Cliques, Hicks, and Ugly Sticks

by KD McCrite

  “Myra,” I said again, coming to her. I knelt down, facing her on that almost-brand-new red carpet. “Don’t you want something to eat? There’s all kinds of good stuff. Carol Rhoades made divinity, and you know how you dearly love it.”

  She didn’t change expressions. Instead she lowered her head on her arms again. “I can never show my face in this church again,” she said, all muffled-like, coming as it did from beneath her arms.

  “Oh, Myra Sue. Sure you can!”

  She shook her head. “I was awful. I let down Isabel and Mama and everybody. I let down myself because I thought I had talent, but then I got up there and acted like the worst thing that’s ever graced the American stage.”

  “You did fine, Myra. You were just a little nervous, probably, and overdid it a little. But it’s just this one time. Next time you’ll do way, way better.”

  She didn’t say a thing. She just sat there, all bunched up.

  “Myra? Let’s go find Mama and Daddy.”

  She shook her head. “I just want to sit here and think about what an awful actor I am.”

  “Would you like me to sit with you?”

  She lifted her head enough to glare at me. “Oh sure! Rub it in, April Grace, that you were so much better than me. That’s all I need to hear, thank you very much.” She put her head right back down.

  I sighed.

  “Just go away,” she mumbled.

  “Okay then,” I said after a little pause. I got up and went back to the fellowship hall.

  Isabel was standing near the door, talking with a couple of old ladies. I marched right up to her and waited until those women hushed because I have been taught it is the Ultimate Rudeness to interrupt people when they are talking.

  “Isabel, Myra Sue needs you.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Where is the dear girl?” She looked around.

  “Come with me.”

  As soon as we stepped into the sanctuary, I whispered to Isabel what Myra looked like and what she said.

  “She needs you,” I repeated.

  “Well then, let’s go talk to her.”

  “You go on. She don’t want me there right now.” I caught her arm before she left me. “Isabel, I didn’t mean to be better than her. Honest, I didn’t.”

  She smiled at me and patted my hand on her arm. “I know, darling. I’ll explain it to her. Thank you for telling me.”

  Once she trotted off down the aisle toward the spot of light behind the curtain, I went back to find Mama and Daddy.

  “I found Myra Sue. She’s sitting on the platform, and she’s feeling bad about how she did tonight.”

  Mama started to get up, so I added real quick, “Isabel is with her now, so I’m pretty sure she’ll be all right. You know how she loves and adores ole Isabel.”

  I glanced at Mama’s cup, which held red punch. “Want some more punch, Mama? Daddy, you want me to get you a sandwich?”

  “No, thanks,” they said at the same time.

  Mama stirred in her chair again. She looked awful tired.

  “Mama, if you want to go home, I can hang around here until Myra is feeling better, then we can . . .” I gulped real deep and hard before I could finish. “We can ride home with Grandma.”

  “No, honey. I’m feeling a little better right now, so I’ll go see to Myra Sue.”

  She grabbed Daddy’s hand and heaved herself to her feet while Daddy balanced her by hanging on to her arm. Then she waddled off, the palms of both hands resting against her back like she was pushing herself.

  “Daddy, is Mama really feeling better? She looks mighty miserable to me.”

  “Honey, I think she feels as good as possible, given her condition. And the condition of her condition.” He gave me a smile and gently flicked the tip of my nose with his pointy finger. “I want you to quit worrying so much, okay?”

  We looked at each other for a minute, and I finally heaved a big sigh.

  “I will try.”

  “Good!”

  After a bit, I said, “I’m gonna go get some food ’cause my stomach has done took a bite out of my backbone.”

  He nodded and got up. “Okay, punkin. I’m going to go see about your sister.”

  I filled my plate with little tuna sandwiches, barbeque potato chips, mixed nuts, Oreos, chocolate chip cookies, pecan pralines, fudge-nut brownies, peanut clusters, butterscotch fudge, and pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Then I sat down and ate.

  Just about the time I’d finished my second plateful, I spotted Mama, Daddy, Myra Sue, and Isabel coming out of the sanctuary. All of them were smiling, but Myra Sue’s eyeballs were all red, and her lips and nose were puffy. I figured she’d been bawling pretty hard. Those four had not been in the fellowship hall two minutes before folks were going up to Myra Sue and shaking her hand, or hugging her, and telling her how proud they were of her, and bragging how brave she’d been to get up there in front of so many people. I tell you what: no one said a thing about how awful she’d done. I hoped that made her feel better.

  It sure is nice to have folks around who love you even when you goof up Big-Time.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Alone

  The next morning, which was the Sunday before Christmas, was the little bitty kids’ program that always took up the whole service with carol-singing and reciting Scripture and poems about Jesus’s birth. My part of holiday acting was over and done with, and I was more grateful than you can imagine.

  “Oh, I wish I could go with you!” Mama said, standing near the front door as we were leaving. Daddy was in his dark blue suit, and me and Myra were in new dresses with lace collars and shoulder pads and wide belts, and ole Myra was even wearing one-inch high heels. She looked pretty grown-up, but she still looked like she had some leftover sadness from last night’s play.

  Right then I wasn’t too concerned about my sister. She’d start feeling better soon. But Mama did concern me. It was plain as day that going to the play and the potluck afterward had worn her out. She sort of leaned against the wall as she gazed at us all in our coats and holiday clothes. She smiled, but I saw tears in her eyes.

  Now, that is something I rarely saw, my mama in tears. I got to thinking. Here it was, almost Christmas, and there we were, all dressed up, standing by the front door and ready to go to church. We were gonna leave Mama at home alone when she had always so loved watching the little kids sing and quote Bible verses on the Sunday before Christmas. She must’ve been feeling really lonely and let down right then.

  And besides that, I didn’t think she looked good, like maybe she was feeling poorly along with being tired.

  “Mama,” I said, taking off my coat. “I’m staying with you.”

  She looked at me. “No, honey. You go on to church and enjoy the music. Tell me all about it when you get home.”

  I turned to Daddy and said, “I’m staying home. I’m taking care of Mama this morning.”

  “April Grace,” he began. Then he looked at Mama. Maybe he saw as well as I did that she was in no shape to be left alone that morning. “Lily, honey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mike. I’m tired. As soon as y’all leave, I’m heading back to bed.”

  “I am staying, Mama.” I slid off my new black shoes. They pinched my feet anyway. “You can ground me if you want to. You can make me scrub out the refrigerator; you can make me wash all the dishes in the cabinet. I don’t care what you do, but I am staying with you this morning.”

  I reckoned I might get in trouble for being rebellious and stubborn, especially on a Sunday, especially this close to Christmas, but I didn’t care. I marched right upstairs, carrying my coat over one arm and my shoes in the other hand. And you know what? Neither one of them argued with me. In fact, I think maybe my parents were a little relieved that, this once, Mama would not be home alone on Sunday morning.

  I shucked off my new dark green, velvety dress, put on jeans, a dark blue sweatshirt with Santa’s grinning face on it, and my good ole comfy sneakers; then
I hurried back downstairs and went right into Mama and Daddy’s bedroom. The door was open, and she was halfway propped up on the pillows, lying against them on her side. Her face seemed more flushed than usual.

  “Honey, I wish you’d gone to see the little kids’ program.

  It’ll be so cute.”

  “I know, but I’d rather stay with you. It’ll be fun, just you and me.”

  She smiled at that, kinda weakly.

  “Would you like me to read to you?” I asked.

  She shifted around in the bed, rearranged the covers a little, and settled her head against the pillow.

  “Not right now, honey,” she said. She closed her eyes.

  I looked at that mound that was her tummy and vowed I’d never in my life have a baby. Ever. Especially one that seemed determined to wreck its mama’s health.

  “Mama?” I said softly.

  “Hmm?” She didn’t even flutter her eyelashes.

  “Mama? Are you all right?”

  “Mmm,” she replied, and shifted in the bed again like she couldn’t get comfortable. A small frown flickered across her forehead.

  “Want me to fluff your pillows or straighten your blankets? Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of water?”

  She sighed. “I’m just going to rest, honey,” she mumbled, and that was all she said. She still had not looked at me.

  I noticed the water pitcher next to the bed was only half full. I got it and whispered, “I’m gonna go fill this up with fresh water.”

  She didn’t say a word, and I slipped out of her room. When I came back toting that pitcher full of ice water, she hadn’t moved a muscle from the time I left and was just staring at the wall. I ran upstairs to my bedroom and got The Clue in the Diary, a Nancy Drew mystery, then ran back down to Mama’s room and sat in the little antique wicker chair.

  I bet I read one page at least 194 times, or more. I knew the book was good and I planned to read the whole entire series and had already read the first six, but that day I could not concentrate on Nancy or Ned or Bess or sleuthing or anything else. Finally I just set that book aside and watched Mama. She started stirring around again, and this time I noticed she was gripping the covers so tight, her hands were white.

  “Mama?” I jumped up and ran to her side.

  She groaned so loud, it was like she was trying to upchuck rocks.

  “Mama, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  I looked at her round belly.

  “Mama, are you having labor pains?”

  But surely not. That baby wasn’t due for another month and a half yet. Mama did not reply. Instead she moaned, and then she began to cry. She did not look at me at all.

  I have to tell you right now, I was purely scared. Something was happening and there was not one person in that house to help me. Grandma, who was back living in her own house now, had gone to church. And Ian and Isabel and Forest and Temple had all planned to visit the church today to watch the little kids’ program, so I knew that no one was home on Rough Creek Road, at least no one close by.

  I started to shake like the last dry leaf in a cold November wind.

  April Grace Reilly! I yelled at myself inside my head. Get ahold of yourself right this minute! You can’t shake like a wet dog or cry like a little kid or pout like Myra Sue or get riled like Isabel! You have to do something, and you better do it now, or I’m gonna whomp you upside the head in about a minute!

  I don’t know how I could whomp my own personal head, but I didn’t stand there and try to figure it out. Instead, I ran to the phone on the little table in the hallway. Zachary County did not have 9-1-1 like the rest of the world, so I dialed zero and called the operator.

  “Ma’am,” I said into the phone the second she answered, “something is wrong with my mama, and I need an ambulance at my house fast.”

  Then she asked me where I was calling from and told me to be calm, and then someone else was on the phone with me, and it turned out to be the sheriff’s office. I don’t know why I was talking to the sheriff’s office, but I didn’t care as long as they sent someone to help.

  “There is something wrong with my mama, and I think maybe she might be having her baby, but it isn’t due for a long time, and I’m here all by myself ’cause everyone has gone to church, and please, please, someone has to get out here and help!”

  I wanted to bust into tears and go hide under the bed, but I didn’t. Instead, I swallowed real hard and told that man on the telephone exactly who I was and where we lived and how old I was and what Mama was doing and how long she’d been doing it. Then he wanted to talk to Mama, and I pulled the phone as far as the cord would stretch, and it would not stretch far enough.

  Boy, oh boy, I felt the sobs. They were right there in the front of my eyes, in the back of my throat, on the tip of my tongue, battling to spew right out and show off to everyone how scared I was and how much I didn’t know what to do. But I wouldn’t give in. No, sirree. I could cry later, but not right then, not when Mama needed me.

  “The phone won’t reach,” I told the man on the other end of the line.

  “Then can you talk to your mother for me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ask her how she’s feeling.”

  “Yes, sir. Mama, the sheriff wants to know how you’re feeling.”

  “Bad,” she moaned.

  I gulped. “She says ‘bad.’”

  “Ask her if she’s having contractions.”

  “Mama, are you having contractions?”

  She groaned, then said, “Something’s wrong.”

  “Mama!” I screamed before I could stop myself. I gulped again, swallowing my terror, and told the man on the phone, “She says something is wrong. When are you gonna stop talking to me and send an ambulance?” I hollered at him.

  “Honey, an ambulance is on its way. It’ll be there before you know it.” And then he started asking me questions to ask Mama, and I did that until I heard the most beautiful sound I ever heard: the siren on that ambulance screaming its way down Rough Creek Road, nearer and nearer, bringing help to my mama.

  I opened the front door and led those paramedics to her room, and then I kinda stood back and watched as if I were someone else who didn’t have a body or a mind or a mama or anything. I didn’t even know a deputy was there until I sort of woke up to find myself in the front seat of his police car. We were whizzing down the road behind that ambulance with lights and sirens and everything.

  I turned my head and looked at him. He was a big man with a big face and blond hair and eyebrows. He glanced at me.

  “How you doin’, little miss?” he asked me.

  I stared at him for a good, long time, then I reached out and touched his arm, because I wasn’t sure that this wasn’t a dream. But he looked and sounded and felt solid, so I knew I was sure enough awake.

  “Is my mama in that ambulance?”

  “Yes. And we’ll be at the hospital in no time. Your mama will be fine.”

  “They won’t take her to Blue Reed General Hospital, will they?”

  “It’s the closest.”

  “People go there when they want to die,” I declared.

  He said nothing for a minute, then said, “It’s what we have.”

  I gave that nice man a dirty look. “I want my daddy.”

  “He’s been called.”

  “Will he be at that hospital?”

  “I’m sure he will be. Don’t you worry, little miss.”

  But how could I not? I stared out the window and didn’t say anything else.

  THIRTY

  Waiting Rooms and the Waiting That We Do

  I don’t know who called Daddy—maybe the sheriff’s deputy— but I hadn’t been in that waiting room five minutes before Daddy and Grandma and Myra and Ian and Isabel and Forest and Temple poured through those doors. I was so glad to see every one of them, especially my daddy and grandma, both of whom I ran to and hugged and who hugged me back real hard.

  “Yo
u doing okay, honey?” Daddy asked.

  Again, I swallowed back my urge to bawl my head off, and I nodded, ’cause Daddy did not need to add me to his list of things to worry about.

  A nurse took them back into the official part of all the emergency room business. The rest of us had to hang around in that waiting room. Myra Sue looked as pale as I felt, and let me tell you, all four adults looked worried sick.

  “It’s far too early for that baby to be born,” Isabel kept saying as she paced back and forth in her shiny high heels.

  “I wish I’d brought my special tea blend. That would help stop Lily’s contractions,” Temple said.

  Isabel halted. Her eyes bored a hole right through Temple, but Temple did not notice. Instead, that ole hippie woman just strolled over to the corner of the waiting room, settled down in a chair, rested her hands palms-up in her lap, and closed her eyes. She looked perfectly peaceful, so I knew she was probably meditating, which is something I wished I could do, but I couldn’t. I was too wound up and scared.

  I’m not sure how much time passed, but it felt like several years before Daddy came into the waiting room. His maroon-colored tie was loose, and the top button of his new white shirt hung open. He did not look too much like Daddy right then, and I reckon when you’re scared and worried, you just don’t look like yourself.

  “They’ve put her on a drip that’s supposed to stop the contractions.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “How’s Mama?” I asked.

  “She’s in a lot of pain, honey,” he told me. “And she’s scared. It’s too early for the baby to come.”

  “When can I see her? I need to see her.”

  “I know, honey, but right now, they aren’t letting anyone be with her but Grandma and me.”

  I swallowed down that information, and it tasted bitter.

  “Will Mama be all right?” My words came out all strangled and tight.

  You could see his smile was forced. “This is hard on her, but yes, she’ll be all right.”

  “What about the baby?” Ian asked.