Prayers and Lies

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  I didn’t hear Mother or Daddy for a minute, only Tracy’s screaming. Then we heard the front door slam shut. Someone had left, but it certainly wasn’t my sister. She was still wailing and, from the sound of it, trashing the living room. Whenever she paused to catch her breath, I could hear Mother’s crooning voice trying to calm her.

  After what seemed like an hour but was probably just a few minutes, the front door opened again and we heard Daddy’s voice. “Now, Tracy, just calm down for a minute. Dr. Statton’s here, honey. Dr. Statton is here, and he’s got something that’ll help you calm down.”

  “Nooooo!” she screamed louder than before. From the crashing, I guessed she was trying to rise from the floor, without much success.

  “Get her arm, Helen.” Daddy’s voice sounded grim. “Now just calm down for a minute. Nobody’s going to hurt you. It’s Dr. Stat-ton, Tracy. That’s all.”

  After a few more minutes of screaming and thrashing about, Tracy suddenly went quiet. Reana Mae and I were halfway down the steps by then, sitting fearfully, holding hands.

  “There you go, now.” Dr. Statton’s soft, soothing voice drifted up the stairs. “That’s all right. You’re all right. Helen, why don’t you get her bed ready? She’ll sleep for a while now. Okay, Jimmy, let’s pick her up and carry her to her room. Ready? One, two, three.”

  We heard them grunt, then shuffle toward the basement. The house was still.

  “Jesus Christ!” Reana Mae whispered, squeezing my hand. “She’s gone crazy as a loon.”

  We heard Daddy’s heavy footsteps, followed by Dr. Statton’s.

  “Thank you, John,” Daddy was saying. “We didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You did the right thing, Jimmy,” Dr. Statton replied. “Best thing in the world for her is to sleep it off.”

  We heard the front door close behind the doctor, our neighbor across the street. Dr. Statton was actually an allergist, but he went to our church, and he and Daddy were on the same bowling team.

  After a few minutes, we heard Mother come back up the stairs. Then we heard the swishing of a broom.

  “Let’s go help,” Reana said, pulling me up by the hand.

  We padded down to the living room. It looked like a tornado had been through. Chairs lay overturned, a lamp had smashed on the floor. Mother and Daddy’s wedding picture had fallen from the wall, and a whole shelf of Mother’s beautiful little glass figures had been overturned.

  Mother didn’t even look up as we began righting furniture and picking up glass bits. Daddy was nowhere to be seen.

  It wasn’t long before the room looked right again. I kissed Mother’s cheek, and so did Reana Mae. Then we went back upstairs. Mother never spoke to us, just squeezed my hand and kissed us back.

  “What do you reckon they’ll do now?” Reana asked.

  We were lying on our backs on my bed, staring at the sloping ceiling.

  “I don’t know,” I said miserably.

  “Maybe they’ll put her in one of them places, you know … like a hospital for crazy people.”

  I turned to stare at her.

  “Mother would never do that,” I said firmly.

  “You’re probably right. I bet they won’t let her see Mark no more.”

  “I’m not sure they can stop her,” I said flatly. “I guess Tracy’s gonna do what she wants, just like always.”

  “But even they got to see now, don’t they? Even Uncle Jimmy’s got to see that she’s crazy.”

  I shook my head. I just didn’t know. There were so many things I didn’t know, didn’t understand. Why was Tracy so mean? How could she do the things she did? How on earth could she cause so much pain for Mother? I thought about Mother’s face, pinched and ashen, as she sat on the front steps, waiting for Daddy to bring Tracy home. My heart felt like it would break into pieces as I thought about what Mother must be going through.

  I knew I should probably say a prayer for Mother. And for Tracy, too. But I couldn’t bring myself to pray. What good did it do, after all? All those years I’d prayed for Tracy, and she just seemed to get meaner all the time. What kind of a God was he that he let my mother be so hurt? No, I didn’t pray. I just lay in silence for a long time.

  Finally, Reana Mae rolled onto her side, propped her head on her hand, and grinned.

  “So,” she said, poking at my stomach. “Tell me about the kiss.”

  26

  A Changing Household

  The next morning, I rose early and slipped quietly downstairs to the kitchen. Mother was already there, drinking coffee. She smiled at me wanly, gesturing toward the coffeepot.

  “It’s strong this morning,” she said as I filled my cup. “I thought your father needed it, after last night.”

  I poured milk into my half-full cup, then spooned in sugar. “Where is Daddy?”

  “He’s taking a walk.”

  I sat down beside her, watching her carefully.

  “Your daddy needs some time to think. We’ve got to make some decisions, and he just needs some time to think.”

  I nodded, as if I understood. What kinds of decisions? She didn’t say.

  Daddy didn’t come home until after Reana Mae and I had left for Cindy’s house. Tracy was still in bed when we left. I didn’t want to be there when she got up. We spent the afternoon listening to records, painting our fingernails, and rehashing the events of the night before. Cindy had already heard most of it from Lori Bate-man, but she wanted to hear it all again from me.

  “Lori said everyone was talking about it after you left. They all felt real bad for you. Even Tracy’s friends said she was nuts.”

  “She is, for certain.” Reana Mae nodded. “She’s gettin’ loonier and loonier. I reckon now everybody knows.”

  “Poor Mother.” I sighed unhappily. “She must just be dying.”

  I knew Mother was hurting. And that hurt me. But some part of me inside was strangely relieved. Everyone knew now. It wasn’t a family secret anymore. I didn’t have to pretend at school and at church that everything was fine. I was sorry for Mother, and for Daddy, too. But it was liberating, somehow, not to have to pretend anymore.

  Tracy was crazy. And everyone knew it.

  “Yeah,” Reana agreed. “I guess Aunt Helen is plain miserable.”

  “I bet your dad blames it all on Mark,” Cindy said.

  I looked up at her, startled. She blushed.

  “Come on, Bethany,” she said quickly. “You know he never blames anything on Tracy.”

  Reana Mae was nodding. “That’s the truth,” she said. “Sure as sugar.”

  They were right, of course. If there was any way to blame Tracy’s behavior on someone else, my father usually found it. In his eyes, Tracy could do no wrong.

  Or maybe … maybe it wasn’t that at all. I paused to consider something new. Maybe Daddy understood more than we knew about Tracy. Maybe he was so protective of her because he knew deep down that something was wrong with her. I let the thought roll around my head a bit.

  “Well,” I said finally, “he’ll probably blame the liquor on Mark. But he can’t blame Mark for the way she acted when she got home.”

  “Naw,” Reana agreed. “He’ll blame that on the liquor.”

  I shrugged. “Well, he might try. But Mother knows. She’s known all along.”

  Of that, I was certain. I’d watched Mother watching Tracy for years. I’d seen the fear in her eyes as Tracy’s tantrums grew more frequent and more violent.

  “Poor Aunt Helen,” Reana said, shaking her head.

  We sat in silence for a while, brushing coral polish on our nails and blowing them dry.

  “You didn’t tell Cindy about the best part yet,” Reana Mae said suddenly.

  “What’s that?” Cindy asked, looking up at me.

  I felt my cheeks getting hot. Before I could answer, Reana Mae rose, laughing.

  “She got herself kissed, good and proper!”

  Cindy gaped. “Really?”

  “Yes, she did,�
� Reana continued. “Tell her about it, Bethany.”

  But she didn’t give me a chance to tell, as she blurted out, “After Tracy puked, they went out to his car, you see, and then he kissed her on the mouth. Even French-kissed her, didn’t he, Bethany?”

  I nodded, my cheeks burning now.

  “God, Bethany,” Cindy stared at me, wide-eyed. “Did you like it?”

  “Oh yeah, she liked it!” Reana Mae laughed again. “She came home lookin’ like she might just float off to Heaven. She liked it, all right.”

  “And he used his tongue?”

  Reana laughed again. I could only nod.

  “What’s it like?” Cindy asked, looking from Reana to me.

  “It’s … nice,” I said, smiling now. “It’s not gross at all, not like you’d think.”

  “Yeah.” Reana Mae sighed. “It’s not like you’d think at all. Mostly it’s … well, it’s hard to explain. But it’s the best thing ever.”

  Cindy and I watched her silently. She’d never spoken to Cindy about Caleb at all. And while she’d often told me how much she loved and missed him, she’d never talked to me about kissing him or … anything else.

  Reana Mae was staring out the window now, her hand poised in midair, holding the nail polish brush. She smiled, closing her eyes.

  “When you’re in love and someone loves you back … it’s like you want him to kiss you like that. You want his tongue in your mouth. You want to just swallow him up so he’s part of you and you can keep him with you always.”

  A drop of coral polish plopped onto her bare leg. She straightened herself abruptly, swiped at the spilled polish, and began fanning her hand, blowing on the nails intently. Her eyes were bright. I realized, probably for the first time really, how much she did love Caleb. How much she missed him.

  “Wow,” Cindy breathed. “Is that what it was like for you, Bethany?”

  “I don’t know.” I laughed uncomfortably. “I mean, I don’t think Brian loves me or anything. But I liked it.”

  “And he’s gonna call her again.” Reana Mae smiled at me brightly. “So I guess he liked it, too.”

  We stayed at Cindy’s until her grandmother shooed us home for dinner. I didn’t want to be at home, and I guessed Reana didn’t either.

  “Do you really think they’d put her in one of those hospitals?” I had read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest the previous summer. I couldn’t imagine Tracy in a place like that.

  “Naw.” Reana shook her head. “I figure you’re right about that. Aunt Helen wouldn’t ever do that.”

  She kicked at a pile of leaves someone had raked, sending up a shower of red and gold.

  “She’ll get grounded, probably,” she said. “I bet Uncle Jimmy grounds her for the rest of the school year, and by next weekend she’ll have him convinced it wasn’t her fault and he’ll forget about it.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Tracy had always managed to escape serious punishment. Mother and Daddy made allowances for her. In our whole family life, I don’t believe Nancy, Melinda, and I combined gave them so much to worry over as Tracy did.

  I knew Mother worried a lot over Reana Mae, but since she’d moved in with us, even Reana hadn’t given them too much to worry over. She’d had occasional run-ins with Jenny Spangler and her crew. One time she got sent home for two days after she punched Chuck Murphy in the gut for calling Cindy fat. But Reana Mae always said she was sorry, and she always was sorry for upsetting Mother, if not for her actions. And in the last year, she’d been better at school. Mother had yet to be called to the high school because of Reana Mae.

  We turned the corner to find Daddy shoving a suitcase into the back of the station wagon.

  “Whoa,” Reana Mae exhaled. “They’re taking her away.”

  I broke into a run, Reana just behind me.

  Daddy slammed the tailgate and walked quickly toward the house. “Helen,” he called as he opened the front door, “where’s my sunglasses?”

  We followed him inside. A notebook lay open on the coffee table. Daddy’s briefcase was on the couch.

  “Flight 254, nonstop to Miami,” Reana read aloud.

  “Uncle Jimmy is going to Florida.” Mother walked into the room, holding Daddy’s sunglasses.

  Reana Mae glanced at me quickly. Were they sending Tracy to Florida?

  “Your Aunt DJ had a stroke last night,” Mother said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “She’s in the hospital. It’s very serious.”

  “Aunt DJ?” Surely Mother meant my grandmother. Why, Aunt DJ was just a year older than Daddy. She was too young to have a stroke.

  “Your father is going down to see what he can do,” she continued. “And to take care of your grandmother.”

  Oh, Lord, I thought. If Aunt DJ dies, who’ll take care of Grandmother Araminta?

  As if reading my mind, Mother sighed. “I suppose if DarlaJean can’t take care of her, we’ll have to bring your grandmother here.”

  Not long after, Mother and Daddy left for the airport. Only then did I think of Tracy. She wasn’t upstairs. Was she still asleep?

  Reana Mae tiptoed down the stairs to the basement and leaned her ear close to Tracy’s bedroom door. Then she tiptoed back up.

  “She’s still sleepin’, all right,” she said. “Snorin’, too.”

  She shook her head. “Even Mama didn’t sleep till suppertime.”

  “Should we start dinner?”

  A big pan of water sat on the stove. On the cutting board lay a dozen red tomatoes. Beside them was a bowl of chopped onions and peppers. “Looks like Mother was making spaghetti.”

  We chopped tomatoes and minced garlic, turned the heat on under the water, and sautéed the vegetables while I told Reana about DarlaJean and my Grandmother Araminta. By the time the station wagon crunched into the driveway, dinner was ready. Reana Mae set the table while I drained the pasta. Mother’s face brightened when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Thank you, girls.” She kissed each of us. “That’s a big help.”

  “Should we get Tracy up?” I asked, watching Mother stir, then taste the spaghetti sauce.

  “I think we’ll just let her sleep,” she said, sprinkling basil into the sauce.

  So we sat down to supper, just the three of us.

  “How long is Daddy gonna be in Florida?” I asked, buttering a saltine and dipping it in the sauce on my plate.

  “I don’t know, honey. I guess until DarlaJean gets out of the hospital.”

  “But what if …?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated. “We won’t know anything till Daddy gets down there.”

  Right then we heard a door creak open in the basement. A few minutes later, Tracy appeared, her face pale, her hair matted. She still wore her nightgown.

  “Spaghetti for breakfast?” she asked, staring blankly at us.

  “It’s supper,” Mother said quietly. “Sit down now and get some food in your tummy. You’ll feel better.”

  So Tracy sat and ate spaghetti with butter and Parmesan cheese instead of sauce, like she always did. No one spoke for a while. I didn’t look up from my plate, except to steal a glance at Reana Mae now and then. She was watching Tracy closely, like she might pounce on her at any minute.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Tracy finally asked, after her second plate of noodles.

  So Mother told her about DarlaJean. Tracy sat quietly for a moment, then asked, “Will Grandmother come to live with us?”

  “Maybe, I just don’t know,” Mother said.

  “She’d better take Melinda’s room,” Tracy said firmly. “So she doesn’t have to use the stairs.”

  “Let’s not worry about that yet,” Mother said.

  Tracy pushed her chair from the table. “I gotta call Lynette,” she said.

  “Tracy, wait. I need to talk to you.” Mother’s voice was firm and soft. “Bethany, will you and Reana Mae clean up here?”

  I nodded, even though we had cooked and it didn’t seem fair t
hat we had to wash the dishes, too.

  Mother and Tracy walked down the hall toward Mother’s room. We listened intently while we washed and dried the plates and pans, but we couldn’t hear a word spoken. Finally, as I was putting away the last of the silverware, Tracy came back through the kitchen. She glared at us balefully, then disappeared down the stairs to her room again.

  “Grounded,” Reana said.

  I nodded, hanging the dish towel to dry. “How long do you think?”

  “Not as long as she deserves, that’s for damn certain,” Reana Mae said grimly as she switched off the light in the room. “Not nearly as long as she deserves.”

  Daddy called the next morning while we were dressing for church. I could hear Mother’s voice rise and fall, then the clicking of her high heels in the hallway.

  Tracy walked half a block behind us on the way to church, sulking and staring at Mother’s back.

  “What did Daddy say?” I asked.

  “DarlaJean is very sick,” Mother answered. “They’re afraid she’s not going to make it.”

  “How’s Grandmother?” Tracy’s voice came from just behind me now.

  “She’s very upset,” Mother said. “She’s so sick herself. This is very upsetting for her.”

  I spent Sunday morning at church, praying hard for Aunt DJ.

  Mother sat quietly beside me. I wondered if she was praying for DarlaJean, too. Her eyes were closed, her head bent, her lips moving slightly. Mother always looked like that in church. Calm and serene, her back straight, her dark curls wound neatly, tightly in place. Church was her solace and her refuge. I’d read a story once about a woman who became a nun. We weren’t Catholic, but I could see my mother as a nun, praying all day on a string of beads, kneeling on those little benches fastened to the pews in church. She’d have been good at that.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, willing myself to at least look like I was praying. It was warm in the sanctuary. My sweater itched the back of my neck. The lady in front of us wore too much perfume. The heavy aroma tickled at my nose. I opened one eye to look at my sister beside me. Her angelic face fairly glowed, surrounded by her soft auburn tresses. Her long lashes fluttered now and then over her closed eyes. Her hands lay loosely in her lap. She didn’t move at all. She might have been a statue—ANGEL AT PRAYER, the sign below her would read. And she looked like that. She really did. No one watching her in church could have imagined that just two nights before, she had been swearing at our parents, smashing lamps, and vomiting on her homecoming dress.