Every Day After

by Laura Golden

  I gently wiped her face with a damp washcloth and sat her down in front of her dresser. Her hair fell loose and wavy down her back. I took her brush and smoothed it. It was soft and thick and dark as molasses. Silvery hairs were beginning to appear in front. I brushed it back and braided it neatly. Mama would’ve preferred a bun, but I liked the braid. It made her look younger. A bun was the expected way for Mama to wear her hair, and most days, I did as I should. But about once a week, I did it my way—braid.

  Standing back, I admired my handiwork. She looked beautiful in her pink dress with her braided hair.

  I reached for her arm. “Outside today, Mama?”

  She nodded ever so slightly. I took her book from the bedside table and walked her to the back porch. On rainy or stormy days, I had her sit in the parlor, but on nice days, I let her sit on the back porch.

  Mama once told me that our house had no back porch when she and Daddy first moved in, not long before I was born. Daddy added it so Mama could sit outside in the fresh air with her knitting or sewing while he fished down at the pond or worked out in the field. He even made it covered so she wouldn’t get burned in the sun or wet in the rain. Once I was old enough to fish with Daddy, Mama would sit in her rocker and watch us any time she wasn’t too busy fixing supper or straightening the house or scrubbing the laundry. We’d wave and she’d wave back. Sometimes I’d hold up a big fish for her to see. She’d clap and call out, “That’s a fine one, honey. Real fine.”

  On the day Daddy left, it was like an invisible rope got tied around Mama and pulled her out to the porch. It kept on pulling her out there every day after. I figured it made her feel closer to Daddy.

  Once she was comfortable in her rocker and clutching her book, I went into the kitchen to make her some coffee. I’d left a few biscuits in the cookstove warmer the night before, so I didn’t bother making anything else. Wasn’t much else anyhow. Gone were the days when Mama made hot biscuits smothered in sausage gravy, or crisp bacon or smoked ham to go with our eggs. Not that we needed it. It didn’t take much to fill me, and Mama had started eating like a sick bird.

  I took her skimpy breakfast onto the porch and sat it on the wooden table beside her. Kneeling in front of her, I gently eased the book from her hands. “Here. I’ll read to you while you eat.”

  This was our morning routine. I read to her. She ate. I hoped the proverbs comforted her in some way. Back when Mama had packed my lunch, she’d put in a note with a proverb on it. It was like getting a little present every day. Sometimes I understood them, most times I didn’t, but I missed seeing them now. I flipped through the dog-eared pages of her book to the place I’d left off—page 154.

  “ ‘Graceful Proverbs.’ ” I looked up at Mama to see if she was listening. She was taking tiny sips of her coffee and seemed to be concentrating. I prayed it was on me. “ ‘A closed fist is the lock of heaven and the open hand is the key of mercy. A gem is not polished without rubbing, nor a man perfected without trials.’ ” I paused at that. I hoped God was perfecting us good if that one was true, ’cause trials were exactly what we were going through.

  I read on for a little while, long enough for Mama to finish her coffee and eat half her biscuit. Once it sat on the plate for longer than a couple minutes, I knew she was done with it. I ended my reading with: “ ‘A widow is a rudderless boat.’ ” Now, I know Mama likes her proverbs, but that one sounded downright rude to me.

  I returned Mama’s book to her and we sat there for a while in silence, watching the pond ripple in the breeze and listening to the finches and sparrows chattering in the trees. The crisp morning air cooled my skin, and I breathed in the scents it carried—the sweetness of Mama’s roses, the warm grassiness of the field, and the soapy smell of Mama herself. The familiar scents and Mama’s touch soothed me, and for a moment all the uncertainties of my new life—life without Daddy—faded.

  “When will your father be home?” Mama murmured after a while. It was the question she’d asked each morning since Daddy had left.

  I’d become used to my reply. “I’m not sure, Mama. You know how he is. He never comes home till his work’s done.”

  Usually Mama would sigh and grin slightly, forming something close to a smile, but not this time. I didn’t understand. It’d been the right answer every other day. Why wasn’t it now? I wondered if she was giving up on Daddy, and I knew I couldn’t let her. If Mama gave up on him, did that mean I should too?

  Mama looked up at me—not around me or through me, but at me. Behind her darkened eyes I could see the faintest twinkle of life. She reached over and stroked my hair. “Down for hair, just like your father.”

  I thought of Erin and her threat, and for one second, I truly believed Mama was getting better and everything would be all right. Then the second ticked past, and Mama’s eyes went blank once again, staring out across the field, out across time. But she had come back. I knew she had more surely than I’d ever known anything. Maybe I could bring her back again. I had to try.

  “I’ve got school today, Mama. Can I get you anything before I go?”

  How could I have known I’d said the wrong word—one tiny word that would push her further away from me? I hadn’t known, and I held my breath, afraid to blink, waiting for a reply that didn’t come.

  Six

  When I Did Well, I Heard It Never; When I Did Ill, I Heard It Ever

  The first week of May flew by. And yet it dragged. The time I spent fishing with Ben melted away faster than butter in the hot sun, but the time I spent at school passed as slowly as ice melting in the icebox. Still, I was glad for it to be May. My birthday was at the tail end of it, and I couldn’t help but think maybe Daddy would show up on that very day. He’d be the best birthday present. Surely he knew that.

  Erin spent all week nagging me at recess and whispering warnings into my ear during class. She insisted I take my name off the contest list or else. I figured by the time Friday rolled around I’d be glad to see it, but I wasn’t. This Friday wasn’t gonna be a good one. I could feel it in my bones. And when Ben didn’t show up to walk with me to school, I almost marched myself right back home. Almost.

  Miss Jones strode up and down the aisles of desks, passing out graded math tests. Each step she took echoed through the room. I gasped for air. A big butterfly had set up house inside my stomach, and its fluttering was making it hard to breathe. More than anything, I wanted to hear “my own Lizzie Girl” when Daddy came home, and bad grades would kill my chances. Hard as I’d try to hide them from him, he had his ways of finding out.

  The echoes grew louder as Miss Jones came closer. The butterfly whooped and whooshed around inside me, and I thought I might be sick. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing a perfect A written at the top of my test. I figured if I pictured it hard enough it might really be there.

  “Excellent work, Erin,” Miss Jones whispered behind me.

  Great. An A for Erin. Paper shuffled beside me. I squeezed my eyes tighter. A wisp of air blew against my face as Miss Jones placed my test in front of me. I kissed my locket for luck, then looked. D!

  “Lizzie, I’d like to see you after school, please.”

  Boiling blood rushed through my body, but chill bumps covered my arms. My stomach felt full and heavy, like I’d swallowed one of the boulders outside the school. Never in my entire life had I gotten a D, but there it was, staining the page in red pencil. Pencil so red it screamed at me. D wasn’t much better than F, and F meant failure. Is that what I was? I couldn’t sleep if I tried; I hadn’t caught One-Eye; and now this. I was a failure. A failure without Daddy. And as soon as he got back, he was gonna figure that out.

  Behind me, Erin stifled a laugh. I flipped the test over, but I knew she’d seen. The D was so big you could’ve seen it from outside. Maybe from across town! Her seat popped as she sat back. I imagined her sitting there, arms crossed, eyes glowing with satisfaction. Lucky for her we were in school; otherwise I’d have knocked that look right off her face.

>   I tried to read Miss Jones’s expression as I approached her desk after school. Her lips were turned upward in a slight smile, but her thick brows were rumpled with worry.

  “You wanted to see me, Miss Jones?”

  “Yes, I want to make sure you’re all right.” Her tone was gentle but firm. “I’ve been worried about you since your father left. Your grades are dropping—first the B on your spelling test several weeks ago, and now this. You haven’t made less than an A in ages. You’re distracted. I can see it in class. You know if you need to talk to me, I’m here. Is something bothering you?” Miss Jones could spot liars with her eyes shut, but I had to try. I couldn’t tell her how worried I was about Mama, or how I had to spend most of my time on things like laundry and cooking. First, she might call Dr. Heimler. No way could I let that happen. Second, she might think I shouldn’t be home alone with Mama. Then what? They’d take me away from her. I couldn’t chance it.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. My palms began to sweat, just as they always did when I was in trouble with Daddy. I clasped them behind my back to keep her from seeing their slimy wetness. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

  Miss Jones sat in front of me, her brows nearly touching. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then spoke. “Busy doing what? I can’t stand by and watch my best student falter. School’s nearly out for the year, and you don’t want to start ruining your hard work now. I stay after school a few afternoons a week and help some of the other students. Would you like to join us?”

  Extra help? I didn’t have time. I had to get home as quick as I could each day after school to check on Mama. I crossed my fingers behind my back. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  Her chair grated the floor as she stood. “Well, I think I’ll stop by and have a chat with your mother. Something needs addressing.”

  “No, Miss Jones!” I blurted. Visions of Miss Jones attempting to have a talk with Mama sent the butterfly into a complete frenzy. “I promise. Everything’s fine. The D was my fault. I was fishing with Ben when I should’ve been studying. Please don’t speak to Mama. It won’t happen again.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but the door flew open and slammed against the wall. A loud bang echoed through the room.

  “She’s lying, Miss Jones!” I should’ve known. A snooping Erin barged in to have her say.

  “Young lady, what do you mean, interrupting us like this?”

  “I’m interrupting to tell you Lizzie’s lying. Flat out to your face. Her grades aren’t dropping because of Ben Butler, they’re dropping because her daddy deserted her, her mama is too sick to even come out, and it’s too much for her to handle. She doesn’t belong in school, she belongs in an orphanage. Because an orphan is exactly what she is.”

  “I am not an orphan! Don’t you dare call me that.” I started to head over and knock Erin straight off her high horse, but her eyes lit up as I moved toward her. I stopped. That was exactly what she wanted. She was trying to rile me up so I’d smack her, the same way I’d smacked Scott McClain. Well, for once she wasn’t gonna get her way.

  Erin shrank away from me, even though I hadn’t come one inch closer. “Help, Miss Jones! She’s gonna hit me!” she squealed.

  Miss Jones looked at me to check that I wasn’t. I shrugged. “Don’t be ridiculous, Erin. Lizzie’s standing perfectly still. And I will not have name calling, do you understand? Furthermore, there is no reason to believe that Mr. Hawkins deserted his family, and until Dr. Heimler says Mrs. Hawkins is too sick to care for Lizzie, I’ll simply not listen to any more. I’m sure Mrs. Hawkins has her hands full at home with Mr. Hawkins gone.”

  Most students don’t like their teachers very much, if for no other reason than they’re the ones who make us use our brains, but at that moment Miss Jones was my favorite person in the world. She wanted proof, and Erin couldn’t get it. Nobody could prove Daddy’d gone hobo any more than I could prove he hadn’t. And as for Dr. Heimler examining Mama, well, I’d be able to kiss my elbow before I’d let that happen.

  “But—” Erin began.

  “You two girls are going to have to get over this little rift you’ve started with each other,” Miss Jones interrupted. “I won’t have it in this school. Both of you apologize this minute.”

  It’s funny how you can love somebody one minute and despise them the next, but that is exactly how my opinion of Miss Jones changed.

  Erin stared at me. I stared right back.

  “Well?” said Erin. “I’m waiting.”

  It was time to see who was gonna apologize first, and it wasn’t gonna be me. “You’ll have to keep waiting, because I am not apologizing to you.”

  Erin’s nostrils flared like she was a bull about to charge. “Don’t think I’m apologizing to you, either. I’ve had it with you and your Miss Perfect ways. You’re not any better than me. If Miss Jones wants proof your mama is crazy, she’s gonna get it!”

  “Girls!” Miss Jones shouted above Erin. “That’s enough! If you two don’t apologize immediately, both of you are out of the essay contest next week. I will not reward this type of behavior with extra credit.”

  The thought of giving Erin the satisfaction of hearing me say “sorry” made that boulder in my stomach lurch. Miss Jones probably thought at least one of us would choose the extra credit. She could think that till the cows came home, but I’d take another D before I’d tell Erin Sawyer I was sorry when I absolutely was not.

  “Miss Jones, you may take me out of the contest.” I walked over to the blackboard and erased my name from the list. “I don’t need it.”

  Miss Jones sighed. “Not the choice I’d hoped for, but … Erin?”

  Erin gulped a breath of air. She turned and faced the list of names. “Erin Sawyer” remained on the board in her curlicue cursive just under the chalk smudge that had been my name. Her pinched-up face relaxed, softening her scowl to a semismile. She sashayed over to me. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I shouldn’t have said those things about your family. Will you forgive me?” She put out her hand like I’d actually take it.

  The room started to spin. Faster and faster. My fingernails dug into my palms. “You don’t mean that, Erin Sawyer!” I yelled. “No, I most certainly do not forgive you.”

  “Lizzie!” Miss Jones grabbed my arm. “Thank you, Erin. I’ll expect your essay next week. You may go.”

  Erin sauntered out the door, but now I knew better than to believe she’d really gone. Miss Jones turned to me and placed her hands on my shoulders. She studied me hard, as though she was trying to see straight into my soul. “I expected better of you, Lizzie. You’d best patch things up with Erin. Life’s too short to be holding grudges. They only cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looked at me for a second longer before turning to her desk. She slid an envelope off its slick wooden surface and handed it to me. “Now.” She exhaled hard, like she was breathing out all that had just happened. “Would you be so kind as to run Ben’s paper and today’s assignments over to him on your way home? Tell him we missed him today, and I hope he is well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded my dismissal.

  Outside, clouds had gathered, turning the sky a bluish gray. If my emotions had a color, that was it. The only person who could brighten me was Ben. I was glad to have an excuse to drop by and see him, but Mama needed me home, so I’d have to make it quick.

  I hurried out of the schoolyard toward the road, but an unwelcome figure emerged from behind an oak to block my way.

  “Looks like your name came off that list after all.” Erin twisted her brown braids around her fingers. “Too bad you didn’t apologize. Now you’re stuck without extra credit.”

  “At least I didn’t lie. You didn’t mean what you said to me, and I sure as heck wouldn’t have meant any apology I’d have given you.”

  “Well, Miss Jones told us we had to apologize. She didn’t say we had to mean it.”

&n
bsp; I shoved past her, hoping I might knock her down. I didn’t, and her mouth kept right on running. “You’re about to get what you deserve, and I’ll be the one to give it to you. You think you’re so much better than me with all your As, and your I’m-not-scared-of-you ways, and always having Ben by your side. Well, you’re not. You can’t go around showing off all the time and not pay a price. For once, I’m going to beat you.”

  “I do not go around showing off. Sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

  “Of what? Once my mama tells Dr. Heimler about your mama, you’ll have nothing but yourself.”

  I whirled around to face her. “Tell him what about my mama? You don’t know a thing about her. You just like to think you do.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I know for a fact she’s gone loopy, and once Dr. Heimler ships her off to the hospital, the sheriff’ll be shipping you off to the orphanage. Then you’ll be out of my hair for good.” Erin’s lips curled upward in an all-too-knowing grin. “You can lie to Miss Jones all you want, but I know the truth about you. I’ve got my ways of knowing. Ways you’d never even think of.”

  I didn’t say anything back. There wasn’t any point. She wasn’t gonna hush even if I wired her mouth shut. Besides, now I had a new problem to think about. A big one. I had to make sure Dr. Heimler was kept as far away from Mama as possible. One look at her and he’d deliver her straight to the hospital and I’d never get her back. The thought of her left in there alone sent shivers shooting down my spine. And if either Erin or Dr. Heimler thought I was gonna let her go, they could kiss my grits.

  Beside me, Erin matched my stride step for step, but she kept quiet. I guess she figured her presence alone was enough to make me sick, and she was right.

  At the fork in the road I went left and she went right. Now I didn’t have to guess. I knew exactly where she was headed—to blab to her mother about mine.

  Seven