Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

  “You can eat like you normally do, but try not to gain too much weight. The baby needs you to be healthy, so be sure to drink your milk and eat plenty of protein.”

  “Crackers will help with the nausea.” Mama squeezed my hand, a glint in her eye. “Oh, honey, wait until Jimmy Lee finds out.”

  “Are you sure, Dr. Davis?” I asked, picking at my fingernails.

  “Sure as the day is long.”

  Mama rattled on the whole way home about how she’d make me maternity clothes, and we’d have a baby shower when it was time. I could use my old crib if I wanted. She had it stored in the attic. I lay my head back on the passenger seat headrest and wondered how on earth I was gonna tell Jimmy Lee.

  “I know you were fixin’ to see Maggie, but I think I’d wait a bit. You’re just three months pregnant, and it’s probably best to wait another month or two. Just to be sure everything is okay.”

  I wondered if Maggie would be disappointed in me.

  “But then I can take the train to New York?” I needed to hear her say it again. I needed to be sure. I didn’t want to miss seeing Maggie.

  Mama laughed. “Of course. You can do anything when you’re pregnant, but it’s best to wait until you have some of your energy back. The first three months can be very tryin’.”

  “You’re tellin’ me? I just passed out and konked my head.”

  Mama squeezed my hand. “Will you quit your job now? So you can rest?”

  My job? I hadn’t thought about quitting my job to rest. I loved my job. “No, actually, it really helps keep me sane. I can’t stand bein’ alone all day in the apartment.”

  “Well, you won’t be alone much longer.”

  I knew she meant well, and I could feel the light radiating from her with the thought of being a grandmother. Mama loved babies. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but worry about being a mother. I was barely able to hold my marriage together. How would I ever care for a baby?

  That evening, before Jimmy Lee came home, I drafted a letter to Maggie and walked it down to the post office.

  “We talked about this. How could you let this happen?” Jimmy Lee wasn’t drunk, but the smell of alcohol on his breath was becoming the norm.

  “This wasn’t all me, Jimmy Lee.” I sat on the couch, my feet curled under me, watching him pace across our small living room floor.

  “How? When? We’re careful.”

  He was right. Since we’d been married, we’d been more careful than ever.

  “I don’t know, okay? It just happened. We are havin’ a baby, Jimmy Lee, and we just have to deal with it.”

  Jimmy Lee lit a cigarette and sat down beside me. I pulled back. Even his cigarette smoke bothered my stomach lately. He took a long drag and turned his head to blow the smoke in the other direction.

  “Okay,” he said, and leaned back against the couch.

  “Okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, okay. You’re gonna have to deal with it. It’s not like we have a choice.”

  I’m gonna have to deal with it? “Maybe you can come home earlier some nights?”

  He turned angry eyes toward me. “And do what? Leave Corky to hang out alone? I’ll do what I see fit,” he snapped.

  The memories of the afternoon he’d forced himself upon me came rushing back, followed by a shiver of a memory of being with Jackson, then a rush of fear from the confrontation with his mama. She was right. I’d hurt her son. I only wish she knew how much I’d also hurt myself. None of that mattered anymore. That part of my life was over. I was Mrs. James Carlisle, and a mother-to-be. I vowed to try to be the best mother ever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m not sure what disappointed me more, the extra weight that went to my boobs and made them heavy instead of perky, or Jimmy Lee’s increased drinking. Several weeks had passed since I found out I was pregnant, and all of my clothes were too tight. Mama altered the larger waitress uniforms Jean gave me, but I still felt like a packed sausage as I waddled through the diner.

  There was a knock at the back door, and ever since I saw Jackson’s mother, I had steered clear of answering it.

  “Can you get that, hun?” Jean hollered from the office. She’d been giving me more and more responsibility lately. You’re gonna be a mama. You can handle anything now.

  With not a single patron in the diner, I had no excuse not to answer it. I grabbed the paper bag from the counter and headed for the back door. What if it was Jackson’s mother again? The metal doorknob was cold beneath my sweaty palm. I peered slowly around the edge of the door. To my relief, a small boy stood on the step with his hand outstretched and three dollars and fifty cents in his tiny palm.

  “Hi, sweetie. Here you go,” I said, and handed him the bag.

  A gap-toothed smile graced his lips. Before I could say anything more, he turned on his heels and ran away, his pencil legs moving as fast as they could down the alley, disappearing around the corner.

  A week later the same little boy showed up, and I realized that his father bought lunch from the diner every Friday. The third Friday, I was ready. When the little boy put the money in my palm, I pressed a cookie into his.

  Later that afternoon I was walking through my parents’ house thinking about the smile on that little boy’s face, when Daddy took me in his arms and squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe. “Pixie! Look at you, plump as a mother hen.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I think.”

  “Are you sure you want to go to New York in your condition? It’s a lot of travelin’.”

  “Yes, Daddy. I haven’t seen Maggie in ages and I miss her.”

  Daddy kissed the top of my head. “I worry about you is all. Don’t let her put those crazy notions of hers into your sweet, little head, ya’ hear?”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll come back just as I left, as your perfect, little, pregnant girl.” As I said those words I wondered, not for the first time, if being Daddy’s perfect girl was the right kind of girl for me to be. I used to be filled with pride about being his perfect, little girl, but now I realized that being that girl meant not helping the coloreds, and my heart battled that stance at every turn.

  “Woman,” Mama interrupted.

  I sure didn’t feel like a woman. Jake sidled up next to Mama.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he said, and hugged me. “Look how fat you are.”

  I punched him in the arm. He laughed. Behind us, the farmhands piled into a rusted and dented truck. Albert looked back over his shoulder before climbing into the back with the rest of them. The way he shook his head made my heart sink. I wanted to run over and tell him that I didn’t mean to get pregnant by Jimmy Lee and that I wished it was Jackson’s baby, but I knew that even thinking that thought was wrong.

  “I got somethin’ I wanna show you,” Jake said, and I followed him into the house, hiding my face behind the curtain of my hair.

  Upstairs in his room, he opened a notebook and showed me a sketch of the inside of the barn, complete with mine and Maggie’s feet hanging over the loft, and the crack in the window.

  “Oh, Jake, this is wonderful. How did you get such detail? Every strand of hay is perfect. I can practically smell the DDT on it.”

  He shrugged.

  “Did you show Daddy? I’d bet if you do, he’ll let you take those art classes you want.”

  “No way,” he said and snagged the notebook back from me.

  “But—”

  “You’ve seen what he does. You saw how he treated Maggie. No way will I go up against him. No way.” He tucked the notebook into his desk and changed the subject, asking me what it felt like be pregnant.

  “I feel like a fat girl. Don’t change the subject.”

  He laughed.

  “Seriously. Nothin’ fits, I waddle, and I can’t do anything about it.” If he could change the subject, so could I. Maybe Jake could help me figure out what to do about my husband disappearing every night. “Jake?”

  He stood with his back to
me.

  “Jimmy Lee is drinkin’ all the time, and he comes home late every night. Are you hangin’ out with him and Corky?”

  He turned around and sighed.

  “Jake, you can tell me. I won’t get mad at you. Promise.”

  He shook his head. “Corky hasn’t been out in two weeks. He cut his hand at the farm and is on some big time medicine. Can’t drink while he’s on it, so he just stays inside at night.”

  “So, have you been with him?”

  Jake shook his head. I suddenly felt like there was a lead balloon in my stomach instead of a baby in my womb. I lowered myself to sit on his bed. “Jake, what’s goin’ on? He said he’s been out with Corky all this time.”

  Jake shrugged, and started for the stairs.

  I couldn’t tether my rising voice. “What’s goin’ on? What’s he doin’?”

  Mama opened the front door and hollered up the stairs. “Is everything alright up there?”

  I stood with my arms crossed, staring at Jake.

  “Fine,” I said to Mama. I heard her step back onto the porch as I pushed past Jake and hurried down the steps.

  All I could think about on the way home was where Jimmy Lee was going and what he was doing. I stopped at the furniture store, something I hadn’t done in the weeks since we’d been married.

  “Why, Alison, what a nice surprise.”

  Mr. Kelly had worked at the furniture store forever. A widower who had a gift for making himself seem important, he stood before me in a crisply-pressed, three-piece suit, his shoes perfectly shined. His chin maintained a constant tilt up, as if he was always looking down his nose at you.

  “Hi, Mr. Kelly. Thank you. Is Jimmy Lee here? I’d like to talk to him.”

  He cocked his head as if I’d asked him if he had seen a five-legged cow. “No.” He offered no explanation.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked, biting back my mounting anger.

  “I think you’d better ask his uncle.”

  His uncle? “Okay. Is Mr. Carlisle here?” The storeroom door opened, and Jackson’s mother stepped into the showroom. Her eyes dropped to my ever-expanding belly. She dropped her eyes to the floor and clasped her hands in front of her waist, waiting silently for Mr. Kelly’s attention.

  “Yes?” he said, chin lifted.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kelly, sir. I was just comin’ to tell you I was leavin’,” she said.

  My legs locked. I fumbled with my purse and forced myself to move clumsily toward the door. “Thank you. I’ll…I’ll find him. Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The empty shoebox lay on the bed, the lid on top of my clothing, which was strewn across the floor. My belongings were scattered around the bedroom like we’d been robbed. Jimmy Lee sat on the bed with his back to me, Maggie’s weekly letters unfolded on the pillows like public newspapers.

  “What’s this shit?” he spat.

  Maggie’s letters spoke of the ways she was helping the colored folks, and the things she was planning. I never thought Jimmy Lee would actually rifle through my belongings, and yet, maybe I did, and that’s why I’d felt the need to hide them. “What are you doin’?” I hurried to the bedside and grabbed at Maggie’s letters, pulling them toward me. “You had no right.”

  He grabbed my wrist. “No right? I’m your husband. What is all this shit?” He pushed me away. My back hit the dresser. He grabbed one of the letters and read it aloud, “I’m so happy that you want to know what you can do to help with the civil rights movement.” He turned scorn-filled eyes toward me. “Civil rights? What are you doin’, Alison?”

  I clamored for the letters. “Give me those. They’re my private letters. This is none of your business.” I hated myself for not throwing the darn things away, but the thought of discarding anything from Maggie saddened me. Now, I wish I hadn’t been so darned sentimental. I’d never make that mistake again.

  He pushed me again; my back slammed against the wall and I fell to my knees, protecting my stomach, and crying out in pain.

  “This is my business. You wanna help those niggers? You? My wife?” He gathered the letters in his arms and tossed them in a bag. “You’re not goin’ to New York. You can forget it.”

  I pushed to my feet, holding the dresser for support. “I’d rather be there than here with you,” I cried. “I’m goin’ to see my sister, and you can’t do a darn thing about it. My father already bought the ticket.”

  “I never should have married you! You’re a…a…charity case.”

  “Charity case?” A lump lodged in my throat like a baseball. “My family has more class than yours ever will, the way you beat up those poor kids.” I pushed past the hurt in my back and the fear that made my entire body quake, and gathered my courage like a shield. “I know you and your uncle killed Mr. Bingham, too.” It was a guess, a weighted guess based on the things I’d learned about my husband and his uncle in recent weeks. I had hoped it wasn’t true, but the moment the words left my lips there was no question.

  He was on me in seconds, pinning me to the bed, my belly between us like an unwelcome border. Through gritted teeth he said, “Don’t push me, Alison. You don’t know shit. That nigger deserved to die.”

  I struggled against his weight. “Get off of me. You’ll hurt the baby.”

  “My wife ain’t gonna help no cotton-pickin’ niggers. You got it?”

  Hate soared through me. My wrists felt like they were ready to snap beneath his weight.

  “Got it?” he hollered. His knees dug into my thighs. “Or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

  I had to do something—to get out of there before he hurt the baby. “I got it. Okay, I get it,” I seethed.

  He pushed his knees deeper into my thighs, until I cried out in pain. Then he climbed off of me with one last thrust, grabbed the bag of letters, and left the bedroom. I curled into a ball, my arms around my belly, and cried, wondering what in the hell I should do next.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I sat on the porch of my parents’ house the next afternoon thinking about my life, and how it was spiraling out of control. I spent my days avoiding being alone and my nights avoiding my drunken husband who thought I had to deal with having our child on my own, like he wasn’t planning on helping at all. I felt so alone. I searched for my daddy’s truck and found it parked near the fields. It was almost quitting time. I longed for him to call me his little girl and hug me tight. I needed to talk to Mama. She’d know what to do about Jimmy Lee. Loneliness was strangling me, and I needed to find a lifeline before it was too late.

  The farmhands walked toward the barn in pairs. I watched Albert, wondering if Jackson was out of the service yet, and then felt guilty for wanting to know.

  The screened porch door creaked open behind me. “Daddy’s got your train ticket purchased and ready for your trip next month. Are you waitin’ to see him?”

  “No, actually. I wanted to see you.” We sat on the rocking chairs, side by side. “Mama, do you still see Albert’s mother?”

  She looked out at the field, then down at her lap. When she finally lifted her eyes toward me, she said, “Yes, and Alison, I know Jimmy Lee and Jake hurt that boy. No doubt they were egged on by Corky or some other troublemaker.”

  “You know about Jake?”

  She nodded. “Surely you noticed how little time he’s spendin’ at home these days. I had a long talk with him.” She pressed the wrinkles in her dress against her thighs. “Jake tries to please your daddy, but he battles himself, too. He’s a sensitive boy, always has been. He knows what he did was wrong, but inside,” she put her hand over her heart, “he’s all confused. And now he’s avoidin’ me for settin’ him straight.”

  “But what about Daddy?”

  “Your father doesn’t know, and Jake isn’t gonna run to your father. He’s…more sensitive than that.” She inhaled and blew it out slowly.

  “He’s just like Daddy.”

  “No, he isn’t. Jake’s nothin’
like him. He just doesn’t know any way to connect with your father other than followin’ in his shoes.”

  I didn’t understand. If she knew about Jake and Jimmy Lee, why did she allow me to marry him?

  “So, you just overlooked what Jimmy Lee did altogether?”

  “No,” she said. “I was very upset, and I had a talk with his mother. But, the truth of the matter is, that here, in this town, things aren’t gonna change anytime soon, and in life, we must pick our battles.”

  I got up and paced the front porch. “But you let me marry him, so what you really mean is turn our backs on what’s happenin’, right?”

  Mama stood behind me, her hand on the small of my back. “No, I mean do what we can, but not ruin our families in the process. You love Jimmy Lee, who am I to ruin that? We can’t change how people like your father and Jimmy Lee feel about equal rights. We can’t change how Jimmy Lee was brought up, but we can stop the cycle. We can make changes in the next generation and be kind on the other end of things.”

  I turned toward Mama, my eyes wet. “I am the next generation.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “But what if that’s not enough? I can’t look past it. I hate my husband more every time I see him.” My hands flew to my mouth, covering it before anymore could slip out, and hidin’ the shame I felt for having admitted my secret.

  Mama reached out and took my hand in hers. “Alison Jean, you don’t mean that.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek, falling onto my blouse as I nodded my head. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I do.”

  “You must learn to deal with that hatred. Think of what he provides for you, what made you fall in love with him in the first place.”