Somebody Everybody Listens To (18 page)

A light went on upstairs, and Daddy stopped. We could hear voices and footsteps. Finally, the door creaked open, and Mama stood in the porch light, wearing a robe I didn't recognize. It was a soft shade of green with embroidered flowers. For all I knew, it was real silk even. “Retta,” she said, and folded her arms across her chest. Even without makeup she was lovely. Her dark hair down around her shoulders, her face shiny with night cream, a detail that sent a wave of panic through me.
She's comfortable enough with this man to wear night cream?
I could tell she wanted to hug me, but for Daddy's sake, I kept my distance.

“Renatta, I want you to come on home,” Daddy ordered. “This is sinful. It's just shameful you carryin' on thisaway. Now go get your things.” He was trying to sound forceful, but his words came off as scared shitless.

“Lyle, we had nearly twenty years of marriage, and I haven't been happy in a long time. I suspect you haven't been too happy either. I'll be filing papers, and I don't need a thing from you except a signature.” She glanced at me when she said this.

“You're
divorcin'
me?”

“I'm sorry, Retta. I didn't intend to have this discussion with you here, but there's not much choice now.”

“After all we been through!” Daddy was shouting again. “I work like a dog my whole life and you. . .
you
don't do nothin' but sit on your Jane Fonda ass and watch them stories, and now you're just gonna
leave
? Desert your husband and child?”

“Retta's grown, Lyle. She's got her own life, and I want my chance.”

“Chance at
what
? Being the town tramp!”

Mama slapped Daddy so hard
I
could hear his ears ringing. “Now you go on home before King comes out here,” Mama warned, and looked at me as if she wasn't sure where to tell me to go.

 

The house was eerily quiet the next morning, like Mama had died instead of just moved out—no radio playing or pots and pans banging around. No fussing, either. I tugged on my ratty bathrobe, and went into the kitchen. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, and I noticed Mama's knickknacks were gone from the tiny shelves that flanked the sink window—the glass cows and roosters and tiny decorative bottles had all disappeared. Even her fancy cross-stitched tea towels that nobody ever used were missing. Knowing Mama, everything was already neatly arranged in Amos King Wilmsteed's kitchen.

For a second, I wondered if I should pinch-hit, make some breakfast, start up the coffeepot, face the day. Instead, I headed back to bed.

 

Around noon, I heard Daddy foraging in the kitchen. I debated on whether or not to get up and help him or let him fend for himself. After the cabinet door slammed for the tenth time, I got up.

“Where the hell does she keep the bread?” Daddy grumbled.

“In there.” I yawned and pointed to a large tin container with the letters B-R-E-A-D on the front. Daddy ripped open the door, yanked out a loaf of Sunbeam, and hurled the bread box toward the trash can.

“Girlie shit. From now on, this is a man's house!” he declared.

“O-
kay
,” I said, and grabbed a Sundrop out of the fridge. I twisted it open and sat down at the table. Daddy slung a package of bologna across the counter and rummaged through the junk drawer in search of a knife.

“Daddy, the knives are in that drawer over there. Are you doing anything for the Fourth?” I asked.
God, I really hope you're going fishing
.

“Yeah. I'm working,” he grumbled.

“On the Fourth of July?” It was also a Sunday, but I didn't point this out. Daddy only went to church because Mama made him. Besides that, the service was over by now anyway.

“Like Hawkins gives a damn about freedom, the old draft dodger. It's not a very big job anyhow. Just some office furniture. I'll get time-and-a-half.” Quickly, he slapped together a sandwich then tossed the mustard-smudged utensil into the sink. I watched as he took a halfhearted bite. “That don't taste right.”

“Mama uses mayonnaise,” I said.

“Well,
I
use mustard,” he grumbled, and shoved half the sandwich down his throat. I could tell by the look on his face he'd go back to mayonnaise whenever I wasn't around. A car rumbled up Polk Road, and Daddy glanced out the window, watched until it drove on by. “Reckon you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'll be here,” I replied, even though the Gold Watchers would be expecting me at the Jackson tonight, especially since I hadn't performed last night. And I hadn't said good-bye to Riley. I'd just packed up my boom box and CDs and songwriting journals and photos and clothes and Brenda's handpainted hurricane glass and bolted. Room 203 was so bare the first night I stayed there, but gradually I'd moved all my things in. It was beginning to look sort of cozy even. I'd have to remember to call Riley and let him know I was okay.

Daddy reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Maybe you can pick us up something for supper?”

After Daddy was gone, I kept noticing things. There were no paper towels left on the roll, just the glue-coated cardboard tube. The coffee was left over from yesterday. Mama had scooped that Folgers into the paper filter, knowing later she would pack up and leave. The trash can was full. The floor needed sweeping.

Somehow I'd expected Starling, Tennessee, to stand still while I was gone. It hadn't.

 

Estelle's familiar Mustang sat in the parking lot right next to Stinky Stan's dirty Buick. Normally, Estelle doesn't work weekends, but I knew she'd be at the diner today on account of all the holiday river traffic. This evening there'd be tons of customers and all of them sunburned and beer-buzzed and starving. As much as I hated to lay eyes on Stan, I was eager to see my old friend, so I hurried inside. “Boo!” I said, sneaking up behind her.

Estelle whirled around. “Oh, good Lord! Retta!” she cried. “You scared me to death. How
are
you?” She shoved a spray bottle of disinfectant into her oversized pocket and squeezed me tight. “I've sure missed you. This is the best birthday surprise I could've asked for.” Her smile faded suddenly. “Your daddy. You came home early on account of him, didn't you?”

I blinked at her. So it was common knowledge now.

“No secrets in Starling, honey. I just cain't believe your mama did something like this. I mean, it just ain't like her.” Suddenly the fluorescent-light-electric-fence hum was buzzing in my ears again. “It's just a shame,” Estelle went on. “Just a crying shame. I always hate to hear about couples breakin' up thataway. Especially when they been together so long. Speaking of couples, did you hear about Tercell and Bobby?”

“Brenda told me,” I said.

“That girl has liked to lost her mind. I never did care for her much, not even when she was a little bitty thing. She's so spoiled it ain't funny, but she's been driving that poor boy crazy, I heard. She wrecked her Cadillac, too.”

“Really?” I asked. Normally, this was the sort of juicy conversation I loved, but it all seemed so distant now, like it had nothing to do with me.

“Apparently, she thought Bobby was slipping around with somebody else, and she was following him and ran off into a ditch. Totaled that car and broke her leg. Maybe it'll teach her a lesson. You can't hold on to nothing that don't want to be held on to.”

“Right,” I said, thinking of Daddy and the way his hands had gripped that steering wheel all the way to the Dollar King's house, and how they'd trembled the whole way home.

“I ain't paying you to run your mouth!” Stinky Stan blasted from the kitchen. I glanced up to see him peering through the order window.

“Shut up or I'll get Retta after you with that spatula again!” Estelle yelled back. Stan gave us the bird and slammed the order window shut. “I have teased him relentlessly, I want you to know. So has everybody else in town. Your daddy had a talk with him, too, a stern one from what I understand.” Estelle smiled at me and patted my arm gently. “Everything will be all right, hon. Don't you worry.”

“So, I came to wish you a happy birthday,” I said, and handed her a card I'd picked up over at the gas station. “I know it's belated, but . . . well, things were kinda busy in Nashville. I sang at the Mockingbird.”

“You did not!”

“I did. Last night,” I said. It seemed like six months ago now. Several cars pulled into the Bluebell's parking lot.

“Kiwanis,” Estelle explained before I could even ask. “They're getting ready for a fish fry tonight over at the American Legion building. They called a few minutes ago to let us know they'd be coming to grab a quick bite. They cook all that good food, but never do get a chance to eat any themselves. Retta, I think it's just great that you got to sing at the Mockingbird. I bet if you'd stayed you'da been a big star. I'm glad you're home, though. I know your daddy is, too.”

A crowd of red-faced, middle-aged men shuffled through the door. “Stell-
aaa
!” one of them bellowed, and they all laughed.

“Oh, Lordy. You see what all I got to put up with,” she mumbled under her breath. “You ain't no Marlon Brando, Henry!” she shouted back, and the men laughed again. Estelle hugged me tightly. “I'm here if you need anything, you know that,” she said, and hurried off to tend to the Kiwanis.

I slipped out the door and got into Goggy's car again. I sat behind the wheel.
No point in crying
. I started the engine, thought about Estelle's hug and her kind words.
Keep it together,
I told myself. I was on the highway when I broke down—in tears, that is. Whenever I'm upset and folks are mean, I handle my problems just fine, but when I'm upset and someone (like Estelle in this case) is too nice, I fall apart. I drove all over town and sobbed, sobbed like Mama really had died instead of just moving to Milldale. It was like there'd been a flash flood—the things I'd taken for granted, like Mama and Daddy and our life together, had been swept away suddenly. I glanced over the seat at all my worldly belongings and pulled off Highway 114. A giant truck whizzed past me and the whole car shook. I tilted the rearview mirror and stared at my splotchy reflection, rubbed my red eyes, then eased the car back onto the road.

There was plenty of gas in the tank, enough to get me back to the Jackson Hotel. I could be there way before dark, maybe call Emerson to see what her plans were for the Fourth, stop by and say hi to Ricky Dean and Shanay. I took the turn for Route 228, pressed my foot harder on the gas, and hoped there weren't any state troopers lurking.

I was almost to the 40 East exit when I pulled off the road a second time. To save gas, I shut off the engine, but I didn't look at myself in the mirror. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to pray. I guess the thinking and crying and staying up all night with Daddy had worn me out because the next thing I knew I jolted straight up, gasping and spitting for air as if somebody'd been holding my head underwater.

Dysphoria
, Brenda called it (she was always teaching me medical terms), the awful feeling you get when you've drifted off to sleep and woken up suddenly—it feels like the whole world is caving in right on top of you. I wanted to jump out of the car and take off running. Run till the sweat poured off me. Run till I couldn't think or feel anything. But I glanced down at my cowboy boots. I'd never been a runner, not even in gym class with the proper clothes and shoes, so instead of running, I just sat there.

After a few minutes, the heaviness lifted off my chest. I imagined it floating out the window—the weight of the life I'd wanted for myself, the burden of my parents' unhappy marriage, the dreams too heavy for one girl to carry. I could practically see it all sailing up to the sky, but I didn't try to stop it.

Something peaceful settled over me as I drove back to Starling. I'd clean up the house and get Daddy settled into a new routine. I'd return Goggy's car, thank her for letting me use it, and look for a new job. The Taco Bell still had that “Team Member Wanted” sign up. Maybe in a few months, I could save up enough money for a car of my own. Start all over in Nashville when things were calmer here. Lots of people probably left their families in times of trouble, but for some reason, I didn't have it in me to be one of them.