Summertime

“Lawd almighty.” Aunt Velma lifts the hem of her cotton housedress and lets the fan blow air under the fabric. I look away, could have done without that picture. Fishing a washcloth from the bucket with the last of the ice water, I wring it out and hand it to her, get another one to rub over my face, neck and wrists.

“What’s keeping Junior?” She grumbles. “He’s taking his good ole time. Bet he’s hanging around Arnold’s, soaking up the cool air.”

“I guess.” It’s too hot to talk. It’s too hot to think. I press the cold washcloth behind my knees and sigh. It won’t stay cold for long, but each moment is welcome.

The window unit died first thing this morning. Uncle Junior is supposed to know someone who knows someone who can get him a good deal on another one. It’s 110 in the shade. The air is so thick you could wring it for a pitcher of lemonade. Too bad the old fridge can’t make ice fast enough.

While we’re waiting for Uncle Junior to come back, I put pans filled with ice cubes in front of the oscillating fan. I saw it done in a movie once. Liz Taylor and Paul Newman. It didn’t work all that well for them either. But then they were looking to get all hot and bothered in a fight. I’m too wilted to carry a grudge.

I return the now warm washcloth to the bucket and grab another.

“I remember the summer of ‘53.” Velma, head back against the high-backed chair, eyes closed, reminisces. “It was hot then too. But we were younger then. We’d walk to the creek. Spent the whole day in the water, till the sun went down. Not that it cooled off much ...” Her voice trails off. Either she is remembering or has fallen asleep. I’ll leave her to it and try not to breathe.

“That’s when daddy left us. Said living down here was a life sentence and he was due for parole.” She lifts her hair off her neck. “Thomas and I figured he’d be back. Figured he’d miss momma and us and come rushing home. Each day we’d ask, ‘When’s daddy coming back?’ Momma’d shrug and turn back to the stove.” Velma shakes her head. “Even when winter came, he didn’t. Thought for sure he’d come for Christmas, bring us gifts. But he didn’t.”

She falls silent again. I hadn’t known grandpa had walked out. I’d always thought he up and died, sudden-like.

“Did he ever?” I ask,

“Did he ever what? Come back? No. Not then. It wasn’t till … I think it was the summer of ‘73, or maybe ‘74. Momma got word that daddy had passed. She had him shipped here. Put him next to his mamma and daddy and brother Billy Joe. We put momma next to him, back in ‘97.”

She wrings out another washcloth and wipes her brow. “He had himself another family up there. Kids too.”

“You ever gone looking for them, then?”

“Not me, Thomas did. Said we have two halves. A half-sister and a half-brother. Forget their names ... Lucille, I think. Which is kind-a crazy when you think on it. Lucille was momma’s name.”

“They never divorced, then?”

“Oh, no. Momma wouldn’t hear of it. ‘We’s married in the eyes of the Lord. It ain’t up to me to change that.’  She’d say. I reckon daddy had asked at one time. I remember her railing to Aunt Phoebe that once. It’s the only time I heard her raise her voice.”

“I thought momma said her daddy had passed.”

Aunt Velma’s hand lifts off the arm rest of the rocker, as close to a shrug as she’ll do today.

“All families have secrets, child. We learn to repeat stories as we understand them and then we never go digging for the truth. Your momma was maybe four or five when daddy walked. When momma didn’t say nothing, Sissy must have made up her own story, I reckon.” She pauses, lift her skirt again. “Come to think on it, it wasn’t that long after Ascension. She must have confused the two.”

“Did he send money?”

“Pfft. Maybe once or twice. But no, momma was working at the Jamison’s and took in laundry on the weekends. Thomas picked up odd jobs when he turned twelve and I had to help with the ironing. Lawd almighty.”

She sighs and falls silent again. I pour the last of the lemonade.

“Hated ironing ever since,” she sighs. “Often enough I had to use the stove to heat the irons when we couldn’t afford power. I remember standing between the table and the hot stove and press endless yards of linen.”

“Linen is hard to iron.” I nod, my eyes closed.

“It sure is. And once you get a wrinkle in it, it won’t come out till next washing. I would try to hide those inside the folds, ‘cause, lawd almighty, if momma caught me.”

She drinks her lemonade.

“I kept grousing that it was a thankless task. “A thankless task.” I’d say over and over. “Don’t expect thanks over and above payment, child.” Momma would say. “Nobody is going to say thank you when they give you money. No, you’re supposed to say the thank you when you get paid.” I didn’t understand that. Now it goes straight to the bank. No please and thank you anymore. Is more honest. More equal, I think. Where is that Junior?

“How did you meet Uncle Junior?”

“Church.” She nods. “Yeah, a revival meeting. I guess it was as hot then as it is now. And all of us in our Sunday’s best, you know? He was new in town. His family, the Brown’s, had just moved here from up north a ways. He walked right up to me after services. We stood under the tree, that big one they took down last year. He walked up and said 'You’re the prettiest girl here. I think I’ll marry you.' I laughed at him. I was nineteen and didn’t think I was a girl no more, you know?” She guffaws. “But he grew on me.”

She turns her head and looks at me. “We both wanted a houseful of kids, but the Good Lord saw fit to let us share you and your brother after Sissy passed.” She smiles, reaches her hand to me. “And we were happy to have you and a little bit of Sissy.”

We both blink and swallow. I take her hand and hold on for a minute.

At last, we lift our heads when we hear the sputtering of an engine bounce off the trees that line the road.

“Well finally.” Aunt Velam sighs contentedly. “The slowpoke.”

With a gasp and a fart, the truck pulls into the drive. Uncle Junior grins as he carries a large cooler full of ice around the back and up the porch. We hear him dump a good bit in the freezer before he walks back to the truck to retrieve a large, somewhat beat-up box. Half an hour later his huffing, grumbling and cussing is replaced by the knock and rattle from the new window unit.

“Got you a surprise.” His voice has a childlike sing-song tone as he comes back out, shutting the door, hoping the small house will cool down enough by bedtime.

He disappears around the corner again. Then we hear the screech of the outside tap being opened.

He laughs as he sets a sprinkler in the center of the yard, under the large oak tree. He stands within its reach, head back, arms spread wide, grinning like a fool when the cool water hits him.

“Well? Come on in, the water is fine.”

Aunt Velma gets up and walks to him, he holds her, they kiss.

“You’re the clever one, Junior.” She sighs with pleasure.

Soon we have our rocking chairs arranged under the sprinkler and laugh as Uncle Junior repeats all the gossip he heard that day.