collecting a Social Security check.
Tass began to shake.
Who had put such a silly thought in her mind?
Her eyes filled with tears.
That’s it, she belittled herself, I’ve lost my mind and not one of my children noticed.
She frantically searched the overhead signs for the next highway exit. Too nervous and distraught to take her hand off of the steering wheel to turn on the radio, Tass forced herself to think warm and happy thoughts.
She started with the day in the attic, worked her way backward to family barbecues, the birth of her first grandchild, her fortieth anniversary party, the day she and Fish made the final payment on the mortgage, the hour when she first realized she was pregnant, her wedding, summer days at the river, her first kiss …
Time slipped by, and before Tass realized it she had traveled fifty miles.
There was still time to turn back, but she no longer felt the urgent need to. Easing her hand from the steering wheel, she fiddled with the buttons until the radio came on. Otis Redding’s “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” washed over her.
Tass began to sing along.
It was August 22, 2005.
It took her four days to travel the 2,345 miles. She kept to the speed limit, and stopped often, and called Sonny to give him her exact location.
Sonny would always end the phone call with, “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
And Tass would respond, “I can’t believe it either.”
She always started driving at dawn, and by sunset she was pulling into a motel to bed down for the night. The rooms at the motels were small, the walls thin, and the cleanliness of the sheets suspect. So Tass slept in her clothes and kept the television on for company.
She arrived on the afternoon of August 26. The Toyota was caked in road dust and dead insects. Tass didn’t look much better.
After she climbed out of the car, she thanked God for her safe arrival and leaned her entire body against the side of the vehicle.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Padagonia shrieked merrily as she ran out of her house and across the road to Tass. “You made it! Oh, thank God!” Padagonia threw herself into her friend and wrapped her bony arms around her neck.
When they finally pulled apart, Tass smirked and said, “So you knew I was coming, huh?”
Padagonia offered a sheepish grin. “Sonny called me.”
“That boy,” Tass sighed.
“What did you expect? An old woman like you driving halfway across the country?”
“Old?”
The two laughed.
“Well, make yourself useful,” Tass said as she walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk.
Inside, the house was filled with shadows. Tass’s hand crept along the wall in search of the light switch.
“Gosh,” she exclaimed, “what’s that smell?”
“I painted,” Padagonia announced.
Tass hit the switch and the bright light illuminated the pale yellow walls.
“Kinda like a welcome-home present,” Padagonia said when Tass turned an astonished gaze on her. “It was depressing, now it’s cheery, don’t you think?”
Tass nodded. “Yes, it is cheery. Thank you, Paddy.”
They hauled the suitcases into the house, down the hall, past Hemmingway’s bedroom, and into Tass’s room.
“Why don’t you sleep in your mama’s room, it’s bigger,” Padagonia suggested.
“No, she died in that room … in that bed. I just can’t.”
“I understand.”
Tass walked through the house; there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. “You cleaned too?”
“Yeah, I just hit it a lick and promised it one,” Padagonia chuckled.
“This is too much, Padagonia.”
“I didn’t mind at all. This is what friends do for one another.”
They stepped out onto the porch.
“So what’s for dinner?” Tass asked as she looped her arm affectionately around her friend’s waist.
“Fried catfish and tater salad.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ve gotta call the kids to let them know I made it here safely and then I’ll come over.”
At dinner, fatigue swooped down on Tass and she nodded off at the table.
“Go on home, sleepy-head,” Padagonia laughed, and pointed her fork at the door.
Tass’s eyes rolled open and a drowsy smile spread across her lips. “Sorry,” she managed through a yawn. “Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow.”
After a short lukewarm shower, Tass slipped on a flannel nightgown, wrapped herself in a quilt, and shuffled back out into the front room. Through the window, she could see Padagonia sitting on her porch, a six-pack of Pink Champale resting on the windowsill alongside her transistor radio. She was puffing on a black and tan, gazing up at the full moon.
Suddenly, Tass didn’t feel as tired and so she moved the rocking chair to the center of living room, sat down, and listened to Padagonia croon along to the music streaming from her radio.
When she woke the next morning, her entire body pulsated with the aches and pains that come along with spending a night in a wooden rocking chair.
The sun was up and there was activity on the street. She could hear a washing machine churning, the colicky cry of a teething infant, and the mournful howl of a chained dog.
Tass limped over to the window and pulled back the curtain. Padagonia was up, dressed, and muttering to herself as she frantically swept the front walk. Every so often, she would whip her entire body around and glare at the emptiness behind her.
Tass frowned and moved to another window to see what or who was irritating her friend. But the only thing that came into view was the weed-choked vacant lot alongside Padagonia’s house.
Tass was about to walk away when Padagonia swung around again and hollered, “Hey! Hey, you in there!”
The tall grass shuddered and laughter
