Wings of Glass

by Gina Holmes

  “What did he say? It’s a boy, ain’t it?” Your father’s ignorance didn’t seem to bother me when I wasn’t pregnant, but now that I was, it plucked my last nerve.

  Pressing the tip of the knife through plastic, I worked four hot dogs away from the others. “They can’t tell until I’m further along.”

  “What’d they tell you? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

  Something told me to look at him, and I did. The expression on his face knocked the chip right off my shoulder. He cared if you were okay. Even more surprising, he cared if I was.

  I went to him and told him all about what I saw on the ultrasound. The blob I thought was you, but turned out to be just my bladder, your strong little heartbeat, and saving the best for last, I asked him if he wanted to sit down for the most exciting news of all.

  “Twins?” he asked wide eyed as I led him to the table and pulled out a chair.

  I laughed. “No, thank goodness.” I waited for him to sit. “I’m further along than we thought. She’s due on Christmas day.”

  His mouth dropped open. “He is?”

  I stood there in silence a moment as I let him collect his thoughts.

  Finally, he snapped out of whatever place in his mind he’d been visiting and shook his head. “Christmas day? This is a sign, Penny.”

  “A sign of what?” I sat beside him, giving him my full attention.

  His words were still slurred, but even so, there seemed to be a soberness about him I hadn’t seen in years. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, then realized what he was doing and put it away again. “I’ve been thinking today that maybe God striking me blind was his way of punishing me for the way I’ve been treating you.” He paused. “And I told God I was sorry.” He gently squeezed my hand. “I meant it, too. And now I find out we’re having a baby, and on Christmas day?”

  He shook his head at the ceiling. “Don’t you get it? This is God’s gift to me. His reward.”

  I’d never heard your father talk about God except to complain about all the things he thought God should be doing for him, but wasn’t. I had no earthly idea if any of this was a gift to Trent, but it was definitely one to me. I’d been praying for your father’s soul since the day I’d married him, and I had begun to give up hope. It was so overwhelming, I began to cry.

  Trent wrapped his arms around me and kissed my tears in a way I’d only seen men do in movies. Whose life is this? I wondered as he kissed my face and promised that, from this day forward, he was going to be the man I deserved.

  ELEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke feeling like I hadn’t slept in weeks. After showering and throwing my damp hair into a ponytail, I dragged myself to the kitchen to fix Trent’s lunch so he would have something to eat when I was at work. To my astonishment, he was already up making breakfast. The smell of coffee and frying eggs hung in the air.

  With the spatula in one hand, he turned his head as if he could see me. “Good morning, mother of my child.”

  “Good morning,” I practically stuttered, coming closer to see what exactly was in the pan. Bits of white shell swam among yellow slime. I almost said something, but stopped myself in time. Hadn’t I just complained he wasn’t making an effort to do anything around the house?

  He used a metal spoon to stir the eggs and put scratches in a Teflon surface I’d been babying with wood and plastic for five years. “When I woke up this morning, I could see light.”

  My heart stopped. “You can see?”

  “Nothing but smudges of light, but the doctor said if my sight was going to return, that’s how it would start.”

  “That’s great news,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.” No time soon, I hoped.

  “I fixed your lunch,” he said proudly. “It’s in the fridge. Bologna and cheese.”

  “Wow, baby,” was all I could say, wondering how in the world he would know when the eggs were done when his vision was nothing but a blur of color.

  “You might notice that a little piece of the meat on your sandwich has a bite taken out of it. It’s how I checked to be sure what I was making you.”

  He scooped up a spoonful of egg and brought it to his mouth. After knocking off the steam with his breath, he ventured a taste. “A little runny, just the way you like them.”

  I didn’t like eggs at all, never had. On the rare occasion when I actually did eat them, they had to be bone dry. But, again, he was making an effort and I didn’t want to discourage that.

  Throwing a glance at my watch, I said, “Baby, sit down and let me serve us up.” I only had fifteen minutes to make it out the door, so I didn’t really have time for him to painstakingly feel his way around in search of dishes. Thankfully, he turned the stove off and made his way to the table.

  Swallowing back the nausea, I forced down a few bites of runny eggs mixed with crunchy shells.

  He took his first bite, made a face, and picked a piece of white from his mouth. “Guess I need a little practice.” He set the debris on his plate and pushed it away.

  “They’re delicious,” I said. “Listen, I’ll clean up when I get home, but I really have to get going or I’m going to be late.”

  “Wait a minute, Penny. There’s something I want to talk to you about. I want us to start going to church. I don’t want my child to grow up a heathen like his old man.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Church?” Callie Mae had been begging me to come back to Sheckle Baptist. It was going to feel so good to finally say yes. Knowing how Trent’s ego worked, I didn’t want to act too eager, though. He had to feel like he was laying down the law and I was submitting. “I guess you have a point.”

  “Daggone skippy, I do.”

  “This Sunday?” I was so happy I’d forgotten all about my nausea and fatigue. I couldn’t wait to get to work and tell Fatimah we would be joining her family and Callie Mae this Sunday.

  “No, next Christmas,” he said, looking annoyed.

  “Service starts at ten,” I said.

  “No, it don’t, neither. I called myself. It’s eleven o’clock sharp.”

  Setting my fork down, I looked at my watch again. I really needed to get going. “You called where?”

  “I can’t remember the name of it. Beginnings something. You’ve seen it. We pass by it every time we go to the Piggly Wiggly.”

  I did remember the church he was talking about—New Beginnings. A mid-sized, warehouse-looking building with a lot of fancy cars parked out front. I’d never been inside, but it looked nice enough.

  Callie Mae would be disappointed, but at least we were going to church. Another miracle among a string of many lately. “Okay, eleven o’clock it is.” I walked over and kissed him, then picked up his plate along with mine, and set both on the counter. “How did you pick out that place, anyway?”

  He slid his hand under his T-shirt and scratched his belly. “I called 411 and asked them to pick out a Christian church within ten miles of us, and that’s the name she gave me.”

  I doubted he prayed before he’d done that, but the last thing I was going to do was ask. At least we were going.

  Grabbing the lunch he’d made me from the fridge, I said, “See you tonight. Thanks for breakfast and lunch.”

  “Don’t be late,” was his reply.

  TWELVE

  FATIMAH AND I had an uneventful morning. After finishing our first two houses in record time, we ate our packed lunches in the car, then made our way through the ritzy historic section of town to the last house on our itinerary. I stood behind Fatimah on the covered front porch of a large, baby-blue Victorian.

  She grabbed the brass knocker and slammed it down several times. Shooting the empty driveway a dirty look, she knocked again.

  I studied the ornate posts that joined the railing to the shingled roof. A large stained-glass panel hung by thin chains in the front window. The design appeared to be some sort of coat of arms—a multicolored shield surrounde
d by an urn on each side overflowing with ivy. Sunlight glimmered off the red of the shield, bringing to mind rubies.

  Fatimah tapped her foot. “She is better answer this time.” She sat on the top stair and checked her watch again. “I give her five minute only.”

  I sat beside her, looking out at the picket fence lined with rows of yellow roses and taking in their sweet smell carried by a warm breeze. “Fati, can I ask you a question?”

  She turned toward me.

  “How did Callie Mae get into the cleaning business? Was that how her husband made his money?”

  She occupied herself by checking the levels of cleaning fluid in the caddy. She picked up a can of Ajax, shook it, and slipped it back in. “He was attorney and left her wealth enough to live on. She do not need the money.”

  I waited for her to elaborate. Instead, she picked up the Windex bottle and turned the nozzle, then set it back in the caddy.

  “So,” I said, leaning my elbows on my knees, “why does she do it?”

  “I come to this country with no education. With some English and no money. She sponsor me through her church and try to get me job, but no one would give to me. So she make this one. Callie is a very good woman with kind heart.”

  “So, we’re kind of charity cases,” I said, knowing what Trent would think about that.

  She shrugged. “We make money for work. She make money. She is happy. Is good arrangement for everyone.”

  “That’s really nice of her.” I picked a pebble off the step and rolled it between my fingers.

  “Yes, is nice,” Fatimah said. “What is not nice is this woman. If she do not come, I spit on her house.”

  Just then a long red convertible pulled into the driveway. A pretty forty-something brunette rolled down her window. Fatimah crossed her arms and glared at her.

  “Oh, ladies, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” She stepped out of the car, pulled several department store bags from the backseat and slammed the door. “I’ve got company coming in a few. We’re going to have to reschedule.”

  Fatimah stomped so hard the wood planks beneath my feet shook. “I tell you last time you must provide twenty-four-hour notice.”

  The woman transferred two of the bags she carried to her other hand, evening out the load. “Try to remember you work for me, not the other way around. You tell Callie Mae I’ll discuss this with her privately.”

  Fatimah’s eyes narrowed. “I tell her you cancel again without proper notice.”

  The woman’s expression turned to stone as she walked toward us. “Maybe over in the jungle it’s acceptable for the help to talk to their bosses that way, but here in America, we have a thing called etiquette.” Her disdainful gaze moved slowly down the front of me. “If you speak English, maybe you could explain it to her.”

  I couldn’t believe she actually said that. My face grew hotter than a frying pan.

  Fatimah marched down the stairs, meeting her in the center of the closely clipped lawn. My stomach dropped, thinking there was going to be a smackdown. Stopping abruptly a few feet from the woman, Fatimah stomped her foot again. “You are a rude woman. I will not come back to your house again.”

  The woman threw her nose higher into the air. “That’s right, you won’t.” She stepped around Fatimah, then stopped and turned around. “Here’s some friendly advice for you. If you want to make it in this country, you need to know your place.”

  Before my mind could catch up with my mouth, I pointed a shaky finger at her. “And here’s some friendly advice for you. The Union won the war.”

  She sneered at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means slavery was abolished in this country.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

  “If I were you, lady, I’d shut it,” I said.

  Her face turned paler than the whitewalls of her tires. Fatimah chomped her teeth at the woman for good measure, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the car.

  “What was that about?” I asked as I buckled my seat belt. My anger melted, and all I could think about was the possibility I might have just cost myself the job. A job I needed in so many ways and for so many reasons.

  She turned over the ignition. “This is the three time she does this.”

  I stole a glance at the woman as she set her bags on the porch, freeing her hands to unlock the front door. “You’re kidding.”

  “True.” She slid the gearshift into drive. “This is a woman who, all her life, never been tells no or given the whip.” She hit the brakes and glared back at the house. “I give her the whip if I ever see her again!”

  Fatimah’s temper reminded me of Trent’s right then, and it made me want to flee. When she turned to me, my stomach knotted as my fingers reached for the door handle. A peculiar look came over her as she studied me. “I not really give her the whip, Peeny. Do not be worried. I just say words. I do not do more than yell. Promise. I never do.”

  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I exhaled.

  When we started down the road, she reached over and patted my arm. Her fingertips were rough as sandpaper. I made a mental note then to buy myself some latex gloves so my hands wouldn’t end up the same way. “Do not ever be afraid of me, Peeny. I am good woman. I have my temper, true, but it does not have me.”

  We drove to the food bank, where Callie Mae stood out front sweeping debris from the walkway. As we pulled along the curb, she gave the car a double take. When Fatimah leaned toward me, I rolled down my window so they could speak.

  Callie Mae dropped her broom on the grass and headed toward the car. “Let me guess.”

  “She do it again!” Fatimah yelled so loudly it made my ears hurt.

  Callie Mae leaned into the window. “Well, that’s that. Three strikes, she’s out. Please tell me you didn’t spit on her house.” Her breath smelled like she’d just chewed a piece of spearmint gum, and her skin glistened with perspiration.

  Fatimah hung her head in shame. “No, I do not. But I should!”

  Callie Mae’s expression remained neutral. I figured now was the best chance I’d get to admit what I’d said before she found out from the woman. With my eyes focused on my wringing hands, I forced out the words before I could lose my nerve. “She said something about Fatimah and the jungle. . . . I’m so sorry, Callie, but I lost my temper and told her to shut up.” I closed my eyes and waited for the guillotine to drop.

  Surely not even Callie Mae was so understanding as to allow her customers to be treated that way.

  After a few seconds of silence, I snuck a glance at her.

  Her expression remained unreadable. “Listen, ladies, I appreciate you not yanking out her hair, which is what I might have been tempted to do.”

  When I think of grace, Manny, I always remember Callie Mae’s response that day.

  You’d have thought Fatimah would have been satisfied with not getting fired or fussed at, but the look on her face was indignation rather than relief. “You will make her pay. I and Peeny should not have to miss money because she makes rude behavior.”

  Callie Mae scratched her eyebrow. “I agree. But I hate to tell you, Fati, I can’t make her pay. We can only refuse to work for her.”

  Fatimah grabbed the steering wheel and stared straight ahead through the windshield at the tree-lined road.

  Callie Mae glanced down at her watch, then at Fatimah. “You know, it’s only one. No sense in y’all going home so early.”

  Fatimah looked at her askance, the beginnings of a smile forming. “We bowl?”

  “We bowl,” Callie Mae said, turning her gaze to me. “Penny, you like bowling?”

  The only thing going through my mind right then was that if Trent found out I’d been bowling instead of working, I’d never hear the end of it. I unlatched my purse and peeked in to make sure my car keys were still there. “I should probably go home.”

  Callie Mae leaned her elbows on my open window. “Why? You’re scheduled for
another three hours, anyway.”

  I felt myself flush as I stammered, “Trent’s vision still isn’t good and . . .”

  She stared at me for an uncomfortably long time. “He’ll be fine, just like he is when you’re working. Besides, a wife who lets herself unwind now and again makes for a better wife. You’d be doing it as much for him as you. You’re wound up tighter than Ginny Elizabeth’s girdle.”

  “Who?” I asked, confused.

  Callie Mae gave her own cheek an admonishing slap. “Never mind.”

  “She cannot bowl,” Fatimah blurted. “Look. She is too skinny to hold up a ball. It will tip her.”

  I scrunched my mouth at her. “I do so know how to bowl, and I’m not that skinny.” I was no pro, but I could hold my own.

  “You come,” Fatimah stated. “You come or we will know you are too gentle for games.”

  Even though I saw through her ploy, I still took the bait. “I’m going to kick your butt so bad, you won’t be able to sit down for a year.”

  Fatimah narrowed her eyes at me, then gave Callie Mae a questioning look.

  With a grin, Callie Mae said, “That means she’s in.”

  THIRTEEN

  JUST IN CASE Fatimah wanted to stay longer than I could, I drove my own car to Lucky Lanes. Callie Mae said she had to take care of one last thing at the food bank and then she’d meet us.

  I scanned the front of a long brick building with two giant bowling pins stuck to the side of it. My gaze paused on a public phone beside a newspaper vending machine. For the umpteenth time, I wondered if I should call Trent to tell him where I was, but decided against it. As long as I made it home the same time as always, it shouldn’t matter. Even with the decision made, I couldn’t shake the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with pregnancy.

  Sliding the key out of the ignition, I watched for Fatimah.