I nodded, my eyes wide. Lee Ann’s father had been a soldier in Vietnam. One time when he’d had a couple beers, we overheard him telling Lee Ann’s mother about a man from the army who had raped a woman in the village. He could still hear her screams in his sleep, he said.
And that happened to Mama?
“Afterward, Karen came looking for Cassie and found her passed out. She got her home, and they didn’t talk about it. Cassie was too embarrassed to talk about it, and I think Karen felt guilty for taking her to the party and then leaving her.
“Anyway ...” Daddy’s voice trailed off.
“That’s why they’re not friends anymore?” I asked.
“That’s part of it,” he said. “And that’s enough for now.” He rose and gathered the coffee mugs, rinsing them in the sink.
“I think Aunt Karen will be good for your mama right now,” he said. “She won’t pry and she won’t judge. And she won’t let Cassie slip away.”
I nodded. If she kept Mama from slipping away again, I was prepared to love my aunt.
“Now,” Daddy said, “what should we make for dinner?”
16
The next day, I walked to school with Lee Ann. We didn’t talk about Carol or what she’d said. Instead, we talked about what we wanted for Christmas.
Daddy took Mama to spend the day with Rhonda while he went to work. So after school, I walked to Grandma’s house to do my homework until Daddy came to get me. Then we went home.
When we got there, the lights in the house were on and we heard the stereo before we even opened the door.
In the kitchen, Rhonda and Mama were singing along with John Lennon, “Imagine all the people living life in peace.” Jason sat on the floor surrounded by plastic measuring cups and spoons. It looked like every pot, pan, and dish we owned was out.
“Hey!” Daddy said, smiling. “How are you girls doing?”
“We’re good, Daddy-O,” Rhonda sang. “Just cooking up a storm.”
“Cassie, you okay?”
Mama turned to smile at him. Her face looked relaxed, more like the Mama I remembered. Her eyes were bright and glassy.
“I’m better,” she said. “Today, I feel like I’m going to be better.” She shook her head and her newly styled hair swung at her shoulders.
She draped her arms over Daddy’s shoulders and swayed to the music. “It’s just really good to be home.”
Then she turned to me. “Hey, my Sweet Judy,” she said, holding open her arms. “Give me a hug.”
She wrapped her arms around me tight and I could feel her heart beating against my cheek. It felt like she had really come home at last.
“I’m making lentils and rice,” she announced. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I set the table while Daddy showered and Mama cooked. It smelled heavenly.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” Rhonda asked.
Mama smiled. “It was okay. Anne made a big turkey and all the trimmings. It was good.”
She sighed then and took a long drink from her glass of wine. “Last year on Thanksgiving we served a big meal at the church. We cooked for days. More than four hundred homeless people came. I just can’t believe ...” Her voice trailed off and she stared out the window.
Rhonda hugged her, wiping a tear from her cheek. “It’s okay, Cassie. It’ll be okay. You’re home, you’re safe, and we love you.”
Mama nodded and began stirring the pot on the stove.
“That smells great!” Daddy walked into the kitchen and grinned at us. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had lentils and rice. I’m afraid my cooking is pretty limited, right, Judy?”
I smiled at him. “But you make good pancakes, Daddy.”
We sat down at the table and Rhonda pulled Jason onto her lap. He began stuffing handfuls of rice and lentils into his mouth.
“His table manners can use some work,” Rhonda said, smiling down at him.
“He’s precious,” Mama said.
The food was good and I ate two platefuls. But Mama only pushed hers around on her plate, although she did drink her wine. Daddy talked about a client he was helping who’d been charged with assault.
“He hit a cop,” he said. “The cop was beating the hell out of him and he took one swing back and now he’s going to jail.” He shook his head.
“We worked with a lot of former prisoners at the church,” Mama said softly. “We helped them get back on their feet. Jim helped them find jobs.”
We sat in silence for a minute, until Jason dropped a fork to the floor.
“How about a little more?” Daddy asked, holding his hand out for my plate. I shook my head. I was stuffed to the gills.
Rhonda took Jason home after dinner, and Daddy and I cleaned the kitchen. It took a while. Mama and Rhonda had made quite a mess.
Mama sat at the kitchen table, sipping her wine and staring at nothing. I wished I could think of something clever to say, something that would make her smile. But I couldn’t.
The phone rang and we all jumped. I ran to answer it.
“Hello, Judy,” a woman’s clipped voice came through. “This is your Grandmother Pat, and I would like to speak to Cassie.”
I stood there a minute, holding the receiver in my hand, uncertain what to do. I knew Mama would not want to talk to her mother.
“Excuse me?” The voice on the phone was impatient now. “I want to talk to my daughter.”
“Mama,” I called. “There’s a phone call.”
She walked into the living room and looked at the phone as if it were a snake that might bite her.
“Who is it?”
“It’s that woman,” I whispered. “The one who’s your mother.”
Mama grimaced and wrung her hands together.
“Cassie.” Daddy walked into the room. “You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to.”
Mama sighed and reached for the phone.
“Hello, Mother,” she said.
A long silence followed, then Mama said, “I’m fine. No really, I’m fine.
“No, Mother,” she said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.... No, I don’t think so.... Mother, I said no!”
Her voice exploded into the room, shaking me to the core.
“I will not come and live in that house again. I never want to set foot in that house again. Frankly, I’d rather be dead!”
She slammed down the receiver and sank into a chair, her whole body shaking.
Daddy put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Cassie. You don’t ever have to go back there, not if you don’t want to. You can stay here as long as you need to. It’s okay.”
I held Mama’s hand that night when she went to bed. I sat on her bed and held her hand until I was sure she was asleep. Then I tiptoed down the stairs to the living room, where Daddy was watching television.
“Is she asleep?” he asked.
I nodded and curled up next to him on the couch. My head and stomach both hurt, and I felt more tired than I ever remembered being.
“Is she gonna be okay?” I asked.
“I think so, honey,” he said. “I hope so. I’m thinking it might be a good idea for her to see a counselor, so she can talk about what happened and work through it all.”
We watched television in silence for a few minutes and then he said, “Just be patient with her, Judy. She’s been through an awful experience and she needs us to be very patient right now.”
I sighed, and he squeezed my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just wish ...”
He waited for me to finish. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
“What if she doesn’t get better, Daddy? What if she’s like this always?”
He hugged me and kissed the top of my head.
“She’ll get better, Judy. I promise you, she will. In the meantime, have I told you how much I appreciate everything you’re doing?”
I shook my head. What was I doing?<
br />
“You are really helping her,” he said. “Staying close and being patient and just loving her. That’s the best medicine in the world for your mama right now.”
I hoped he was right. I hoped it would be enough.
The next morning I woke early.
I padded barefoot down the hall to the guest room, thinking I might crawl into bed with Mama, so she wouldn’t be alone when she woke up.
The bed was empty.
I stood staring for a minute, then ran to Daddy’s room.
“Daddy, Mama’s gone,” I said as I pushed open the door.
But Mama wasn’t gone. She was curled up next to Daddy in his bed. She opened her eyes and smiled at me.
“Hey, Sweet Judy. Good morning. Climb in here with us.”
Daddy sat up, looking at me. I just stared at them. Then I turned and ran back to my room, closing the door behind me. I heard Mama’s voice, then Daddy’s. Pulling the covers over my head, I turned away from the door and closed my eyes tight.
“Hey, honey.” Daddy’s voice was soft. I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey,” he repeated, pulling the covers back. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, keeping my eyes shut.
“Judy, look at me,” he said, turning me to face him.“It’s okay, honey. Your mama had a bad, bad dream last night and came to sleep in my bed because she was scared. That’s all. It’s okay.”
I nodded again, fighting the tears that were stinging my eyes.
“I’m going to make some eggs and toast,” he said, stroking my forehead. “Does that sound good?”
I could only nod. My voice was stuck somewhere in my throat.
“Okay, well ... you get dressed and come down when you’re ready,” he said.
I lay there feeling sick to my stomach. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Mama and Daddy used to sleep together every night, all those years ago in our attic apartment. I remembered climbing into bed with them when I was little and snuggling down between them. I remembered Mama’s breath on the back of my neck and Daddy’s soft snoring.
But back then, we were a family and that’s what families did. Now ... what were we now?
“Hey, sweetie.” Mama stood in the doorway, pulling a robe closed about her. It was one of Grandma’s robes that she’d borrowed.
I turned to face the wall. I didn’t want to see her there, in my room, wearing Grandma’s robe. I didn’t want to see her sleeping in Daddy’s bed.
“Judy?” Her voice was soft and anxious.
“I’m sleepy,” I said, not turning to look at her.
“Okay, honey. You rest, then.”
I could hear her breathing as she stood silently a minute.
“Your daddy’s making scrambled eggs,” she said. “Your favorite.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Well, because he said that’s what he’s making, silly.”
“How do you know it’s my favorite? You don’t know anything.”
And she didn’t, she didn’t know anything about me or about Daddy or about our life together. She didn’t even know where we kept the wineglasses in the kitchen until I showed her. She’d left us, left me, and gone away. She’d bought presents for other kids on Christmas, but not for me. She hadn’t even called on my birthday. And now here she was, standing in my bedroom, wearing Grandma’s robe, sleeping in Daddy’s bed, acting like she belonged, but she didn’t. She didn’t belong here at all.
“Oh.” Her voice was so soft I could barely hear her.
“Oh,” she said again.
I heard her close the door as she left my room.
I lay there a long time, even after I smelled the tempting aroma of bacon. I didn’t want to go downstairs and sit at the table with them. I didn’t want to pretend everything was just like it used to be, because it wasn’t. Mama was different. I was different. She’d been gone a long time, and just left me behind. Then she wanted to take me to the jungle, and people there died. She could have died there. I could have died there. What kind of mother did that?
Nothing was the same as it used to be, and I couldn’t pretend it was.
Finally, Daddy knocked at my door.
“Hey, peanut,” he said. “Come eat breakfast before it gets cold.”
I trudged downstairs and sat at the kitchen table, where Mama sat watching me, her eyes wide. She was shredding a paper napkin again.
“Hey, honey,” she said, smiling anxiously. “Daddy made some good eggs for you.”
I ate my eggs in silence. Each mouthful felt like sawdust. My stomach churned. I wanted to walk away from the table, away from her, just like she’d left me, to see how she felt then. I wanted to slap her and hurt her as much as I hurt when she left. I wanted to scream at her and tell her I didn’t want her to be my mama. I wanted a real mother who stayed and who wasn’t crazy and who took care of me, instead of me taking care of her.
Instead, I chewed and swallowed and kept my eyes on my plate.
Mama and Daddy drank their coffee. I could feel them watching me. I knew I should say something to make them feel better, but I didn’t. I just didn’t.
Finally, I excused myself from the table, half my eggs and both slices of bacon untouched on my plate. I just wanted to be away from them both.
I dressed and sat on my bed, watching the clock, waiting until I could leave for school.
After school, I walked to Grandma’s house. She looked up in surprise when I came in.
“Hi, Judy. What are you doing here?” she asked, rising to hug me.
“I always come,” I said, dropping my school bag on the couch.
“But, I meant ... I wasn’t sure if you were coming now that your mother’s here.”
I shrugged my shoulders and walked into the kitchen. I poured a glass of milk and got a cookie from the cookie jar. When I went back into the living room, Grandma was sitting in her rocker, snapping green beans. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, turning on the television.
We watched cartoons for a little while, then Grandma said, “Okay, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
Grandma always knew when something was wrong. It was like she had radar or something, she could just tell. Like the time in second grade when Carol’s mother invited all the girls in our class to a mother-daughter tea party at their house—every girl except me.
“Well, you don’t have a mom,” Carol had explained, not meeting my eyes.
I didn’t tell Grandma about it at first. I thought she’d be mad at Carol, and Carol was my friend. But of course she knew something was wrong. And of course eventually I told her about the party. She was Grandma. She always found out.
She had been mad, all right. Not at Carol, but at Carol’s mom.
“If I weren’t a Christian woman, I’d have a few words for her!” she said, when I told her about the tea party. “I’m going to call that woman right this minute.”
“No!” I’d shouted. “Please, Grandma, don’t.”
She didn’t call, in the end. Instead, she and Grandpa took me to Chicago for the weekend on a shopping trip. We stayed in a hotel and ate in restaurants, and I came home with lots of new clothes.
And then Grandma organized her own party and invited all the girls in my class, even Carol. We wore our Easter dresses and patent leather shoes and rode the bus downtown to the Tea Room at the L. S. Ayres department store, where we sat at a long table with a white linen cloth, and waiters in white shirts and black vests brought us chicken velvet soup and Monte Cristo sandwiches. For dessert, each of us got a Snow Princess—a scoop of ice cream decorated with whipped cream and sugar flowers to look like a hoop skirt, topped with a china-doll figure holding a paper parasol. Girls in my class still talked about that tea party.
I looked at Grandma now and remembered the tea party and all the times she’d held my hand until I went to sleep after Mama left. I remembered the school field trips she’d chaperoned and the snacks she always had ready a
fter school and how she’d made my costume for the school play the year before. I remembered all that and bit my lip, thinking how I’d always wished it was Mama there, instead of Grandma. I hoped she didn’t know that. But she was Grandma, so probably she did.
I sighed and shrugged again.
“Don’t you shrug your shoulders at me, young lady.” Grandma set aside the pot of green beans and leaned forward. “I taught you better manners than that. Now, what’s wrong?”
I sat a minute, trying to put into words what was wrong. Finally, I said, “I don’t want her here.”
“Who?” she asked. “Your mama? You don’t want your mama here?”
I nodded, feeling the tears stinging my eyes again.
“Oh, honey, of course you do. That’s all you used to talk about, having your mama home again. Of course you want her home.”
I could only shake my head and blow my nose.
“Come here,” she said, opening her arms so I could sit on her lap.
“What happened?” she asked.
I shook my head again.
“Judy Bug,” she said—she hadn’t called me that in a long time—“you tell your grandma what happened to upset you. Did your mother do something? Say something? What happened?”
“She slept in Daddy’s bed,” I finally said, and burst into tears. Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. I sobbed into Grandma’s soft body until my stomach ached.
“Oh, honey,” she crooned again and again. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Judy.”
But it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.
“Your mama has been through a terrible time,” she said, wiping tears from my cheeks and rocking me gently. “She needs our help now. She needs us very much.”
I shook my head and cried harder.
She let me cry for a while, then handed me a tissue and patted my cheek.
“Judy, I know it’s hard for you to understand. You shouldn’t even have to understand, because it’s a grown-up thing. But you have to try, honey. Your mother has had such a scare, and she’s afraid and she needs ...”
“I was scared, too!” I shouted, pulling away from her. “I was scared and Daddy was scared and you and Grandpa were scared. And it’s her fault!”
There, I had said it.
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