By the time the song is almost finished, four volunteers for next month’s baptism at Cherry Lake have gathered in front of Daddy, not including Chastity. I can tell he’s pleased by the way he pulls his pants up after inflating his chest. Then all of a sudden up pops Hope, who races down the aisle with that curler still floppin’ in back of her head. Joy lets out a laugh and more than a few snickers travel around the room. Hope was already baptized several years ago. Daddy explained to her that it only takes once, but she insists on going forward every time.
Daddy smiles at Hope and announces the date for baptism when the lake is warmer. He opens his Bible to read a closing prayer. All of a sudden big old Edna Warber grunts as she stands. The room falls silent. A few gasps sprinkle across the auditorium as Edna moves toward the front of the sanctuary. Daddy’s face goes a bit pale. I’m pretty sure the whispers all say the same thing: How’s Pastor Carter going to get Edna back upright once he dunks her?
* * *
After church Daddy announces that we can go with him to the hospital today. He says we don’t have to come along if it will upset us. It would upset me more not to be able to see Mama. I’ll take what I can get, even if it means visiting Mama in her dreamland. Chastity decides to stay home again and Hope has a Bible class. I get in the car along with Daddy and Joy, who lets Marilyn sit in her lap. Joy has taken her responsibility to Marilyn as seriously as she takes money. And that means always keeping track.
Mama has a new roommate, a bald lady with liver cancer. Joy snooped in the patient bed chart while she was sleeping. The lady’s face is the color of Grandpa’s cigar ashes, and her eyes have sunk into their sockets. When the old lady pukes it makes Joy gag so she only stops for a minute to glance at Mama before taking Marilyn to the waiting room to read books. Daddy walks up to Mama’s bed and stares at her. He doesn’t sit down, just stands there like he’s going to wait her out.
The other lady keeps staring at me. She looks lonely. I can’t take it anymore so I walk over and say hi. She doesn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth pulls up a bit. She glances at her water glass and back at me. I hold the straw to her cracked lips and wait while she sucks up a couple swallows, then drops her head back on the pillow. Her collarbones bulge against her papery skin and her breath is foul. Everything about her is foul.
“Can I get you anything else?”
She makes a sound, but I can’t understand the word. I take a step closer and turn my ear toward her.
“Help.” It comes out scratchy, but I hear it.
“Help how?”
She grabs my arm. The light coming through the window shines directly on her face and suddenly I recognize her. It’s Bony Nurse from when Marilyn was born. She pleads with her reddened eyes. She thinks I can help her like I helped my baby sister, but I don’t know what I did with Marilyn. It was more like Marilyn did it herself and just needed me to jump-start the process.
“Please . . .” she squeaks.
I want to run away, but I don’t. Something tells me the sick old lady in this bed is no longer the same Bony Nurse from that day she yelled at Aunt Pearl and me. It’s like she already has one foot in the next world. I look over at Daddy. He must not have heard or else he’s just ignoring us. I glance at the name on the clipboard above her bed. Her name is Betty. Betty Hopkins. I rest my hand on her belly. It takes almost all of her strength to put her other hand on top of mine. I close my eyes.
I don’t see anything, but I feel it. The mass inside her is thick and ugly. I wait for my hand to start buzzing like it did when Marilyn was sick but instead of heating up it goes cold. I open my eyes and look at Betty. Her dry eyes try to tear but nothing more than a prickling comes of it. Her hand loses its grip and falls away. She gives me a half smile, then closes her eyes and falls asleep.
“You can go sit by Mama if you want to, Grace.”
Daddy’s voice startles me and I whirl around to look at him.
“What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
“Nothing. Well, actually because of this lady in the other bed.”
Daddy looks over my shoulder toward Betty and back to me. “You know her?”
“Sort of.” I glance down at my feet. “Daddy? Will you pray for her?”
He smiles, pleased with the sound of that coming from me. “Of course I will, Grace. Now go on and sit with your mama. But no funny stuff, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Daddy retrieves his Bible from a chair and heads over to Betty. He holds it close to his chest and bows his head. “Our Dear Lord in Heaven,” he says quietly. “We ask that You bless this woman in her time of need. . . .”
I sit next to Mama, take her hand gently in my own and close my eyes. She’s still on the porch, but today I can see the whole house, including the front door, two windows, and the wood ceiling that the swing hangs from. Red and yellow Indian paintbrush blanket the meadow on either side of the house. It’s warm, like summertime. Mama holds up a glass that sparkles in the sunlight. She waves for me to come sit by her, so I do.
When I slide in next to her on the swing she hands me a glass of lemonade as if she’s been expecting me. The ice cubes clink against the glass, the kind like Aunt Pearl has, frosted light blue on the outside. I take a sip, perfectly sour and sweet. I’m surprised at how real everything seems in this world where Mama lives.
Mama smiles and nudges me. “Good, huh?”
I grin. “Real good.”
She gives the floor a kick and we start swinging, back and forth, back and forth. The ceiling creaks with each change of direction.
“How long you planning to stay here, Mama?” I can’t help but ask it.
“Oh, I don’t know. I rather like it here, Grace.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got it pretty good here. And I know you needed a rest but—”
“Grace.” She lays her hand on my arm. “I didn’t want to leave you, any of you. It’s just that . . .”
Mama puts her feet down heavy enough to stop the swing. She moves a tiny bit away from me and then turns so I can see her face. It glows in the afternoon light.
“It was too hard. That’s all I can tell you. Some people can take a lot of hard times, but I’m not cut out that way. When Hope got hurt, I thought I would die from watching her suffer. When Isaac didn’t survive it made me so sad I didn’t think I could go on. Then Marilyn was sick and suddenly I felt like everything that made me happy had another side to it. Do you know what I mean?”
“Like singing the blues? They’re so beautiful, but they’re so sad.”
“Yes! Like that, Grace. Except that it was more like having to sing happy songs when you felt like singing the blues.”
Mama stands and walks across the porch to look out over the meadow. She’s barefoot and wearing a sleeveless sundress with tiny yellow flowers on it that I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t have any pockets. All of Mama’s clothes have pockets. Most of the time they’re full. She turns around and leans back against the railing. Mama looks radiant in spite of the topic of our conversation. I can’t remember seeing her this happy. Ever. Which worries me.
“Nobody believes me when I tell them you’ll wake up. That divorced lady, Sharon Gardner? She brings a casserole over at least three times a week. I can tell by the way she gets all gussied up and flutters her eyelashes at Daddy she thinks he’s up for grabs.” I’m trying not to cry. Tears seem like they would spoil a place as beautiful as this. “You’re coming back, right? I mean, when you feel rested?”
Mama walks back over and crouches on her knees in front of me. She takes both of my hands in hers. “I can’t answer that, Grace. But no matter what happens I want you to know that I love you. I know you think I love you less because you lived and Isaac died, but that’s not true. I love you even more knowing that you carry him with you.”
“But if he’d been born first, then . . .”
She stands and pulls my head to her belly, kissing the top of my head. “No. No, Grace. It
wasn’t your fault. You were meant to be born.” She leans back and takes my face in her hands. “You’re special, don’t you think I know that?”
“But Daddy—”
“Your daddy doesn’t understand. He loves you, Grace. He really does. He just doesn’t understand.”
The wind changes direction, sending a chill up my back. Mama clutches herself, looking at me. Everything starts to fade, but her smile never does.
“Time to leave, Grace.”
I open my eyes to find Daddy standing over me. I’m afraid of what I might have said out loud, but he doesn’t holler at me. Instead he takes his fat thumb and wipes a tear from the corner of my eye.
“Let’s go,” he says to me. Maybe to Mama, too, as if she will forget all about that silly coma and just follow us out of the room.
* * *
As soon as we’re back home I run upstairs and sneak into the closet. I push a bunch of Chastity’s dresses toward the center of the bar and sit on the board. It’s dusty from not being here for a while. That and with Mama gone, Joy doesn’t think of all the places that need dusting when she hands out chores. Also, I’ve grown too tall for this space. My knees are nearly to my elbows.
“I’m scared, Isaac.”
Hello, Grace.
The sound of his voice settles me down inside.
“I’m afraid Mama’s never coming back home from the hospital. Either she’ll just stay in that coma or . . . she’ll die.”
There. I said it.
I can understand why you must be afraid. And sad.
“I want her to come back home!” I tilt my head back, as if by doing so he will see me better, see my broken heart. I want him to agree that her coma is nonsense.
When he doesn’t answer, I start to beg.
“Can’t you help, Isaac? Isn’t there anything you can do from where you are?”
What I can do is listen to you and do my best to offer comfort.
I kick one of Chastity’s stinky shoes across the closet. “It’s not fair. Maybe I need a rest, too. Maybe I’d just like to quit like Mama.”
Grace, please. Listen to yourself.
He doesn’t need to tell me. I hear myself and I sound pathetic.
“She’s so happy, Isaac. You should see her. She looks twenty years younger over there. And she’s so . . . so completely loving. Like I remember from when I was very little. Even before I . . . we . . . were born. Do you remember, Isaac?”
Of course I do.
“Do you remember everything? Like dying?”
Yes, I remember dying.
“Were you scared?”
Only for a moment.
“What was it like?”
I was overcome with a sense of calm. I imagine it was kind of like how it was for you being born and then being held for the first time. I felt . . . held.
He says this with a sigh in his voice. I think about that day in the tree and the peaceful feeling I had when Isaac moved through me.
“Isaac?”
Yes?
“Will I ever see you again?”
Yes, Grace. One day we will see each other again. I promise you that.
There’s so much more I want to ask him, like whether I’ll ever see Mama again. But for now this promise is enough.
26
On the second-to-last day of school a police car pulls up in front of the principal’s office. The sheriff wants to interview some of us girls about any possible run-ins with Lyle. Gossip spreads like Velveeta in a town this small and somehow word has gotten around that Lyle and I are friends. I’m tired of all the nasty talk about him and the way people look at me and whisper. He hasn’t even had a trial and most people have already decided that he’s guilty. The thing I like most about living in a small town is also the thing I least like about it.
I’m watching the back of Luanne Conklin’s head through the glazed glass door on Principal Plummer’s office. Her blond ponytail dances around like a bobblehead as she talks. Apparently she was one of the girls who caught Lyle peeing near the old abandoned school bus a few years ago. That was when the rumors first started and also about the time Lyle started hiding out in our loft.
When the door opens Luanne glides past me holding her books to her chest. Principal Plummer stands in the doorway and motions for me to go in, but I don’t move. Miss Lohman stops typing and peers over her glasses, first toward the principal, then back at me.
“Grace, come on in now,” he says. His bald head is shiny and has a weird dent in the top. He’s almost as tall as the doorway.
It’s all I can do to lift my body off the chair. My blouse is stuck to my skin from sweating. Partly because it’s hot and partly because I’m so afraid of saying the wrong thing. I sit in the chair opposite from the principal’s desk. Sheriff Conner is leaning against the wall to his right, holding a pad of paper.
“Hello, Grace,” he says. “I just have a few questions and then you can go, okay?”
I nod.
“Do you know Lyle Miller?”
I pick at the flower design that Lola embroidered on the knee of my navy blue jeans. Daddy won’t let us wear faded denim, so Lola tried to make them look cooler. We washed them about a dozen times, but they still look brand new. Plus they’re high-water because Daddy also won’t let us wear pants any lower than the tops of our shoes.
“Grace?”
I nod again.
“Has he ever spoken to you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Grace, but you’re going to have to speak up.”
“Yes,” I say again.
“Has he ever touched you?”
I look up from my jeans and straight at the sheriff. Everybody knows I’m a terrible liar. Even if I wanted to I’m no good at it because my face gives me away. “Yes, but not like how you’re thinking.”
The two men trade glances, their eyebrows doing a secret dance between them.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean it was nothing bad.”
“But he touched you.”
“In a good way. He put his arm around my shoulder when I was sad.”
“Has he touched you anywhere else?”
Ugh. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “He’s put his hand on mine, on my knee once. He meant to comfort me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize it sounds a lot worse than it was. I can’t stop the tears from coming. “Lyle is a good person!” I yell, jumping to my feet.
“Calm down, Miss Carter.” Sheriff Conner makes a note, then closes his pad.
The principal points toward the chair. “Sit down, young lady.”
I remain standing. “It’s not what you think!”
Principal Plummer picks up the phone and mumbles something into it. The door opens and the secretary appears.
“Please escort Miss Carter back to her last class.”
Miss Lohman puts her arm behind my back and leads me out of the office. As soon as we’re in the hallway I dart in the opposite direction and bolt through the front doors. I run two blocks before stopping at the railroad crossing. I decide to take the back way home so I can be alone with nobody’s thoughts but mine. I kick off my shoes and roll up my jeans, stepping from one wooden tie to the next. Fresh grease splotches the rails, along with a severed raccoon. A murder of crows caws at me from their perch in the poplar trees that line the right-of-way. I toss both halves of the raccoon into the woods. The birds fly down all at once and cover it like a black cape, squawking and bickering.
Balancing, I put one foot in front of the other on the warm rails with both arms straight out. I take a couple of steps, teetering side to side as I walk. In my head I pretend to be Olga Korbut on the balance beam.
“Grace! Grace! Grace!” the crowd chants.
“A perfect ten!” yells the announcer.
My fans throw me flowers and kisses. In real life I slip off the rail. To save face from my imaginary fans I make like I meant to dismount. I bow toward the crows, but they’
re too busy eating lunch to pay me any attention. Behind me I hear clapping. I whirl around to find a youngish guy applauding. Amazingly, he looks almost exactly like Jesus except his beard is downy and scragglier.
“Not bad,” he says, smiling.
I’m embarrassed and a little afraid because there’s nobody else around. I’ve never seen this guy before. I turn and start walking as fast as I can toward home.
“Hey,” he calls behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I keep walking and don’t slow down until I spot a huge spread of Queen Anne’s lace at the edge of the woods. I look behind me to make sure I’m alone before skipping down the hill to pick a bouquet for Mama next time we visit. The biggest patches lie near the far edge, so I wander over to grab a few of those.
When I reach the treeline something catches my eye. I walk closer and find a blue quilt with little stars sewn into the corner of each square. Somebody took a lot of trouble to sew each of those stars on there. I know this because Aunt Pearl made all of us girls a quilt and it took her a whole year to finish each one. Mine has pink and yellow squares with ballerina slippers sewn into the very middle. Aunt Pearl knows that I love dancing, even if we aren’t allowed.
The quilt is a little dirty, but I think I can clean it up and save it for Lyle, when he gets out of jail. I toss my flowers into the center and pick up a corner to fold it up. As soon as I touch it my whole body spasms and I can barely stay upright. I want to let go, but I can’t because somewhere in my head a voice, a young girl’s voice, stops me cold. She’s screaming, but the moans sound like they’re coming out of her nose.
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