Orleans. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?”
“Why no, ma’am. I never heard him say that.”
Fannie eyed her a moment. “Did he ever talk about me, or his father perhaps?”
Ibby looked down, trying to figure out how to answer without upsetting Fannie. “Well, no, not really.”
“Whatever do you mean? Either he did or he didn’t.”
Ibby fiddled with her napkin, then looked over at Fannie. “I could tell how he felt about you by the way he looked at your picture.”
“What picture?” Fannie tilted her head.
“The one he used to carry in his wallet.”
“Oh,” Fannie said. “And how was that?”
“In a loving sort of way.” Ibby added, “I think he missed you.”
“I’m glad to hear that, dear.”
Their conversation was cut short when four waiters approached the table with a large silver platter.
“A Baked Alaska for Mademoiselle’s birthday,” one of the waiters said before waving his finger in the air like a baton. “A one, a two, and a three.”
The waiters burst into a barbershop rendition of “Happy Birthday.” All eyes in the restaurant were on Ibby.
“Happy birthday, dear,” Fannie said, holding up her wineglass. In between two meringue doves perched on either end of the domed cake, Happy Birthday was sprawled in a swirly script. It was so pretty, it almost looked like a sculpture. Ibby was about to point that out when she noticed tears streaming down Fannie’s face. Fannie was whispering to herself, making no attempt to wipe them away.
“Fannie, are you okay?” Ibby reached over and touched her hand.
Fannie glanced in her direction, but Ibby could tell she was in a place very far away.
Chapter Seventeen
Doll could see Crow staring out the car window as he pulled the car into the driveway. Doll knew that look. It meant Miss Fannie was in trouble.
Queenie came up beside Doll. “Think Crow’s gone need some help getting Miss Fannie inside.”
By the time Doll got to the car, Crow was trying to get Fannie to move, but Fannie just sat there staring straight ahead, stiff and motionless, as if she’d turned to stone. Ibby was sitting next to her in the back-seat.
Crow touched Fannie’s elbow. “Come on now, Miss Fannie. Time to go inside. I know you can hear me. Let’s go on in the house.”
“Time to have cake and give Miss Ibby her birthday present. Ain’t that so, Miss Fannie?” Doll’s eyes met Crow’s.
Crow went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. “Let’s go on inside, Miss Ibby. Miss Fannie’ll be just a minute.”
Crow escorted Ibby to the back steps, where Queenie was waiting.
She took Ibby inside. “Go have a seat at the dining room table. We got a surprise for you.” Then she whispered to Crow, “What’s going on?”
“No need to whisper, Mama. I can hear you all the way out here,” Doll said. She had managed to get one of Fannie’s legs out of the car. At this rate, Doll thought, it would be tomorrow before she got Fannie inside.
“All I know, the whole way back from the restaurant, Miss Fannie kept talking about getting Master Balfour a birthday present, like he was in the car with us,” Crow said to Queenie.
“Balfour? Why she going on about Master Balfour? She hasn’t mentioned his name in at least ten years,” Queenie said.
Crow removed his cap and scratched his head. “Far as I can tell, Miss Fannie and Miss Ibby were talking about Master Balfour over lunch.”
“Oh, dear Lawd.” Queenie glanced over at Doll. “Better go on over there and help Doll get Miss Fannie into the house. Then we can decide what to do with her.”
Crow and Doll tussled with Fannie a good fifteen minutes before they finally got her out of the car. They led her inside, each supporting an elbow.
“Afternoon, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said as they came through the back door.
Fannie eyed the cake on the kitchen table. “Whose birthday is it?”
“Why, Miss Fannie, you remember. It’s your granddaughter Ibby’s birthday. She’s sitting at the dining room table now. And Doll here is gone bring down the present she made for her. Was your idea, remember?”
Crow had Fannie trudging along in a slow shuffle toward the dining room. “We getting there, sure enough.”
“I’ll be right back.” As Doll slipped past her daddy and up the stairs, she didn’t have a good feeling.
When Doll returned, Fannie was in her chair, and the candles on the cake were lit.