Excerpt

Early darkness had fallen upon Washington. Street lamps glowed. The old woman wandered aimlessly for a long while, unaware of her direction, eventually passing through areas filled with boarded-up and abandoned buildings. Homeless people lurked in doorways, peering out at her and calling as she walked by. An occasional passing car slowed to a crawl and the passengers examined her closely.

Exhausted and shivering, she arrived at a small park where homeless men and women had spread blankets on the lawn and benches. Grateful to see other people, she nervously hesitated and then sat in one of the last remaining spaces on a bench. A large woman wearing a black bandana and a dark sweat suit under a dirty camel’s hair coat already occupied most of the bench, guarding a shopping cart stuffed with bulging plastic bags.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to sit here and rest for a while,” Mrs. Worthington said.

Hearing no reply, she began to relax, breathing a long sigh of relief after the day’s strain. She glanced at the large woman beside her and, suddenly, familiarity washed over her.

“Frances!” she exclaimed. “How could you know that I would be here in need of help?”

The large woman continued to stare straight ahead without replying.

“I’ve had the most tiring day, Frances, and I don’t quite understand the things that have happened. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again and have you take care of me.”

A light breeze pushed forward, and Mrs. Worthington rubbed her cold hands together. She fumbled with the catch on her overnight bag, finally succeeded in opening it, and reached inside for her white gloves.

Other homeless persons arrived and clustered by the curb where a food van—marked with the lettering Daily Bread—pulled up alongside. The driver got out, raised a side panel, and began passing out soup and sandwiches. The homeless moved along silently to receive their food, separating to stay by themselves and eat.

Mrs. Worthington remained seated on her bench, staring at the food. Her hunger pangs increased at the sight of it. She finally overcame her embarrassment, stood up, and walked to the end of the line.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” the driver said, trying to converse. He handed her a sandwich and a cup of steaming soup.

The old woman nodded without speaking and returned to her bench, not noticing that her overnight bag was missing. She was hungry enough to eat part of a thick cheese sandwich but had difficulty holding the vegetable soup. It spilled on her white gloves.

She looked at the woman sitting beside her. “I’m sorry, Frances,” she said, “please forgive me. I was so hungry that I forgot to offer you some of my food.”

The large woman slowly turned her considerable bulk and faced Mrs. Worthington, and took a long look at her before speaking.

“Honey,” she said in a deep and gruff voice, “I don’t know who Frances is, but I sure do know she ain’t me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Worthington said. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your privacy, but I thought you were a very dear friend of mine.”

“That okay,” the woman replied, looking Mrs. Worthington up and down, “you’re meaning well, even if you don’t have it all together. Now, what a nice old lady like you doing out on the streets all alone at night?”

“It’s a very long story and it’s hard for me to remember everything that happened. I’m here because I thought I was supposed to meet my father for my birthday party.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman replied in a knowing tone, “and why don’t you?”

“Well, first of all, my daughter had me take a taxi to the train station because my party was to be a surprise and I had to figure out where it would be. When I heard ‘Washington’ being announced at the station I knew the party would be there at our favorite family hotel. I caught the train just in time but when I arrived and went to the Raleigh, I discovered that my father had neglected to make a reservation.”

“Uh-huh.” The woman still sounded skeptical. “And where this hotel?”
“That’s the problem,” Mrs. Worthington said, frowning, “it’s not at all where it used to be.”

“Look like he done change his address, too. Kinda hard to make a reservation at a place that don’t exist, ain’t it?” the large woman said, showing a trace of sympathy in her voice.

“Yes, but it used to exist,” Mrs. Worthington said, “and I distinctly remember it. It was my favorite hotel.”

“Honey, how you expect me to believe that any kind of daughter—if you got one—would send her mama, as old as you is, on a wild-goose chase like you been saying.”

Mrs. Worthington did not answer the woman’s question.

“Honey, I do understand, and don’t you study it no more. Now, don’t you go looking for that clothes bag because I got it right here. You’re asking for trouble parading down the streets carrying that thing.”

“What did you do with it?” Mrs. Worthington asked.

“I empty it in a bag on my cart for safekeeping and put the bag underneath. Maybe sell it or trade for it tomorrow after we go to breakfast.”

“Where are we going for breakfast?” the old woman asked.

“At a fast-food place in a better neighborhood from here. They’re still a few dollar hidden in my cart and I’ll spend some of it on you, because you look like a sweet old thing. I got me a craving for hotcakes and sausage and maybe some buttered biscuits, too.”

“That sounds very nice, Mrs. …”

“I ain’t no missus, Honey. You call me Mama because I fixing to take care of you, and I call you Honey.”