“Yeah, she’s here for the next month or so,” Clint said to his father, who turned in his direction. “Needs some help to get rid of a pest who won’t leave her alone.”
Butch turned his gaze back to me. That steely blue gaze, so much like his son, gave me a complete look from top to bottom. But not in a way that made me uncomfortable. I felt as if he were doing a check to make sure I was okay. He must have found the answer he needed, because he nodded twice and smiled down at me. “This place is good to rest, recuperate, and find your next journey. My son here has a special way of helping people, so you’re in good hands.”
I’d been nervous about how to explain my presence to others, especially his family. That his father knew some details about what Clint did for a living; that he helped people escape from difficult situations made me feel better. “Thank you, sir…” at his look, I stumbled over my words, “Um, I mean, thank you, Butch. I’m looking forward to spending some time here, away from the stress of my life.”
Nodding again, he seemed satisfied with my response. “Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” Turning around, he began walking towards the kitchen. “Now, where’s Gladys?”
“I’m right here. You don’t have to come looking for me,” the woman in question called out as she exited the kitchen. “I was grabbing our little prince the cookies I promised him.”
“Yay! Cookies,” Clint’s son Sam called out as he scrambled out of his dad’s arms.
“Are those only for Sammy? I like cookies too, Gladys. How come you never make any for me.”
Was that…? Was Clint’s dad flirting with Gladys? Oh, damn!
“Bobby, I’m not making you anything. This is Clint’s house, and my focus is on him and Sammy.” I could hear the annoyance in her voice, but I could swear there was something else.
“What about me, Ms. Gladys?” Brandon jumped into the fray, leaping off the couch, and stepping quickly over to the tray of cookies.
“You too, Bran. You too, Tamara.”
“So, you’re just gonna leave me out, huh? You’re a mean woman, Glady.”
My head was on a swivel between Clint’s father and Gladys. She called him by his first name, I think… and he called her a nickname. Oh, this is good. When I glanced over at Clint, he was the only one who didn’t seem amused. He looked rather pissed. What was his deal?
“Clint, I’m going to clean up the kitchen and get ready to head out.”
It took a moment for him to respond, and his face held a frown. “Head out?”
“Yes, Ernest is taking me to dinner tonight. I know I told you this,” she huffed, with no actual heat in her voice.
“Oh, yeah, you did. It’s about time you put that man out of his misery.”
Butch jumped into the fray. “Wait? What’s going on now. Glady, you have a date? With that fool Ernest from church?”
Hand on her hip, she turned to Clint’s father; her lip curled up. “He’s not an old fool.”
“He is, if he’s trying to take you out on a date. You don’t belong on no damn date, Gladys! You’re too damn old to be going out with a man. You need to stay at home and just be happy with the life you have instead of trying to chase behind that old fool. If he didn’t want you before, why would he want you now?”
Oh, snap! You could hear a pin drop as the room went silent. Even little Sammy looked up at his grandfather with shock.
“Fuck,” Clint hissed. “Dad, why’d you have to say that?”
“Damn, Mr. S., I think you’d better take that back,” Brandon mumbled.
“Grandpa? Why’d you say that? Gladys is beautiful. If I were old enough, I’d want to take her out on a date.”
I was sad for Gladys that Butch had said such cruel words to her, but I had a feeling his anger was for another reason altogether. Part of me wanted to walk away and not witness this moment, but another part of me was glued to the spot. Come on, Gladys, cuss his ass out.
But that’s not what happened. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped as a tear slipped down her face. Butch took a step back, hissing out, “Shit. I’m sorry,” as he did so.
“Dad, this shit is not okay. Why do you antagonize Gladys every time you come over here?”
“It’s okay, Clint. Your daddy can’t help being who he is. I’ve known this for more than thirty years. Your momma, God bless her beautiful soul, was a damn saint for putting up with his ornery ass. But I don’t have to listen to this.” Gladys paused before turning her burning stare to Butch. “I’m going out with Ernest because he appreciates me and wants to spend time with me. He doesn’t hide who he is and doesn’t worry about what others think about him dating a maid.”
“You’re not a maid, Gladys,” Clint called out before taking a step over to her.
“No, Clint. I know what I am, and I know how others see me. Yes, I’m a fifty-seven-year-old black woman who’s spent her life working for others. Cleaning their messes, raising their children, feeding them when they’re hungry, and healing them when they’re sick. But I’m also a woman who knows my worth. No one’s going to tell me I’m not worthy.” Her gaze never left Butch Sullivan, so everyone in that room—maybe except for Sammy—knew exactly who she was talking to.