Free Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman Page B

from my brain, and I jabbered on and on.
    Oletta’s eyes grew as round as silver dollars as she listened to my tear-soaked autobiography. She never said a word; she just pulled out the chair next to me and lowered herself down with a tired-sounding groan.
    “Nobody liked me,” I mumbled into a wad of soggy tissue. “The only friend I ever had was Mrs. Odell. And now I’ll never see her again.”
    When I finally grabbed hold of myself and realized I’d exposed the worst of my shame, I clamped my mouth shut and looked down at my hands. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die for all the things I’d just revealed.
    “Sorry,” I whispered.
    Oletta reached over and lifted the lid off the oatmeal. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
    My stomach was tied in knots, but I didn’t want to insult her by not eating the breakfast she’d prepared. Halfheartedly I dipped my spoon into the oatmeal, but when it touched my tongue, my taste buds snapped awake.
    Oletta reached out and spooned some brown sugar onto the oatmeal, followed by some plump berries. She never took her eyes off me as I emptied the entire bowl and gulped down a glass of orange juice. I had the sinking feeling Oletta had summed me up pretty fast, and I was sure the word pathetic was in her mind.
    “Miz Tootie left in a hurry. I didn’t catch what your name was.”
    “My name is CeeCee. CeeCee Honeycutt,” I said, plucking the cinnamon roll from the plate. I took a bite and an involuntary moan of pleasure pushed past my lips. It was the most extraordinary thing I’d ever tasted. A rush of sugar exploded into my veins, and with my mouth full of that sugary, buttery sweetness, I let out a nervous laugh and started crying all over again. “I’m the daughter of the 1951 Vidalia Onion Queen.”
    Oletta slapped her hands on her thighs. “Sweet baby Jesus. That’s some kinda crazy life you was livin’. Um-um-um. No wonder you’re cryin’ and carryin’ on.” She pressed her lips together and looked at me with such intensity, I got a sudden chill. I could see a storm of questions gathering in her eyes. “How old are you, child?”
    “Twelve.”
    “Twelve? You sure is tiny for twelve. I thought you was about nine or ten. There ain’t much to you but skin and bones.” She rested back in the chair and shook her head. “So, your daddy didn’t want to face all the problems your momma was having and he up and walked out, leaving you all alone without your momma’s hand to guide you. That’s a sad, sad story. C’mon over here, child,” she said, patting her lap. “Let me give you some sugar.”
    I had no idea what she meant, but at her urging I got up from the table. As she eased me onto her lap, I leaned against her shoulder and inhaled her scent. She smelled of warm cinnamon and kindness.
    “Those are some mighty wild stories about your momma. Ain’t nobody could make up something like that. When Miz Tootie said you was havin’ a real hard time up north, she sure was tellin’ the truth.”
    Oletta patted my back with her wide, strong hand as if I were a baby and she wanted me to burp. “I was crabby this morning and made you feel bad. I’m sorry. I was just in a bad mood from havin’ to climb up all them stairs to wake you up. I worked in my vegetable patch yesterday and my legs ache something awful. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”
    “That’s okay,” I said, wiping away a tear, only to feel another one form in the corner of my eye.
    “Child, child,” she said with a heavy exhale. “You’ve got a whole lot of healin’ to do. But the Good Lord sent you to the right place. Ain’t nobody walkin’ this green earth got a bigger heart than Miz Tootie. Once you settle in and let me get some meat on your bones, you’ll feel a whole lot better.”
    Oletta leaned back to look into my eyes, and there came a deafening crack, as if a bolt of lightning had exploded into the room. Next thing I knew we pitched backward and crashed