I look at the bathroom door. What good would it do to be in a bathroom where the door won’t even lock? When the man’s got an axe to hack the door down with?
“I swear I’m not mad,” he says.
“What about that axe?” I say, my teeth gritted.
He rolls his eyes, then he sets it on the carpet, kicks it to the side.
“Come on, let’s go have us a talk in the kitchen.”
He turns and walks away. I look down at the axe, wondering if I should take it. Just the sight of it scares me. I push it under the bed and follow him.
In the kitchen, I edge myself close to the back door, check the knob to make sure it’s unlocked.
“Minny, I promise. It’s fine that you’re here,” he says.
I watch his eyes, trying to see if he’s lying. He’s a big man, six-two at least. A little paunch in the front, but strong looking. “I reckon you gone fire me, then.”
“Fire you?” He laughs. “You’re the best cook I’ve ever known. Look what you’ve done to me.” He frowns down at his stomach that’s just starting to poke out. “Hell, I haven’t eaten like this since Cora Blue was around. She practically raised me.”
I take a deep breath because his knowing Cora Blue seems to safen things up a little. “Her kids went to my church. I knew her.”
“I sure do miss her.” He turns, opens the refrigerator, stares in, closes it.
“When’s Celia coming back? You know?” Mister Johnny asks.
“I don’t know. I spec she went to get her hair done.”
“I thought for a while there, when we were eating your food, she really did learn how to cook. Until that Saturday, when you weren’t here, and she tried to make hamburgers.”
He leans against the sink board, sighs. “Why doesn’t she want me to know about you?”
“I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”
He shakes his head, looks up at the black mark on the ceiling from where Miss Celia burned up the turkey that time. “Minny, I don’t care if Celia never lifts another finger for the rest of her life. But she says she wants to do things for me herself.” He raises his eyebrows a little. “I mean, do you understand what I was eating before you got here?”
“She learning. Least she . . . trying to learn,” but I kind of snort at this. Some things you just can’t lie about.
“I don’t
He rubs his brow with his white shirtsleeve and I see why his shirts are always so dirty. And he
“She just doesn’t seem happy,” he says. “Is it me? Is it the house? Are we too far away from town?”
“I don’t know, Mister Johnny.”
“Then what’s going on?” He props his hands down on the counter behind him, grabs hold. “Just tell me. Is she”—he swallows hard—“is she seeing somebody else?”
I try not to, but I feel kind of sorry for him then, seeing he’s just as confused as I am about all this mess.
“Mister Johnny, this ain’t none a my business. But I can tell you Miss Celia ain’t having no relations outside a this house.”
He nods. “You’re right. That was a stupid thing to ask.”
I eye the door, wondering when Miss Celia’s going to be home. I don’t know what she’d do if she found Mister Johnny here.
“Look,” he says, “don’t say anything about meeting me. I’m going to let her tell me when she’s ready.”
I manage my first real smile. “So you want me to just go on like I been doing?”
“Look after her. I don’t like her in this big house by herself.”
“Yessuh. Whatever you say.”
“I came by today to surprise her. I was going to cut down that mimosa tree she hates so much, then take her into town for lunch. Pick out some jewelry for her Christmas present.” Mister Johnny walks to the window, looks out, and sighs. “I guess I’ll go get lunch in town somewhere.”
“I fix you something. What you want?”
He turns around, grinning like a kid. I start going through the refrigerator, pulling things out.
“Remember those pork chops we had that time?” He starts nibbling on his fingernail. “Will you make those for us this week?”
“I fix em for supper tonight. Got some in the freezer. And tomorrow night you having chicken and dumplings.”
“Oh, Cora Blue used to make us those.”
“Sit up there at the table and I’m on do you a good BLT to take with you in the truck.”
“And will you toast the bread?”
“A course. Can’t have no proper sandwich on no raw bread. And this afternoon I’ll make one a Minny’s famous caramel cakes. And next week we gone do you a fried catfish . . .”
I pull out the bacon for Mister Johnny’s lunch, get the skillet out to fry. Mister Johnny’s eyes are clear and wide. He’s smiling with every part of his face. I fix his sandwich and wrap it in waxed paper. Finally, somebody I get the satisfaction of feeding.
“Minny, I have to ask, if
I shrug. “I ain’t never seen a white woman sit there like she do. Most of em is busy-busy, running errands, acting like they busier than me.”
“She needs some friends. I asked my buddy Will if he’d get his wife to come out and teach her to play bridge, get her in a group. I know Hilly’s the ringleader of all that stuff.”
I stare at him, like if I kept real still, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Finally I ask, “That Miss Hilly Holbrook you talking about?”
“You know her?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm.” I swallow the tire iron that’s rising up in my throat at the thought of Miss Hilly hanging around this house. Miss Celia finding out the truth about the Terrible Awful. There’s no way those two could be friends. But I bet Miss Hilly would do anything for Mister Johnny.
“I’ll call Will tonight and ask him again.” He pats me on my shoulder and I find myself thinking about that word again,
“I’m going to give you my number at the office. Call me if you ever run into trouble, alright?”
“Yessuh,” I say, feeling my dread erase any relief I had coming to me today.
MISS SKEETER
Chapter 11
IT’S TECHNICALLY WINTER in most of the nation, but already there is gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands in my mother’s house. Signs of spring have come too early. Daddy’s in a cotton-planting frenzy, had to hire ten extra field workers to till and drive tractors to get the seed in the ground. Mother’s been studying
“They say this’ll be the most humid one in years.” She sighs. The Shinalator never did much good after those first few times. “I’d pick up some more spray cans down at Beemon’s, the new extra-heavy kind.”