“That’s just like mine,” Jenny told her. “Except mine’s in the spring.”
Imogene sat down on the bed and wiped her eyes.
“That painting was the last thing I ever had from Hailey,” she said. “After I wrote to her and never heard back, I got worried. I wrote another letter, telling her I was going to drive down there to Cincinnati and get her. Not a week later, I came home from work and found this on my porch, wrapped in brown paper. There was a little card taped to the paper that said, ‘I love you, Mama. And I’m fine.’
“I thought maybe she’d come back then. I mean, she must have been in Indianapolis, right? She left the painting right on my porch. But she never did come home. And she never wrote or called again.”
Jenny sat down beside her on the bed and took her hand.
“At least she said, ‘I love you,’ ” she whispered.
I stood staring at the picture. Brannon had told us he’d sold the other paintings. How had this one ended up with Hailey’s mother? Had Hailey brought it? Or had Brannon?
We walked back downstairs and sat on the couch again, looking at pictures of Hailey and her brother and sister. They looked like a normal, happy family, the kids playing in the yard, sitting at a picnic table in front of a huge watermelon, dressed in their Easter Sunday best and holding pastel baskets with brightly colored eggs.
“Where’s her dad?” Jenny asked.
“Oh,” Imogene said, sighing heavily. “Hailey’s father died when she was six. Henry was his name. He was a good man, a good father. He had the cancer, you know, in his lungs. It nearly broke Hailey’s heart when he died. She was his favorite, his special girl.”
I stared at a picture of fourteen-year-old Hailey, dressed in very short shorts and a cropped top, her belly bare. She was tan and lean and pretty, grinning at the camera. No wonder Brannon had fallen for her.
“Mom?”
A young woman, maybe a few years older than me, stood in the doorway, her arms filled with grocery bags.
“Lily!” Imogene cried out as she stood. “Come here, dear. Come in. You’ll never believe who this is.” She pulled Jenny’s hand until Jenny stood beside her.
Lily looked hard at Jenny, shook her head, and stared again.
“You look like . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“It’s Jenny!” Imogene said. “It’s Hailey’s little girl, Jenny, eleven years old. Can you believe it?”
Lily stood staring.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Imogene said, frowning slightly. “Come here and say hello to your niece.”
Lily put her grocery bags on the floor and walked slowly toward Jenny.
“You sure do have her eyes,” she said, wrapping her arms around Jenny.
“And this is Emma,” Imogene said.
I rose and held out my hand.
Lily reached for it as Imogene continued, “She’s Jenny’s step-mama.”
Lily’s hand dropped. She glared at me. “Where’s Hailey?” she asked. Her voice sounded like shards of glass.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “Hailey died when Jenny was three.”
Lily looked from me to her mother and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Imogene said, shaking her head. “Lily just idolized Hailey. Hailey was her big sister and . . . well, she took it real hard when Hailey left. Will you excuse me?”
She walked down the stairs yet again. I stared after her, wondering if we’d done the right thing coming here. Lorelei rose and gathered the grocery bags from the floor, then walked downstairs into the kitchen. We heard the refrigerator open and close, then a cabinet.
Jenny and I walked downstairs and sat back down on the couch together.
“I have an aunt?” she said. “And an uncle, too, I guess. My mother had a brother and a sister.”
Lorelei walked back into the room and knelt in front of Jenny.
“You have family, honey—your mother’s family. You don’t know them yet, but you will. And they will love you.”
I sat watching them, my stomach churning. Jenny had a family—a grandmother, an aunt, and apparently an uncle. And cousins. She belonged somewhere . . . somewhere without me.
Then Jenny leaned heavily against my shoulder and I draped my arm around her.
“I already have a family,” she said firmly. “I mean, I want to know MommaJean and Lily and my cousins and . . . and all of them. But, Emma is my family. She’s the one who loves me. She’s the one that matters.”
“Hey.” The voice was soft, small. We looked toward the door where Lily stood, her eyes and cheeks red.
“I’m sorry I was rude,” she said. “I just . . . it’s been so long since we heard from Hailey. I guess I hoped . . . Anyway, I am glad to meet you, Jenny, so glad.”
She put her arms around Jenny again and held her quietly for a long minute. Then she turned to me and extended her hand.
“I’m glad to meet you, too, Emma,” she said.
I ignored her outstretched hand and opened my arms. She hesitated for just an instant, and walked into my arms.
“I’m so sorry to bring you such awful news,” I said. “I wish I could undo what happened.”
She squeezed me hard for a minute and let her arms drop.
“At least you brought Jenny back to us.”
49
Jenny
It felt so weird, sitting in that small room with my grandmother and my aunt—my mother’s mother and sister. They were kind, kept offering us more sodas, telling me how much I looked like my mother.
“Did you call Rudy?” Lily asked suddenly.
“Not yet,” MommaJean said. “I just found out, it seems like. I haven’t even thought . . .”
“I’m going to call him.”
Lily walked into the kitchen, pulling a cell phone from her pocket.
“Who is Rudy?” Emma asked. She’d been sitting so quiet, just listening. But she’d never let go of my hand.
“That’s my son,” MommaJean said, smiling at her. “He’s two years older than Hailey, her big brother. He always looked after her for me. He’ll be so glad to meet Jenny.”
Lorelei rose and stretched. “I need to make a call myself,” she said. “I’ll just be outside.”
She walked out the front door, leaving Emma and me alone with my grandmother.
“She seems like a nice girl,” MommaJean said, nodding at the door Lorelei had just closed. “Did you say you only met her after you left home?”
“Yes,” Emma said, squeezing my hand, “we only met her yesterday. Or was it the day before?” She looked at me, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember, either, it all felt so long ago and far away.
MommaJean looked confused.
“When Jenny showed me what she’d found—the licenses and . . . and everything—I didn’t know what to do. I just knew we had to leave before Brannon came home.”
She stopped then, lowered her eyes, and wrapped her free arm around her belly.
“So Mrs. Rigby . . .” I began.
“That’s my friend, Shirley,” Emma interrupted. “I called her, and she told me about a retreat center not far from where we were in Kentucky. We drove up there . . . it’s a convent, actually, a place where the nuns retire.”
“Nuns?” MommaJean sounded confused. “Are you Catholic?”
“No,” Emma said. “But Shirley is, and she told me we could go up there to stay and be safe until we figured out what to do next.”
“Shirley’s husband died,” I said. “He was real mean.”
“He was abusive,” Emma continued. “And one time Shirley ran away from him, and the convent . . . really, it’s a retreat center . . . anyway, that’s where she went. And so that’s where we went, Jenny and me. I didn’t know where else to go.”
MommaJean said nothing, just waited.
“That’s where we met Lorelei,” Emma said. “She had a friend . . . oh God, it’s such a long story. Anyway, I told her about Brannon an
d the letter we found from you, and she said she lived pretty close to you. And . . . and so we just came home with her.”
“She works for a church,” I added, thinking that might be helpful.
Lorelei walked back into the house then, snapping her phone closed.
“Thank you.” MommaJean rose and limped toward Lorelei, her arms open. “Thank you for bringing them home to me.”
“Rudy is on his way,” Lily told us from the kitchen doorway. “He can’t wait to meet you, Jenny.”
“Well, we’re going to need some dinner,” MommaJean said. “Call Jockamo’s, Lily, and order us some pizzas. Get a Slaughterhouse Five and maybe a Maui, and . . . what do you girls like on your pizza?”
She looked from me to Lorelei to Emma, still sitting on the sofa.
“We like anything,” Emma said. She looked so tired and pale. I sat down beside her and took her hand in mine.
“Can we get something without meat?” Lorelei said. “Maybe the Cheese Louise?”
“Okay,” MommaJean said firmly, “a Slaughterhouse Five, a Maui, and a Cheese Louise, all of them large. And get some bread sticks, too.”
“What’s a Slaughterhouse Five?” I asked. It sounded pretty gross.
“It’s named after a Kurt Vonnegut novel,” MommaJean said. “He was a famous writer from Indianapolis. Haven’t you ever heard of him?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s got five different kinds of meat—the pizza, that is,” she said. “Pepperoni and sausage and bacon . . . and some others I can’t think of right now. It’s good; you’ll like it.”
Lily disappeared back into the kitchen with her phone.
“Are you all right, dear?” MommaJean was looking hard at Emma.
“I’m fine,” Emma said, but she didn’t sound fine. I held her hand tight in mine.
“It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”
“It’s a lot,” Emma said. “I’m so happy for Jenny to find her extended family, and so grateful that you’ve been so welcoming. But it’s a lot to take in.”
MommaJean sat down by Emma and touched her cheek.
“Jenny is our family,” she said firmly. “And so are you.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Honey,” MommaJean continued, “you brought my granddaughter back to us, my little girl’s little girl. And you’re her stepmama, and that makes you family. You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not.”
Emma smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“The pizzas will be ready in thirty minutes.” Lily walked back into the room. “Rudy will pick them up on his way over. Oh, and I called Joe.”
“Who’s Joe?” I asked.
“That’s my husband,” Lily said. “He’s going to bring my sons over to meet you.”
“You’ll love them,” MommaJean said. “Jerry is nine and Danny is six. They’re going to love you.”
I held tight to Emma’s hand. All my life, it had been just Daddy and me. Now I had a whole family of strangers. I wasn’t sure how I would remember all their names.
“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked.
“Surely,” MommaJean said. “Lily, show Jenny where the bathroom is.”
I followed Lily upstairs and she pointed toward an open door.
I closed the door behind me and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. My head ached. I felt like I might throw up. Mostly, I just wanted to go home . . . but where was home now? Where was Daddy? I closed my eyes and remembered the day in Idaho when I knew Emma would be my new stepmom. Daddy and Emma dancing on the grass, Emma winking at me, the hot, still air in the trailer. If I could go back and undo it all, would I?
A light knock at the door startled me.
“Jenny?” Emma’s voice was soft. “Are you all right?”
Was I all right? Had I ever really been all right? Would I ever be all right again?
I opened the door and wrapped my arms around her.
“I’m scared,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “I’m scared, too.”
We stood like that for a minute, then she kissed the top of my head.
“I know it’s kind of overwhelming, but it’s pretty great that you have a whole family, that they want you in their lives. You can find out all about your mother, now. That’s a good thing, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay, we’ll eat some pizza and you’ll meet a bunch of people and then we’ll go back to Lorelei’s and get some sleep. Does that sound all right?”
I nodded again, then took her hand and walked downstairs with her. The small front room was crowded now. A man stood with his arm around Lily. Two little boys shouted and ran from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Lorelei sat in her chair, just watching the chaos. MommaJean looked up from the couch and beckoned to me.
“Come here, Jenny,” she said. “Come and meet your cousins.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. My uncle Rudy arrived with the pizzas. Then Rudy’s wife came, bringing two of their kids. The room was hot and crowded and incredibly noisy. I sat as close to Emma as I could get, trying to remember to smile.
I had a family. A huge, noisy family.
And I missed Daddy.
50
Emma
Lord, I was so glad to get back to Lorelei’s. The house was cool and quiet and calm. I stretched out on my bed in the guest room and just breathed in the peace.
Jenny lay on her bed, clutching her stuffed bear.
“Do you miss Daddy?” she asked suddenly, her voice small.
I turned my head to look at her.
“Yes,” I said. “I miss him a lot.”
“Me too.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. Then Jenny sat up, still holding the bear.
“Where’s your phone?” she asked.
I sat up and reached for my purse, dug the phone out.
“Can we listen to the messages?” Her eyes were wide and wet. “Maybe he called. Maybe we can just listen to him talk, just for a minute.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I was afraid to listen, afraid to hear what Brannon might say, and afraid to have Jenny hear what he might say.
“Please?”
I tried to turn the phone on, but the battery was dead. So I dug through my suitcase for the charger and plugged it into the wall outlet. I turned the phone on and looked at the screen—forty-six messages, almost all of them from Brannon.
“Did he call?” Jenny asked.
I nodded. “He called a bunch of times.”
“Can I listen to the messages?”
I sighed. I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life. Honestly, I didn’t think I had the strength to listen to any of Brannon’s messages. But Jenny’s face was so sad and so hopeful. I clicked on the first message and held the phone to my ear.
“Let me listen to them first,” I said.
“Emma?” His voice filled my head. “Babe, where are you? I got your note. Are you in Atlanta? Why didn’t you tell me you were going? Call me back, honey. Please call me soon.”
Tears filled my eyes. I clicked on the next message.
“Emma, where the hell are you? It’s almost eleven and I don’t even know where you are. Call me back, damn it!”
The messages went on and on, alternately pleading and angry, promising and threatening. I clicked the last message from him.
“Listen, you stupid cunt! You think you can just leave me and take my kid? Stupid bitch! You bring Jenny back here and you do it now! She’s my daughter, not yours. I will find you, bitch, and when I do you’re a dead woman!”
“Are you okay?” Jenny stared at me, her eyes round and frightened.
“You don’t want to hear them,” I said. “He doesn’t even sound like your dad anymore.”
She lay back on the bed, her arm over her eyes, and began to cry.
I looked at the phone again. Three more messages, one from Angel, two fr
om Resa. I clicked on Angel’s message.
“Emma, I just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you and about Jenny. Brannon has been tearing around town like a wild thing. He showed up here last night, drunk and screaming. Michael finally told him he’d call the police if Brannon didn’t leave. I know you’re scared, but please let us know you’re okay. Call me back, or have Jenny e-mail Lashaundra. Be safe.”
Tears stung my eyes. Angel and Michael had been so good to me, after that disastrous start. I hated that they were so worried.
I clicked on the first of Resa’s messages.
“Hey, darlin’, it’s me. I don’t know where you are, but Angel told me what you found in the attic. You should go to the police, Emma. Do it before he finds you. And for God’s sake, don’t come back here. I believe he’d kill you if he could.”
I wiped my eyes, and clicked on her second message.
“Emma, it’s me again. I done told Wylie about what ya’ll found. He said he’s going to do some digging around, to see what he can find out about Brannon and all those women. Angel’s little girl showed him the things she and Jenny found on the computer. You just lay low, you hear? Wylie will figure out what to do.”
When I looked up from the phone, Jenny was staring hard at me.
“Angel and Resa called. They said your dad’s in bad shape. He’s been drinking, I guess, and he’s pretty angry.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen him like that,” she said, her voice flat. “Once, when he thought I was asleep, I saw him hit Jackie. He hit her so hard she fell down. That was the night she left. I always thought it was because he hit her.”
She came and sat beside me on my bed.
“He gets mad, I know. He’s got a bad temper,” she said. “I knew that even when I was little. But . . . but he’s not all bad, is he? I mean, he was a good dad. . . .”
“No, he’s not all bad,” I said, hugging her. “I think he’s got something inside that makes him lose it sometimes.”
“Like a demon or something?”
“Not a real demon, like you see in movies,” I said. “I think something is broken inside Brannon, and sometimes he can’t control himself.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why can’t he control himself?”
The Seventh Mother Page 29