The Secret to Hummingbird Cake

by Celeste Fletcher McHale

  Ella Rae and Tommy dashed into town to buy a home pregnancy test, but there was no need to take it. I knew it was true. I started remembering little things I passed off the last few weeks as insignificant. Too much was going on here without whining about a nagging backache, or the horrible smell of coffee in the mornings, or the constant and irrational craving for peaches. I assumed we were all adjusting to the new normal. Besides, I had always hated the smell of coffee. It had just never made me want to projectile vomit until lately.

  I stepped out onto the patio and quietly closed the door behind me. I wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to let this information sink in. And I needed to decide how I really felt about it. The truth was, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I didn’t want to terminate the pregnancy—that was absolutely out of the question. I wanted Jack’s baby. I hadn’t known I did until now, but I did. Still, I didn’t want any attention taken off of Laine. I could be pregnant anytime. She was going to . . . die.

  That thought punched me in the gut like it always did. I sat down on the metal patio bench and looked out into the field. The next few months should be about her, and only her. She deserved that. It’s why she was here. It’s why we were all here. I was stealing the show again, just like I always had. Laine had always been in the background no matter what I was doing, either cheering me on or screaming at the top of her lungs for me to stop. It seemed unfair now that I couldn’t even give her center stage when she was about to exit the show.

  “Hey,” Laine said.

  I looked up and saw her standing in the patio door. “Hey.”

  She walked over and sat down beside me. “Are you okay?” The tears that had eluded me for most of my life now flowed like a faucet, at least once a day, even if I tried to hide them. But there was no hiding tonight.

  “Carri, what’s the matter?” Concern filled her voice. “You are happy about this, aren’t you? The baby, I mean?”

  “Of course I am . . .” I started to blubber a little. “It’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  How could I tell her I wanted her to star in her own death show and being pregnant would steal her thunder? I couldn’t. So I just cried instead.

  She grabbed my hand. “Carrigan!” she said. “This baby—it is Jack’s, isn’t it?”

  That jolted me back into reality and I snatched my hand from hers. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Well, you know, there was Romeo, and I wasn’t sure . . .”

  I glared at her. “Of course it’s Jack’s baby, you idiot!”

  “Okay, my bad. I was just making sure. It’s not always easy to keep up with you. So, what is it? Tell me.”

  “Laine, I . . .” I tried to make the words come out, but stammered. “This is a really bad time for . . . What I mean is . . .”

  She caught on quickly. “Ahhhh, I see,” she said. “You think this would be a crappy time for you to be pregnant while I am . . . ill.”

  “Yes.”

  She stood up and stared down at me. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What better time could there be?” She towered over me, both hands on her hips. “It’s . . . it’s . . . life restoring itself.” She gestured around us. “It happens on this farm every day with plants and animals. It’s the natural order of things. It is a blessing, Carrigan. Trust me.”

  I stared at her. She had amazed me the way she’d accepted her death sentence. She spoke about her death like it was matter of fact and wanted everyone else to speak about it the same way. Well, I couldn’t just talk about it like it was a weather report or a football score. And I didn’t want to, even though I knew it would make the days easier for her and for me too, if I could. I hadn’t wanted her to accept it either. I wanted her to go out in a fighting blaze of glory. But it was already way too late for that. It was almost like she embraced the idea of it. I hated that part of her. Hated it. So I filed it. And I went along with it because if I didn’t, it would upset her.

  She knelt in front of me. “Carrigan,” she said, “I couldn’t be happier about this. I love you. I have always wanted this for you. For you and Jack. Don’t you see? It gives me a reason to . . . hang on.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “This is going to be an amazing time. Please don’t try to downplay it or restrain your happiness or act like it isn’t a big deal. It’s a huge deal. This has made me feel better in the last hour than I have physically and emotionally in months.”

  I weighed her words. I wanted to be happy and excited and all those things you were supposed to be when you find out you’re pregnant. I wanted to celebrate. But I felt so guilty about it. She was the one who deserved a happily ever after, but I was the one who got it. How could somebody rejoice and mourn at the same time?

  She sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulder. “This baby is like a gift for me,” she said. “Don’t you understand that? And I know what you’re thinking.” She paused. “Look at me.”

  I turned my face to hers.

  “I will see this baby,” she vowed. “I promise you I will.”

  I hugged her so hard I was afraid I had hurt her. “Thank you.”

  Ella Rae popped her head out of the patio door and produced a pregnancy test. “Time to pee on a stick!” Great. Just what I always wanted. Fifty people standing outside a bathroom waiting for me to produce a urine sample.

  I looked at Laine and held my hand out to pull her up from the bench. “Let’s go find a potty.”

  She smiled. “At least we aren’t at the boat landing looking for one.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The following weeks were filled with excitement and preparation for the baby. You would’ve thought I was giving birth to royalty the way everybody treated me. Mamie now checked every morning with Laine and, me too, to see what we wanted to eat the rest of the day. She also made sure we both cleaned our plates. But she kept eggs off my menu.

  Luckily, I craved fresh fruit and pancakes. I was forced to sneak orange popsicles because she thought I was getting too much sugar. I made Jack buy some and put them in the freezer in the barn where they kept the animal meds. But I think he counted them as well. Mamie even had him on board with the sugar thing.

  Finally I went to the doctor. Correction: Jack, Ella Rae, Laine, and I went to the doctor. “April third,” Doctor Davis said. “That’s your due date.”

  I looked at Laine, and she reached over and squeezed my hand. I was sure everyone in the room understood that gesture. I was torn between wishing the days would pass fast so the baby would get here and Laine could enjoy him or her, and wishing they’d slow down so we’d have more time.

  Jack’s mother was the chairperson of the baby room committee at the Farm. Jack said she was driving him insane. He and Ella Rae had painted the room four different times; each time she would come in and say, “Too pale” or “Too bright,” and they’d have to start over. When I asked him what color it was, he shook his head and said, “Yellow. It’s yellow.”

  Nobody would let Laine or me remotely near the paint fumes, and we spent most mornings on the front porch sipping Mamie’s smoothie concoctions and talking. My favorite was the coconut pineapple that tasted like a piña colada without the rum. It was delicious.

  The morning before Thanksgiving, I asked Laine, “Do you remember one night years ago, we were frog hunting in the creek behind Ella Rae’s house?”

  “Do I remember? How could I forget? I’m still carrying the scar where you tried to kill me.”

  “Listen, that knife slipped out of my hand while you were shrieking about an alligator. That whole cut thing wasn’t my fault.”

  “What
ever,” she said. “Funny how I never get injured unless you or Ella Rae are around.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said.

  “What made you think about that night?”

  I slurped the rest of my drink and put the glass on the wicker table. “You told me that night you had a secret, something you’d never told Ella Rae or me. I’ve asked you to tell me that secret almost as often as I’ve asked you about the secret ingredient for your Hummingbird Cake. And you always said you’d tell me someday.” I paused for effect and looked at her. “We ’bout there yet?”

  “I wondered when you were gonna bring that up.” She stirred the last of her drink with her straw. “You know,” she said, “I think we have arrived at that day.”

  I sat up in my chair on full alert and mindlessly rubbed my baby bump. “Then do tell,” I said. “And look, this better be good. I’ve waited on it for years.”

  “I think you’ll find it . . . interesting,” she promised.

  “I’m ready,” I said. I was truly excited to hear this deep, dark secret she’d been keeping for years. Of course, she was probably about to tell me she’d cheated on a test in fifth grade or stuck her tongue out at her mother when she was nine or some other offense she believed would send her to hell. Regardless, I was eager to hear the confession. Laine looked tired this morning, and although she’d never admit it, I could tell she was in some pain lately. I questioned Debra about it, but didn’t get very far. She was fiercely protective of Laine’s privacy and had repeatedly told me when I asked questions that it was something I should ask Laine. I supposed that’s what nurses were supposed to do, but the only response I ever got from Laine was, “I’m fine.”

  “This may shock you a little bit,” Laine said.

  “Really?” I made a face. “Yes, because I am so sweet and innocent, your terrible deed, whatever it was, is gonna make me swoon.”

  She laughed a little bit, then took a deep breath. “Do you remember Mitch Montgomery?” The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Why do I know that name?”

  “He went to high school with us,” she said, “but only for our junior and senior year.”

  I thought back and then it hit me. “Lots of curly black hair? Tall? Quiet guy?”

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was in college at ULM the same time I was,” she said. “I had seen him on campus a few times, but he’d cut his hair short and I wasn’t sure it was him, so I never spoke to him. Then one day I saw him off campus at a coffee shop.” She paused. “So we had dinner together that night and . . . breakfast the next morning.”

  I stared at her. “So?”

  “We had breakfast the next morning.”

  “People eat, Laine,” I said. “What, was it like the best breakfast you’ve ever had? I mean . . .” And then it dawned on me. She had breakfast with him the next morning. “You slept with Mitch Montgomery?”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You want to yell a little louder? I’m sure everybody in the barn wants to know. And there’s probably a guy on a tractor in the next parish who didn’t quite catch it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But, Laine . . . I mean, you’re . . . you never . . . You’re a virgin.”

  “No, you and Ella Rae always said I was. I just never confirmed or denied.”

  My mind was racing. The fact that she’d had sex with Mitch Montgomery wasn’t a big deal to me, but the fact that she’d never told us was huge. “Why didn’t you tell us? What happened? Where is he? Was it just a one-night thing or did you have a relationship with him? Tell me everything! Were you in love with him?”

  “Seriously, Carrigan?” Laine asked. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

  “Can I tell Ella Rae?”

  “Of course,” she said. “But don’t scream it.”

  “Ella Rae!” I yelled. “Come out here! And bring a popsicle!”

  “You have always been so loud,” Laine accused, holding her ears, “and I think being preggers just makes you worse!”

  Ella Rae appeared a few moments later, splattered in yellow, with a popsicle in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Sit down,” I said. “Laine, tell her.”

  Laine opened her mouth, but I changed my mind and cut her off.

  “Never mind, let me,” I said.

  She waved a hand. “Be my guest.”

  “Laine had sex with Mitch Montgomery.”

  Ella Rae frowned. “Today?”

  My delight in sharing the secret was immediately deflated. “Yes, Ella Rae,” I said. “While you were painting and I was in the rocking chair, Mitch Montgomery drove up, and they had sex in the porch swing.”

  Ella Rae made a face. “What are you talking about?”

  Laine started laughing. “Ella Rae,” she said, “when I was in college at ULM, I had a . . . fling with Mitch Montgomery.”

  Ella Rae rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re a virgin,” she said, “and who the hell is Mitch Montgomery?”

  “I am not a virgin.”

  That was even funnier, and now all three of us were laughing, even if Ella Rae had no idea why.

  “Okay, okay,” Ella Rae finally said after we’d composed ourselves. “Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

  Laine repeated the story, and Ella Rae listened intently. When she was finished talking, Ella Rae asked the same twenty questions I did.

  “You two are the exact same person sometimes!” Laine said. “Okay, it happened my senior year. It lasted six months and it was wonderful. Yes, I was in love with him, and yes, I believe he was in love with me. And I didn’t tell either of you because . . . I knew from the beginning it wouldn’t last.”

  We were hanging on every word she said. In some circles, a college fling wouldn’t be that big a deal, but in Laine’s case the news was enormous. How could she have kept this kind of secret all these years? She’d graduated from ULM nearly eight years ago.

  “Why did you know it wouldn’t last?” I asked. “He didn’t want to move back to Bon Dieu Falls?”

  Ella Rae jumped in. “He wanted to move to the city and become an actor?”

  Laine got quiet again.

  “What happened, Laine?” I said.

  She took a deep breath. “Mitch had gotten married his freshman year at ULM. He met a girl, started dating her, she got pregnant, and they got married.”

  She paused when she saw our expressions. Ella Rae and I were both stunned. Our Laine involved with a married man? “They were separated,” she said. “In fact, they had already filed the divorce papers, and that happened before I entered the picture.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I knew there had to be an explanation. Not that I would judge you. I mean, things just happen sometimes. No one knows that more than I do.”

  “For real,” Ella Rae said.

  “Shut up, Ella Rae.”

  Ella Rae rolled her eyes. “I was just trying to help.”

  I ignored her and turned back to Laine. “So why didn’t it work out?”

  She shook her head, “I knew, in the end, he would choose his son over me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ve never blamed him for that. It’s what he should have done. We kept in touch for a year or so after they got back together, but I just never felt right about it. You know, a man living with his wife and child and professing his undying love. It just felt so . . . wrong. I eventually told him not to contact me any more.”

&
nbsp; “I’m so sorry, Laine,” I said. “You deserved so much more.”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge, and I don’t regret it. Not a second of it. You both always wondered why I wouldn’t date anybody more than once or twice. Well, Mitch was the reason. Nobody else ever measured up, I guess. Maybe it was wrong, but I loved him.”

  “It wasn’t wrong,” Ella Rae said. “He was almost divorced. They weren’t together, and you didn’t pull them apart.”

  Laine nodded. “I know.”

  A brief silence followed before Ella Rae asked the question that was uppermost in my mind. “Do you want to see him again? I mean, you know, since . . .”

  “Since I’m dying anyway, and what difference would it make now?”

  “Ugh.” I hated the death reference. “I don’t think that’s what—”

  “Oh, come on, y’all,” Laine said. “You both promised me from the beginning we’d call a spade a spade. Don’t back out on me now.”

  I shook my head. “Fine, so . . . do you want us to find him? Tell him? Do you wanna speak to him again?”

  She looked out across the field. “I admit I have thought about it. Just to tell him good-bye, you know? And to make sure his life has been happy.” She looked back at us. “But what good would it do now? It’s done. There’s no changing it. Maybe it would just mess him up, and I would never do that to him.”

  “Why? Why would you want to spare his feelings?” Ella Rae said.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I said. If Mitch Montgomery were in front of me right now, I’d beat him to a bloody pulp. He left her and she was still trying to protect him? “What do you want, Laine?”

  “Don’t, please don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t be mad at him. It wasn’t his fault.”

  Neither of us commented. She could take up for him all she wanted to, but the fact remained she loved him and he left her. She’d been young and naïve. He was married. He had known the score. Laine was the innocent in this. But if she wanted to defend him, I’d keep my mouth shut.