Chapter Nineteen
It was Sheriff Martin. “Things are kind of busy here this morning, Carey,” he told me. “Don’t worry about getting down here too soon. Why don’t you stop by after lunch?” I said that was a good idea and hung up. I lay in bed for a few minutes to get my bearings, thinking about my grandmother and Sally Ann.
I got out of bed and showered, threw on a T-shirt and shorts, and made up the sofa bed. I turned off the air conditioner and shut the lights as I left for Ransom Memorial Hospital.
The hospital was busy in the mid-morning. I parked and went in through the front door, walking confidently past the information desk and taking the elevator up to the ICU. I walked through the double doors and stood uncertainly at the threshold of the patient area, glancing in to see if I could see any movement in my grandmother’s bed.
A nurse approached me and asked who I was and what I was doing. “Carey Lovett,” I told her. “My grandmother Mary is over there.” I gestured toward the area where her bed had been the night before.
The nurse’s face lit up with recognition. “You’re Mary’s grandson! She’s been waiting for you. Come in!”
She led me through the ICU to my grandmother’s bedside. Her eyes were open and the endotracheal tube had been removed from her mouth. She still had the oxygen tube under her nose, but her eyes were open and she smiled when she saw me.
“How are you, baby?” she asked in a small voice. She lifted her hand and patted my forearm, and I could see the intravenous line taped to the back of her wrist. She kept her hand on my arm and held it there.
“I’m okay,” I told her. “How are you?”
“I’ve felt better,” she told me, and gave a weary chuckle. It wasn’t enough to bring on a cough. “They took the tube out just a little while ago, thank God. That thing hurts!”
I smiled. “Have you seen Dr. Barnaby?” I asked her.
“Yeah. He was here this morning. He took out the tube. I saw the old rascal pinch one of the nurses on the behind as he was walking away.” I laughed in surprise.
“Did he say how you’re doing? When you’ll go home?”
“Not today, I don’t think. I think he was surprised I’m doing as well as I am. He’s always expecting me to kick the bucket any minute. I keep on letting him down.” She patted my arm. “What have you been up to? I’m tired of talking.”
I told her about finding her at her apartment the afternoon before, since I knew she didn’t know how she came to be in the hospital. I knew also that it didn’t surprise her. “Did you hear anyone at the door?”
“No, baby,” she told me. “I was watching TV and then I took a nap. Next thing I knew, here I was. I was sure glad to see you!”
“A strange thing happened last night,” I told her. “I was here for quite a while,” I began, and she squeezed my arm. “Sheriff Martin offered to take me and Sally Ann home, and on the way we stopped by the house of a man named Peter Crane.”
She nodded her head. “Old Crane house, over on South 12th.”
“You knew him?”
“What do you mean, knew?” she asked, and I told her about finding him dead.
She shook her head. “Can’t believe it. Everyone’s dyin’ these days. Don’t know why God just don’t take
me, too, one of these times.”
“He almost did yesterday,” I told her.
“Yeah, but he keeps on letting me bounce back. I’m not sure I know why.” She looked away for a second. “I’m not so sure I like it, either.”
I didn’t say anything, and after a few moments she looked back at me. “You want to know the first time I met Peter Crane? He was working for Lester Macaboo back before the war.”
“Crane worked for Lester Jr.?” I asked.
“No, no,” she shook her head. “Lester Sr. Back when he first started out with the bakery. Anyway, Crane was a maintenance man, helping out here and there, and I was just a teenager. I went over to the bakery after Lester bought it and Crane came out from the back and gave me a box of doughnuts and cookies for free. ‘Here you go,’ he said, and just handed it to me. I was so surprised to get that from a nigger, especially back then, that it just stuck in my mind.”
“He was younger than Lester Sr.?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, but then that was a long time ago. Shame he’s dead. I knew his wife a bit, too. Hattie was her name.”
“Momma Hattie?” I asked.
“Don’t know about the Momma business,” said my grandmother. “Just Hattie--Hattie Crane.”
“Long time ago, huh,” I said, and she nodded. I sat there with her for awhile longer, her hand on my arm, until her eyes began to flutter and roll up in her head.
They closed, and her head tilted slightly to the side on her pillow. Her hand relaxed its grip and I placed it
back on the bed, arranging the covers carefully around her. She was sleeping peacefully and I decided to leave.
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