'Til I Want No More

by Robin W. Pearson

  “Are we good?” Maxine used Teddy’s own words to chip at the ice between them. She angled his way as he reached for his door handle.

  But Teddy’s tone was cold. “Are we?”

  Taptaptap!

  “Hey, Auntie Maxine! Are you getting out sometime today?” Evelyn stood in the driveway, waving one of Lauren’s tiny fists. A Yorkshire terrier tugged at the leash attached to Evelyn’s wrist.

  Maxine held up a finger. She faced Teddy’s direction again, but he was slamming shut his door. “Well, all righty then,” she mumbled to his empty seat and climbed out.

  ________

  Maxine watched Evelyn settle the baby into her stroller with a snap of the harness, adjust the domed cover, and push Lauren onto the sun-drenched deck. She wondered at all the accoutrements of today’s infant care, extras the church ministry couldn’t provide when she’d lived in a home with other young mothers. But then she hadn’t needed a night-vision camera to see Celeste in their ten-by-ten bedroom or a luxury Old English–style pram so her baby could nap in the sunshine. Maxine had nestled Celeste in the crook of her arm most of the time, and the two hadn’t ventured much farther than the local library, where Maxine kept up with her studies.

  Evelyn smiled and exhaled. “Okay, all fed and changed. Now you can tell me what you said to Teddy. I feel like I’m watching All My Children in Mama Ruby’s den, waiting to find out what Erica Kane was up to. Spit it out—and quick, before my man gets back with dinner.”

  “I think I mumbled something about JD being your brother-in-law and knowing him in high school.” Maxine pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Evelyn slowly pushed the stroller back and forth. “You remind me of your mama, doing that. Did Teddy accept your answer? If you looked anything like the way you do now, I’d guess a big, fat, and hairy no.”

  “You know Teddy—well, actually, you don’t. He’s not like me. He’s trustworthy and trusting, and he loves unconditionally. True blue.”

  “Or he’s simply clueless, self-involved, or a serial killer. And you didn’t answer my question.” Evelyn peeked at the sleeping baby and parked the stroller. She retrieved a watering can and started sprinkling the lilies of the valley planted in large clay pots in the corners of the deck.

  “Evelyn.”

  Her friend pushed aside a tender white blossom and soaked the soil. “I’m sorry, Max, but the man’s not a saint. I don’t know him, but he didn’t look very ‘true blue’ in the two minutes he spent talking to Kevin and me. More like green around the gills. Something was up.”

  “You have quite a way with plants, Evelyn.”

  “But I do know you.” Evelyn rolled like a train over her friend’s attempt to derail the lecture. “It’s obvious you’re a mess. If you’re this unhinged now, what were you like when Teddy first dropped the bomb about his commencement speaker?”

  “I’m not unhinged.”

  “Come on. You’re not the only writer here. When I say ‘unhinged,’ that’s exactly what I mean. I can’t believe he didn’t notice you falling to pieces right there in front of him.” Evelyn stepped down to the backyard, picked up the hose, and turned on the spigot with a squeak.

  Maxine crossed her arms on the wood railing and watched Evelyn tend the flower beds. She growled under her breath, “I’m not falling apart, and I’m not unhinged.” But she’s got a point. What does it mean if he didn’t notice?

  “Only unhinged people talk to themselves,” Evelyn laughed.

  “This isn’t funny!” But the corners of Maxine’s mouth twitched.

  “You’re right. It’s not. So when are you going to talk to your future husband about your former husband?”

  Maxine glared at her.

  Evelyn returned her unblinking stare as she flicked the nozzle in Maxine’s direction.

  Maxine jumped out of the spray and nearly fell over the stroller. Cocoa, resting in its shade, yipped when Maxine nearly stepped on her paw. “Hey! You know black women don’t play like that. You’ve been hanging around your sister-in-law too long!”

  Evelyn laughed. “Girl, she’s been around us long enough to know the rules. She’d never mess with my hair—just like I didn’t mess with yours. I’m just trying to wash away the dirt.”

  Maxine brushed off the beads of water on her gray shorts and cantaloupe-colored top. “Dirt? What dirt?”

  “In your ears, from sticking your head in the sand.” Evelyn squished through the wet grass and turned off the spigot.

  “You sound like Granny B.”

  “Good. A wise woman, my grandma.” Evelyn coiled the hose and put it away. “Come down here with me. We can hear the baby if she wakes up.”

  Maxine descended the steps.

  “What about Celeste, Maxine? JD and your Theodore are big boys, and they’ll be able to handle this better than your—”

  “Sister. My sister. That’s what you were about to say, right?”

  Evelyn faced Maxine, hands on her hips. The baseball cap on her closely cropped curls slightly shielded her eyes.

  Maxine still could see the truth in them, so instead, she studied a lemon-colored butterfly as it danced among the tiny buds breaking through. “She’s . . . Celeste. Thirteen going on thirty-three. We’re still not sure what’s going on with her physically.”

  “Is that why you’re waiting to talk to her about JD?”

  “It’s just not the right moment. You think it’s time, and my parents think it’s time, but I’m not sure. Am I putting it off because I’m afraid? Partly. But mostly I wonder what she’ll think of the person who was wild enough to marry in high school, who didn’t have the sense to raise her own daughter and wasn’t courageous enough to admit the truth.”

  “Max—”

  “And I also simply want to make the right decision, do what’s best for her, what I’ve always tried to do since she was born.” She flicked away a tear before she continued, running roughshod over Evelyn’s refutations.

  “You know, when I was little, I trusted Daddy to fix all my boo-boos and make everything better. After he died, I tried to rely on Mother, but that was like trying to walk on a broken foot. So I turned to Mama Ruby and Granddaddy. Nearly two years later, Mother gets it all together and comes back with First John, and they step into my grandparents’ shoes and expect me to naturally follow in their footsteps. But I couldn’t. I just . . . couldn’t. Then here comes JD, and he takes charge. I thought that was what I wanted, but the next thing I know, I’m married and pregnant, still looking for answers.”

  “Aren’t we all looking for an answer of some kind?”

  “Maybe. But we don’t all run away to find them. That’s what I did, Evelyn. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts and figure out for myself what I needed to do. When I could do that, I came back.”

  Evelyn walked toward her friend. “But are you sure it was your voice that spoke to you in Georgia, after you got saved and made the decision to return home? From what I’m hearing now, listening to your voice isn’t helping much.” She stroked Maxine’s shoulder, still damp from her gentle dousing. Slumped from the not-so-gentle peer pressure of a loving kind. “Can I get you some iced tea?”

  “No thanks. I just want to ice this subject. I’m tired of talking about it. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of worrying about it.”

  “Then don’t talk, think, or worry about it.” Evelyn lifted a canvas tote stuffed with tools off a hook on the deck. She intertwined their fingers and pulled Maxine farther into the yard. “Come out to the garden with me. Let’s not spoil this time together, rehashing. I’m so glad you took the time to drive out here because we haven’t seen each other enough.”

  Maxine bumped her friend’s shoulder with her own. “And it’ll be a few years before I come back again if you keep abusing me.” But she smiled. “How’re Dominick and Peter?”

  Evelyn had left her teaching position to write a children’s book about a character named Peter and his dog, Dominick. “Dominick got lost, which forced P
eter to learn his home address. I was so excited when I signed that three-book publishing contract, but I’m exhausted. I can barely stand upright. And of course Kevin still gets . . . ideas . . . if we get in bed at the same time. Girl, I’m tired!”

  Maxine shook her head, reliving those early days with a new baby. Those months without a husband and with a new baby.

  “But I wouldn’t change a thing. Kevin and I are in a much better place than we were a year ago, and now I can call myself a published author! Most importantly, we have Lauren. She’s worth all the long days and nights when I don’t look, feel, or smell very cute.”

  By this time, they’d reached the right side of the yard by the back fence. Evelyn glanced back at the deck before dropping to her knees in the dirt. She pulled up what looked to Maxine like perfectly good green plants and tossed them aside. Maxine watched her dig, snip, and discard for a moment, then murmured, “I’m glad you and Kevin are doing better.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. This peace between us has been a long time comin’. I didn’t think I’d ever trust him again. But strangely, all that heartache and betrayal strengthened our commitment to each other. It’s not unconditional—I’m not as perfect as your Mr. Theodore—but it’s real, God-given love.” She stopped plucking vegetation to glance at Maxine. “But I still can’t hear the name Samantha Jane without making a fist.”

  “Who’s Samantha Jane? Wow—you did make a fist.”

  Evelyn stabbed at the dirt. “What did we say about ‘not rehashing’? Well, that applies to me as well.”

  Maxine watched her girlfriend for a moment, wondering whether to press. A cry from the deck decided for her. “Want me to get Lauren?”

  “Would you? Tell her Mommy will bring dinner in a sec.” Evelyn’s voice sounded like she was trying to talk around a mouth full of cotton swabs. She swiped at her face, leaving a swath of black dirt across her cheekbone.

  Maxine hurried to the deck. There, she scooped up Lauren, whose wails sounded like something between a sheep’s baaing and a hiccup. She rubbed the tiny back in a circular motion as the infant flailed. “Shh . . . there, there. Auntie loves you,” she crooned.

  The longer she held Lauren, the more that statement proved true. She tucked her under her chin and tried to recall how she’d quieted Celeste. It felt like she was unlocking a treasure chest buried for decades under deep ocean waters. She closed her eyes and dove deep into her creaky storehouse of memories and emotions until she retrieved a song about a dark-brown river and golden sand. Maxine hummed the melody when the lyrics ebbed and murmured “with trees on either hand” when they flowed again. She inhaled that precious, one-of-a-kind baby’s breath that transported her to another time and place that consisted of a ten-by-ten room holding a twin bed, a dresser, a chair, and a crib that smelled like Johnson & Johnson’s lavender-scented soap.

  “Maxine?”

  But she wasn’t in the group home. She wasn’t singing Celeste to sleep. When she turned around and opened her eyes, she wasn’t looking into her own newborn’s face.

  “I’m back . . . bearing gifts.” Kevin raised the brown paper bags emblazoned with the red MingFu logo and cocked his head to his right—not that there was a need to, for it was obvious what, and who, he’d brought home.

  JD smiled weakly and scooped up Cocoa, who was jumping at his leg. “Hey, Maxie. Guess who’s coming to dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “PLEASE, CELESTE, prettypleaseprettypleaseprettyplease . . .” She mouthed the words over the baby as she settled her into the white Jenny Lind crib she’d pushed against her own twin bed. She put in the CD she’d permanently “borrowed” from the library and slipped under the covers, careful not to make the thin mattress squeak on its hard springs.

  Seventeen-year-old Maxine lived in a twilight state. Celeste wasn’t one of those “good babies” the others had birthed, the children they crowed about as they moved back and forth in their gliders after supper. Every night she headed up to the second floor, leaving the other girls smacking their gum and their jaws in the den, hoping against hope something would change. She tucked Celeste into her crib, swaddled just like the nurse had shown her and smelling like that calming soap she’d paid $4.99 for at Rite Aid.

  But it didn’t do any good. It never did. Just like all the other nights, Maxine scooped up Celeste, squeezed her into the space between herself and the wall, and sang “Where Go the Boats” until she was hoarse. She groaned, “Maybe you don’t want to listen to stolen lullabies. Or is this recompense for my own mother’s sleepless nights?” Maxine’s heart ached for Vivienne, whose misery was palpable across the miles.

  Ten minutes later Maxine found herself in her usual position, hovering on the edge of wakefulness, on her left side in her twin bed, with one arm tucked under her head and the other tented over a wailing Celeste. Maxine wondered if letting go of a little thing like sleep would provide Celeste what she’d spent her life seeking—belonging, acceptance. She leaned closer to smell the baby’s breath and thought about the girl she once was. And about JD.

  Until Miss Vicky threw open Maxine’s door. “Child, I hear y’all carryin’ on all the way down the hall. What are you doin’ up at two o’clock in the mornin’?”

  To Maxine, bone-tired and nearly blind because her glasses were on the floor beside her bed, Miss Vicky appeared as an angel in her white housecoat with its wide, winglike arms, her feet in fuzzy light-blue slippers as if she balanced on a cloud, her large, pink sponge rollers her halo. The young mother burst into tears and thrust Celeste at her savior. “I can’t do this! I give up. I give up. Just take her. I’m no good at this.”

  “My goodness! Quiet now, before you get the whole house goin’.” Miss Vicky shut the door and shoosh-shooshed over to the bed, bringing with her a waft of Noxzema. She took the baby and settled her firmly in the crook of her arm. Her pale fingers smoothed the fine, silky hair plastered to Celeste’s teary cheek.

  “See, I’m a terrible mother! I can’t even put my own baby to sleep,” she sobbed.

  “If you don’t hush up . . . First of all, you don’t ‘put a baby to sleep.’ That’s what they do to dogs at animal shelters. Celeste is no more abandoned than you are.”

  Maxine’s shoulders heaved with the force of her sniffles.

  “Secondly, if you cain’t calm down, she cain’t calm down. Celeste is just overtired, is all. You both need to stop hanging out, jaw jackin’ with the girls after dinner and get upstairs so this baby can settle down for the night. Nine o’clock is just too late for a four-month-old. And it’s gettin’ on too late for a girl raisin’ both herself and her baby while goin’ to school.”

  Watching Miss Vicky sway side to side had the same calming effect on Maxine as it had on the baby. The young mother’s tears slowed.

  “And the third thing really should’ve been first. Have you prayed over this baby? Or do you just sit there rockin’ and cryin’ along with her?”

  Mama Ruby talked to God enough to cover everybody else, so Maxine’s knees never touched the floor. Her grandmother toted her prayer closet around with her and stepped into it at will. She entreated God for any situation—when to plant her tomatoes, where to bury her brother, how to handle the Jehovah’s Witness handing her a tract or the injured bird that smacked into her front window. Maxine figured if Mama Ruby’s prayers could reach God’s ears, surely they’d cover her in Valdosta, Georgia.

  “Just as I thought,” tsked Miss Vicky. “This baby here needs more than some breast milk and a lullaby for nourishment. She needs God’s Word mornin’, noon, and night. I know I’m not supposed to be evangelizin’, but how will you young girls ever become proper mothers without walkin’ with Jesus?”

  Maxine hesitated, then shrugged.

  Miss Vicky kept swaying as she patted Celeste’s diapered bottom. “Do you know how much the Lord loves you? He sees you here talkin’ and cryin’ with this baby—what I suspect you do every night. He wouldn’t have you despairin’, as if you
r sufferin’ paid a debt you owed Him.”

  Maxine dried her face with her sleeve, her eyes never leaving her angel.

  “Maybe you know Jesus, maybe you don’t, but you should spend as much time with Him as you do with this baby. When you find rest for your soul in Him, you’ll find rest for your body over there.” Miss Vicky pointed to the bed. “Now, this Sunday we’re goin’ to church—you, me, and this precious child. As for tonight, I’m takin’ her.”

  “No! Please don’t take her!” Maxine nearly fell off the bed and onto the crib.

  “Hush, child. I’m just watchin’ her tonight so you can get some sleep. By the looks of it, you ain’t been gettin’ much. Come get her in the mornin’ bright and early, before my shift ends. I’ll have you a Bible to read by then. Nobody’s gonna take your baby, so don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?” Maxine managed, her throat dry.

  Miss Vicky laughed. “Child, do you know how many other girls have begged me for help so they could sleep? Why do you think they’re so happy to see me when I get here at seven?”

  “But I thought—”

  “I know what you thought because I know what they told you. It’s not only my pecan pie they love. Just listen to this voice that’s been up, down, and around the block a time or two, and get some sleep. The sun will be shinin’ in your eyes soon enough.” Miss Vicky took a blanket and the baby bag. “And move this crib back to the wall before you get your head tangled between those rails.”

  ________

  “Maxine? I’ll take the baby. Maxine?”

  Maxine stopped swaying and patting and set Lauren into her mama’s waiting arms.

  Evelyn plopped down in the porch swing and draped a blanket across her shoulder and over the baby. “Hey, honey, once you set down the food, find the lighter for the citronella candles and open the umbrella over the table. I thought we’d eat outside. Maxine, could you grab the paper products from the kitchen counter? And put Cocoa inside too. JD, mind going to the garden to gather my tools? I left them to get the baby. Good to see you, by the way.”