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Authors: Linda Evans Shepherd
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already striking, if you know what I mean. Well, anyway . . . let me know what’s going on and know that I love you. My prayers are with you and your father.”
I played the message back again, this time listening for any background voices. Specifically, background voices of the female persuasion. But there were none, and I mentally kicked myself in the rear for having made such an effort.
The third message was from my baby brother, Tom, who worked the farm with Daddy. I couldn’t imagine the stress Daddy’s heart attack might be on him from the business point of view. “Goldie. Call me when you land. I’m at the airport—not Melody—and I’ve got my cell phone with me.”
I hung up and started to dial Tom’s number, then stopped and put my phone in my purse. Our small aircraft had reached the gate and we were about to deplane. When I was inside Savannah’s airport, I stepped into the women’s restroom for personal matters, then walked over to a row of chairs and sat down to call my brother.
“Hey, Goldie.” He sounded so tired.
“I’m here, Tom. I’m just outside my gate. What happened to Melody picking me up?” Melody and Tom live, as Mama puts it, “a good hollerin’ distance” from the family home with their six children, so either one of them could easily have made the trip. But, between dealing with Mama and Daddy at the hospital and the kids everywhere else, Melody’s plate was, no doubt, full.
“I’m here. I’ll meet you at baggage claim. I’m at carousel three. That’s where your luggage will be.”
I stood, hoisted my purse over my shoulder, and began to walk toward baggage claim. “How’s Daddy?”
Tom didn’t answer right away.
“Tom? Did I lose you?” I glanced over at a small shop that boasted Georgia pecans and peanuts, Georgia T-shirts, and books about Georgia, including recipe books from every ladies group in the state, each one complete with a recipe for Southern pecan pie. I decided that on my way back through I’d pick up a few for our catering company. Lisa Leann would be nearly beside herself with glee knowing she could throw a Southern-style party of the Georgia kind. “Tom?”
“I’m here, Goldie. I’m waiting for you at baggage claim.”
Another turn and I’d be seeing him face to face, so I decided to just let him tell me about Daddy’s condition once I saw him. “I’m almost there. See you in a minute.” I hung up my phone, rounded a corner or two, and then spotted my brother standing along the line of luggage carousels. He looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen him, which was nearly a year ago. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, and his hair—still dark but thinning—looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days.
I waved and he waved back, taking the steps necessary to meet me in the middle.
As he wrapped me in a tender hug I hooked my chin over his shoulder. “Oh, Tom.” I squeezed him. “How’s Daddy?” I attempted to pull away from him.
But Tom held me all the tighter. “Daddy died,” he said, the words choked back in a whisper.
My knees buckled and I felt myself sliding, held up only by the strength of his arms.
Vonnie
8
Dinner Guests
When David called and said he was bringing a friend to dinner, it was as if a chill had seeped in from my closed kitchen window and frosted the room.
Oh boy.
I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I took the whistling teakettle off the burner. “That’s fine, David, as long as your friend likes Italian.”
“Of course. Are you making your famous apple pie?”
“I’ve already sliced the apples.”
Mother began to ring her bedside bell. “Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Mother, I’m on the phone, I’ll be there in a minute.”
The impatience in my mother’s voice outdid my own. “Vonnie, I need you now.”
“Okay, Mother, okay.”
“Sorry, David, I gotta run. I’ll see you and your friend at seven?”
“We’ll be there.”
I hung
I played the message back again, this time listening for any background voices. Specifically, background voices of the female persuasion. But there were none, and I mentally kicked myself in the rear for having made such an effort.
The third message was from my baby brother, Tom, who worked the farm with Daddy. I couldn’t imagine the stress Daddy’s heart attack might be on him from the business point of view. “Goldie. Call me when you land. I’m at the airport—not Melody—and I’ve got my cell phone with me.”
I hung up and started to dial Tom’s number, then stopped and put my phone in my purse. Our small aircraft had reached the gate and we were about to deplane. When I was inside Savannah’s airport, I stepped into the women’s restroom for personal matters, then walked over to a row of chairs and sat down to call my brother.
“Hey, Goldie.” He sounded so tired.
“I’m here, Tom. I’m just outside my gate. What happened to Melody picking me up?” Melody and Tom live, as Mama puts it, “a good hollerin’ distance” from the family home with their six children, so either one of them could easily have made the trip. But, between dealing with Mama and Daddy at the hospital and the kids everywhere else, Melody’s plate was, no doubt, full.
“I’m here. I’ll meet you at baggage claim. I’m at carousel three. That’s where your luggage will be.”
I stood, hoisted my purse over my shoulder, and began to walk toward baggage claim. “How’s Daddy?”
Tom didn’t answer right away.
“Tom? Did I lose you?” I glanced over at a small shop that boasted Georgia pecans and peanuts, Georgia T-shirts, and books about Georgia, including recipe books from every ladies group in the state, each one complete with a recipe for Southern pecan pie. I decided that on my way back through I’d pick up a few for our catering company. Lisa Leann would be nearly beside herself with glee knowing she could throw a Southern-style party of the Georgia kind. “Tom?”
“I’m here, Goldie. I’m waiting for you at baggage claim.”
Another turn and I’d be seeing him face to face, so I decided to just let him tell me about Daddy’s condition once I saw him. “I’m almost there. See you in a minute.” I hung up my phone, rounded a corner or two, and then spotted my brother standing along the line of luggage carousels. He looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen him, which was nearly a year ago. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, and his hair—still dark but thinning—looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days.
I waved and he waved back, taking the steps necessary to meet me in the middle.
As he wrapped me in a tender hug I hooked my chin over his shoulder. “Oh, Tom.” I squeezed him. “How’s Daddy?” I attempted to pull away from him.
But Tom held me all the tighter. “Daddy died,” he said, the words choked back in a whisper.
My knees buckled and I felt myself sliding, held up only by the strength of his arms.
Vonnie
8
Dinner Guests
When David called and said he was bringing a friend to dinner, it was as if a chill had seeped in from my closed kitchen window and frosted the room.
Oh boy.
I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I took the whistling teakettle off the burner. “That’s fine, David, as long as your friend likes Italian.”
“Of course. Are you making your famous apple pie?”
“I’ve already sliced the apples.”
Mother began to ring her bedside bell. “Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Mother, I’m on the phone, I’ll be there in a minute.”
The impatience in my mother’s voice outdid my own. “Vonnie, I need you now.”
“Okay, Mother, okay.”
“Sorry, David, I gotta run. I’ll see you and your friend at seven?”
“We’ll be there.”
I hung
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