Always, Your wife, Viola

(P.S. If you plan on keeping that young woman, please get rid of that Jheri Curl, and buy some modern clothes. Throw every last one of them pastel shirts and polyester pants in the trash or give them to the Goodwill!)

“Cecil! What you out here laughing so hard about? It was Detroit, and kick-off for the Dallas–Green Bay game be on in a few more minutes!”

“I’ll be in there in a minute, Howie,” I say, and fold up my letter and put it back in my jacket pocket.

Viola. Viola. Had it all figured out, didn’t you, baby? I don’t know why I ain’t surprised. “Thank you, Vy,” I say, and take a nice long drag off my cigar. Was that a car door I just heard slam? I walk along the path leading to the side of the house, and when I flip the latch and crack that gate open wide enough to see, Charlotte, Al, and the kids is getting out of a silver Lincoln Town Car I know ain’t theirs.

I go on back inside, where the whole family’s standing in the entrance saying hellos and glad-you-made-its, and after kissing all my grandkids and they disappear faster than I don’t know what, the air suddenly feel a little thick in here, so I walk over and give Charlotte a big hug. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Did y’all have any trouble finding it?” I ask. Al is just now coming in with a coupla suitcases.

“Naw,” she say, looking around like she getting ready to do some kinda inspection. “All these houses out here look so much alike we drove right past it. A few times.”

“How you doing, Al?” I ask, hoping to lighten things up.

“Hey there, old man. You looking good. Hey, Lewis. Good to see you, too, dude.”

“The address is right on the front,” Paris snaps.

“Thanks,” I say to Al, trying to figure out how I’ma stop this before it get started. “Well, we just glad you all made it here all right.”

“Would you like me to show you where the guest room is, Charlotte, so you guys can put your bags in there?”

“We staying at a hotel. But thanks. Nice house. Just tell me where a bathroom is so we can freshen up.”

“Then why’d Al bring the . . .”

“I’ll show you,” Janelle say.

“How many days did it take y’all to drive all the way from Chicago?” I ask.

“We didn’t drive,” Charlotte say before walking down the hall. “Our plane was late.”

“You mean you got on a plane?” Paris asks.

Charlotte stop dead in her tracks. “Yes I did.”

“Go on and tell the whole truth, Charlotte,” Al says.

“All right, Al! First of all, the plane was late and we did get a little lost . . .”

“No we didn’t, Mama,” Tiffany says, coming outta nowhere and just a-giggling away.

“Okay! The truth is, I made Al drive around this block I don’t know how many times till I could get the nerve up to come in here.”