Free Maggie Sweet by Judith Minthorn Stacy Page A

wrong?”
    “Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just…your grandmother won’t let Dr. Pinckney near her.”
    When we got to the examining room, Mama Dean was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing her shoot-if-you-must-this-old-gray-head look.
    Dr. Pinckney had dark hair and round glasses and reminded me of John Lennon. I liked him right away. I could see he was trying hard to stay patient with Mama Dean. Even though he smiled, he kept working his jaw muscles.
    “Mrs. Presson, please tell your grandmother this examination is routine,” he said.
    “Mama Dean, this examination is routine,” I repeated.
    She just sat there. She didn’t blink or budge. Finally Patsy Jo took over, taking Mama Dean’s blood pressure, weighing her, listening to her heart. When they were through, Dr. Pinckney said, “Mrs. Pruitt, have you had any problems since your last visit?”
    Mama Dean glared at him like he’d insulted her, then she said, “You’re the doctor. You tell me.”
     
    All the way home, she didn’t say the first word. She just sat there in the passenger seat, her jaw pooched out, and her arms folded over her chest like an old Indian.
    “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself,” I said.
    “Hmph.”
    “All you did was waste everyone’s time.”
    “Hmph.”
    I wasn’t getting anywhere. “All, right, Mama Dean, let’s forget the whole thing. Next time we’ll wait for Dr. Helton. I’m sure it won’t hurt Dr. Pinckney’s feelings one bit.”
    The traffic light in front of the bank turned red, so I stopped the car. On the next block, in front of Woolworth’s, I saw a man who looked just like Jerry. I craned my neck. He had long, thin legs, the same shock of dark hair and the walk I thought I’d forgotten.
    For years, I’d “seen” Jerry in malls, on the street, in every crowd. My heart would do flip-flops, but when I got closer it was always a tall, dark-haired stranger. It’d been years since I’d “seen” Jerry like that. I hoped all the reunion talk wouldn’t start all those old feelings again.
    By the time the light changed, the man had disappeared and Mama Dean was muttering something about “Stinking men. Even with all those diplomas on the wall they all just want one thing.”
    I put the Jerry look-alike out of my mind and stepped on the gas. In a few minutes I’d drop off Mama Dean and go home. Then it hit me: why did I want to get home? Mother Presson was waiting for me at home.
    Mama Dean sniffed and dabbed her eyes.
    “Now what’s wrong?” I said.
    “Nothing. I’m fine! Just fine! Don’t bother to take me home. I know you can’t wait to get shed of me. Just drop me off here. You don’t even have to slow the car. I’ll jump.”
    She was reading my mind. “That’s not true, Mama Dean. You know it’s not true. You’re just being crabby.”
    “Hmph. And after all I’ve done for you…”
    “Now, Mama Dean. I was just about to invite you home for lunch,” I lied.
    She looked at me. “Is that la-di-da mother-in-law of yours still visiting?”
    “Lord, yes. And she’s driving me crazy. She’s so picky if she makes it to heaven she’ll demand to see the upstairs.”
    “I accept.”
    “What?”
    “I said, I accept. I will come to lunch.”
    Oh, Lord. I’d overplayed my hand. Mama Dean andMother Presson in the same house. It’d be a disaster. They wouldn’t have five words to say to each other. They didn’t have the first thing in common.
    But Mama Dean was actually humming—something that sounded like “Ain’t You Sorry Now You Rascal You.”
     
    It took them about five seconds to find something in common. That something was that they were both mad at me. It started with “What that Maggie Sweet has done to me ever since the day she was born.” Then it went on to all ungrateful children everywhere.
    My friends and I had discussed ungrateful children hundreds of times, but I’d never served lunch while being talked about in