“That girl of yours got herself married again.” Pop finished and slid the last dish down the table. It stopped in front of James. Pop took a mouthful of potatoes.
“What?” Mama’s eyes were wide as she stared at Pop.
Pop finished chewing and slid his spoon beneath the mound of potatoes on his plate. “I said she got married again. Magdalena.” He shoveled in another bite. “She married some old guy this time.” Pop looked at Mama now, as if what Magdalena had done was Mama’s fault. He shook his head and switched to his fork and knife and dug into his meat.
“Max?” Mama looked at James.
James couldn’t tell by her expression if she approved or not. Mama had said nothing when Magdalena married Joe Deeter, and she’d said nothing when Magdalena divorced him. Joe had slapped Magdalena for scratching his car, and she left him, scratching it again as she walked away. She’d told James what really happened one afternoon at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant when she’d come in alone. James didn’t care for Max. He couldn’t forget his comment that he’d need a trade. But when Magdalena told him about Joe and said Max would never do something like that, mostly because he was afraid what Magdalena would do back, James thought he might forgive Max. At least Max was safe for his sister.
James gave Mama a nod. It would be Max. Magdalena was quick to change men, but it was unlikely she’d have two old ones this close together.
“We should do something for them.” Betsy spoke. James looked up. She was leaning toward Mama.
“Shouldn’t,” Pop said around a bite of biscuit. “She won’t need a thing, marrying an old man like that. She’ll have everything. He’s got a car, a house, probably got some money stashed away.”
Betsy looked down at her food.
“The girl married for money this time. Not sure why she married before.” Pop reached for the platter of biscuits and snatched another.
“She married for love. Or at least looking for it.”
James turned toward Mama. He couldn’t believe what she’d said. She was staring at Pop.
“Earl didn’t love her, but that’s what she wanted. She was done looking for it here, so she went elsewhere.”
Pop laid down his biscuit. He gazed across the table at Mama. James couldn’t tell if he was baffled by what she’d said or angry that she’d said anything at all.
“Here?” Pop finally snorted. “You go out and find a man to love you. It’s not going to be at home.”
“Exactly.” Mama stood. “She had to go out because no man here loved her. Women do that.”
“You women all addled in the brain? Of course there was no man here to love her.”
Mama stepped to the side of the table. She eased around Betsy, her eyes on Pop. She came to his side and stopped. He looked up into her face, something James had never seen him do before. Everyone always looked up to Pop. He never looked up to anyone.
“The first love of every little girl’s life is her father. That’s where she first feels loved and knows she’s special.”
Pop frowned, his eyes narrowed.
“Why do you think your daughter chose a man your age?” Mama leaned close to Pop. “That little girl who rode pretend ponies to get away, who was determined to drive, who wore makeup when you told her not to, who sassed you just to get your attention…did all of that to no avail. When she couldn’t get love here, she went out to find it.”
Mama had painted the clearest picture of Magdalena James had ever imagined. She’d drawn her precisely from the inside out, so precisely it was as if Mama saw inside Magdalena, reading the lines of the life her daughter had lived.
“That your excuse too, then?” Pop spat, a sneer on his face. “No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to…”
The sound of Mama’s hand on Pop’s face was like a gunshot. Pop’s head rocked to the side, a red imprint the shape of a flame blazed on his cheek. Before Pop could regain his balance and get to his feet, her hand shot out again, hit the same red mark like it was a target.
“That first one was from me. The second was from Magdalena. I’m done slapping you. Forever.” Mama stepped past him, her feet moving quickly, nearly at a run. And then she was gone, the outside door slamming behind her.
Chapter 36
Lana 1940
Cletus’ welding shop emitted sounds even more brash than before. Harsh metal clanged as pieces fell against each other, while fiery hot flames hissed and sizzled in the background. These were man noises, Cletus noises, sounds without feeling.
Lana stood, her children with her, in front of the wide open doorway lit only by tiny bursts of fiery flames inside.
“Wait here.” She looked at Magdalena and then at the others. “I’ll get the money, and then we’ll go.”
She bundled the smaller ones close together before she stepped into the darkness. Clusters of men looked up as she wove between them. She didn’t glance their way. She was searching, only interested in the tallest one, and this time she’d find him.
When she reached the back of his shop, she turned. She hadn’t found him, Cletus wasn’t there. Her eyes, adjusted to the faint light, looked around again, across men who refused to look up or offer a hand. To her left, in the far back corner, she spotted a doorway, closed and likely his office, built like a notch cut out of the shop’s floor space. Her heart began to pound like a fist knocking against his door as she walked that way.
She glanced toward the large lighted square where her children stood outside waiting for her. The youngest were distracted, engrossed by the fire and noise, but Magdalena was staring at her, as if even in the dark she knew just where Lana stood.
Lana nodded, even though Magdalena couldn’t see her. Then she rapped with her knuckles, loud and sharp. No one answered, so she knocked again. Her knuckles burned; the wood scratched the skin where her bones hit the door. Men were watching now. She could feel their eyes, the sounds of their work diminished.
Lana felt someone at her side. They weren’t tall enough to be him. She didn’t look. She rapped harder, refusing to be dissuaded. Cletus’ workers couldn’t make excuses for him this time. The person pressed close and she knocked harder, her face down, her knuckles numb. A hand touched her arm. A small hand with long fingers. It wrapped around her forearm, and she paused. The shop was silent.
“It’s okay, Mama.” Magdalena pulled Lana’s arm from the door. “I got the money.”
“You? You got the money?”
Magdalena nodded. Her fingers squeezed Lana’s arm, and she drew Lana toward the large front opening. In Magdalena’s other hand, the off-green color of dollars peeked from her fist.
Magdalena towed her through a sea of faces. The men were silent, but they knew, at least one of them knew. Lana stopped, wrenched the money from Magdalena’s fist, and threw it on the shop’s floor. “We won’t have this!” She kicked the money across the packed dirt. “I won’t, and she won’t either!” Lana grabbed Magdalena by the elbow and rushed to the street. She gathered her children and hurried them away, down the walkway and around the corner to the main street. They stumbled forward when they reached it, the little ones at her feet and the stores a blur at her side.
“It’s okay, Mama, really it is.” Magdalena tried to slow her.
“It’s not okay.” Lana spoke in a hiss. It wasn’t okay Cletus was missing, it wasn’t okay his workers protected him, and it wasn’t okay she had to beg and look foolish.
“Mama…” Magdalena stopped. They were beside Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. Lana watched Magdalena’s hand on the door as she pushed it open.
“Come on, Mama.” Magdalena eased inside. “We can sit and relax.”
“No. Let’s go home.” Lana saw past Magdalena into the restaurant. It looked warm inside, and she felt it touch the iciness in her heart. “We shouldn’t…” She just wanted to go home, be away from town, away from Cletus’ shop and him, wherever he was.
“Please, Mama.” Magdalena stepped inside, holding the door o
pen. Her brothers and sisters looked up at Lana expectantly. She’d promised them an outing. She’d promised when she really had nothing to offer at all.
The ice inside Lana’s heart fought everything behind Magdalena and on the faces of her children. Small crystals bound together fought the eagerness of their eyes and the warmth of Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. She was so cold, so tired, so empty. “Okay,” she conceded. They’d sit, she’d relax, and then they’d go.
“This way, Mama.” Magdalena led them to a booth, shiny chrome surrounding bright red seats and a matching tabletop. “Sit here. We can all squeeze in.”
Lana stared at the table as her children crowded in. They looked foreign for a moment, happy and excited, clambering to have fun instead of to hurry or hide. A cry rose inside her. The scream. She stared at the nearly full seats, just enough room for her at the end of one side or the other. The scream stirred. It wanted out, but not here, not now.
“Would you like a chair? I can sit you at the end of the table.”
Then she saw them, as if she were seeing them for the very first time. Eyes that said so much without ever a word, dark eyes against dark skin, crowned with black hair. Mr. Morgan, posed like a prince, waited for her answer. The cry simmered. It stirred. Something about the way he looked at her set it on fire. Tears dowsed the fire on their way up, leaving only a sob to escape from her throat.
It was like Jim’s kindness and Grandma’s hug all at once. Mr. Morgan moved close and held her, he let her cry while he said soothing things to her children. She could hear them stirring and felt Magdalena at her other side.
“I’m going to make food for all of you,” he said near her head. “I promised your family a free meal a long time ago. Now’s the time.” She felt him look down. “Magdalena, would you take your mother to the back? I have a small room back there that’s comfortable. Sometimes I stay the night there, even.”
Magdalena touched her. Lana let her lead her away, to the back, to the room Mr. Morgan said was comfortable, and he was right, it was. Comforting.
Chapter 37
James 1957
James’ gut felt steely and cold, his insides heavy, as he bussed tables, carried food to Mr. Morgan’s customers, and did dishes in between. His world had shrunk to a tiny orb, drawn so tight no one could get in.
“That your excuse?” Pop’s voice rang in his mind. “No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to…” Then the slap. The red stain of Mama’s hand on his father’s face.
Ida dumped more dishes into the sink. James’ back ached from bending over the deep basin all day. Water splashed upward. Suds clung to the hair of his forearms. James didn’t look at her. Ida wouldn’t say anything even if he did. He just shoved her stack aside and kept scouring the silverware and plates they needed for the unusual lunch crowd they had today.
It was only supposed to happen at death, your life flashing before your eyes, but James’ sixteen years played over and over in his head, visions of things that had been said and done suddenly taking root, showing themselves for what they were, looking different in the daylight of being older. Step back, gain perspective.
The tepid gray water swirled, the rag became soggy, and James wrenched his arms from the sink and walked, then ran for the back door of the restaurant. He pushed through, doubled over, and heaved. Heaved in the dirt behind the building, years of scream coming out in putrid bile. He leaned over the foul puddle and braced himself with his hands on his knees. Baseball’s not in your blood. The scream came up again, more yellow fluid, soaking into the dirt.
He spit. White foam floated on the mess he’d made. Looking at it made him retch again, but nothing came up. He was empty. No more scream, no more illusions about who he was, no more heart. Mama’s heart. He didn’t even know if that was in there.
He straightened. Every muscle ached. He leaned back against the restaurant, happy voices coming from the other side of the wall. People whose lives were intact. Who knew what to expect, knew what they were made of, had no surprises springing up like little warnings their whole lives.
The hum of the restaurant made him angry. He envied those people. He’d never been a part of them, and now he knew why. Even Ida’s coldness made sense. He looked down the narrow alley between the backs of the buildings that faced the main street and the backs of the buildings that faced the other way, the ones side by side with Pop’s business. It was as if he’d been in this spot his whole life, between Pop and the others, thinking he belonged with one when maybe he never did.
He brushed his hands on the apron. It was wet from doing dishes, cool in the shaded air. He undid the back tie and slid the apron over his head. Restaurants didn’t suit him either. It wasn’t in his blood. He wasn’t sure what was, but he needed to find out. Finally, and for sure.
James turned to go back inside. He’d at least let Mr. Morgan know. The door swung open before he touched the handle. Mr. Morgan stood there, their eyes meeting. The noise behind Mr. Morgan was loud now that the door was open. He stepped outside, pulling it closed behind him.
James wished he’d kicked dirt over his vomit. The sour stench was strong, and he was ashamed it was there. Mr. Morgan surely was aware of it, but he said nothing as the door latched and the two of them were alone in the alleyway.
Mr. Morgan was never silent. Even when his mouth said nothing, his eyes always did, those dark eyes that said so much, called in such a familiar tone. James wanted to fall into them and run from them at the same time. They were too familiar, too painful when they drilled so deep.
“You’re thinking about going.” Mr. Morgan dropped his gaze to the apron dangling in James’ hand. James looked down and nodded. He lifted the apron and extended it to Mr. Morgan. To his surprise, Mr. Morgan took it. “Don’t expect you’ll need that apron where you’re going,” he said.
Mr. Morgan couldn’t possibly know where he was going. James didn’t even know. James frowned as he wondered what Mr. Morgan saw that he couldn’t.
“Everything else I gave you, you can keep, though.”
James frowned more. Mr. Morgan had only given him an ice cream sundae and some tokens. James shook his head.
“Well, like the advice I gave you when I told you to choke up on a bat. If what you’re handling is too big, choke up. Place your grip where you can manage it even if the hit isn’t as strong as you want.”
James’ gut began to swirl. This time it wasn’t bile, it wasn’t a scream, it was something childlike, the yearning of a boy who’d always wanted something but never got it.
“Or like when I told you to step back off the plate so you can gain perspective. Step away, look things over. Find out what you didn’t see because you were too close.”
Tears pooled somewhere deep in James’ chest. He thought Mr. Morgan had been teaching him to play baseball all those years, but he wasn’t. He was teaching James about life. James looked down, stared at the toes of his shoes.
Mr. Morgan moved close, his head near James’. “And I said don’t believe everything you hear. I know I said it about in this restaurant, but it’s true everywhere. Don’t.”
James swallowed. No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to… A too-large wad of saliva lodged in his throat. He gulped. The tears came up against it, creating a lump that was huge and painful.
Mr. Morgan put a hand on the door’s handle. He turned sideways, ready to go back inside. “One more thing.”
James looked up. He knew his eyes were red, but he wasn’t ashamed. Not in front of Mr. Morgan. His place was safe. It always had been. That’s what he’d seen in this man’s eyes his whole life.
“What’s that?” James tried to clear the lump from his throat.
Mr. Morgan put a hand on James’ shoulder. “I told you once your mama’s got heart, and that heart’s in you.” He looked hard into James’ eyes. “And she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. She is. I meant it. And that you can believe, wherever yo
u hear it. She gives you value. Hold onto that.”
James stared at the man as his chest heaved outward, then in, with breaths as hard as if he’d just run up and down the street. “Thank you for the work, sir.” James nodded as he said it, then looked away. The alley stretched before him, Pop on one side, Mr. Morgan on the other. James passed between them. Left them behind. He had to find what was in the blood pumping through Mama’s heart.
Chapter 38
James 1957
James felt odd stepping onto a porch, knowing it was Magdalena’s. Max’s, but now hers, too. He’d never thought of her really having a house, a nice house like this one. She and Earl had lived with Earl’s brother. And Joe Deeter, that hardly lasted. This little house was neat and simple, nice. It just didn’t remind James of his sister. She would have to change to fit this house, or she would be changing it to suit her.
He brushed his hands on his pants, then raised his fist and knocked. Not loud, but sharp, his knuckles stinging against the door. Max’s car was parked alongside the house. That alone said Magdalena was home. She loved cars, she loved to drive, and when he’d been working at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant he saw her going up and down the street all the time, her window down and an elbow hanging out, sometimes her whole arm with a lit cigarette being fanned to ashes in the wind.
The door opened. Magdalena stood there. James was glad it wasn’t Max. He still hadn’t warmed up to him. Max had no business saying James would need a trade, even though he was right. Magdalena’s face lit up. James thought she looked relieved. “Hold on,” she said, and whisked away. She was back in a moment, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Let’s go,” she said, heading off the porch.
James frowned. “Go? Go where?”
“I don’t know. Go talk. Isn’t that why you’re here?” Magdalena was off the porch and at the driver’s side of the car. “Get in. Let’s go.”
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