A bitter wind that was uncommon for San Francisco whipped past Phoebe's face, sending her hair into a frenzied whirl about her head. She had resigned herself to walking the three miles home from the diner after she had failed at finding a taxi driver who spoke English. Despite the high-heeled shoes that squished when she walked, Phoebe was rather enjoying her stroll through her hometown.
It had been a while since she had been to visit this side of the city, and as she marveled at the broken buildings on the boulevards, she wondered how everything had fallen apart in four short years. The storefronts, which had formerly been successful businesses, were rundown and decrepit, the paint from their once magnificent awnings peeling and crumbled. She sighed as she passed her favorite boutique, seeing the "for lease" sign in the broken window. I feel like that shop, she thought to herself. Broken and for sale, like a used car without an engine. God, if I could only see his face again, I could tell him how much I loved him…I never got to say goodbye. Her thoughts wandered in and out of coherency as she rounded one corner after another, not really paying attention to where she was going. The three miles turned into four, and four into six, until she finally looked up and realized that she was lost.
"Where…?" she gazed around her, her throat closing up as she saw the neighborhood that surrounded her. The houses were blackened with age, some just from smoke. The windows were either boarded up with thin sheets of plywood, or they were secured tightly with repulsive metal bars. A single light burned in a single home just a block away, like a lighthouse on the rocks amid a stormy sea. Fearing that her presence in such a place might cause an uproar, she hurried past the impaired houses. She clutched her shall to her chest while the wind attempted vainly to rip it from her grasp, howling in anger as she held the thin material tighter in her fists. Just twenty yards from the disheveled split level residence, she gasped as the door flung itself open, the wind smashing it against the cracking siding with enough force to make another large hole in the home. Inside the entrance, a silhouette bathed in a soft glow stepped out onto the cement porch, her hands on her stout hips.
"Come on in heuh, chile'!" the plump woman cried, waving her hand to welcome Phoebe into her home. "Git youself out the col' and wind. You gonna catch the chills if you's stays out heuh much longa!"
Phoebe paused at the front walk, unsure of what do to in this particular situation. Sure, the old woman seemed pleasant and kind enough, but even the most docile of people have their crazy streaks. Despite the nagging feeling that bit at the back of her neck, Phoebe smiled politely at the woman and headed up the path to the porch, where she was greeted warmly with a soft handshake from the woman's callused palms.
"I've been expectin' you, chile'," she said as she lead Phoebe into the house. "When I saw you's looking lost down on the corner, I jus' knew you'd be coming to see Ol' Hattie Pearson. I said to myself, 'Hattie, that chile's lost, and you's the one who's gonna hep her'." Hattie sat Phoebe down on her moth-eaten old couch and dusted away the grime on the leaning table next to her. "You jus' wait heuh, chile', and I'll go git you's something warm to drink." She waddled slowly from the room, favoring her right hip as she leaned on a gnarled old cane she'd picked up at the door.
No longer frightened, Phoebe gazed around the room, amazing that a person could live with such sparse furnishings.
The couch where she sat was against the far wall, under the window that she had seen the light from. Next to her on the right was the broken table that held a fractured lamp with no shade and a failing bulb. The fireplace on the other wall looked like it hadn't been used in years, but the mantle above it was immaculately clean, the pictures of the dark skinned children laughing and smiling gleaming in their silver frames. They looked to be the only things in the house that were not falling apart, and she grinned softly to herself as she imagined herself doing the same thing in forty odd years. Dusting only what needed to be dusted: her memories.
She quickly swatted away the tear that formed at the corner of her eye as Hattie returned to the room, bearing a tray of steaming mugs of hot liquid on her unstable arms. Phoebe leapt to her feet and took the tray from the elderly woman and placed it gently on the coffee table in front of the couch. She glanced into the ceramic cups, praying that the substance in it would resemble something caffinated. Thankfully, the sweet aroma of an herbal tea wafted up to her nostrils and relaxed her muscles before she had a chance to sip it.
"Tha's chamomile tea, chile'. Best at relaxin' nerves, I say." Hattie sat down next to her and placed a caring hand on her bare knee. Her deep brown eyes were soft and warm as she smiled. "Now tell Ol' Hattie how a pretty girl like you ended up down heuh. Certainly couldn't'a walked heuh all by your lonesome in this weather. Where's your husband, chile'?"
Phoebe drew in a deep breath, her eyes closing involuntarily. "I… I'm not married," she said, picking up the mug and taking a deep gulp to keep her mouth occupied.
Hattie screwed up her face, her wrinkles becoming more predominant as her nose twitched to one side. "How can a pretty girl like you not be married? You havin' a chile', chile'!"
Phoebe snapped her head up from her tea, her eyes filled with both confusion and anger at the same time. How dare this senile old woman presume to tell her what she should and should not be doing with her life. "Excuse me?" she said, setting the cup back down on the scratched surface of the table so she didn't end up flinging it at the aged woman.
"I know what you's is thinkin'," Hattie replied, winking. "'How's this crazy ol' woman know that I'm in the family way?' Well, after midwifin' twenty-three babes each year for the past thirty years, you'd know who's havin' what too."
By this time, Phoebe was extremely puzzled. "Mrs. Pearson, how did you know I'd be coming here? I mean, you seemed to have every notion that I'd come directly to your house, and no one else's."
Hattie laughed. "Chile', why ain't you callin' me Hattie? That's my name, ain't it?"
"Sorry… Hattie, did you know I'd be coming here? Like, before I showed up on the corner?" Phoebe sat on the edge of her chair, hanging onto her sanity by just a thin thread. "Please, I have to know."
The geriatric smiled and took a sip of her cold tea. "I seen you in a dream, chile'. There you was, runnin' through a field, just a chile' with a chile' and no man to make you laugh and make you cry. Theuh was somethin' in your face that took me by surprise. Even with the beautifu' babe runnin' ahead of you, you looked lonely, sad an' such. I couldn' put my finger on it. But theuh you were, chile', in my dreams. I knew I had to hep you somehow when I recognized you out theuh in the col'."
Phoebe lowered her head into her hands, crying as she remembered her own premonition in the graveyard. She trembled as chills shot up and down her spine, despite the sudden warmth of the room. "How can you help me, Hattie?" she sobbed. "No one can help me now."
Hattie moved closer to Phoebe on the couch, wrapping her portly arms around her quivering shoulders. "Anyone can hep anyone when anyone wants hep, chile'. They jus' gots to know wheuh to look. For you, I'm the hep you git… let him go, chile'. Let his soul rest. It's the only way you'll be able to see him again… 'tis a shame, such a pretty girl."
Phoebe let out a muffled laugh into Hattie's sleeve. "That's the second time I've heard that tonight. Frankly, I agree." She leaned away from the old woman and took a firm grasp of her shoulders before she looked her in the eyes. "Thank you, Hattie Pearson. You don't know how much you've done for me."
"Oh, you'd be surprised, chile'. You'd be surprised."
A honk from outside drew Phoebe's attention out the window. An impatient cab driver peered out at her from the window, glaring around the neighborhood cautiously. Hattie patted her shoulder lightly and kissed her forehead as though she were her own child. "Tha's your ride, chile'. Took the liberty of callin' 'em when you showed up on my doorstep. Don't worry, he speaks English. Might not be the cleanest English, but he speaks it alright. You go on home and deal with your demons. Whoevuh they may be." She winked and showed Phoebe to the door, draping a thick blanket over her arms as she opened the entrance and let a gust of air in. She watched as Phoebe made her way slowly down the drive, turning back to say something. Before she could say what she wanted, Hattie cut her off. "It was nice meetin' you, Phoebe. Hope I'll see you again some day." With that, she closed the door, the lights in the house shutting off a few seconds later.
Phoebe sighed and got into the cab, careful not to get the elaborately embroidered quilt caught in the door. Once she sat back and caught her breath, she told the cheerful driver where to go. Once they were far away from the abandoned neighborhood, she began to think about Hattie Pearson and what she had said. Everything she had told her all night had made perfect sense except for one thing: when she left, Hattie had called her 'Phoebe'… Phoebe had never once mentioned her name.