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My uncle frowned, said, “No, that’s…oh…Christina’s next to Brock, but Jason, he’s…”
My aunt cocked her head. “Cliff?”
Her husband turned puzzled again. “Man, Jason, he liked blues.”
“And jazz,” Nana Mama said.
“He like blues most,” Cliff insisted. “I show you?”
Hattie softened. “You want your guitar, honey?”
“Six-string,” he said, and he shuffled on his own to a chair, acting as if no one else were with him.
Aunt Hattie disappeared and soon came back carrying a six-string steel guitar that I vaguely remembered from my childhood. When my uncle took the guitar, fused it to his chest, and began to play some old blues tune by heart and soul, it was as if time had rolled in reverse, and I saw myself as a five- or six-year-old sitting in my dad’s lap, listening to Clifford play that same raucous tune.
My mother was in that memory too. She had a drink in her hand and sat with my brothers, hooting and cheering Clifford on. That memory was so real that for a second I could have sworn I smelled both my parents there in the room with me.
My uncle played the entire song, finishing with a flourish that showed just how good he’d once been. When he stopped, everyone clapped. His face lit up at that, and he said, “You like that, you come to the show tonight, hear?”
“What show?” Ali asked.
“Cliff and the Midnights,” my uncle said as if Ali should have known. “We’re playing down to the…”
His voice trail
ed off, and that confusion returned. He looked around for his wife, said, “Hattie? Where my gig tonight? You know I can’t be late.”
“You won’t be,” she said, taking the guitar from him. “I’ll make sure.”
My uncle chewed on that a bit before saying, “All aboard now, Hattie.”
“All aboard now, Cliff,” she said, setting the guitar aside. “Lunch serving in the dining car. You hungry, Cliff?”
“My shift over?” he asked, surprised.
My aunt glanced at me, said, “You have a break coming to you, dear. I’ll get you a plate, bring it to you in the dining car. Connie? Can you take him?”
“Where’s Pinkie?” Cliff said as Connie Lou bustled over to him.
“You know he’s down in Florida,” she said. “C’mon, now. And use your walker. Train’s an awful place to fall.”
“Humph,” Cliff said, getting to his feet. “I worked this train twenty-five years and I ain’t fallen yet.”
“Just the same,” Aunt Connie said and followed him as he shuffled back down the hallway.
“I’m sorry about that,” Aunt Hattie said to everyone.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Nana Mama said.
Aunt Hattie wrung her hands and nodded emotionally, and then turned and went off to the kitchen. I stood there feeling guilty that I’d not come back and seen my uncle in better times.
“Alex, you go get some food so Ali and I can have seconds,” Bree said.
“Leave some for me,” Jannie said.
I followed Aunt Hattie into her kitchen. She was standing at the sink with her hand over her mouth, looking like she was fighting not to break down.
But then she saw me and put on a brave smile. “Help yourself, Alex.”
