Chasing Lilacs (8 page)

End of conversation. Great. Tuwana hated me. I could never see Cly again. Daddy didn’t trust me. All this time, I’d thought
we were doing all right. What had I done wrong?

The most disturbing thing, though, was the idea Mama might still have problems when she got back. Half the summer wasted,
and for what? Angry tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t know if they were for Mama or for me.

O
N MONDAY, DADDY LEFT
before sunup to get Mama. He apologized about leaving me home. “Rules are rules. No visitors in the hospital under fourteen.”
I didn’t mind. I had this idea of decorating the house for Mama. Daddy’s Old Spice filled the house as I hung chains made
with construction paper. I strung a
Welcome Home
sign in big cutout letters over the kitchen doorway.

When I finished, I went over to Goldie’s.

“Exciting day for you,” Goldie said. “Nervous?”

“A little. What do you think Mama will be like?”

“Probably anxious, like you. Maybe embarrassed.” Goldie clicked and banged the feeding tins for the parakeets while I filled
the watering bowls.

“I hadn’t thought about that.” I unwired the latch to the outdoor flight and shooed out the birds from the top two rows. Goldie
had shown me how to keep the birds separated into the four different levels divided by chicken wire. They splashed and flew
around, chirping like it was Christmas or something.

“Your mother’s been through a lot. You may have to give her some time for the routine to return.” Goldie helped me whoosh
the next batch of parakeets out. “It’s not like my loves here, always flapping and eager to enter the fray. Let your mama
get her wings back.”

With the birds out, we scoured their boxes (Monday the boxes, Tuesday the floor, every day its own job), and then we fixed
macaroni and cheese for lunch.

“Let’s cut a few of George’s roses for your mama.” Goldie dug in the cupboard and pulled out a tall, flared vase. Wearing
canvas gloves, she snipped a handful of thorny stems from the side yard and arranged them.

“Fill it with water and add a teaspoon of sugar when you get home. And give your mama my love.”

Old Spice still lingered in the house, but fainter now with the roses I’d brought.

A long soak in the tub got rid of the aviary stink, and I put on my best pair of Bermuda shorts and a cotton eyelet blouse
I’d ironed the day before and waited for Daddy to bring Mama home.

On about my millionth trip to peek out the window to see if they were coming, the Chevy pulled up in front of the house and
Mama got out. My heart skipped a beat. I ran out the door and straight to her. She hugged me so tight I thought I would faint.
Then she held me at arm’s length and looked me over, her blue eyes as sparkly as sapphires. “Just look at you, all tanned
and smart looking. Mercy sakes, I’ve missed you.” She drew me in again, close to her. I closed my eyes and inhaled. Mama smelled
of Ivory soap and something I couldn’t place. A mixture of disinfectant and the way the house smells after we’ve had the flu.
Hospital smells, like when Grandma Grace died.

Daddy carried Mama’s brown suitcase, and we all went into the house.

“Well, now…” Daddy winked at me and then Mama. “Here we are.”

“Look at that, will you?” Mama pointed to the welcome sign. “Oh, and paper chains. Just like a party.” A party for just the
three
of us, but it felt right. And what’s a party without presents? I ran into my room for the coming-home present I’d bought
for Mama at Willy’s store.

“I have something for you.” I handed it to her. “Lilac soap. Imported from Paris, Willy said.”

Mama held it in her pale fingers as if it were fine china, worked the tissue wrapper off, and sniffed it. When she tossed
her head, red and gold curls spun off in spirals. “Lilac. Mmmm. Luscious. I’ll use it tonight in the bath. What a treat. A
whole month with only a drippy shower. Funny, I spent more time longing for a bath than I did eating. Thank you, sweetie.”

And that’s the way it went. Not at all like Goldie said, easing Mama back into her old life. She changed from her gingham
shirtwaist into shorts and one of Daddy’s old work shirts. She padded around barefoot, stopping to touch everyday items as
if she had just laid eyes on them for the first time.

Daddy fried sausage patties and whipped up pancake batter. On the griddle, Mama dropped teaspoons of batter that came off
no bigger than silver dollars, golden with crisp brown edges. She moved the roses to the enamel table on the back porch, where
we ate supper.

No one mentioned the past four weeks, and for once, I didn’t care about the hospital and what went on there. Mama had come
home just like in the Tide commercial—new and improved.

We sat on the front porch until way after dark, listening to the crickets and Mama’s tinkling laugh. Once in a while the smoke
from Daddy’s cigarette would curl up like skywriting headed for the Milky Way. Mama and I traced the Big Dipper with our fingers.

Daddy slipped his arm around Mama’s shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “You know, I’m beat. I think it’s time my girls and I
got some beauty sleep.”

Curled on my side clutching Pedro, I listened to the roar of bathwater filling the tub. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten
to tell Mama about reading
Gone with the Wind.
At least I’d have tomorrow and a thousand tomorrows to share it with her. The last sound in my ears was the
glug-glug-glug
of the water going down the drain and Mama’s soft giggle.

The next morning we sat on the couch in our pajamas, cross-legged, sipping coffee—Mama’s black and mine the color of soft
caramels since I’d put more milk than coffee in it.

“My roommate was Marilyn Monroe…. Leastwise, she told everyone that. Big, pouty red lips and a penciled-on beauty mark.” Mama’s
face glowed as she described the various people she’d met in the hospital.

“Oh, and Rose, poor thing. Piled on all her clothes, just layers and layers of sweaters, blouses, heaven only knows how many
pairs of underwear—every stitch she owned—all at once. The attendants would say, ‘It’s hot today, Rose. Take off your sweater.’
She would take every stitch off and rearrange it all, ending up with her bra and panties on top, and say, ‘Happy now? I’m
plumb down to my undies.’ ”

Mama made it sound like she’d been off on an adventure, a voyage into the weird and wacky. I kept waiting for her to slip
me a tidbit about what torture they’d performed on her, but she just sipped her coffee and said, “Let me tell you about our
calisthenics instructor….”

She uncurled her legs and reached for her cup. “You just can’t imagine the awful taste of institutional coffee. Any thicker
and it would’ve been motor oil.” She stood up and stretched, taking her cup to the kitchen for a refill. Over her shoulder
she said, “Well, now you know all about my summer. Tell me about yours.”

“You’ll never guess what Benny Ray Johnson bought. A new Edsel. It’s dreamy and fast and he loves taking everybody riding
in it.”

“An Edsel, huh? Don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those. What else did you do?”

And next thing I knew I was telling her about the Fourth of July and Cly walking up the steps with me. How it made Tuwana
get all in a snit and then Norm MacLemore talking to Daddy.

“Daddy told me I had to stay away from Cly, but he’s nice, Mama, he really is.” I gushed like an oil well, spewing it all
out. I stopped for a breath, and a bell went off in my head.
This is my mother I’m talking to
.
My own mother who does care about me.
Goldie’s words came back to me: “Let her get her wings back.” All of a sudden I felt shy, tongue-tied, like maybe I shouldn’t
dump everything on her at once. A gap slipped into the air.

Mama sipped her coffee, waiting for me to continue. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.

“You’ll never guess what else I did,” I finally said.

“Oh my, I guess I wouldn’t.”

“I read
Gone with the Wind
cover to cover.” I waited for Mama to pounce on that and start divulging her favorite parts, but a funny look had settled
on her face, like an eraser had wiped over it and left a chalky blank slate.

“How wonderful,” she said, her tone flat.

Racking my brain trying to think what to say next, I jumped when someone knocked on the door. I peeked around the curtains
and saw Tuwana standing there holding something. I opened the door for her.

“Mother thought you might like this.” She shoved a pie into my hands. “Peanut butter icebox pie.”

“Thanks. Come on in and see Mama.”

She stepped inside.

“Mama, look what Mrs. Johnson…” Mama had disappeared. The door to her room was closed.

“Mama and I were having coffee in our pj’s.” I shrugged at Tuwana. “She’s probably getting dressed.”

Tuwana stayed by the front door, looking off at a fly on the ceiling or something.

“Thank you for the pie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Peanut butter. That’s your mom’s special recipe, isn’t it?”

She shrugged.

“Tuwana, are you all right?”

“I’d be a lot better if you would accept my apology for what I said the other day.”

“Apology? When was that?”

“Now, you big doofus. I’m apologizing. I’m sorry for what I said… about you trying to steal Cly away.”

“Well, then… apology accepted.” I wrinkled my nose at Tuwana. “
Now
will you sit down?”

“PJ thinks Cly is playing hard to get, trying to make me jealous.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

I watched Mama’s door, thinking she would come out any minute. Tuwana flopped into Daddy’s platform rocker and after a bit
mouthed the words, “How is she?” and pointed to Mama’s bedroom.

“Fine. Just fine.” I took the coffee cups to the kitchen and put the pie on the counter.

“How’s your cheerleading?” I asked, filling up the space of time waiting for Mama to come out.

“PJ’s got shin splints or something. Lays around watching her soaps all day.”

“Good ol’ PJ. I think I’ll go check on Mama. See if she wants some pie.”

Mama sat on her vanity stool fastening tortoiseshell clips in her hair. She had on bright coral lipstick but no powder, so
her freckles shone like tiny constellations on her face.

“Tuwana still here?”

“Yeah, I wondered if you were coming out to see her?”

“Sure am.” She spritzed on some lilac water, stood up, and followed me into the front room.

Mama chattered away with Tuwana, talking about how grown-up she looked with her new poodle haircut, and I could tell Tuwana
was surprised at Mama’s perkiness.

“Let’s have a slice of whatever your mother sent.” Mama whooshed into the kitchen.

“No thanks,” Tuwana said. “Mother made another one for our supper.”

“How is your mother?” Mama took down the plates and put one slice on a plate for her and another for me.

“Oh, she’s much better now since she got over that fit with Daddy. You know, buying the Edsel without telling her. What she
really wanted was new living room furniture.”

Mama’s magic made me first, and now Tuwana, spit out everything from our summer. It scared me in a tingling sort of way. I
loved the new Mama.

Mama patted Tuwana on the arm and said, “Sounds exciting, your getting an Edsel. Sammie told me all about it. I can’t wait
to see it.” She ate a bite of the pie.

Tuwana hadn’t finished though.

“After she told Daddy about the furniture, he stomped into the bedroom and came out waving an envelope, a big old grin on
his face. ‘Alice, come here. I’ve been waiting for just the right moment for this.’ He pulled a wad of bills from the envelope
and said, ‘The
Ford dealer had one of them special deals—cash for your trade-in if you bought a new Edsel. Here it is—cold, hard cash. And
that got me thinking—wouldn’t it be nice for Alice and my princesses to get some new furniture?’ He wrapped his arms around
Mother, and now he’s taking her to Amarillo next week to pick out what she wants.”

“How lovely.” Mama had a strained look on her face. “Why don’t you girls go out and do whatever it is you’ve missed the last
week. Tell your mother the pie was delicious. I’m going to rest awhile.”

I threw on some shorts and a halter top and snagged a quarter off my dresser. Mama had already disappeared into her room,
so I skipped out the door, telling Tuwana I’d buy her a Coke at Willy’s store. Perfect. Everything had turned out perfect.
For us. For Tuwana.

When we started up the grocer’s wooden steps, the entrance bell jangled, and Cly MacLemore stepped out, swigging a root beer.

T
UWANA GUSHED
, “Oh, Cly, fancy meeting you here.”

“Yo, Tu-tu. Hey, Sam, where ya been keeping yourself?” He smiled under a baseball cap and black-framed sunglasses.

“Around. Here and there.” Did this qualify as seeing Cly? Surely Daddy had figured out I’d run into Cly sometime. The camp
consisted of five whole streets, for Pete’s sake. Still… just to be safe, I started into the store.

“Hey, what’s your rush?” Cly asked.

“No rush. Just came for a Coke. Nice seeing you.” A tinny bell jangled when I entered the store. It felt like entering a cave.
Two measly lights dangled from the ceiling. Willy leaned over the candy counter, his smooth, shiny head bobbing as he counted
to himself, “Four Snickers, six Valomilks, five Slo Pokes.”

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and piddled around among the narrow rows. Six aisles times two made twelve rows. Four
shelves each. Forty-eight wooden planks packed with vegetable cans, sardines, Epsom salts, dog chow, Windex, magazines. I
studied items until I had practically the whole store memorized by the time Tuwana came in.

“Hurry up. Let’s get our drinks. Cly’s waiting. Wants us to shoot baskets. I know how you love to play basketball.” She put
her hand on my elbow, steering me back to the Coke cooler.

“Actually, I thought I’d write an article about Willy for the
Dandelion Times
.”

Tuwana looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I thought we’d quit doing that ding-dong paper.”