by Gina Holmes
When my monthly didn’t come on time, I figured stress, weight loss, and caffeine withdrawal had caused it, but just to be sure, I used the last of my pregnancy tests. If I could have afforded a dozen more, I would have taken them. I just couldn’t believe I was finally looking at a little blue plus sign after all this time. I wanted to be happy. This was what I had prayed and dreamed of for as long as I’d been married, after all, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I was going to starve my own baby to death.
It was all I could do not to share the news with your father, but something told me I’d better think it out first. So, alone in the bedroom, I got on my knees as I’d seen my mother do so many times, and asked God why. The answer was immediate. This is what I’d asked for. First I ask God why he won’t give me a baby, then I ask him why he does? I smiled through tears.
I hate to wish bad things on you, Son, but I hope you get the privilege someday of having no one to lean on but God. It changes a person.
It sure changed me.
SIX
THE NEXT DAY, before I even told your father about you, I swallowed my pride into my grumbling stomach and drove to the food bank. Walking in there, I felt defeated and determined all at the same time. When I told Trent I found some money in one of his pants pockets, he told me to pick him up a pack of smokes while I was out.
I hated lying, but when you’re starving, somehow a lie doesn’t seem as wicked as when your belly’s full. I hope you never go hungry enough to understand that, Manny.
A round woman with short, white hair met me at the door. I felt so humiliated at first I could barely look her in the eye, but she had this way about her, this disarming smile and voice that reminded me of my grandmother. By the time she was finished asking me questions, it felt like I was the one doing her the favor by taking the food off her hands.
I was relieved things were going so well, until she ushered me back into the next room. Stacked nearly to the ceiling were shelves and shelves of food, just like a neighborhood grocery store. I could almost taste the Hamburger Helper piled high before me, when I heard a familiar voice say, “Penny, is that you? Penny Taylor?”
My blood turned to ice even as shame warmed my face. Of all the people in the world to be there, it just had to be that church lady. She wore a black apron over her dress, which told me she was there to work, not collect charity.
I pasted on a smile. “Cora Mae, so good to see you.”
She looked at the basket in my hands, then for some reason, down at my shoes. Maybe she thought I would be barefoot and filth-toed; I’m not quite sure. “It’s Callie Mae, but close enough.”
Before my mind could catch up with my mouth, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
She gave me a funny look, then pointed to the sign that said Sheckle Baptist in small letters right above Food Bank.
I’d never noticed the name of her church being on the sign out front, but here it was in faded brown and green. I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. “I’m just here for a friend,” I stammered. What was wrong with me? With all the lies flying from my lips lately, I was becoming a regular heathen.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. There’s no shame in asking for help. We all need a hand every now and then.”
The way I figured, the only help those kind of church ladies ever needed was someone to hold their purse while they put on their lipstick. I had a lot of mixed-up ideas about people back then, Manny. About everything, really. “My husband had an accident.”
Her thin, blonde eyebrows dipped. “Oh no! What happened? Is he all right?”
“Not really,” I said. “He’s blind.”
After she picked her jaw up off the floor, she snatched up my hand like we were old girlfriends. I’d never felt skin so soft. She led me to a room at the back of the makeshift store. Inside it sat a small table, a microwave, and a bulletin board full of pictures of families I gathered the food bank had helped along the way.
The smell of brewed coffee made me practically drool. She pulled out two ceramic cups from the cabinet and asked me how I took mine. Normally, the answer would be black, but that day, as my stomach grumbled in pain, I asked for extra cream and sugar. Her eyes lingered on me, then she squatted and opened a bottom cupboard and pulled out a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. “Can’t very well have coffee without pastry.” She stood and set the box on the counter. “Guess these will have to work.”
It was all I could do to keep my eyes off those cakes and on her.
We sat down, and three oatmeal cremes and two cups of coffee later, she knew all about your father’s welding accident, our empty cabinets, and even the fact I hadn’t seen my parents in years. It felt so good to confide in another human being. It made the weight of my burdens feel lighter somehow.
With her dainty hands wrapped around her coffee mug, she shook her head with a look of pity. “My word, Penny Taylor, I feel like I’ve been reading the book of Job.”
As much as your father hated the idea of charity, I think I hated pity more. In their own way, I imagine both of our responses were the sin of pride. “It sounds worse than it is.”
She took a sip from the mug. “Believe it or not, I’ve been there. I married well, but believe you me, I grew up so poor my brother and me had to ride double on our stick horse.”
My gaze moved up her French manicure to the dime-sized rock on her finger. I doubted she’d been within a hundred miles of where I’d walked, but I just smiled.
“You live in that little house covered in tar paper, as I recall.”
I could barely look her in the eye. Was she wondering if we were too ignorant to know we were supposed to put siding over that stuff? Was she remembering the overgrown grass, the broken-down car in the yard, or the tractor tire circling around weeds like some kind of redneck planter?
“That’s right,” I whispered.
She looked off to the side with a hint of a smile playing on her glossy lips. “I’ll bet you don’t know this, but I stood outside your window for quite a while before knocking that first time I came by to bring you the cake and invitation.”
A feeling of panic came over me as I wondered what she might have seen or heard. Trent had been home that day, so there was no telling. “Oh?”
“You were singing my daughter, Sara’s, favorite song.” She looked at me as if I should remember too, but I didn’t. As awful as it was to learn she’d been listening to me squawking like a crow, it was far better than some other things she might have heard.
I stared at the dried brown drip on the side of my coffee cup, waiting for her to either continue or change the subject.
“You have a pretty voice.” She cleared her throat.
I pushed my empty cup to the side and intertwined my fingers together atop the table just to give them something to do. “I’m guessing your hearing ain’t what it used to be.”
One thin eyebrow shot up. “Penny Taylor, are you suggesting I’m old?”
If my eyes were half as wide as they felt, I must have looked an awful lot like an owl right then. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant I can’t sing, is all. Please don’t think—”
“Honey, you need to relax. Don’t you think I know I’ve got enough wrinkles to hold a week’s worth of rain?”
Other than a few fine lines around her mouth and eyes when she smiled, her skin was as smooth as mine. Realizing she was using the same self-deprecation on herself that I’d just used on me, I decided then I liked her. Despite the fact she had more class in her thumb knuckles than I had in my entire body, maybe she and I weren’t all that different after all.
When I left there, I had three bags stuffed full of groceries, two job offers, and one new friend.
Callie Mae carried one of those bags out to the car for me. The air outside was warmer than it should have been for that time of year, and it brought to mind Trent and the heat I would be in if I didn’t produce a pack of cigarettes. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to ask for on
e more thing from Callie Mae. She had already done so much.
“Now, Penny, you best be calling me tomorrow and telling me yes to one of those jobs we talked about. You tell your husband he has got to swallow that pride of his. It’s not about just him anymore. He’s got himself a wife to feed. If I were you—” she paused and looked over her shoulder like someone might be listening— “I would take the cleaning job. You don’t want to work for Mr. Henry. He’s a prickly old cactus. Believe you me, you want the job cleaning houses. I’m a good boss. It’s not glamorous, but the work’s steady, I pay on time, and you’ll love Fatimah. She’s who’d be training you.” She put her hand over her heart, and it looked for a second she might cry. “Oh, and she will love you. She surely will. After all that poor girl’s been through, she needs a friend, and I think maybe you do too.”
I wanted to ask what Fatimah had been through, but if things went the way I hoped they would, I’d have time to find out for myself.
When she opened the passenger door, it creaked so loudly it made her jump. Laughing at herself, she propped the bag of groceries against the back of the seat, pausing to consider the wooden cross dangling from my rearview mirror. When Trent lost his eyesight, one of the first things I did was replace the Playboy bunny air freshener he had hanging there. Thank goodness I had. The embarrassment of Callie Mae seeing that nasty thing would have killed me for sure.
She closed the door and looked over the top of the car at me. “Now, if there is anything else I can do for you—anything at all—you let me know. I mean it, now.”
I put my second bag in the backseat and shut the door. Flecks of rust rained down as it latched. “Callie Mae, you’re an angel.”
She wiped at her brow as she shot the sun a dirty look. “Better hold your judgment on that one. Anything, now. Hear me?”
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle so tightly my knuckles lost their color. “I guess maybe there is one thing.” It was a horrible thing to ask. And of a woman of God, too. “My husband, he smokes. It’s an awful addiction, I know. It’s just . . .” My voice trailed off.
It made me nervous that I couldn’t read her expression. She didn’t look disgusted like I thought she would. Instead, her thin lips disappeared as she tried to read something in my eyes. “It’s against our policy to give money, Penny. I’m sorry.”
I tried to smile, but it just refused to come. “I understand.” Wanting nothing more than to disappear, I opened the driver’s door. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you my answer on the job after I discuss it with Trent.”
“Oh, wait!” she exclaimed. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
I sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door. The ignition turned over on the first try, which was unheard of for Old Sally, as Trent liked to call our car. She almost always took at least three turns before rattling to life. I watched the thermostat creep up as the car idled. The temptation to drive off and never have to face Callie Mae again was overwhelming, but of course, I couldn’t do that. Not after how nice she’d been to me.
After a minute, she came out carrying an oversize canvas purse. She walked over, leaned it on my open window rim, and unzipped it. I hated myself so much right then. I didn’t just feel like a beggar, I felt like one of those bums you hated giving money to because you just knew they would only blow it on drugs or booze.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a green and white soft pack of Salems. Shocked into silence, I just stared at her.
It was she now who couldn’t make eye contact. “Don’t you dare go telling anyone I smoke. The last thing in this world I need is another well-intended lecture on what these things make the inside of my lungs look like. I was planning on quitting again tomorrow, anyway. I’ll just do it today.”
Not knowing what else to do, I took the cigarettes from her hand. This pack was not only missing a few, and not your father’s brand, they were menthol. He hated menthol. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and beggars couldn’t really be choosers. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Callie Mae.”
She waved me away. “Don’t mention it. And I mean that literally. You had best not show up to church on Sunday thanking me for those things, neither, understand?”
The look on her face tickled me. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t think of it.” It felt almost as good to laugh as it had to eat. I guess I’d been starving for both.
As I drove off, leaving an oil stain behind me, I caught a glimpse of my smile in the rearview, and at that moment, I remembered how life was supposed to feel.
SEVEN
I FOUND TRENT in the same spot I had left him—in front of the TV. The only difference was now he was lying down instead of sitting. He had the couch pillow doubled under his head and the avocado-and-brown afghan wrapped around him like it wasn’t eighty degrees outside.
With my arms still full of groceries, I started to ask what he was watching, but caught myself just in time. Instead I said, “What are you listening to?”
With a sigh, he pushed the cover down to his waist, revealing a shred of green yarn stuck to his chest hair. “Stupid news. Nothing good ever happens to nobody. Ever.”
I wanted to blurt out that simply wasn’t true. Lots of good stuff happened in the world—just today, in fact, to us—but I couldn’t show my hand too early, not if I was going to get to take the job that would keep food on our table. First, I needed to butter him up good. “I’m going to make salmon cakes for supper.” My hand was starting to hurt where the plastic handles of grocery bags had twisted around my knuckles.
He turned in my direction. “Don’t toy with me, woman.”
All nerves, I faked a laugh. “With fried potatoes and pole beans. If that’s all right with you.”
The look on his face was priceless. It must have been the same one I wore when Callie Mae pulled out those oatmeal cremes and offered me one.
After walking the bags to the kitchen and setting them down on the counter, I rubbed at the indents they had left on my palm and returned to your father.
I hadn’t shaved him in two days, so his facial hair was starting to sprout up in spotty patches along his jaw. Something about the way he looked past the television at the wall behind it with his hair all spiked up every which way made my heart skip. Despite everything he had put me through, I loved your father. And now I was going to have a baby. His baby.
I walked over and bent down to where he lay. When my lips brushed his scruffy cheek, he turned to give me his lips. It had been so long since he’d done that, I had forgotten how soft they could be.
He smelled like cigarettes, which was interesting because he had run out of them the day before. He threw the afghan off and sat up. His pajamas pants, which I could have sworn had been on right when I’d left, were now inside out.
Jealousy rushed through me, making my face feel hot enough to melt. Crossing my arms, I was glad he couldn’t see me. “Where did you get the cigarettes?”
Judging by the pinched look on his face, I gathered my question irritated him. “I picked through the butts in the ashtray like a hobo. Where do you think I got them?”
I chewed my bottom lip, trying to decide if he might be telling the truth. It made me crazy that every time he opened his mouth, I started second-guessing myself, but there I was trying to remember if I’d left the ashtray empty or full, and if maybe his pants hadn’t been on right when I left. “You didn’t find a pack somewhere?” Calling his bluff never worked, but that didn’t keep me from trying on a regular basis.
He huffed. “What are we, the Rockefellers, with money and stogies hidden all over our fancy mansion? Dag, One Cent, use your brain for something other than keeping your skull from caving in.”
“Your pants are inside out,” I said coldly.
He looked down as if he could see for himself. “Then you must have handed them to me that way this morning.”
I was pretty sure I hadn’t, but the only way that crow
would have known to come over was if Trent had called her, and even then they couldn’t have known how long I’d be gone. Still, as usual, a shadow of a doubt lingered.
He bent his head back and scratched at his Adam’s apple. “Speaking of smokes, tell me you remembered to pick me up some.”
“Yes, baby.” I tried to lace my words with honey to counteract the bitterness he was sure to feel.
The familiar crease formed between his eyebrows. “You being smart again?”
“Stop assuming the worst of me. I’m talking sweet. You used to like it when I did that.” I headed back to the kitchen.
If he responded, it must have been under his breath, because I didn’t hear it. I went to work putting away the food Callie Mae had loaded me up with. All the meat and vegetables were canned, other than the bag of pole beans a local farmer had dropped off that morning, but I certainly wasn’t complaining.
I was elbow deep in the second bag of groceries when I heard something hit the floor. I ran into the living room to see Trent standing in the middle of the room and the end table turned on its side. His knees were bent as he groped the air. He looked lost and scared.
I rushed over and put my hand on his arm. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me tight against his chest. At first, I tried to wriggle away, until I heard a whimper. I didn’t know how to respond to his crying. He’d never shown that sort of weakness in front of me. Patting his back, I kept telling him it was going to be okay.
“I was coming to get my Winstons from you, but I can’t see nothing, Penny. I can’t do anything but sit on that stinking couch, wondering what those voices inside the TV must be doing. The screen is black and it’s always going to be black. This is no kind of life.” He wiped his wet face against his bare shoulder and held my arm the way I’d been trying to get him to do since he got home from the hospital. “You don’t got anything to drink in those bags you’re crinkling around in there, do you?”