I raise my eyebrows. “Apple pie? Really?”
Lillian turns the key in the front door. “Yep. And sometimes, at night, if you sit really still on the front porch here and watch, you’ll see hummingbirds flying in and around the bushes. And butterflies, too.” She gives the door a deft push with her hip. “Here we are, Ma. Come on in and have a seat.”
Agnes takes Benny’s hand and leads him inside, but I pause as a cat darts out suddenly from behind the door and, weaving between my legs, makes a run for the front gate.
“That’s Mr. Pibbs!” I hear Lillian yell from the inside. “Grab him, Honey, will you? He’s not allowed out!” I grab the small animal around the scruff of the neck just as he is about to disappear around the picket fence.
“Gotcha, you little bugger!” He mews piteously, but I clutch him against my chest and walk back toward the house. The cat turns its head to look up at me and when he does, I almost drop him. He’s a Siamese, with blue eyes and brown markings on his ears and face.
Exactly like George.
AGNES
The amount of space Lillian has inside her carriage house doesn’t seem big enough to hold a horse, let alone a bunch of buggies. Or whatever it was they drove back then. Benny and I stand next to one of the bright red counters inside her tiny kitchen and wait while Lillian helps Nana Pete onto a large couch covered with a cabbage-rose print. I hold my arms out. My fingers can reach the countertop on the other side of the kitchen.
“I know. I know,” Lillian says, walking in. She opens the refrigerator. “It’s smaller than a gingerbread house in here, but it’s home.” She shrugs, holding a glass jar full of green liquid. “I’m getting Ma a drink. You guys want some? It’s limeade. I just made it yesterday.”
I don’t say anything, but Benny nods eagerly.
Lillian blows inside a glass, shrugging as a pocketful of dust emerges from the bottom, and fills it with the limeade. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll take this one.” Pulling out another glass from the cupboard, she rinses it out in the sink and fills it. Then, after plopping in several ice cubes, she hands it to me. “Come on in here. We can sit down.”
We follow her into a slightly larger room with pale yellow walls. Lillian plops down on the couch next to Nana Pete. The arms are so threadbare that I can see pieces of wood beneath the stuffing. Nana Pete is perspiring more than usual and her mouth is drawn in a straight line. When we walk into the room, she looks up at us, but her lids are heavy, as if they are weighted on the inside.
“Listen, Ma.” Lillian reaches over and smoothes Nana Pete’s hair off her forehead. “I’m not gonna go into King’s tonight so I can stay with you and—”
But Nana Pete cuts her off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lil. I’m tired from the trip, is all. You didn’t go in yesterday to come meet us in Raleigh, and I don’t want you to call in again. I remember the mess you came back to the last time I visited. Besides, it’s no big deal. We’re all just going to sleep anyway. It’s not like I have to do anything.” She glances over at me and winks. “Except maybe watch my snoring.”
Lillian studies her mother for a moment and then sighs. “All right,” she says softly. “If you’re really sure … ”
Nana Pete nods her head firmly. “I’m really sure,” she repeats. “Now git. You have about twenty minutes to shower and get down there before they start panicking.”
Lillian plants a kiss on her mother’s forehead. “You really do remember from last time, eh?”
Nana Pete nods. “How could I forget? We barely got any time to visit.”
Lillian hesitates again and then drains the last of her limeade. “Well, it won’t be like that this time,” she says. “I’ll push through tonight and then I’ll be off for three days in a row.” She stands up. “We’ll all have plenty of time together when I get back.”
Whoopee, I think. One big happy family.
Honey comes in a few minutes later, carrying a little Siamese cat. Her face is pale for some reason, as if she has just seen a ghost. But Nana Pete sits up when she sees the animal, and claps her hands.
“Mr. Pibbs!” Honey releases her grip and the cat scrambles over next to Nana Pete. “Oh!” Nana Pete says, scratching him between the ears. “Hello, my little man! Mama hasn’t seen you in so long!”
“Is he yours?” Honey asks softly.
Nana Pete shakes her head. “No, no. He’s Lillian’s. I bought him for her after she … came … ” She bites her lower lip and looks up at us. Her eyes seem a little brighter than they did earlier. “He’s been good company for her.”
I watch as Benny sits down on the couch and starts stroking the cat’s white fur. Mr. Pibbs tilts his head back and closes his eyes, clearly relishing the attention.
“Where’d Lillian go?” Honey asks suddenly.