Garden of Angels (5 page)

I bolted down the stairs and into the living room, where Adel stood in front of the television. There on the screen, in living color, sat Walter Cronkite, and he was saying that Betty Ford, wife of our President, Gerald Ford, had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would undergo surgery.

Adel and I looked at each other in utter amazement. It was September 30, and the wife of our country’s President was going through the same thing our mama was going through. Breast cancer was a scourge and definitely no respecter of persons. It had attacked two fine women, and I was certain that I knew what Betty Ford’s family was feeling at the moment. They were frightened. Same as us.

Five

October

“Jason has a motorcycle,” Becky Sue told me on Wednesday as we were walking home from school. “I saw him riding it into the school parking lot this morning from my homeroom window. He was tardy.”

“Really?” I said. It made him all the more interesting to me because motorcycle riders were unusual in Conners. We all lusted after our own car, but few families had more than one. Mostly the kids in our school drove beat-up pickup trucks, shared the family car or rode in groups in friends’ cars. Usually only troublemakers rode motorcycles. “So do you think you’d like to take a ride on it?” I wanted to get Becky’s reaction.

“Are you serious? My daddy would kill me if I ever got on a motorcycle. How about you?”

“What Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt me,” I said, letting her know that if I ever got the chance, I would take it. “I’m sure it’s a one-in-a-million shot anyway. He keeps to himself.” Nobody at school was friendly to him. Not even me, but that was mostly because my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth whenever I was near him, which was rarely.

“Russell told me that J.T. and his football buddies stole Jason’s gym clothes yesterday so he couldn’t dress out. Coach chewed him out in front of the whole class. Really embarrassed Jason.”

I felt offended for Jason’s sake. “J.T. is such a royal pain. And after Pastor Jim made a special request for us to treat Jason nice. Why is J.T. such a jerk?”

“Does he need an excuse? How’s your mama?” Becky Sue changed the subject.

“Papa’s bringing her home today.” And was I ever ready to have her home. Adel had done a passable job of keeping the house in order, but I was about starved for Mama’s cooking. During the week gone by, I’d eaten more food singed around its edges than I cared to think about.

By suppertime, Papa hadn’t shown up, so Adel and I sat down to more of her pitiful cooking. I poked the lump of meat on my plate with my fork. “What is it?”

“Pork chop,” she said.

“Do the pigs know how bad you’re treating their kin?”

“Just eat it.”

“I can’t cut it,” I said.

Adel opened her mouth to blast me, but just then the phone rang. She threw down her fork, saying, “I’ll get it.” She hurried to the kitchen.

“Saved by the bell,” I muttered. She always ran for the phone now and I figured it was because she was hoping for another call from her soldier boy, Barry. When she didn’t return, I made another stab—literally—at eating the pork chop. “Poor fellow,” I said to the slab of overcooked meat, not sure if I was pitying the chop or the soldier.

Finally Adel came to the table. She looked upset. “That was Papa,” she said. “He’s not coming back tonight, and neither is Mama. Her doctors want her to start radiation and chemotherapy treatments.”

“What!” I could hardly contain my disappointment. “But why?”

Adel shook her head and I could see she was pretty upset. “It’s just what they have to do now. To make sure the cancer’s killed.”

“You telling me everything?”

“I’m telling you what Papa said. She starts radiation tomorrow. Chemo next week.”

“How long?”

“A month to six weeks.”

I was so shocked, I sputtered, “Six weeks! That’s forever!”

“Papa said he’ll be home tomorrow after her first treatment and that he’ll take us to visit this weekend.”

“Why can’t she come home to have radiation and chemo?”

“Conners doesn’t have the equipment for radiation treatments, and Mama has to get the treatments five days a week. And the chemo is no walk in the park either. She’s better off staying near the hospital at Emory.”

I knew that what Adel was saying was true, because ours was a small town with one doctor, a dentist who only came through twice a week and one emergency medical care clinic run by Dr. Keller, the lone doctor. If a person wasn’t bleeding or in danger of dying quickly, he had to go to a hospital in either Atlanta to the north or Macon to the south. I began to see that despite my fondness for my hometown, Conners had some shortcomings. “So she’s just going to live in the hospital?” I felt cheated.

“Papa said she’ll become an outpatient. He said that private homes around the area rent out rooms for short terms. He’s going to rent one for Mama.”

“I can’t believe Mama has to live with strangers. There should be a special hotel run by the hospital so that families can stay together.”

“It’s the way things are, for now,” Adel said, picking up her plate of barely eaten food.

I picked up mine and followed her into the kitchen. I’d completely lost my appetite, and for once I couldn’t blame it on my sister’s cooking.

On Saturday morning, before we left for Emory, I took an enormous vase out into the yard and cut flowers from the gardens. I filled the vase with sprays of pink and purple crepe myrtle blossoms, autumn roses, hydrangeas, the last of the summer’s black-eyed Susans and the first of the fall mums.

I climbed into the backseat holding the huge arrangement, and Papa asked, “Did you leave anything
in
the yard, honey?”

“I just want Mama to enjoy her gardens,” I said. “Until she can come see them again for herself.”

“The flowers are fine,” Papa said. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

She was. When I walked into the room with the vase, her whole face lit up. She hugged us all, begged us for news from home. Adel chattered about household things and I told her about school; the upcoming high school football game against Redford, a rival of Conners for years; and the arrival of Jason and J.T.’s lack of consideration toward him.

“I’ve met Jason,” Mama said. “Jim and Carole stopped by on their way home from the airport and he was with them. He seemed like an unhappy young man, so I hope you’ll be kind to him, Darcy. I know what it feels like to be far away from home. I’m sure he’s missing all things familiar.”

“Do you know if he plays football?” I asked out of the blue.

“No, I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I said.

Mama was dressed in regular clothes, but she looked pale and thinner than when I’d last seen her. I could tell she was having trouble moving her arm, wrapped in an elastic sleeve. She held a small rubber ball that she kept squeezing. “The sleeve keeps the swelling down, and the ball squeezing is an exercise to help me get my strength in my arm back,” she said, seeing me staring. “I still have a drainage tube in place.”

It had to have been hidden beneath her clothes because I couldn’t see anything. “I sure wish you were coming home, Mama,” I said.

“Me too. But I can’t.” She forced a quick smile. “They tell me that the radiation makes a person dog-tired, and that the chemo makes a person dog-sick, so it’s better I stay here anyway.”

“And then it’ll all be over? You’ll be well and won’t have to come back here again?”

“I’ll have to come in for regular blood tests.”

In my mind, I’d figured that over meant over, but with cancer it must not mean that at all.

“All your friends are asking about you,” Adel said. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

Mama sighed. “I guess I can’t keep this a secret. Carole’s already told the Women’s Prayer Fellowship, so if you don’t want to answer questions, tell people to call Carole.”

I felt better knowing that the First Baptist prayer warriors were storming heaven on Mama’s behalf. God would have to listen to them!

“You know what?” Papa interjected. “I’m getting a wheelchair from the nurses’ station and we’re taking your mother out for a walk around the grounds. It’s a beautiful day and getting outside will cheer us all up.”

So that’s what we did. Papa pushed Mama, and Adel and I walked on either side. Somewhere someone was burning leaves, because the October air smelled faintly of smoke. Trees were taking on the colors of autumn and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue shot through with sunlight.

Mama tipped back her head and opened her arms wide toward the sky. “Fall is surely my favorite time of year,” she said. “Next to spring. Nothing’s better than the smell of fresh earth, or prettier than flowers and trees beginning to bloom.”

“By spring this will all be over,” Papa said. “You’ll be digging up the beds and putting in flowers.”

Mama looked over at me. “Darcy, the hostas will need cutting down and the bulbs should be brought out of the cellar for planting.”

“I’ll do it, Mama,” I said.

“Nothing’s going to stop my gardens from blooming in the spring. Not even cancer.”

We all agreed. Our mama had a fighting spirit, and nothing brought it out quicker than the fear of her gardens going fallow.

We started home in the late afternoon, after a tearful goodbye. I was in a funk in the backseat and didn’t notice for a long time that Papa was driving a different route home. A fence ran along the road we were traveling. Signs read Property of the United States Army, and then all at once a booth with a wooden guardrail loomed in front of us. A uniformed man wearing an MP armband stepped out. Papa stopped and gave his name, and the MP checked his name off a list on the clipboard he held, put a card that read Visitor’s Pass under our windshield wiper and waved us through the gate.

I couldn’t keep silent any longer. “Where are we going?”

“I’m meeting Barry,” Adel said.

I couldn’t figure when she’d made those arrangements with Papa. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I didn’t think I had to clear it with you,” she answered.

“It would have been nice to know,” I said huffily.

“Calm down, ladies,” Papa said. “Let’s not start a war right here on Georgia soil.”

Papa drove along neat, well-ordered streets, and I looked out onto open fields with rows of wooden barracks and low metal buildings.

“There it is,” Adel said, pointing at a freestanding white building with a sign reading Enlisted Men’s Club.

Papa slowed, and the car had barely stopped rolling when Adel jumped out and ran to a man dressed in uniform standing on the steps. He took both her hands and pulled her close.

Papa parked the car and we walked over to the two of them. When Adel turned, I saw that her cheeks were pink and her eyes glowing. “Papa, Darcy, I want you to meet Barry Sorenson.”

“Barry Sorenson, Specialist Fourth Class, Electronics,” the man said. He saluted, then shook Papa’s hand. He turned to me. “And I see that beauty runs in the family.”

I felt my face turning pink. Barry Sorenson was gorgeous. Tall, trim, black hair in a buzz cut and dark blue eyes—plus, he could have stopped a charging bull with his smile.

“Pleased to meet you, son,” Papa said. “Adel’s told me many things about you.”

When?
I wanted to know but didn’t dare ask.
She’s never said a thing to me!

“And she’s told me about you and her mother too, sir,” Barry said. “Thank you for bringing her all the way out here today.”

Barry put his arm around Adel’s waist. They looked into each other’s eyes and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was head over heels in love with my sister. But then, wasn’t every man who ever laid eyes on her?

Six

Papa said, “Adel tells me you’re in special training.”

“Yes, sir. I’m attached to a Lockheed training and missile control project, but once that’s done I belong to the army one hundred percent. I don’t get passes off the base very often, so I appreciate your making this trip to bring her to me. I know these are difficult times, with your wife’s illness and all.”

The way he said the words “bring her to me” sounded intimate and made a shiver run up my spine. Adel sure could pick winners.

“Yes, Joy’s illness is hard on me and the girls, but she wants us to go on with regular life, so that’s what we’re doing,” Papa said. “She’s a fine, brave woman.”

Adel said, “Want to get a cola before you get back on the road, Papa?”

“All right.” Papa put his hand on my shoulder. “How about you, Darcy? Care to wet your whistle?”

Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away from the opportunity.

We walked to a stand that sold sodas, candy and snack items, bought what we wanted and sat together at a nearby picnic table. Papa said, “Adel tells me you hail from New York City.”

“I was born upstate,” Barry said. “My parents moved to the city when I was ten. My father’s a cop and Mom works for an insurance company. I have an older brother. He served in Nam with the marines in the late sixties.”

Another shiver shot through me as I recalled video of the war I’d seen on TV. “Is he okay?” I blurted out, without thinking. They stared at me and I blushed, realizing that I was once again being nosey. “I’m—um—studying Vietnam in school,” I explained, hoping to smooth over the awkward moment. “All I know about Vietnam is what I read in newspapers, or see on TV, which isn’t so much anymore. I’ve never talked to anyone who’s been there firsthand.”

“Kyle’s home in one piece,” Barry said, his eyes serious. “I can’t say he’s okay, though. He’s in and out of the VA hospital.”

“Why’s that?”

Adel flashed me a look that said
Would you
hush up?
and slipped her hand into Barry’s.

Papa said, “Perhaps this isn’t the appropriate time to talk about this, Darcy.”

Barry said, “It’s all right. America still has personnel over there, but people forget because it’s not in the news as much as it once was. As for my brother, he was never wounded in the flesh, just in his psyche. He suffers from what doctors call post-traumatic stress. The things he went through during his combat were so bad that his mind can’t let go of them. He’s had a lot of trouble fitting back into the normal world.”

I’d never heard of such a thing.

Papa said, “In World War Two, it was called combat fatigue or shell shock.”

“Were you in World War Two, sir?”

Papa shook his head. “By the time I was eighteen and old enough to sign up, the war was over. In those days, we counted it a privilege to fight for our country. I missed Korea because I had family obligations and Vietnam because I was too old. I admire men who serve our nation, though.”

Papa had been born in 1929 and he and Mama married in 1954. Adel came along in 1955 and me in 1960. My father had seen three wars thus far in his lifetime but hadn’t fought in any of them, and he sounded sorry about it.

Papa stood. “We’d better get on the road, Darcy.”

I gave Adel a questioning look, and she said, “Sandy’s driving over this evening and I’ll come home with her. For now, Barry and I will just keep each other company.” She gave him a flirtatious smile and he grinned.

Barry shook Papa’s hand. “I’ll take good care of her, sir.”

“You’re the one who’ll need looking after, son. Southern women are not to be trifled with. They look delicate as lace, but they’ve got rods of steel running through them,” Papa joked goodnaturedly.

Adel said, “Oh, Papa, stop it . . . you’ll scare him off.”

“Not likely,” Barry said.

On the drive home, I was quiet, mulling over what I’d seen and heard that day. After a long time, I said, “Adel and Barry seem to really like each other.”

“Yes, they do.”

“What’s Mama think?”

“She wants Adel to be happy, and if Barry makes her happy . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to.

“I miss Mama,” I said. “We’ll be going a long time without her. And an extra-long time having to eat Adel’s cooking.”

“We surely will,” Papa said, sounding wistful.

We looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Evidently, we both held the same opinion of Adel’s kitchen skills.

Papa said, “I was thinking that maybe we should start having Sunday dinner down at the Southern Grille.” He named the single restaurant in Conners other than the Woolworth soda counter and the brand-new Kentucky Fried Chicken fast-food store.

“Sounds like a reasonable idea,” I told him. “Potluck supper at church on Wednesday night, Sunday afternoon in a restaurant.” Two out of seven meals Adel wasn’t cooking. “I’ll bet Friday night is good for takeout from Kentucky Fried,” I ventured.

“Don’t push it, Darcy,” Papa said. “The girl needs to practice sometime.”

On Friday night, Conners’ football team played Redford, one of our toughest rivals, at the Redford field. Russell still hadn’t taken the kind of notice of Becky Sue that would result in his asking her on a date, so we were with each other, as usual. Becky’s dad drove us to the game and stayed, but he sat high up in the bleachers with other Conners parents and alumni, which left Becky Sue and me to sandwich ourselves between our classmates in the lower seats.

The night had turned chilly, so we were bundled up and had an old quilt thrown across our laps. Both bands were playing, and people in both sets of bleachers were cheering. Rebel flags waved, and since it was Redford’s homecoming, we were watching their queen and her court sashay around the field.

“Who do you think will be elected queen at our school?” Becky yelled above the noise of the crowd.

“Neither one of us,” I shouted back.

As the court passed in front of our stands, some senior boys yelled out a few rude remarks and received threatening looks from the Redford court in return. I remembered when Adel had been queen and had ridden around our high school field in Tom Chapman’s red convertible. She had looked beautiful perched atop the backseat, wearing a sparkling tiara and holding a scepter just like a real queen. Fleetingly, I wondered if any boy would ever look at me the way Barry had looked at Adel, a memory I could not get out of my mind. I’d told Becky Sue that he’d looked at her “. . . like she’d been ice cream, and him starving for it.”

Becky Sue poked me in the ribs. “Look, there’s Jason.”

My heart did a stutter-step at the sight of him. He stood at the side of the field, elbows braced on the top of the four-foot chain-link fence. He wore the old leather jacket and a black knit ski hat.

“Looks like he’s all alone. Maybe we should ask him to sit with us.” The words were out before I could stop them.

Becky gave me a quizzical look. “Why would we do that?”

“Just being friendly. Like Pastor Jim asked.” I knew my face was turning red and the last thing I wanted was for Becky Sue to start giving me the third degree.

Fortunately, our football team ran out onto the field and the stands went wild with cheering. Even I had to admit that the team appeared formidable. Especially J.T. He looked as big as a barn dressed out in pads and helmet. The opposition came onto the field, the captains met in the middle and the referee flipped a coin. It went our way and our team elected to kick off. The announcer on the PA system asked for silence while a minister said a prayer, which I figured Redford needed more than us; then the band played the national anthem and the whistle blew to start the game. All the while, I couldn’t help noticing that J.T. kept twitching and tugging at his uniform britches. I guessed even guys like him got nervous before a big game.

The teams got into formation on the field, but just as the referee put the whistle in his mouth, the strangest thing happened. J.T. gave a yelp, stood straight up and commenced to dancing and whooping like a wild man, all the while grabbing at his private parts. For a stunned second, no one moved; then laughter erupted from both sets of bleachers, followed by catcalls.

“You got hot pants, J.T.?” someone shouted.

“Hey, J.T., hands off the family jewels!” called another.

Coach rushed out onto the field and practically had to subdue J.T. with a headlock. Finally, he got him off the field and pointed toward the locker room, but by then all was in chaos. The teams had started slugging it out, and students poured out of the stands to join the melee. Both bands started marching and playing in an attempt to drown out the shouting, all the while bumping into each other. Becky and I had the good sense to sit tight. Someone could get hurt in the confusion, and we didn’t want it to be either of us.

My view became obscured by people running past. Parents shouted for somebody to get the police. I couldn’t stop laughing, remembering the sight of J.T.’s impromptu war dance.
Whatever in
the world had happened?
I turned in time to see Jason push away from the fence and cut through the crowds, going against the surge of bodies like a fish swimming upstream. He looked up, and for a brief moment our gazes locked. His eyes were cool, his expression satisfied. He nodded at me, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and disappeared into the parking lot. I watched him go, my brain on fire with curiosity, my heart aflame from the contact.

The game wasn’t played that night and it took every cop in Redford and two Georgia state troopers to disperse the crowd. The story made the eleven o’clock news in both cities. The Saturday sports section alluded to a “vicious, unsportsmanlike prank perpetrated on J. T. Rucker, defensive center for the Conners Rebels.” And, “Inquiries are being made by police and school officials alike. When the culprit is apprehended, he will be punished.”

I read the story several times, all the while chuckling at the memory of J.T. whooping and hollering and grabbing himself on the field with half the county watching. Of course, I knew that no one at school would dare tease him about it unless they had a death wish. Still, it was payback for the many times over the years that J.T. had bullied kids who couldn’t fight back.

On Monday, our principal, Mr. Hagan, came on the PA and told the whole school that what had happened at the game wasn’t funny and that if anyone knew anything, blah, blah, blah. I tuned him out midway through his speech. By lunchtime it was all over school that the “prankster” had somehow managed to put itching powder on J.T.’s jockstrap, thus causing his odd behavior and war dance. Seems like it left burned patches on his delicate skin too. “A shame,” I said to Becky Sue while keeping a straight face.

“A
crying
shame,” she said in agreement.

My life fell into a pattern for the time that Mama was away receiving cancer treatments. Weekdays, Adel and Papa went to work and I went to school. On Saturdays we’d drive to Atlanta and visit with Mama. Papa had found her a nice private room with an elderly widow two blocks from the hospital, where Mama went daily.

After our Saturday visits with Mama, Papa would drive Adel to the base, where Barry would meet her. Papa and I would come on home and Adel would ride home later at night with her friend Sandy, who also had a soldier beau at the base. On Sundays we’d go to church, then out to eat at the Southern Grille. Sunday nights, I’d attend teen group with Becky. Then it would be Monday, and the cycle would start all over.

After school I worked in the gardens, digging up annuals, planting bulbs and deadheading spent blossoms from plants getting ready to cozy down for the winter. I also did my homework, including research for my special project. After talking to Barry, world events had a whole lot more meaning for me. The Irish Republican Army was blowing up buildings in Great Britain, the Palestine Liberation Organization was formally recognized, and fighting continued in Vietnam and also its neighbor Cambodia. Seemed to me like the whole world was at war.

In the middle of October, Pastor Jim reminded us about the not-to-be-missed annual hayride.

“Our group’s so large that we’re getting two trucks of hay this year,” the pastor announced. “Middle-schoolers in one, high-schoolers in the other. We’ll go along the Simmons property to their south field. It’s not planted this year and they’ve kindly said we can build a bonfire and raise our voices to praise the Lord.

“And,” Pastor Jim added, “I expect all of you to come.”

He looked straight at Jason when he said that, and my pulse raced, for I spent much of my free time daydreaming about Jason. He seemed mysterious to me, not needing or wanting anybody’s company or approval. If I saw him in the halls, my heartbeat went crazy and my breath felt knocked out of me. My reactions appalled me—hadn’t I teased Becky Sue about the silliness of such things? And yet now it was happening to me and there wasn’t a soul I’d dare tell. I decided that my feelings toward Jason were part of a conspiracy of nature to mess up teenagers’ minds. Trouble was, I couldn’t figure out
why.
What was the point in making us feel like we were going crazy? All I wanted was the safety of my old world. Instead, I was being dragged into this new one, where the water was deep and dark. And I didn’t know if I’d be able to swim.