Linda Warren - A Texas Family

Opening the screen door, she called, “Mama.” She didn’t want to frighten her.

Norma appeared from the kitchen in jeans and a print blouse, shock etched across her aging face. Her dark eyes were dull and her dark hair was almost gray at fifty years of age. Jena stood in shock, hardly believing her mother’s health had deteriorated this much.

“Jena, what are you doing here?”

She closed the door and walked in. “Hi, Mama. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Oh, Jena, my beautiful daughter.” They hugged tightly, and Norma drew back, wiping away a tear. “Just look at you. All citified. I almost didn’t recognize you, but you have to go. You can’t stay here.”

She took her mother’s arm. “Mama, we have to talk.”

“Okay, but not too long.” Norma sank into an old worn recliner they’d gotten from Goodwill more than twenty years ago. Duct tape covered the threadbare arms.

Jena pulled a wooden chair close to her mother and noticed a bucket near the windows. Glancing up, she saw the brown stains. The roof was leaking. She’d sent Hilary money for a new roof. What had she done with it? She couldn’t think about that now.

“Mama, Asa Corbett has had a stroke. Hilary told you.”

Norma frowned. “I don’t remember.”

Hilary had said their mother had memory lapses and was out of it a lot these days. It was unsettling to witness.

“He has. He’s in a wheelchair, and he’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s been so long ago no one cares anymore.”

No one but me.

“I don’t know,” Norma murmured in a faraway voice.

“Mama, I’m going to be staying a few days, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The screen door banged and Hilary breezed in with a Styrofoam takeout container in her hand. “Hey, sis, you made it.”

“Yeah.”

People said they looked alike, and Jena supposed they did with the same dark eyes and hair and similar facial features. But the resemblance ended there. They were totally different in personality. Hilary was a bubbly scatterbrain who talked constantly. Jena, on the other hand, was reserved and quiet. She’d been called uptight more than once. Jared was the only one who’d seen she was a warm, compassionate person in need of love. Desperate for love.

“Did you bring my dinner?” Norma asked.

“Sure did, Mama. I’ll put it on the kitchen table. It’s Mabel’s pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade rolls. Peach cobbler for dessert. You better eat it while it’s warm.” Hil hurried into the kitchen.

“Okay.” Norma followed her and so did Jena.

Hil fixed a glass of iced tea and placed it and a napkin on the table.

Jena watched this, rather mystified. Her mom was a wonderful cook and was capable of making delicious meals with the little food they’d had. Why wasn’t she cooking?

Jena went back into the living room, and soon Hilary joined her. “I had no idea Mama was this bad.”

“Ever since Dad was murdered and Mama got you out of town so quick, she hasn’t been the same. Every day she gets a little worse.”

“Did she just stop cooking?”

“She left grease on the burner twice, and it caught fire. I just happened to be home or our—” she glanced around the drab room “—mansion would have burned down. I had one of the guys turn off the gas to the stove. I can turn it on if I need to, but since I work at the café I bring her food.”

Hilary had worked at Mabel’s Café ever since she was sixteen. There weren’t many jobs in Willow Creek, a town of four hundred. Her sister would be stuck here for the rest of her life, taking care of their mother.

She reached out and hugged her. “Thank you, baby sis, for all you do.”

“Aw.” Hil pulled away. “You gonna make me cry.”

“I know it’s not easy dealing with Mama.”

“It’s like dealing with a child.”

“I know we talked about her doctor visits. Is there nothing else he can do?”

Hil shook her head. “He said severe trauma from the murders has altered her personality, and dementia has set in, but I know her moods. We’re okay.”

The bucket caught Jena’s attention. “I hate to sound critical when I’m so appreciative, but what happened to the money for the roof?”

“Oh, that. Don’t get upset. Wait till you see.”

Jena followed her sister through the kitchen and suddenly stopped. There was a utility room off the kitchen—a bright cheery room painted a soft yellow with a white washer and dryer. One wall had a mural of a rainbow, clouds and birds.

Jena was speechless.

Growing up, they hadn’t had a washer or a dryer. On Saturdays, they usually went into Dripping Springs to a Laundromat. But if they didn’t have money, their mother washed their clothes in the bathtub—a backward way of life for the poor people who lived across the tracks. A stigma that would be with her for the rest of her life, as would so many other things from her childhood.

“You built a utility room?”

“Fresh, isn’t it?” She pointed to the mural. “It would have cost more money to put a window in, so I painted a scene to liven up the place.”

“Who built this?”

“The guys. I bought all the supplies, and they did the rest.”

“What guys?”

“The ones who come into the café: Billy Jack, Clem, Bobby Joe, Bruce, Lenny and...”

“The labor was free?”

“Yes. Bruce is a carpenter, Lenny a plumber, Clem a Sheetrock guy, Billy Jack a painter and Bobby Joe a roofer. They had it up in two days.”

“For free?”

Hil grinned. “I just promised to cut their piece of pie a little bigger at the café. They’ll do anything for an extra piece of pie.”

Jena believed they did it for Hilary. She had a way with people.

She looked at the white ceiling. “I’m assuming this has a roof on it.”

“Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you roof the whole house?”

“Well—” she tilted her head slightly “—I ran out of money. I can get the guys to do hard labor, but I can’t get them to fork over any cash. So Bobby Joe put tar on it, and he’s coming back to repair that one spot that’s still leaking.”

“If you’re happy...”

“I am.” She did a dance, swung around in a quick move and did a ta-da with her hands pointed toward the washer and dryer in a typical Vanna White gesture. “I can wash clothes anytime I want. I feel empowered.”

Jena laughed, something she hadn’t done in a long time, but in her heart she felt guilty. She had those conveniences in Dallas and more, while her mother and sister lived in poverty. While she was here she would try to improve things as much as she could.

Arm in arm they walked into the kitchen. Their mother sat at the table, staring off into space, her food barely touched.

Hilary went to her. “Hey, Mama, why aren’t you eating?”

“What? Oh.” Norma looked up, her eyes blank. “I’m not hungry. You can—” She stared at Jena. “What are you doing here? You have to go. They’ll hurt you. C’mon.” She stood up so fast the chair went flying into the stove.

Hilary immediately hugged their mother, motioning for Jena to go into the other room. Her legs trembled, but she did what her sister asked.

“It’s okay, Mama,” Hil was saying. “A little nap and you’ll feel much better.”

“Why do I keep seeing her?”

“Because you’re worried about her, but Jena is fine. Remember I told you she’s coming for a visit.”

“No. They’ll hurt her again.”

“That was in the past. Things are different now.”

“I’m so cold.”

“Lie down and I’ll get a blanket.” In a few minutes Hilary was back in the living room.

“Is she always like that?” Jena asked.