All About B.A.D. (6 page)

The person returning wasn’t the one expected. The effect was jarring, uncertain, confusing. Her daughter had been malleable in a hardened world. She had always been obedient and thoughtful, with a quiet spirit. That was enough for anyone, wasn’t it? Yes, and yet, what about the confidence that now encircled her—a positive self-awareness that couldn’t be stifled. Isn’t that what a parent wants for her child? Confidence and strength to push forward in an uncertain future? Isn’t that what had carried her through after he had up and abandoned her and Lilly? Maybe Lilly’s beautiful inside had simply found a way to express itself outwardly.    

Bertha had to be honest with herself. She was both jealous and proud, and shamefully scared. She feared losing control meant being alone. But, ultimately, she also knew it was time to see where the love poured into her daughter, married with what the world offered up, would lead.

At the end of her third week, she had learned some of her employer’s history. Wanda Payne had been poor, married, middle-class, single and then poor again. 

“I’d be all right being all of those again. Except poor. Twice of that is two times too many. I was left with a pile of debt and few regrets. I went into a shelter for a while ‘til I was back on my feet. Like a new beginning. Haven’t been off ‘em since. It’s okay, I figure I won’t get into trouble if I’m not lying down.” Wanda’s mouth went into a curl at its corners.

Bernadette fell into Payne’s rhythm, one day morphing into a second and third, then longer spans of familiarity. She paid her first month’s rent in a closer motel. She had a bed, hot water and Payne’s cooking. She wasn’t on the street. She would survive. This realization brought new strength, and lasted until waves of nausea began washing over her.

Bernadette attributed the first signs to everything but the obvious. Food was too greasy, too many hours on her feet, a virus. She blocked the truth until Payne turned a page on the calendar. Bernadette headed for the bathroom and emptied the remnants of breakfast.

“Now, Bernadette, it can’t be my cooking. You told me your mama fried anything that wasn’t nailed down, so what do we have here? We can’t be spreading something to my customers.”

“Don’t worry about that, Payne.”

“Good, because green don’t wear well on everybody. How far along are you?”

“A little over a month, I think.” The straightforward question erased any denial.

“Do you know who planted the seed? Is the sower still around?”

“Yes…and no.”

“Well, wash your face, rinse your mouth and get ready to serve. We’ll talk more about this later.”

All pretext vanquished by Wanda’s directness, Bernadette struggled to maintain control over her fear. Questions pulled at her as she pushed platters across tables. Where would she go? How much money did she have? Food? And a baby…what would she do with a baby? 

Wishing it away, wanting to cry, to scream—battles waged in her head while customers ordered their lunches. She made mistakes, but this was cruel. It was surreal.

The last person sauntered out and Wanda flipped the “open” sign over. She poured a cup of coffee and heaved her frame onto a stool at the counter.

“Bernadette. Come and sit. Grab a plate. Pull up a chair.”

Bernadette sat, then swiped at her face before turning toward Payne.

“Do you have a plan?”

“No.”

“Every woman needs a plan. I’ve generally found the ones worked out for longer times succeed better than the fly-by-your-pants ones, but then the longer ones are usually the result of the second kind.”

Bernadette shivered. She had neither.

Wanda brought her mug up to her lips and took a long sip of coffee.

She went on. “I know where to get you the basics. I’ve learned through my own struggles, but you’ll have to figure out much of the rest. You’re smart. With me leading and you learning, we’ll be ready when that baby is.”

Dear BAD,

Recognize the person in the photograph? Hard to believe, right? Remember I wrote you about the possible trip to Houston? This was one of the results—a complete head-to-toe makeover compliments of the newspaper. I didn’t have to spend a dime, just had to act as a guinea pig. I’ll admit to being a little nervous (remember the permanent you once gave me or the eye shadow experiment?) and more than a little worried about Mama’s reaction but things have worked out. By the way, Houston was big, exciting, and fun! Once I finally get to Galveston for a visit we’ll have to go there for the day – what do you say?

Everything still okay with you? Missed hearing from you but I hope to soon.

Your folks are well.

Lilly

Dear Lilly,

My news is difficult to believe and more difficult to write. I’m pregnant. I’m several weeks along so, yes, I’m sure. The woman I work for has been great and offers a lot of emotional support.  Guess “my ride” out of Lone Grove didn’t leave me completely empty-handed after all. I know my news may come as a shock but I hope you’ll be understanding – I’ll need lots of that. I’ll call my folks next Friday or Saturday. If you see them at church maybe you can tell how they are dealing with my news. 

By the way, you look great! I always knew that underneath all that self-imposed plainness there was a real beauty – glad you let her out.

Your friend,

Bernadette

Standing at the back of the Lone Grove Christ Fully Divine Church, Lilly craned her neck to search the assembly. Freshly starched shirts, crisply ironed florals, patent leather shoes with matching purses, colorful close-fitting hats—all Sunday Best—filled the pews. Scattered among the shades of grey of older couples were the blondes and brunettes of young families busily corralling fidgety children and restless teenagers. The light-flooded sanctuary was alive with anticipatory movement. When a sunbeam from one of the large stained-glass windows struck the fluffy white head of one of the parishioners, turning it into a kaleidoscope of colors, Lilly interrupted her quest to enjoy the sight. 

The spell was broken by Bertha motioning for her to come and sit down. Lilly used the steps to her mother to finish scanning the congregation. The familiar faces she sought weren’t there. No Donahues. Lilly sighed. Did Bernadette’s folk, faithful members of the Lone Grove Christ Fully Divine Church, fear they’d find judgment and condemnation instead of support and comfort? The thought disturbed her. Bathed in the precepts of the church from the earliest age possible, Lilly fully embraced the idea of forgiveness.

As the organist struck his first solemn notes, Bertha and Lilly rose with the congregants. Lilly barely glanced at the hymnal to sing the words. She and BAD had sung them all many times before. They knew the prayers, recitations, creeds and covenants. All were deeply imprinted into her soul. They meant something to her; less to Bernadette, or so she had confessed on one of their many bus rides home from school. She and Bernadette had chafed under what they considered unnecessary restrictions applied by the pulpit, but Lilly felt fully grounded in her beliefs. Bernadette assured her she was, too—with more wiggle room.

“Mama, they aren’t here,” Lilly whispered as quietly as she could in Bertha’s ear.

Bertha nodded. “We’ll go see about them, let them know everything will be all right.”

Lilly put her arm around her mother, drawing comfort from her words—words she desperately wanted to be true.

After the service, Alice Donahue held open the screen door for her unexpected guests. “Hi, good to see you, come in. What brings you two out our way?”

“We noticed you and Conner weren’t in church this morning and we wanted to make sure you hadn’t caught the flu bug that’s going around.” Bertha was polite if not completely honest.

“Well, that’s nice of you, Bertha, Lilly, but we are fine. We just thought we’d take a Sunday or two off to get a few things done. Seems like our list of chores is awfully long these days. Right, Connor?”

Entering the room in a shirt and tie, Mr. Donahue nodded in agreement. “We started to go this morning”—he shot a glance at his wife—“but decided we’d start on that list Alice is talking about.” Neither his half-smile nor his words were convincing.

“Lilly, you’re looking pretty today. Is that a new dress?” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Donahue. Actually, it is. This is the first time I’ve worn it. Think Bernadette would approve of how short it is?” Lilly hoped the mention of their daughter’s name would open an opportunity, but Mr. Donahue just bowed his head while his wife raised hers.

“Would you enjoy some cake? Coffee?” Alice looked at Bertha as she shifted the conversation again, making it clear that certain topics were still taboo. “Let’s go into the kitchen.” 

Lilly felt the depth of their denial, realizing it was going to be much longer than she thought before they would reach out to the daughter they both dearly loved.

Dear Bernadette,

A baby! Must admit the news was a surprise but sounds as if you are handling it okay. The one thing I keep thinking about is with both of you being so good-looking the baby will be gorgeous. Are you feeling well; have any morning sickness? You always did have a strong constitution. Your folks weren’t in church on Sunday so didn’t talk with them there. BAD, don’t be surprised if it takes a while for them to come around. Bertha is just now accepting the news so I know it will take your folks a little longer. Meanwhile, take care of yourself. I’m really glad you have someone there to help you. Please keep me posted.

Your dear friend,

Lilly

Wanda’s house sat unapologetically on an ordinary street alongside mundane dwellings. Its exterior was a myriad of colors which began and ended in random order, one brilliant paint bleeding into another, entered through a wooden framed door of deep purple. Surrounded by a small, neatly trimmed patch of green, the image of a box of crayons, nestled in plastic grass, wasn’t lost on passersby who found it both bewildering and beguiling.

Behind it sat a small trailer where her mother lived until succumbing to cancer. Since her death, its rooms had hosted a variety of guests. These tenants were sporadic and selected on the basis of need. The trailer enjoyed a time of emptiness when Payne learned Bernadette was pregnant.

“What about it, Bernadette? It’s just sitting there. You could use it until you made more concrete plans for you and the baby.”

The generous offer, which arrived out of the blue, surprised and overwhelmed Bernadette.

“I don’t know, Payne. Could you stand seeing me all day and having me hang around at night, too? My company isn’t so good lately.”

“We don’t have to be in each other’s pockets. You get a room until the baby is here. I get someone to make sure the house gets used. I never like things to go to waste. It’s isn’t healthy.”

“Well, I could keep it clean. Take care of things. And I’ll pay you what I can—”

“Nope. I’ll take the company. Don’t need the money. I’ll drive the truck over for your things.”

“That won’t be necessary. A large sack pretty much takes care of any moving I might do.”

“That’s good. To get along, a woman needs a good pair of shoes and as little baggage as possible.” Wanda tended to self-entertainment.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a Sunday afternoon, Bernadette and her bag of possessions were deposited behind Wanda’s house. The trailer’s exterior blandness masked the profusion within. Inside was a palette gone wild. Murals covered the walls and starry nights with perfect constellations shone from ceilings. Animals leapt across corners and elves peeked from around window frames. Bernadette loved it, and settled in with newfound hope and purpose. She would create a tidy nest and somehow repay Payne’s generosity. This new resolve fought fears that threatened to devour her.

Bernadette dropped the mop and picked up a pad and pencil. Questions, needed items and ideas appeared on the page. It was her first attempt at a plan. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Wanda closed the door to her café, poured herself a cup of coffee and started for her preferred stool at the counter. A used manila folder was lying on the spot where she usually enjoyed a slice of pie at the end of a shift. She opened it. Inside on stiff Arches paper was the perfect reflection of an extraordinary house on an unremarkable street, each vibrant color exquisitely captured. A purple door, slightly ajar, offered an unending welcome. Payne moved the drawing so her tears wouldn’t smudge or blur the image. At the bottom of the right-hand corner was the following in neatly scripted letters:

Forever Grateful

BAD

The limited space in Payne’s trailer wasn’t stifling for the young woman who was steadily growing. Instead, it wrapped around her like a cocoon, providing her with boundaries. Its smallness did not require much from someone who had little to give. But as Bernadette settled in, she wanted more of herself defined within its confines. She dressed windows with simple curtains. From a newly acquired artist’s brush came playful creatures in the nursery. These joined others under large palm trees which climbed up a wall. Over a crib and changing table, mysteriously appearing from Wanda Payne’s attic, dangled a mobile she had fashioned from tin. Whiffs from new recipes wandered from the kitchen and down the hallway. Slowly, the house evolved into a home.

Planning and creating filled Bernadette’s evenings, an outgrowth of the life blossoming within her. She spent her days following the steps of the older woman whose small conversations filled large gaps of need. Bernadette’s eagerness to learn was evenly matched by Payne’s desire to feed. 

“You don’t have to stay and clean up. Sit, take the load off.” Payne’s words flew from all directions as she readied her little eatery for the next day’s wave of diners.

“I’ve gotten used to standing. Besides, my mind is better if my hands are busy.” 

The words, echoing her own, lit up Payne’s face.

“Then you ought to have lots of answers. You been ticking things off that list of yours? Did you talk with Social Services?”

“Yes, they have evening appointments. I’m set for next Tuesday.”

“Good. What about vitamins? And classes? You need some idea of what to expect.” Wanda flung out questions while steadily swiping at tabletops and brushing off chairs. Bernadette made a mental note of things to add and subtract from her list.

Memories from one, gratitude from the other, forged a durable bond between the two women who took comfort from their short, direct, honest exchanges.

Over time, Bernadette learned she was only one of a number who had benefitted from Wanda’s large heart. Loyal customers and other employees told stories the owner herself never mentioned. The older woman was something of an eccentric known for her food, generosity and love of color. Her café served the early morning and lunch crowds and there was rarely a time when a line didn’t form outside the door. It also had its list of “regulars” who sometimes left money and other times carefully printed I.O.U.s. There was a pile of these stacked on top of a seldom-used filing cabinet in a storage room behind the kitchen.

One of the repeaters always sat at a back table for two. Payne’s lightness of step was a surefire signal that he was seated there. Bernadette acknowledged his presence without engaging in conversation. His appearance reminded her of farmers from Lone Grove. His ropey arms ended in hands calloused and stained, and his frame looked stretched from pulling, bending and hauling. His face spoke of wisdom forged by doing, layered over by unshakeable resolve. He seemed weighed-down with an indefinable sadness.

He was still sitting at his usual place one afternoon when Payne flipped over the “open” sign and turned the lock on the front doors.

“Hey, BAD, come over here a minute, will you? I want you to meet one of the last of the good guys. His name is B. Joshua Court. Don’t know what the B is about, but the Joshua part is exceptional.” 

“Josh, meet Bernadette, sometimes known as BAD. She isn’t really, so let’s keep it that way.” 

BAD glanced at Wanda to check for humor and then to the man’s face to see if he looked at her ringless finger and bulging belly.

His eyes never wavered from her face.

“Hi. I’ve always wanted to know what BAD looked like in person. Looks awfully pretty to me. Nice to meet you, Bernadette.”

Payne continued without skipping a beat. “He’s a painter. And a very talented painter at that. Josh is a starving artist. Except I see to it that he doesn’t.”

Bernadette’s curiosity stirred. “What kinds of things do you paint?”

“Anything that has enough breath to call out to me.”

Unsure if he was offering a serious comment or laughing at her, BAD saw a flicker of something cross his features.

“Sometimes he teaches workshops.” Payne continued with her glowing report. “He’s smart, creative. Like I said, one of the last of the good guys.”

Joshua smiled, displaying a few little wrinkles around his eyes that Bernadette found endearing. “Payne, when you hang up your apron, you can be my agent.”

“Bernadette has some of that talent, too, Josh. She has an eye for it. Definitely talented.”

“What calls out to you, Bernadette?” 

This time she was certain the question was as real as the figure before her.

“Life.”

“Life?” he asked. “What, specifically?”

“Just life in general. I find I can conjure up a painting out of anything in my mind. Getting it on paper is a different matter.”

“It’s the place to start.” The tiny wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “The mind is always the first canvas.” 

“Have you ever shown your work?” BAD’s interest was growing with every comment.

“A couple of things in a gallery downtown and a house full of ‘works in progress’. Of course, if you want to see how I mostly make my living, walk around to the front of Payne’s house.” His rumbling laugh caught Payne’s attention, and spread into Bernadette’s understanding.

“Oh, so you’re responsible for the House of Many Colors!” she beamed. “It never fails to make me happy.”

“Me, too.” Payne’s voice was almost a whisper. “Me, too.”

It was a new beginning for the trio. Each relished in taking turns at teasing life from another. An odd friendship quickly secured, one of short and long histories, and unimaginable futures.