This I Know

by Eldonna Edwards

  I open my eyes. Is that where Lyle used to live? Was the woman his wife? He’s never told me about her. We’ve talked so much about me, but he rarely tells about himself. There’s so much more I want to know. If he ever comes back I’ll ask him about her. I’ll ask him about the boat and that place and why on earth he would leave it.

  * * *

  Daddy lets us stay up late to watch him on the news, but they show an interview with Mr. Lewis instead. Their Plymouth is upside down on top of their house. He says he hated the car anyway because it was a lemon. And then he burped right on TV in front of the whole world. I guess cars resting on roofs are more exciting than grateful preachers.

  17

  Mama’s doctors sent her to Woodlands Rest Home for the last half of July. She missed this year’s baptism service, but so did I. I pretended to be sick so I wouldn’t have to watch other people get baptized when it was supposed to be my turn. Daddy brought Mama back home two days ago. She doesn’t seem very rested if you ask me. She still naps a lot and when she is up and around she bumps into the walls. Joy won’t let Mama hold Marilyn unless she’s sitting down. Mama reminds me of a Dilly Bar from the Dairy Queen, like there’s only a thin shell covering what’s melting inside.

  With Mama sleeping so much we’re mostly on our own. Hope goes to summer school during the week. I don’t like to swim, so Joy and Chastity usually take Marilyn to the beach during the day. I once slipped through the middle of an inner tube and swallowed a lot of water. I thought I was drowning for sure until I stood up and everyone laughed because the water was only up to my armpits.

  I spend a lot of time riding around on the ugly bike Daddy got at the Salvation Army for five dollars. After forgetting about his promise to bring us to the roller rink for my birthday he came home with the bike a couple weeks later. He bragged that they were asking ten dollars, but he talked them into a clergy discount. I painted it black with Rust-Oleum because I thought it would be cool. It turned out uglier than it started. I don’t even care. The feel of the wind in my face after I pump up the hills, then race down the other side more than makes up for its looks.

  I’m practicing popping wheelies in the church parking lot when I spy Billy Wolf out of the corner of my eye. Before I can get away he pulls into the lot and starts following me around in his red car. He’s sixteen but he still picks on kids half his age. He knows I’m scared of him. Who wouldn’t be? One look from those half-closed snaky eyes of his gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve heard rumors that maybe he’s the one who molested that girl last year. They still haven’t found the culprit.

  “Hey, weirdo,” he says out the window. “Where’d ya get such an ugly bike?”

  When I don’t answer he pulls up right next to me and chuckles. He cups one hand over his mouth and spits into it, grinning. “Here’s a special kiss,” he says. Billy sticks his arm out the window and slaps the side of my face, smearing my cheek and knocking me off balance. My front wheel hits the curb and I fly forward over the bike, sliding along the ground until my shirt is up to my neck. I hear him laughing as he circles the lot one more time before peeling out, throwing a shower of dirt in my direction.

  I sit up and peer inside my shirt to inspect the damage. My right nipple is peeled partly away from my skin, bits of gravel in its former place. I try pushing it back onto my chest, which is striped with bloody scratches, but it just hangs there. The sight of it makes me dizzy. When my head finally clears I grab hold of the handlebars and run alongside my crooked bike, hoping Billy doesn’t ambush me again on the way home.

  Standing in the kitchen, I lift my shirt to show Daddy the damage. He pulls in a breath, then turns away.

  “Joy should be home soon. She’d be better at that.” He keeps his wide back to me.

  “But, Daddy, look. It’s coming off! I don’t want Joy to fix it, I want Mama.”

  His shoulders flinch at the mention of her name. “You know your mama can’t do it, Grace.” He grabs a pile of mail off the counter and busies himself opening an envelope with a butter knife that has strawberry jelly on it.

  I run to the bathroom, afraid to put my shirt down where it will stick to the blood again. “Fine! I’ll do it myself.”

  Normally I’d get smacked for talking to him with disrespect, but he doesn’t say a word. I close the door and rummage through the medicine chest to find the Mercurochrome and Band-Aids. I don’t make a sound when dabbing the scratches with a soaked cotton ball, even though it hurts like Hades. But I let out a scream when I try to pick a piece of gravel out of my chest.

  Daddy knocks on the bathroom door. “Uh, you okay in there?”

  I’m trying my best not to cry, but a worm of tear tracks makes a path through the dirt on my face.

  Another light tap. “Grace?”

  I feel his hand on the outside of the door before it opens. He takes a step inside, looks at his shoes. “You want me to fetch your sister from the beach?”

  “No!” I clutch my shirt in front of me, holding it away from my skin. He raises his gaze to meet mine, then slowly lets his eyes fall to my battered chest. I drop my arms at my sides, then collapse on the edge of the bathtub, sobbing.

  He moves toward me, a wave of Old Spice one step ahead of him. “Okay, now. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  One by one, he plucks sharp stones with tweezers held between his fat finger and thumb. He accidentally pokes me with the sharp end of the tiny tongs and I half expect my nose to light up and a buzzer to sound.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  Once the gravel is out, he dabs my nipple with iodine and tapes it back into place with a square piece of gauze and white tape. I flinch just a tiny bit, but keep quiet.

  “There,” he says, handing me my shirt. “Good as new.”

  Even though he’s just seen my girl parts up close, I turn away to put my top back on. When I turn around again, he’s gone.

  * * *

  I wanted Daddy to call Mrs. Wolf and tell her what a bully her son is, but he refused. He says he doesn’t want to make any trouble. What about my trouble? I think, I but don’t say it out loud.

  I’ve decided to do it myself. I call Mrs. Wolf and tell her what happened.

  “My Billy would never do a thing like that,” she says.

  I inform her that yes, he certainly would—and did—but she just poo-poos me as if the whole idea is ridiculous. Some people are totally blind to their kids. Joy told me Billy was adopted and that’s why he’s so mean. I have a pretty good idea why his real parents gave him away.

  I slam down the phone and march into the living room, where my sisters are watching I Love Lucy.

  “I wish Billy Wolf would die!”

  “Get in line,” Joy says, without turning away from the TV.

  * * *

  After supper I go to work on a jigsaw puzzle I’ve been putting together for a month. It’s a picture of a herd of buffalo in a snowstorm. With all that white, it’s the hardest one I’ve ever tried to finish. I’ve only snapped three new pieces into place when Joy races into my bedroom and knocks half the sky off the card table. She’s all out of breath.

  “Joy! Look what you did!”

  She sits on my bed. “Joey Wolf got hit by a car.”

  My mouth drops a mile. “What happened?”

  “He didn’t look before riding his bike out of their driveway. A car ran him over.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” My voice is shaking.

  “He’s dead, Grace.”

  “Dead? Are you sure it wasn’t his brother Billy?”

  “It was Joey, all right. I saw Billy on my way home.”

  My heart feels like it just folded in half.

  “Get out of my room!” I scream.

  “What’s the matter with you? It’s not like you and Joey were best friends or anything. Sheesh.”

  “Get out!”

  Joy whirls around and I slam the door behind her. Kneeling beside my bed, I lace my fingers together and pray harder than I’ve ever pra
yed in my life.

  Dear God. I’m so sorry for wishing Billy was dead. I’ll give you anything I have in trade for my horrible thoughts. Please forgive me.

  I’m still hiding in my room three hours later when Daddy hollers up the stairs for us all to go to bed.

  * * *

  The next day during Vacation Bible School we’re making plaques shaped like open Bibles with John 3:16 written on them. Every August we try to scoop up as many kids in the county as possible and expose them to Jesus. I think most of the parents send their kids to get rid of them for a while because they’re bored and sick of each other. I’m looking for the brown paint when one of the girls from the trailer park whispers, “I heard he bit his tongue off when he got hit and the ambulance guy just picked it up off the road and stuffed it back in Joey’s mouth.” She pours plaster of Paris into her mold while the rest of the kids all suck on their tongues, checking to make sure they’re attached.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up. Leaving my project on the table, I push through the heavy front doors of the church and head toward home. A loud car roars up behind me as soon as I cross the street. I turn just in time to see Billy Wolf’s mean face in the window when he whizzes by in his red Chevelle. He swerves toward the shoulder of the road as he passes our house, nearly losing control of his car before speeding up the hill out of sight.

  When I reach our sidewalk I find Pippy’s flattened body lying in a puddle of blood and fur in front of our house. Squatting, I stroke her limp body, still so warm. Tears burn my eyes. I carry her to the meadow behind our barn and dig a hole. I lower Pippy’s body into the ground, crying so hard I can’t stop hiccupping. I fall asleep in the grass until Chastity’s voice wakes me, calling for Pippy from the back door of the house. I keep quiet. This secret is between God and me.

  18

  The Coopmans own most of the orchards in Cherry Hill. Their fruit stands line the road coming both ways into town with signs that lead up to them. Each sign has only one word on it, I guess for slow readers or fast drivers. Fresh. Cherries. Just. Ahead. Best. Prices. Sweet. Sour. Red. Black. Yum! First thing after breakfast this morning I head into town with fifty cents Daddy gave me to buy a quart. My bike is a little crooked thanks to Billy Wolf. Ralph at the service station did a pretty good job of fixing the frame. The wheels are still a bit bent, but it gets me places faster than my two feet. I ride up to the white-painted cherry stand near the lake.

  Mrs. Coopman is not typical of rich folks. She doesn’t get her hair done at the Bee Bonnet like most of the other ladies. Instead, she wears her graying hair tucked up under a big straw hat with strands falling out around her face. I figure it must be near to her elbows, which is pretty long for someone in her sixties. She’s beautiful for her age, with high cheekbones and eyes that smile before her mouth does.

  Mrs. Coopman watches as I run my hands over the piles of ruby-red cherries. I want to pick the container with the most fruit because I plan to eat a few on the way back. The more I start out with the less likely Daddy will notice a few missing.

  “Would you like to taste one first?” She winks at me from under her huge brim.

  “Sure.”

  Mrs. Coopman hands me a few black cherries, plump as all get-out and dark as blood. I roll one around in my mouth, cool and slippery, before biting into it. The flesh is just-right chewy and sweet as candy, still warm from the sun.

  “Good, huh?” she says.

  I nod, not wanting to talk with a pit in my mouth and not wanting to swallow it either.

  “I’ll fill you up a fresh quart.”

  She turns her back to me while I suck the last bit of fruit off the pit. I figure on spitting it out once I leave since it wouldn’t be ladylike to do here. But I must’ve eaten too fast because I get the hiccups and I’m worried I might choke on the pit. Sweat starts to drizzle under my arms as I try to banish thoughts of my grisly death by cherry pit from my mind. Just as Mrs. Coopman turns back around I spit the pit, full force, and watch in horror as it lands on top of her wrist. I gasp, mortified by my cloddish act.

  Mrs. Coopman looks down at the pit stuck to her arm and smiles. “You should enter the annual Pit-Spit in this year’s Cherry Festival, Grace. I believe you might have a shot at winning.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I now think I might die of embarrassment instead of choking.

  Mrs. Coopman flicks it off her arm. “Don’t worry about it.” She pops a cherry into her mouth. In one slick motion she maneuvers the pit to the front of her lips and floof, lets it fly. It pings off the handlebar of my bike. “Your aim is good,” she says. “You just need a little work on distance.”

  I laugh my head off. Mrs. Coopman is nothing like most of the ladies in this town, even the not-so-rich ones. She dumps my quart of cherries into a paper sack and I hand her two quarters.

  “Say, Grace,” she says. “You’re twelve now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Twelve-and-a-half.” I wipe my sweaty hands on Joy’s hand-me-down shorts.

  “Would you be interested in working for us? We could use a few extra hands.”

  It’s the best thing that could have happened today, save for Mama snapping out of her low-down mood.

  “You bet I would!”

  She waves at a couple of tourists approaching the stand, then turns back toward me. “You’ll need permission from your father.”

  “No problem. When can I start?”

  “Well, you can come on Monday if you like. We begin at seven a.m. in the east orchard behind the high school. Can you meet us on the truck up at the house around a quarter ’til?”

  “Sure I can.”

  “Bring a sack lunch and a note from the reverend.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  I fold the top of the bag over the handlebars, then pedal my ugly bike home as fast as I can, forgetting all about the cherries I’d planned to stop and eat on the way. The screen door bangs behind me as I race through it.

  “Daddy?”

  No answer.

  “He’s still at work,” Chastity answers from in front of the TV.

  “Hey, you’re not allowed to watch soap operas, Chas.”

  I set the bag of cherries on the coffee table and watch as a beautiful nurse in a short, white uniform kisses a man in his hospital bed. She doesn’t look anything like the nurses I’ve ever seen in real life. Chastity turns her head toward me, the rest of her body flat out on the floor in front of the screen with her chin in her hands. She doesn’t see very well, but she won’t tell anyone because she thinks she’ll look ugly in glasses. Chastity would look beautiful in a garbage bag and diving flippers.

  “Who’s gonna tell?”

  “Well, at least back up a little. You’re going to hurt your eyes.”

  “Too late,” she says, and turns back to the screen just as the nurse pulls the curtain around her patient’s bed and the romantic music starts up.

  * * *

  Across town, the six o’clock whistle blows at the fruit processing plant, sending half the town home for supper. I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches with applesauce and tomato soup, one of Daddy’s favorite meals. He walks into the kitchen with a day’s growth of whiskers and saggy eye bags but brightens when he sees what I’m cooking. I pull out the end chair, his spot, and holler for everyone to come to supper. Mama doesn’t come to the table, but I set aside an extra serving for her and one for Lyle just in case he’s come back.

  The first two sandwiches go to Daddy, along with a scoop of applesauce that I’ve sprinkled with cinnamon to make it fancier. When I turn back to the stove, smoke is rising from the griddle. I carry the sandwiches to the sink and scrape them off as fast as I can. I shovel one burnt-side down onto Chastity’s plate just as she comes through the door.

  “Let’s bow our heads and say Grace,” Daddy says.

  My sisters point at me and mouth my name, grinning. They used to do it out loud, but it made Daddy mad, so now they just pretend to say it. It’s getting
old.

  “Bless this food to our bodies that we may use it to serve the Lord Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.” We say it all together, though Joy’s voice is barely above a whisper. She doesn’t like to pray out loud.

  We’re almost finished eating by the time I get up my nerve.

  “Daddy, would it be okay if I picked cherries for the Coopmans?”

  He wipes his mouth with a square of paper towel. I know what he’s thinking. They’re Catholics.

  “Daddy?”

  He takes a swig of milk. “Let me finish in peace while I think about it.”

  Joy practically swallows her sandwich in one gulp. “I’ve gotta babysit for the Pooles,” she says, pushing away from the table. Joy has recently cut her blond hair short, like Twiggy. It looks cute on her, in a boyish way. As she passes the table she stops and kisses Daddy on the cheek. “I’m taking Marilyn with me,” she says.

  She tosses her paper plate into the garbage and places her glass in the sink. He watches her leave, then goes back to chewing. Hope pulls a hair out of her applesauce, studies it, then holds it up to her head. It’s the same length as hers, just past her shoulders. She hides it in her paper napkin and goes on eating quietly.

  “What do they pay you?” Daddy finally asks.

  “Mrs. Coopman said we get fifty cents a bucket.”

  “No wonder they can afford a new truck every year. They charge us fifty cents for a measly quart.”

  “It would help with school clothes, Daddy. I could buy some of my own.”

  Chastity makes a whining sound from her side of the table. “Hey, my grilled cheese is burnt!” She turns her sandwich over and dangles it over her paper plate like a dead fish.

  “It is not, Chas,” I say. I lean closer to her and whisper, “Wanna be a patient at General Hospital?” She shuts up after that.

  Daddy takes a bite out of his second sandwich and chews even slower than usual. He finally swallows. “You can work for them on three conditions.”

  I feel my pulse pump an extra beat.