The Ninth Step

by Barbara Taylor Sissel

  “Stella by Starlight,” Livie said.

  “That’s what Daddy calls me.”

  “I know,” Livie said. “What shall we have for dinner?”

  Stella couldn’t decide whether they should order in pizza or go out for hamburgers.

  “It’s okay,” Livie said. “It’s too early anyway. We can make up our minds later.”

  “After we do chores,” Stella said, “when Grampy Charlie comes.”

  Livie stood outside the car watching her run up the front walk onto the porch. She’d yanked off her hat along with the scrunchy that held her pony tail and her sun streaked hair shifted like a tattered curtain across her shoulders. The smell of some awful perfume she’d drenched herself in at the mall lingered in her wake. She was adorable, an absolute dream.

  “C’mon, Auntie Livie.” Stella pulled open the screen door. “What’re you doing anyway?”

  Wishing you were mine, thought Livie.

  They fed the fish, gathered the eggs and picked tomatoes, then did their girl stuff: Livie polished Stella’s nails and once they were dry, Stella practiced French braiding Livie’s hair. “I can’t do it as good as Mommy,” she said. The mirror captured her frown of concentration, the struggle to coordinate her fingers.

  “It’s beautiful,” Livie said. “It’ll be easier to do when your hands grow a little bigger.”

  Stella moved to Livie’s side and held her palm against Livie’s, still frowning. “Daddy’s home, did you know?”

  “Uh-huh. You’re glad, right? You and Zack.”

  Stella lowered her hand. She picked up a tube of lipstick from the dressing table that Livie seldom used. “Can I?”

  Livie nodded. “Stell? Things are okay at home, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She stroked on pouffy lips and stood back looking critically at the result. “It’s just they fight a lot, more even than me and Zack. Last night, he wet the bed.”

  “He hasn’t done that for a while.”

  “No, an’ he was in my bed.”

  “They woke him up?”

  “Uh-huh, they were yelling about ‘vestments.”

  “Investments?” Livie watched Stella pucker her lips into a messy kiss at the mirror.

  “Mommy said if Daddy wouldn’t play at the market, he wouldn’t lose all their money and Daddy wanted to know if she wanted him to play with other women instead.”

  “Huh.”

  “Zack came in my room and got in bed with me ‘cause he was scared, then he fell asleep.” Stella met Livie’s gaze in the glass. “I had to let him.”

  “Of course you did. I used to do the same thing for your mommy.”

  “She slept with you when she was scared?”

  “Uh-huh.” Livie turned Stella toward her and using her fingertip, she evened out the color on Stella’s mouth. “Blush?” she said, opening the compact. “It’s hard being the big sister sometimes, isn’t it?” Livie brushed color across Stella’s freckled cheeks. “It’s like you’re afraid, too, but you have to act like you’re not.”

  “If I cry, Zack just gets even more scared, so I don’t.”

  I never did either, Livie thought.

  Stella closed her eyes while Livie applied pale taupe shadow to her eyelids. Livie made herself concentrate, for Stella’s sake, otherwise she would go to the phone, call her sister and say: How dare you?

  Was it possible Kat could have forgotten the nights she’d crawled into Livie’s bed, when she’d cried inconsolably, convinced the noise their mother was making meant the man in her bed was hurting her? Had Kat buried those memories? Livie hadn’t. She remembered being just as terrified as Kat, but like Stella, Livie was the oldest. She’d had to pretend she wasn’t, for Kat’s sake.

  Livie cupped Stella’s face between her hands and her heart constricted with her love and her wish to protect this child and then, she was just so offended on Stella’s behalf. So angry at Kat and Tim for causing their daughter concern, for making Stella feel an adult’s responsibility for her brother. “You’re a brave little princess, do you know it?” Livie asked and her words were hard, like pebbles, pushed against the sore walls of her throat. How she would treasure being the mother of a child like Stella, or Zachary, but more and more it seemed as if it was never going to happen. She’d had her chance and lost it.

  Maybe it was better, though, not to assume that love between a man and woman would deepen over time, that a commitment would strengthen without growing bitter. Maybe Livie was better off alone. At least she didn’t have to worry that the damaged parts of herself might damage someone else.

  Stella touched Livie’s cheek. “Why are you crying?” she asked.

  “Because I’m a silly goose and you’re my sweet, beautiful fairy girl.” Livie pulled Stella into an embrace, blinking her eyes dry.

  “Anybody home?”

  “Grampy Charlie!” Stella leaned back in Livie’s arms, eyes dancing.

  “I heard a certain young lady might want to go for a sunset tractor cruise.” His shout rang through the house and Livie smiled, grateful for Stella’s delight and for the easy laughter in Charlie’s voice and the way it loosened the cord of sadness that was wound around her ribs.

  #

  Stella wanted to change clothes for the occasion and when she came into the kitchen, Charlie marveled at her full-skirted sundress that was trimmed in an eyelet ruffle, her painted-on glamour that shimmered. He offered her his elbow. “Your majesty’s chariot awaits.”

  She melted into fits of giggles.

  Livie turned from the sink. “Have her back before dark,” she instructed, “otherwise, the man in the moon is liable to mistake her for a star and want her for his collection.”

  Stella rolled her eyes at Livie, then asked Charlie if they could check on the tadpoles down at the pond.

  “That’s our first stop,” he told her, “but I bet your aunt wants you to change out of her shoes.”

  Livie’s glance fell to the pair of red high-heeled sandals Stella had on her feet. “Where on earth did you find those?”

  “Your closet. Is it okay? You said--”

  “It’s all right.” Livie made herself smile. “I didn’t realize I still had them.” She ducked into the laundry room, found Stella’s tennis shoes and suggested a trade. She was relieved when Stella didn’t argue.

  Livie followed them onto the porch and watched as Charlie boosted his tiny date onto the tractor, an antique John Deere he’d bought at auction and restored years ago. He’d modified the seat into a bench when his own grandsons were big enough to beg for rides. Now they were in college and Charlie seldom saw them, or either of his sons. Livie would have thought he’d have been out of patience for children by now, but if Stella or Zachary bothered him, he never showed it and they were crazy about him.

  “Bye, Auntie Livie,” Stella yelled over the engine noise.

  “Don’t wait up,” Charlie shouted and Stella collapsed against him in giggling glee.

  “Oh, you two,” Livie murmured and she waved, broadly, a little wildly, as if she were seeing them off on an ocean voyage instead of a tractor ride at sundown.

  #

  She was outside sweeping the front steps when Delia called. Livie picked up the phone, looked at the Caller ID and had one of those moments. Even as her head was saying no, she was pushing the button, taking the call. It would leave her wondering later whether she’d been responding to some bizarre intuition. What would have happened if she hadn’t acted against her impulse? But she didn’t; she leaned the broom against the porch rail and sat on the edge of the swing.

  And when she said, “Delia?” there was caution in her voice, in the slant of her spine, in the curl of her bare toes. She heard the tap of ice against glass, the sound of swallowing.

  Delia speaking a slurry of syllables: “So, Livie, how’re you doing?” It was the two-cocktail attempt at pleasantry. If she’d had more, there would be overtones of sarcasm, the sullen bite of rancor.

  Livie sai
d she was fine even as her misgiving deepened. She crossed her arm over her middle, steadied the swing with her foot. A flock of small birds, sparrows maybe, or house finches caught her attention when they flew into the canopy of the old pecan tree across the road and began bickering.

  “Is Cotton with you?”

  Livie’s head snapped front as if she’d been jerked by a rope. “Cotton?”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No.” She wasn’t lying. She hadn’t actually witnessed him leaving the irises or the eggs on the porch. “Why? Have you?”

  “Well, I--I was asleep the other night, last Sunday night, and I thought I was dreaming, but then I touched him?” Delia’s voice rose as if she were asking. There was more rattling of ice cubes, more drinking.

  As if she needed more, as if more would restore her dignity, her clarity of mind. She ought to be ashamed. Instead Livie felt ashamed for her and then irritated that she assumed the burden.

  Delia said, “He needed a shave, I--I remember that now.” She went on, something about his hair, that he still wore it short. She added something about there being gray mixed in now.

  Livie’s glance fell to her knees. She hoped Delia’s memory was real, that Cotton had been there, but if he hadn’t, if Delia had simply conjured his presence, so what? Hadn’t Livie done the same thing, imagined him at the foot of her bed? And she’d been sober. Poor Delia’s mind was sloshed in gin and her memory was no less pocked with holes than a wedge of Swiss cheese.

  Delia was saying she’d fixed drinks for them. “We talked and laughed ‘til the wee hours. It was like old times. We used to have so much fun, you know?”

  No, Livie thought. She didn’t. In reality, Delia was a terrible, worrisome drunk, a thin-lipped, bedraggled little, broken-winged bird of a drunk. When she tried to walk, she wobbled on her skinny legs; her head pecked and bobbed. She blurted inappropriate things. On the day of the wedding, she’d been sipping from a flask hidden in her handbag and Livie had been terrified she would stand up during the ceremony and say she objected, that she did not think Livie was good enough to be her son’s bride.

  “Is Cotton staying with you?” she asked Delia now.

  “I wanted him to; I told him I’d fix him breakfast before he went to work.”

  “Work?”

  “He has a job doing construction somewhere, Dove Lake--”

  “Dove Lake? Where the wedding--?”

  “Yes, yes, I think that’s what he said, but he was gone before I got up.” A further jostling of ice cubes mixed with the impatience of Delia’s breath.

  “He probably didn’t want to disturb you,” Livie said.

  “That was on Monday, I think, last Monday.”

  She’d said Sunday earlier, but Livie didn’t correct her.

  “I don’t know why he left, why he didn’t tell me he was going. Why he hasn’t been in touch. It’s like before.”

  “Oh, no, it can’t be,” Livie protested, but how would she know? She was the last person to guess what was in Cotton’s mind. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to be involved. Delia didn’t even like her. Why had she called?

  “He’s . . . he’s not the same, Livie. I don’t know . . . I just don’t know. . . .” Delia’s voice teetered, fell into nothing.

  Livie gave her a moment to recover her composure, the chance to elaborate, but then the silence was too much. “Delia?” she said sharply.

  “What? Aren’t you listening? I just told you he was here when I went to bed, that’s all I know.”

  Livie glanced at the porch ceiling, exasperated, hunting in her mind for an excuse to end the call, hunting vainly in the distance for a sight or sound of Charlie and Stella returning on the tractor.

  “He was in his room poking around in the closet, but now he’s gone and so’s a brand new bottle of gin. I’ll have to get Max to pick up another.”

  Max was a neighbor who lived down the street. Livie didn’t know what their arrangement was, but he did a lot of Delia’s shopping for her. She didn’t drive anymore, thank God. “Maybe you should lie down,” Livie suggested.

  “D’you know where he’s been living?” Delia went on as if Livie hadn’t spoken.

  “In Seattle, I guess, where the letter came from.” The one you think I wrote to myself. . . .

  “Well, I should have known he go there since that’s where his brother lives.”

  “Scott lives in Seattle?” Livie was stunned.

  Delia wasn’t. “I need some ice. Hold on, will you?”

  When she picked up the phone again, Livie said, “I didn’t know Scott lived in Seattle.”

  “Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “So you’re saying Scott lives in Seattle and he’s known all this time Cotton was there and he never called? He knew what we were going through here, didn’t he? You were in touch with him? You told him? I mean even after we got Cotton’s postcard, we--” Livie stopped herself; she saw it now all too clearly, but still, she could scarcely fathom the cruelty of it. “I’m the only one who wasn’t told, is that it?”

  “No, Livie, I didn’t know where Cotton was until he told me himself, whatever you might--”

  “Never mind.” Livie cut Delia off. “I don’t care.” She didn’t. Why should she? In six years, she’d moved on, hadn’t she? What possible difference did it make now who had known what when?

  “Play the martyr, I can’t stop you.”

  “I’m not--”

  “You want the truth?” Delia demanded. “Cotton made Scott promise not to tell where he was because he was afraid you’d chase after him.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No matter what you and your mother and sister want to believe, it wasn’t me he was running away from.”

  “I have to go.” Livie stood up, unmindful in her aggravation when the swing hit the backs of her legs.

  “He told me why he couldn’t marry you, Livie.”

  “We already had this discussion, Delia. I’m not having it again.”

  “He said he could never be the man you wanted, never live up to your precious standards.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You tried to make him over. You can’t deny it. You made him feel like he wasn’t good enough.”

  “He said that?”

  “It’s plain as day. He was doing fine, building houses, making good money, and then you come along and want him to move to the sticks, become a farmer or some such. As if there’s any money to be made fooling around with a bunch of plants.” Delia snorted. “That boy never had any interest in doing anything of the kind until you brainwashed him.”

  “Oh, Delia--”

  “He could have been anything. He could have been a lawyer like his friend Nix. They used to sit right here in the kitchen and talk about how rich and famous they’d be.”

  “You know that isn’t true. Cotton hated college--”

  “Nix saw it. He saw how you changed Cotton, how you influenced him.”

  “I don’t care what Nix thinks he saw. If anyone had a detrimental influence--”

  “Don’t say Nix. I’ve known that boy his whole life. He’s a good friend.”

  So where has he been the past six years? Livie couldn’t remember the last time Delia had mentioned hearing from him. But she wasn’t getting into a discussion about a man she barely knew. “The truth, Delia, is that Cotton left college because he was failing. It had nothing to do with me. We didn’t meet until later.” Livie went into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

  “I didn’t call to fight,” Delia said. “I don’t have anything personal against you. I just never thought you were right for him.”

  Livie set her teeth together. He’ll never find anyone better. “Well, I don’t guess that’s a cause for concern any--”

  “Livie. . . ?” A rising note of alarm in Delia’s voice brought Livie up short.

  “Delia? What is it?”

  “Something’s not-- Livie!” He
r name was a screech. “I don’t feel right--oh--!” The syllable popped on a liquid whoosh of air. There was a crack as if the receiver--Delia’s head?--had slammed into something hard--the table? the floor?--but the line remained open and Livie kept up a fruitless repetition of Delia’s name even as she walked swiftly into the kitchen, pulled her cell phone from her satchel and dialed 9-1-1.

  The operator was reluctant, even disapproving, when Livie explained she believed Delia had been drinking.

  “Are you sure you need to use department resources, ma’am? Isn’t there a neighbor, a friend in the area, who could go over and check on her?”

  “I don’t know of anyone I can reach.” Livie found her car keys, retraced her steps through the house and out the front door. “She’s never done this before. I know something terrible has happened to her. Please. . . .”

  By the time the woman agreed--unhappily--to dispatch an ambulance, Livie had found Charlie and Stella at the stock pond skipping pebbles across the light-dappled surface. Livie was matter-of-fact as she explained; she was sure it was nothing. Charlie knew better. In answer to Livie’s question, he said he was happy to look after Stella. “As long as you need me to,” he said, but then he frowned. “You shouldn’t go there on your own, though. No telling what you’re getting into.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She started to go.”

  “Wait.”

  She turned back.

  “I stopped and saw JB this morning,” Charlie said.

  She groaned. “You didn’t tell him about the eggs.”

  “Some woman called him a few days ago, she wouldn’t give her name. She said Cotton was in some kind of trouble, that someone had made threats on his life.”

  “Here, you mean? In Hardys Walk?”

  “She wasn’t specific. JB got the impression she meant someone in the area.”

  “But she wouldn’t say who?”

  Charlie shook his head. “JB wondered if it was you or your fam--” Seeing Livie’s clear objection, he raised his hands. “Don’t bow up on me, gal. He thought it might be me, too.”

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Livie said.

  “Okay, but you be careful, you hear me? You don’t have any idea what Cotton’s into these days, but evidently somebody’s after him.”