Wings of Glass (5 page)

I FOUND TRENT
in the same spot I had left him—in front of the TV. The only difference was now he was lying down instead of sitting. He had the couch pillow doubled under his head and the avocado-and-brown afghan wrapped around him like it wasn’t eighty degrees outside.

With my arms still full of groceries, I started to ask what he was watching, but caught myself just in time. Instead I said, “What are you listening to?”

With a sigh, he pushed the cover down to his waist, revealing a shred of green yarn stuck to his chest hair. “Stupid news. Nothing good ever happens to nobody. Ever.”

I wanted to blurt out that simply wasn’t true. Lots of good stuff happened in the world—just today, in fact, to us—but I couldn’t show my hand too early, not if I was going to get to take the job that would keep food on our table. First, I needed to butter him up good. “I’m going to make salmon cakes for supper.” My hand was starting to hurt
where the plastic handles of grocery bags had twisted around my knuckles.

He turned in my direction. “Don’t toy with me, woman.”

All nerves, I faked a laugh. “With fried potatoes and pole beans. If that’s all right with you.”

The look on his face was priceless. It must have been the same one I wore when Callie Mae pulled out those oatmeal cremes and offered me one.

After walking the bags to the kitchen and setting them down on the counter, I rubbed at the indents they had left on my palm and returned to your father.

I hadn’t shaved him in two days, so his facial hair was starting to sprout up in spotty patches along his jaw. Something about the way he looked past the television at the wall behind it with his hair all spiked up every which way made my heart skip. Despite everything he had put me through, I loved your father. And now I was going to have a baby. His baby.

I walked over and bent down to where he lay. When my lips brushed his scruffy cheek, he turned to give me his lips. It had been so long since he’d done that, I had forgotten how soft they could be.

He smelled like cigarettes, which was interesting because he had run out of them the day before. He threw the afghan off and sat up. His pajamas pants, which I could have sworn had been on right when I’d left, were now inside out.

Jealousy rushed through me, making my face feel hot enough to melt. Crossing my arms, I was glad he couldn’t see me. “Where did you get the cigarettes?”

Judging by the pinched look on his face, I gathered my question irritated him. “I picked through the butts in the ashtray like a hobo. Where do you think I got them?”

I chewed my bottom lip, trying to decide if he might be telling the truth. It made me crazy that every time he opened his mouth, I started second-guessing myself, but there I was trying to remember if I’d left the ashtray empty or full, and if maybe his pants hadn’t been on right when I left. “You didn’t find a pack somewhere?” Calling his bluff never worked, but that didn’t keep me from trying on a regular basis.

He huffed. “What are we, the Rockefellers, with money and stogies hidden all over our fancy mansion? Dag, One Cent, use your brain for something other than keeping your skull from caving in.”

“Your pants are inside out,” I said coldly.

He looked down as if he could see for himself. “Then you must have handed them to me that way this morning.”

I was pretty sure I hadn’t, but the only way that crow would have known to come over was if Trent had called her, and even then they couldn’t have known how long I’d be gone. Still, as usual, a shadow of a doubt lingered.

He bent his head back and scratched at his Adam’s apple. “Speaking of smokes, tell me you remembered to pick me up some.”

“Yes, baby.” I tried to lace my words with honey to counteract the bitterness he was sure to feel.

The familiar crease formed between his eyebrows. “You being smart again?”

“Stop assuming the worst of me. I’m talking sweet. You used to like it when I did that.” I headed back to the kitchen.

If he responded, it must have been under his breath, because I didn’t hear it. I went to work putting away the food Callie Mae had loaded me up with. All the meat and vegetables were canned, other than the bag of pole beans a local farmer had dropped off that morning, but I certainly wasn’t complaining.

I was elbow deep in the second bag of groceries when I heard something hit the floor. I ran into the living room to see Trent standing in the middle of the room and the end table turned on its side. His knees were bent as he groped the air. He looked lost and scared.

I rushed over and put my hand on his arm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me tight against his chest. At first, I tried to wriggle away, until I heard a whimper. I didn’t know how to respond to his crying. He’d never shown that sort of weakness in front of me. Patting his back, I kept telling him it was going to be okay.

“I was coming to get my Winstons from you, but I can’t see nothing, Penny. I can’t do anything but sit on that stinking couch, wondering what those voices inside the TV must be doing. The screen is black and it’s always going to be black. This is no kind of life.” He wiped his wet face against his bare shoulder and held my arm the way I’d been trying to get him to do since he got home from the hospital. “You don’t got anything to drink in those bags you’re crinkling around in there, do you?”

By drink, I knew he meant booze, but of course Sheckle
Baptist was not about to hand out whiskey chasers along with instant mashed potatoes. “No, but I got you cigarettes.”

His face relaxed as I led him by the arm to the kitchen and planted him near the fridge. He patted the wall, then leaned against it. I walked over to my purse. My heart pounded away as I retrieved Callie Mae’s Salems.

I gathered up his hand from his side and set the pack in his palm.

He squeezed along the top of the pack, stopping to feel the exposed filters, and made a face. “You smoke a few?”

I went back to putting groceries away, keeping a watchful eye on him from my periphery. “No, of course not. They gave them to me for free since the pack had been opened.”

You would have sworn he could see me by the daggers he shot my way. “What are you talking about?”

I set a can of store-brand tuna in the cabinet, trying to sound casual. “We didn’t have enough money at the register and I was going to put back the—” I hesitated as I looked in the grocery bag— “bag of rice, but the check-out lady pulled out a pack of Salems from under the register and said she couldn’t sell them, but I could have them if I wanted.”

“Salems are menthol,” Trent said, his face all twisted in confusion.

“I know, but they were free.”

He had the weirdest look on his face as he felt his way to the kitchen table and sat down. “You mind grabbing my lighter? I left it in the bedroom next to the ashtray.”

“Sure, baby,” I said, relieved he’d bought my story and
didn’t seem mad. I went to the bedroom and found a bunch of cigarette butts smoked down to the filter lying in and around the dirty ashtray. It turned out he hadn’t been lying after all, and I was doubly relieved for that.

I brought him his lighter and figured now was as good a time as any to tell him about you. “Maybe you should smoke that on the porch.”

He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, slid it between his lips, and spoke around it. “Just light the thing, One Cent. It’s my house. I’ll smoke where I like.”

I held out the lighter but stopped short of running my thumb over the steel roller to ignite it. “Secondhand smoke’s bad for the baby.”

“What baby?”

I set a hand on his cheek. “I’m pregnant.” It felt so good to tell him and so scary at the same time.

The cigarette dropped from his mouth.

I sat down at the table beside him. “Say something.”

“Are you sure?” he choked out.

“We can’t afford to go to the doctor to get a second opinion, but the pregnancy test says yes, and so does my body. Yeah, I’m sure.”

When he grinned at me, I let myself breathe. “Are you serious? We’re having a baby?”

I laughed. “Yes, a baby. A baby!”

His hands were shaking when he picked the cigarette off his lap and put it back in his mouth. “You need to light it now, Penny. I’ll start smoking outside after this. Promise.”

I lit his cigarette and watched him wince at the taste he wasn’t accustomed to. He took another drag. “Well, don’t this beat all.” His smile suddenly faded, and I knew it hit him then that he was blind and we were broke.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said, “but it’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.”

He exhaled a plume of white. “I can’t even support us. How am I going to—”

I turned my head to keep from breathing in the smoke. “God will provide.”

“Like he provided that pipe full of gasoline that left me blind? No offense, but I think we might need a plan B.”

There was no arguing God with that man. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t control.

“I was offered a job cleaning houses today.”

Before I even got all the words out, he was shaking his head.

“Now don’t start. I’m not going to stand by and let my husband and baby die because of your pride.”

One hand held the cigarette, the other balled into a fist and pounded the table, sending vibrations through me. I pushed my chair back, fixing to get away from him, but the look on his face told me I wasn’t in danger of anything but feeling sorry for him. This time when he cried, he hid his face from me.

“I hate being blind,” he finally said as he swiped the heels of his hands across his eyes.

“I hate it for you,” I said, but it was just another lie. I was beginning to see what he could not—his blindness was turning out to be the best thing that had ever happened to us.

I DON’T KNOW
if it was all in my head, but it seemed like the minute I found out I was pregnant, the nausea started. Wanting to make a good impression on my first day of my first-ever job, I woke up early, intending to make up my face and put a few curls in my hair, but I spent most of the hour leaning over the toilet.

Every time I retched, your father gagged in response. “Dagnabbit, Penny,” he yelled from the living room, “keep it up and you’re going to make me puke too.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I called back as I cupped my hand and filled it with water from the faucet. It tasted so sweet compared to the bile I rinsed away. After a couple of swish-and-spits, I grabbed my toothbrush from the holder, wet it, and dipped it into the baking soda we were brushing our teeth with.

I don’t know if it was that paste or the bristles against my tongue that got my stomach trying to turn itself inside out
again, but somehow I managed to keep myself from starting the heave cycle all over.

I left your father sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my good-bye, but I was too excited to care. I had a job, Manny! That might not seem like such a joyous thing to most, but to me, it meant release from a very long sentence of house arrest.

Twenty minutes and two wrong turns later, I’d finally found my way to the address Callie Mae had given me and pulled up in front of a large stone home on a Mercedes-lined cul-de-sac. When I rang the doorbell, the door flew open and Fatimah Wek, the Sudanese woman Callie Mae had put in charge of training me, waved me in.

“You are late,” she said, adding an annoyed tongue click for good measure. Although she wore her hair cut tight around her head like a boy’s, there was nothing else boyish about her. She had the most magnificent features, strong but feminine. With her long face, wide brown eyes, and the highest cheekbones I’d ever seen, she looked like an African princess.

“You stare at me.” She set her caddy of cleaning supplies by her feet. “I am dark. You never see a woman so dark. True?”

I opened my mouth to say that wasn’t true, but it was.

“My husband is not so dark. My family were not so dark. I am blackest in my family, even my village. Even the refuge camp.”

“Your skin’s beautiful,” I managed through my embarrassment.

She looked down at the ground. “Beauty is inside.” She glanced at me. “What of you? Are you beautiful?”

I blushed, but said nothing.

She pulled two sponges out of the caddy and handed me one. “You clean counters, sink. I sweep and mop floor.” She studied me to make sure I understood.

“Why do you get the good jobs?” I asked with a wink in my voice. It felt good to joke. I learned early on with Trent that ribbing, taken the wrong way, could have painful consequences, but something about Fatimah made me feel safe.

“I give you the good job!” She looked really put out by my teasing, until she registered my smile. Deep and full, her laugh was so contagious, I couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You play with me. Good. I like to play too.”

When I lifted an empty wine bottle from the counter, she grabbed my hand. “We do not take up mess. We clean, but we do not tidy. Truth.”

I was confused. “Picking up trash is part of cleaning.”

She let go of me and shook her head. “No, they take up. We clean. You take that up today, tomorrow we must only take up more.” Although I’m sure she didn’t intend it, her words held a double meaning I still remind myself of to this day.

She eyed the room, sizing it up. “We have only two hour to clean this giant house.”

I followed her gaze. Oak cabinets stopped about ten feet short of cathedral ceilings. White leather stools sat in front of an enormous, brushed-steel island. The floor was a larger
version of the turquoise counter tiles. My entire house could fit inside this kitchen. I wondered what profession paid enough to afford a home like this.

Side by side, Fatimah and I worked, scrubbing floors and toilets, counters, and appliances. Before I knew it, we were done and she was packing up our supplies for the next job.

She insisted we ride together to the next house to save on gas, and in my financial situation, I wasn’t about to argue. I sat beside her in her old Chrysler LeBaron, trying to name the spice the car reeked of. The fabric roof was held up with pushpins every inch or so, giving it a coffin-liner appearance. The console on my side was torn, offering a clear view of the yellow foam under the hard plastic. As she drove, she threw me a glance. “I make purchase of this car for two hundred dollar.”

Not knowing what to say, I nodded.

She thrust two fingers at me. “Two hundred dollar. Imagine!”

I wasn’t sure if she thought that was expensive or cheap. So I went with a generic, “Wow.”

“Two hundred dollar would feed my village.” The look she gave me told me I should find the humor in that, but I didn’t get it. “I almost forget.” She leaned over, opened the glove box, pulled out a rectangular piece of paper, and handed it to me. “Callie says it is advance. You will get the other portion in two weeks.”

I looked down at the check made out to me and almost cried in relief. This was half of what she’d promised to pay
bimonthly. It touched me that she trusted I wouldn’t just take the money and run. It was a good reminder that not everyone was as cynical as Trent.

I folded the check, slipped it into my back pocket, and picked at the hole in the knee of my jeans. “Was it hard living there—at the refugee camp, I mean?”

She sighed. “I make many friends who became my family, but I still missed my own. My sisters and brother. They are mostly gone except my father, who I am dead to, and only one sister. She is married to . . .” Her shoulders shimmied and her lips puckered like she tasted something bitter. I took it she wasn’t a fan of her brother-in-law. “I tried to buy her here, but I won’t buy for him, too. He is one of the men who . . .” She couldn’t finish, and by the haunted look in her eyes, I wasn’t sure I wanted her to.

She jerked the steering wheel hard and fast as if remembering her turn a second too late. I slapped my palm against the door just in time to prevent the side of my head from hitting the window. We nearly took out a buzzard pecking at roadkill as we screeched around the bend. The bird shrieked, stretched out its enormous wings, and flew away from the flattened fur in the nick of time. My stomach, which had settled since that morning, started to roil again. I took a deep breath and focused on the road ahead.

A wave of warmth rushed through me and I pulled at my shirt collar. Hot air streamed from the dashboard vents. I rolled down my window and let the spring air hit my face. “You don’t like your sister’s husband.”

“Yes, I do. I like him very much—in a pot of stew.” This got her laughing. “With potatoes and carrots,” she added.

For all I knew about the world back then, they really might have been cannibals in Sudan. She must have seen the uncertainty on my face because she pulled in front of a house half the size of the first, shut off the engine, and bared her teeth. “I eat you, too!” When she chomped in my direction, I jumped in my seat.

This got her to laughing again. “We eat cows and vegetables, not white people. Do not worry.”

“What about squirrel?” I asked.

“A squirrel is a rat. So, yes, I would eat one.”

We both chuckled at that one, though I still didn’t understand her humor enough to know if she did eat squirrel and rat, or didn’t. It didn’t much matter to me what she ate, where she was from, or how she mispronounced my name, I liked her. Staring at her beautiful profile, I smiled. Callie Mae was exactly right.

I sighed in contentment.
Now I have two friends,
I thought with a lightness in my heart.
Two friends, a husband who hasn’t hit me in weeks, a job, a little money, and a baby on the way.
Just when I thought my life would never be anything but misery, everything had changed.