I take a step closer. “Is this heaven?”
Mama tilts her head and looks at me in a way that loves me out loud. I smile back at her.
“Look around, Grace. What do you think?”
I take a moment to inspect her world. Everything is beautiful, perfect.
“Well, I don’t see any mansions or streets of gold and we seem to be the only two people here, so I guess this isn’t heaven. That means you can come back, right?”
Mama doesn’t say anything. She closes her eyes and sings softly. The song is familiar. It’s from my Carpenters album.
Mama opens her eyes and looks right at me as she sings. Is she talking about the day I was born or how the angels helped create the world she now lives in? She stops singing.
“Mama?”
“Shhhh!” she says. “They’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” She’s fading out right in front of me along with her voice. “Mama? Hey, Mama!”
Joy’s hand on my arm brings me back to the chair. I open my eyes to find Mama back in her hospital room. No porch, no swing, just the bed and all the noisy machines.
Joy glares at me. “Who were you talking to, Grace?”
“I was talking to Mama.”
She sneers at me. “You’re crazy, you know that? Just plain crazy.”
Hot tears spill onto my cheeks. “But I saw her! She’s in the most beautiful place. And she’s happy again.”
“Like I said. You’re crazy.” She squints at me as if by looking close enough she’ll find a way to prove it. “I’m going to go find Daddy. I think we should go now.”
Hope continues praying with one eye open, peering at me. “And help Grace to stop dancing with the devil and having visions and lying to people and—”
“Shut up, Hope,” I say. “Just shut up.”
“And saying shut up and . . .”
I can’t take it in here anymore. The room feels hot and stuffy and sickening. I kiss Mama softly on her cracked lips. There’s the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.
“Bye, Mama,” I whisper. “I’ll come back and see you again.”
Maybe she can’t answer, but I know she heard me.
Joy drives us home with Daddy in the front seat going on about my wild imagination. No matter what he says I know Mama saw me, just like I did her. Maybe he’s upset at the idea of me knowing Mama in a way he never will. What bothers me more than Daddy’s yelling is wondering whether she’ll ever come back after being in such a perfect place. Where she doesn’t have to be Mama to five children in the way that uses you up until nothing’s left.
* * *
“I don’t get it. How can Mama be in between worlds?” I’m reclining on the lowest branch of the tree in our backyard, looking up through the leaves at the sky, which is the color of a robin’s egg. Ever since I got my period, Isaac and I can talk in other places besides a closetful of Chastity’s stinky shoes.
The same way I can, Grace. The Universe is much more navigable than people think. Once a person finds the door it’s very tempting to cross over.
“Can I cross over?”
You already have. You saw her, spoke with her. There are very few barriers for someone like you.
“Then, can I . . .”
You live in a physical world for now. Be patient.
“But I want to come visit you, Isaac.”
You do visit with me.
“But I can’t see you!”
You don’t need to, Grace. There’s nothing to see. I know it’s hard to understand, but I’m not a human being anymore. I’m just . . . being. I took human form just as you have and now I’m—
“Dead. You’re dead.”
I hate it when I cry, but my eyes begin to burn and blur with tears. I can’t stop myself.
Grace . . .
His voice is a comfort and a sharp pain at the same time. I turn and rest my face against the rough branch, letting my legs dangle like a lazy sloth. The day is perfectly still, but in the next moment the leaves above me rustle with an invisible wind. All at once it feels like I’m underwater. Warm water. I hold perfectly still.
“Isaac? Is that you, Isaac?”
A rush of love both fills and surrounds me as Isaac passes through me. The word that comes to my mind is rapture, like Daddy talks about in Revelations. I feel engulfed in a wave of tenderness. Or like I am the wave, awash in love beyond what I’ve ever experienced, even from Mama. After a moment the gust settles and he’s gone. I’m left weeping like a newly crowned beauty queen. I think I finally understand what they mean by a good cry.
* * *
Lola agreed to come to church with me, but only for a Sunday evening service because they’re the shortest. And also because I promised to help write her English paper in trade. A thunderstorm has been brewing all day and the clouds over our house keep getting darker and darker. About the time Lola’s parents drop her off on their way to a folk concert in Blue Rapids, the sky opens up and dumps all that rain on our heads. We race across the street to the church. Lola and I shake off the water in the foyer before finding a spot in the pew behind Edna Warber. Edna is the church treasurer. She’s never been married, what people call an old maid. I have a feeling that her being such a big woman might have something to do with it.
Lola and I look like a couple of drowned rats as we settle in. I glance over at the empty pastor’s family pew and remember the last time Mama was here. She had to sit all by herself because Chastity pretended to be sick so she could watch The Wizard of Oz on TV. Joy stayed home to look after Chas, and I sat with my youth group that night. When I’d turned around during the service it looked like part of Mama was already off somewhere living another life. Sort of like she is now.
I once found some poetry in the basement that Mama had written in college, where she studied music before meeting Daddy. According to Aunt Arlene, Mama has always loved to write poems and songs and she was real popular in high school. Grandma sent her to Bible College hoping she’d meet a nice preacher, which is exactly what happened. Mama dropped her dreams of being a famous gospel singer and songwriter to become a pastor’s wife instead. At least she got to sing in our church. People are deeply moved by Mama’s singing. The last time she sang, it was a song called “Brother Ira” about an old man who gets kicked out of the choir because he sings off-key. Even Joy sniffled a little when Mama sang that one.
After Mama came back from staying at the rest home the first time, she wouldn’t sing in church anymore, not even when people begged her. She claimed the medication made her throat dry. I think those pills made her forget the words to the songs and she was too stubborn to use a crib sheet. Mama has always prided herself on being a professional even though she dropped out of college. Now we have to listen to people like Edna Warber, who can’t carry a tune in a bucket.
Lola nudges me and giggles as Edna makes her way back to the pew following a painful rendition of “How Great Thou Art.” Her nylons scritch together with each step as she walks down the aisle. Daddy starts in on his evening sermon. Lightning flashes outside the window, lighting up the stained-glass designs. Lola and I use our fingers to secretly count the seconds between the lightning and thunder to determine how close the eye of the storm is. They say it takes five seconds for the sound of thunder to travel one mile. I never get up to more than one-thousand-ten before the thunder hits, so we’re about to get hit with the worst of it any minute.
Lola draws a funny picture of Edna on the back of the church bulletin. I’m trying to stifle a giggle when all of a sudden a huge crackle of thunder breaks loose. It spooks Edna, who leaps out of the pew before crashing back down again. When she lands a creeeeeeeeeeek sounds from under her. The last thing we see before the electricity goes out is every single person in the same pew with Edna fly out of their seats because the wood split when Edna landed, pinching everyone’s behind as the splinter closed. Lola and I can’t stop laughing. Thank goodness there’s no light or I would be in big trouble for cutting up i
n church.
With the power out, Daddy dismisses the service early and the ushers lead everybody out with flashlights. When we get back to the house, Lola and I light candles in my room. Chastity is spending the night at one of her friend’s house so we have my room to ourselves. We sit on the floor near the window. Lola holds what looks like a yellow Fourth of July sparkler over the flame.
“What’s that?”
“Patchouli.”
“What’s patchouli?”
“It’s incense. I stole some from Catherine and John. They burn it all the time.”
“What for?”
“Promise you won’t tell?”
“Tell what?”
Lola leans forward over the candle, her face lit up like a ghost. “You have to promise first.”
“Okay. I won’t tell.”
“To cover up the smell of dope.” She whispers it so low I almost can’t hear her.
“You mean marijuana?”
“Yup.” She grins. “They get stoned with their friends almost every weekend.”
Lola is my idol. She acts as though it’s normal to burn incense sticks, wear a bearskin cape, and have a life-size sculpture of a camel in your front yard. I don’t even know anyone who drinks beer.
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll get arrested?”
“Nah, the cops around here are too stupid.”
“Cop,” I say. “We only have one.”
“Exactly.”
Lola pokes the burning end of the stick into her mouth. She holds it there for a few seconds before blowing out smoke in rings just like an old pro. It smells a little like sticky buns mixed with burnt tires. When she hands it to me I swirl it around like I do with sparklers before they light off the fireworks over Cherry Lake on the Fourth of July. Lola giggles. Her laugh sounds like blowing bubbles in milk. We open my bedroom window to let the smoke out so Daddy won’t smell it. I think about Mama lying in her hospital bed and wish she could know this kind of joy.
23
It’s my birthday. Of course it’s also Isaac’s birthday, but we don’t celebrate that. It’s always been hard for Mama when my birthday rolls around. At least she doesn’t have to suffer through it this time. As if Mama being gone isn’t bad enough, my day has already been ruined. Joy came into my room first thing this morning to tell me there’s an arrest warrant out for “that creepy hobo who lived in the old school bus.” They’re charging Lyle with assaulting Rosalie Cutler and molesting another girl. Maybe even for the disappearance of the blind Anderson girl.
Joy is a friend of Rosalie’s older sister Virginia, who was there when Rosalie came home after she was attacked. The way Virginia told it, it took their mama three hours of coaxing to get Rosalie to talk and that wasn’t until after she got her into the bathtub. What happened was Rosalie was late coming home from school last Friday. When she walked in the door her face was frozen like she’d seen a ghost. Her mama drew a bath to calm her, but Rosalie wouldn’t take her underpants off, not even to get into the tub. So her mama just let her get in with them on.
While Rosalie was soaking, her mama noticed a bruise on each of her daughter’s wrists and another one on her neck. As soon as her mama mentioned the marks on her body, Rosalie burst out crying. That’s when her mama spotted the blood on her underpants and asked Rosalie if she had her period. Rosalie shook her head no, at which point Mrs. Cutler got hysterical and Virginia came running into the bathroom.
“Did someone hurt you?” Mrs. Cutler asked, but Rosalie just cried. Then Mrs. Cutler said, “Rosalie, did that pervert hobo Lyle do this to you?” That’s when the room got real quiet, as Virginia told it. She says Rosalie got a faraway look; then she turned to her mama and nodded her head yes.
Rosalie refused to talk to the police, but they got the gist of the story from her mama. They had Rosalie checked by Dr. Ti-etsma, who said that Rosalie had been messed with down there. I feel real sorry for Rosalie, but I also hurt for Lyle. I know he wouldn’t harm her. Lyle couldn’t hurt anything or anyone, he’s that gentle. I don’t understand why she’d say such a horrible thing about him.
Rosalie is back in school today. She’s standing all by herself against the outside wall of the gymnasium. Some of the other girls invited her to sit with them at lunch, but Rosalie won’t have anything to do with anyone. When I start to walk toward her she gives me a look that says don’t come near me. Her brown eyes are as big as quarters backing up her plea, so I move away. When the bell rings, Rosalie is the last one to go inside.
Ronnie Savage sits directly in front of me in science class. He’s scratching his crew-cut head with his pen without realizing he’s using the wrong end, leaving a bunch of blue ink marks above his ear. I want to take the pen out of his hand and connect the dots. There’s a lot Ronnie doesn’t know and this is the least of them. I can tell by the way someone looks at me if they’re open to knowing what I know. Ronnie isn’t asking so it’s not right for me to tell him that his mama has cancer. The bracelet he gave her last year for Christmas will end up buried with her by the time next Christmas rolls around. That sounds gruesome and you’d think these visions would scare me when they come, but they don’t. The thoughts are just there, real matter-of-fact like, as if I’m seeing with eyes that don’t know my emotions.
I used to think the Knowing was a curse, a result of not being born the boy Mama and Daddy wanted. I’ve come to realize that this thing, this way of knowing things is much bigger than Mama and Daddy’s longing. And I’ve learned to be careful with it. I shouldn’t necessarily reveal what I know. But I still don’t understand why bad things happen to innocent people. I sometimes wonder what the point is in all these broken hearts. Rosalie may not be the prettiest girl, Ronnie’s not the smartest, and Lyle likes to drink a bit, but that doesn’t make them bad people. They don’t deserve to suffer like this. I’m supposed to trust in God’s plans, but sometimes I question them. I really do.
* * *
I spend the afternoon in the kitchen, baking myself a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting. I leave the cake on the kitchen table with fourteen candles in the shape of a heart, just in case anybody might have forgotten. I wish I could save a piece for Lyle. The thought of him caged in a cell makes me sick inside. A wanderer like him needs to be free. I hope they’re feeding him more than bread and water in that place. He’s used to pretty good handouts.
Daddy walks in while I’m making sloppy joes for supper. He glances at the cake, then stops and checks his wristwatch. I can tell by the way he worries the change in his pocket that he didn’t remember.
“I’ve gotta run out for a little bit, Grace. You girls go ahead and eat without me.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I say. What in the world is he going to find open at six o’clock in Cherry Hill? The only place that’s doesn’t close up by suppertime is the Dairy Queen.
After we finish our sandwiches, Chastity turns out the lights and then Hope, Joy, and Marilyn join her in singing “Happy Birthday.” I stare into the candles and make a wish for Mama to wake up and come home. Just as I’m about to blow them out, Daddy rushes in and drops a package on the table, which puts out two of the candles. I quickly blow out the rest and Marilyn claps her hands.
Chastity made me a leather billfold in Girl Scouts, and Joy bought me a beaded choker. Hope hands me a Bible bookmark made out of melted crayons between waxed paper. I pull the wrapper off Daddy’s package and lift out my present: a brand new Holy Bible with a pink leatherette cover and gold-edged pages. When I open it to the first page, a white envelope falls on the floor. Marilyn scrambles under the table to retrieve it. I open the Bible and read the inscription aloud.
“‘Thou art fairer than the children of men: Grace is poured into thy lips; therefore God hath blessed thee forever. Psalm 45:2.’ ” With love from Mama and Daddy.
I run my hands over the words. It’s Mama’s handwriting.
“She wrote that before she . . .” He pauses to find the right words. “Before she got sick. I found it
under our bed. She planned to give it to you for your last birthday.”
I hug the Bible to my chest. “Thanks, Daddy.”
I look around at my sisters’ teary faces. “Thanks, you guys.”
Marilyn hands me the envelope and I rip it open. I pull out a gift certificate for $5.00 from Dairy Queen.
“Who wants ice cream with their cake?” I ask.
“I do!” Marilyn jumps up and down.
It’s still pretty cold out so we throw on our coats and parade down to the water together, me carrying the cake, just as the sun is starting to set. The color of the western sky is nearly the same as my new Bible. We eat our cake and ice cream at one of the picnic tables outside the Dairy Queen. The top half of a fishing shanty keens in the middle of the lake like a drunken soldier.
Chastity sighs. “I wish Mama was here.”
Daddy flinches just a bit. He drapes an arm around Chas. “She’s here,” he says.
“She’s here,” he says again, but this time to himself.
24
I look for Lola in the lunch room, but she’s not in our regular spot. I finally catch sight of her army jacket at the far end of the cafeteria and race toward her.
“Lola!”
She doesn’t turn around, just sits there with her head hanging like a dead flower over the lunch table, an unopened brown bag in front of her. I have to squeeze onto the bench next to her because she won’t slide over of her own accord.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She lifts her head and looks at me with watery eyes.
“What is it?”
She starts to mumble something, but it never gets past the lump in her throat and she drops her head back down. I reach over to take her hand, but she pulls it away.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You can tell me later if you want.”
I don’t even think about reading her thoughts because it’s not my place to. I just stay with her, hoping my shoulder against hers is enough. We sit that way until the bell rings and I get up to go to class. Lola stays put.
This I Know Page 20