Tender Graces (23 page)

I turn into my pillow and answer, “Momma, I’m afraid you’ll be just who everyone says you are instead of who I hope you are.”

She doesn’t say anything to this, shuts right up.

Chapter 20

Something sure is on the wind today, Girl

1966-67

Nobody talked about the baby Rebekha carried around inside her. Daddy went around grinning stupid. Micah just shrugged when I asked him about it. Rebekha acted as if she walked in a room of eggs, holding on to her stomach. We didn’t have popcorn, watch television, and talk about stuff. I didn’t care one speck. All I did was try to help her since she was so tired all the time, but I didn’t ask her one question about that big stomach. Not one bit did I care.

I was in the kitchen cooking pinto beans and had just thrown a whole raw onion in when she came into the kitchen holding onto a yellow baby bathtub.

“Well, Virginia Kate, I’m going to have a baby.” She looked at me like a dog that just chewed up my shoes.

I stirred the beans, feeling older than the grown-ups.

“Look at all the gifts from my shower today.” She picked up a tiny pair of booties and held them out to me.

They were as light as a butterfly. I thought about Momma and how she went to the hospital that day and when she came back, there was no little baby. It had disappeared.

“I should have talked to you long ago. I was scared I’d jinx it.” She rubbed her face on a fuzzy rabbit. “Oh, this is so soft.” She held it out. “Here, feel it.”

I rubbed my face against its back.

Picking through all her baby gifts, she held up each one to show me, including a box with a silver rattle nesting in a bed of cotton. She put her hand on my shoulder. “From now on, I’ll not keep important things from you. Okay?”

I hated to move away. Her hand felt like belonging. But I did move. I was full to the top at how everybody had been acting stupid.

She picked up a tiny t-shirt and held it in the air, frowned, then said, “So, I’ll tell you that there are letters from your mother that you should have.”

I stared at her.

“She wrote you and Micah several times. Your father thought it best to wait until you were older and until Micah was, well, less angry.” She looked down at her stomach, rubbing it. “I’ve been trying to stay out of it. I mean, I’m not your mother and it’s hard to know what’s the right thing to do. Do you see?”

My head felt tight and my stomach did the twist.

“Your father hid them, but I know where they are.” She went into her room. I waited, turned into a cement pole. When she got back, she held a brown envelope in her hand. “I’m so sorry, Virginia Kate. But sorry isn’t good enough, is it?”

I grabbed the envelope from her. Inside, there were a few letters tied with a red ribbon. “He shouldn’t have kept them. They’re mine!”

“Hon, your father . . . ” She stopped and sighed. “You’re right. They
are
yours and he had no right keeping them from you.”

“I hate him! He’s not the same Daddy. All he does is act stupid and drink his stinky stuff! And nobody talked to me about the baby. I’m not a stupid kid! Everybody thinks I’m see-through and I’m not!” I tore off to my room, jumping face first into the bed. I lay there half-smothered in the pink with my head pounding. When I found my breath, I sat up, opened the letters one by one and read them.

Momma saying she had a new boyfriend named Harold. Momma saying she sold the Rambler and bought a Chevrolet. Momma saying Mrs. Mendel wished me a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Momma saying did you take my powder and lipstick, and what about my brush? Momma saying Aunt Ruby says hi. Momma saying ask Daddy for more money.

Then, I read the last letter from her.

Dear Virginia Kate, How is my baby? I’m fine. Andy’s fine. He’s getting big. I bet you’re getting big. How’s Micah? I bet he’s big, too. I would like you to visit me sometime. But, I don’t reckon that’ll ever happen, unless your Daddy brings you all back home for good. He should come home and he should bring my babies home where you kids belong. I expect he’s just selfish! It’s his fault we’ll never be a family again. His fault I’ll never see you or Micah ever again, ever. And you won’t ever see little Andy again. All because of your Daddy won’t come to his sensables. It’s all his fault, you remember that Virginia Kate. I’d call, but my phone got cut off (tell your daddy I said that, you can show him this letter). I bet you have all kinds of pretty things now. I bet you even have more toys than Andy does. And maybe even more clothes than me. I bet that woman buys you stuff and thinks she’s something she isn’t. I bet she has good perfumes, too. I think I’ll marry Harold and move to Paris. Don’t forget me, Momma.

I read it four times and it still said the same thing.

Andy’s letters were all papers from school and pages out of coloring books, except one. It read,
Dear Seestor, I misses you. When you coming home? When is Micah? Why haven’t not you wrote me? I hurt a lot because you forget me. The mountain cries loud noicses. Momma quit crying lots of days ago. I’m getting big so I’m not soposed to cry. But I misses you too much. Why don’t you love me? Momma said you won’t ever come back. Why not? Love, Andy.

Inside was a school picture of him. His face was a full moon of sorrows.

I clenched up my fists until it hurt. I gritted my teeth. I wanted to scream at someone but there was no one to listen. I wanted to jump in the closet and ride Fionadala. My stomach turned, twisted, and flopped. The hornets buzzed loud and louder—and then my head exploded. I lay back on the pink and white, holding my head while the hornets flew and stung and the drums banged.

When I couldn’t stand the hurt anymore, I fell away into sleep. I saw Grandma Faith crying and crying, getting smaller and smaller. I fell until she was too small to see, and I didn’t hear her, or Andy, crying anymore. I slept for hours, for days, for months. While I was sleeping, I didn’t write Momma or Andy, didn’t make A’s; didn’t take any pictures, my camera getting dusty on my dresser; didn’t write in my diary, all the blank pages stayed blank. Slept when Rebekha had Robert Laurence Carey, and I didn’t play with baby Bobby; didn’t read; didn’t eat sugar popcorn that Rebekha made.

I slept right on through Mee Maw’s visit where in one day she started a fire in the kitchen, spilled bleach all over Rebekha’s new suit hanging in the washroom to dry, and told Rebekha she looked like death warmed over on a Saltine. The whole world went on about its business without noticing I was asleep. I slept and slept and slept until Miss Darla talked inside my head, and then little Baby Bobby looked at me and smiled.

It was on Thanksgiving Day, when the wind was cool and sharp and crepe myrtles had no blooms. Inside, the house smelled like turkey, dressing, pecan pie, and bourbon. Daddy and Micah were watching football games. The Campinelle’s were off to Okalahoma to visit Amy Campinelle’s momma, and took Mrs. Portier with them. Mee Maw’s broken arm (broken by Mack—who Daddy said she kicked out, right after she had a lawyer kick the dog spit out of him where it hurt in his wallet) kept her in Texas.

Miss Darla ate Thanksgiving with us, her hair pulled up in a big braid on top of her head. She asked me, “Girl, aren’t you tired of sleeping yet?”

I hitched a sigh.

“Your Grandma Faith’s been worried about you, don’t you know.”

And I said, “Did she quit crying? Will I see Andy again?”

“All will be well.” Miss Darla smiled. And nobody heard us. Our mouths were closed and we talked in our heads, just like Grandma and me. I pinkie swear.

After Miss Darla tottered on home, I sat on the porch rocker and let the cool air clear the sleepy feelings away. Rebekha came out with Bobby and he was cute and chubby. He held out his arms to me. When I rocked him, he looked up at me and grinned, and right then, I burst wide open awake.

Rebekha smiled at Bobby and me and took our picture. She said, “Virginia Kate, you look happy. I’m so glad. You’ve been really sad.”

“Well, I’m awake now.” But I don’t know if I said it aloud. I don’t know if my lips moved, because they were stretched out in a smile.

I sent Andy pictures of Micah, Bobby and me, of Soot, of Amy Campinelle and Mister Husband and Mrs. Portier, the oak and mimosa. I sent a handful of Spanish moss to him, and I asked Andy for the umpteenth time to get Momma to send Grandma’s quilt to me. I wanted to ask for my Special Things Box, but I was afraid she’d look in it, or throw it away like trash. She didn’t send anything. The azaleas had already dropped their petals. My mimosa sprouted blooms. It wasn’t real hot yet and I could ride my bike to the library without hardly sweating.

Micah was as tall as Rebekha and more mysterious than ever. I hardly saw him, except for supper and
Mission Impossible
, his favorite show. He liked
Batman
, too, and would stand up and pound the air with his fists, saying, “Biff, Bow, Bam!” I liked
The Monkees
, even though Micah made fun of them. I thought Mickey was cute, Peter was silly, Mike was serious, and Davy was a dreamboat—even if he was short.

I came back from school that day, kicked off my shoes, and put on my red shorts and striped t-shirt. I peeped in on Bobby, asleep with his thumb in his mouth. His room used to be the study, but Rebekha re-did it in bright happy-go-yippee colors. Micah’s painting of purple teddy bears dancing around was over his bed. I peeped in Micah’s room, but he wasn’t there. His room smelled like model glue and oil paint.

I wandered into the kitchen where Amy Campinelle made ready to cook shrimp Creole. She watched over Bobby while Rebekha worked, which was only two or three times a week, since Bobby kept getting sick. Most times, Mrs. Portier and Amy Campinelle watched soap operas when they weren’t playing with Bobby. Mrs. Portier had lots more time on her hands since Mr. Portier ran off with Mrs. McGrander right after Christmas. That didn’t last but two months, then Mrs. McGrander took up with a dentist and left Mr. Portier whining boo hoo hoo in his beer. Mrs. McGrander became Mrs. Baycowitz. Little redheaded Mrs. Portier got her a lawyer and socked it to Mr. Portier. Then she headed over to Mrs. McGrander-Baycowitz and socked her in the nose.

That’s what Amy Campinelle blabbered to me while she peeled the shrimp, shaking her Q-tip head. “That Mrs. McGrander-Baconbits has caused lots of grief around here. Hope she stays herself away.” Amy Campinelle went Humph and Tsk-Tsk and Some-People-Have-Nerve all the while she talked about Mrs. McGrander-Baycowitz. “For sure, she tried to mess with my Mister only onest. He cut that off quicker’n a blink.” She turned and pointed a shrimp at me, “He don’t love no one but him some Amy, yeah.” She laughed, and I did, too.

The phone rang and she ran to answer. “Hall-oooooo Carey residential.” I heard her cackling laugh, then, “Jiminy Christmas, I was just talking about that hussy. Lawd, she’s a mess that makes a bigger pile than the rest.”

I thought about listening in, but needed to do my homework. I went outside, leaned against the mimosa, and opened my math book. I picked a mimosa bloom and pretended it was a ballerina, spinning it around and around like the one in the jewelry box Rebekha gave me. Miss Darla’s dog was in her back yard, sniffing the grass. The dog’s name was Sophia, after Sophia Loren.

I called to it, “Here Sophia. Here, girl.” But Sophia was too prissy to pay me any mind. I didn’t think the name fit one bit. I said, “The real Sophia Loren would come over and say hello. The real Sophia Loren would be nice to me and she’s lots prettier than you.”

Sophia showed me her furry rear end, squatted, and peed.

Miss Darla came out and the prissy dog jumped around her ankles. “Sophia, you little rascal.” She picked her up and snuggled her. Looking over at me she said, “Something sure is on the wind today, Girl.”

I loved hearing Miss Darla’s stories.

“My index finger’s been aching, and when I woke up this morning there was a dragonfly on my headboard.” She stood still, holding on to Sophia, her feet planted wide as if she was steadying herself. “I smell sweet olive, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Don’t you be calling
me
Ma’am, don’t you know.” She eyed me good, then put Sophia down and came through her gate to stand in front of me. “I know about things. I know you’re a sad, sweet, lost girl.” She had on frosted pale lipstick, her hair was loose and fell past her waist, she wore blue jeans rolled up at the ends, and a man’s shirt. She looked like she wasn’t afraid of anything. Her gray eyes went right through me until I went to fidgeting. “All the signs are saying change is on the way.”

First, I thought,
No. No more changes
. Then, “I wish you were my grandmother instead of Mee Maw Laudine.”

Miss Darla laughed. She looked at my math book on the ground. “It’s too pretty to do division, isn’t it?”

“Yes Ma’am, I mean, yes, Miss Darla.”

“Well, I’m off to Calandro’s. I’ll bring you back a treat.” She slipped into her car and drove away. I sent her a mental message to bring me back a Zero bar, Tootsie Rolls, wax lips, or maybe candy bracelets.

I heard the car before I saw it.