Free Someone to Watch Over Me by Michelle Stimpson Page B

right, you know? Everything will indeed work out.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œI want you to know, no matter what your family says, Aunt Dottie has always been so proud of you. And don’t worry ’bout Joenetta ’nem. They might act ugly, but they love you, too. Every last one of ’em still brags about their cousin who got a degree and moved to Houston. You’re the one they hold up as an example for the kids in the family.”
    I chuckled. “Could have fooled me.”
    â€œDon’t be fooled. They do love you in their own funny way, hear?” Sister Meecham gave me one last hug and excused herself.
    I sat alone, watching Aunt Dottie’s chest rise and fall while thinking about Sister Meecham’s words. How could they love me and yet be so mean? For that matter, did anyone really love me? My mom’s love allowed her to leave me with another caregiver. Kevin loved me enough to live with me, barring commitment. How is it that everyone had this “funny” way of showing love toward me?
    Everyone except Aunt Dottie. If I left her to fend for herself in Bayford, she wouldn’t get the care she deserved. Between Cassandra, Sister Meecham, and probably a few more church members, they’d do the best they could. Still wouldn’t be good enough. Somebody had to return Aunt Dottie’s love with the same consistency she’d always doled it out.
    Apparently, that someone would have to be me.

Chapter 8
    T he task of calling Preston to tell him I would be in Bayford longer than I’d planned proved my first major hurdle. My cell phone wouldn’t keep a steady signal while I was driving through town, forcing me to scramble all over the city looking for the hot spot. My first thought was to find a Starbucks and hop on the Internet since my phone was nearly useless. Hello! You’re in Bayford. I hadn’t seen a Starbucks sign on the road for miles or leading into town.
    I pulled into a gas station to ask for directions to the nearest . . . tower? Weird question, but I’d learned from previous Bayford experience that gas stop attendants and hairdressers knew everything about the town and its inhabitants.
    â€œExcuse me, do you know where I can go to get a cell phone signal?”
    The frizzy-haired brunette wearing bright red lipstick squinted her eyes and squawked, “A what, honey?”
    I wielded my cell phone and shook my head to demonstrate the inquiry. “I can’t get this phone to work, and I was wondering—”
    â€œOh, you want your phone to work,” the attendant repeated with a gentle smirk. “You must be new in town.”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œWhere are you from? What brings you to Bayford?”
    I was at her mercy. “I live in Houston, but I spent some time here in Bayford several years ago. My aunt just had a stroke. I’ve come to check on her.”
    â€œAunt Dottie, you mean?”
    I nodded.
    â€œShe’s your real auntie?”
    â€œYes.”
    This, of course, led to a five-minute adulation about how Aunt Dottie had helped this woman and her children get settled again after Hurricane Katrina. “If it hadn’t been for Aunt Dottie, I don’t know what we would have done. She put in a good word for me and the manager hired me on the spot, paid me in cash until I got copies of all my documents to prove I was legal and everything.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful. Really wonderful. Now, can you tell me—”
    â€œTell her I’m praying for her.”
    â€œSure will.” This woman’s testimony warmed my heart, but I still needed to get a line out of Bayford. I read her name tag. “So, Virgie, how about that phone signal?”
    Virgie pointed west. “The only place you can get a good signal is up at the church on the hill. You can talk to God or talk to somebody else, either one, but I think talking to God’s a whole lot