“I suppose so,” Lola answered. “Cora, do you think this would be best discussed over lunch?”
“Yes. That would be fantastic,” I answered, turning my head to look at Lisa. “You come, too.”
“Oh, no,” Lisa said, waving her hands in front of her. “I wouldn’t think of intruding on this family time.”
“You are family,” Dot said. “Please come.”
The four of us climbed into Lisa’s tiny car. From my seat in the back, I looked at my daughter’s face. She turned to me and smiled. Held my hand until we arrived at the restaurant.
We sat at a round table in a small, family-owned diner and talked for hours. Marlowe and Dot explained how they met. My heart broke to know all that Dot went through. I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom.
I locked myself in a stall. Leaned my head over the toilet. Just the thought of my baby girl, touched and hurt and used, flipped my stomach over and over. I vomited. The old urge to tear into my flesh swept over me.
“Mom?” Dot called into the bathroom.
“I’m in here,” I said from the stall, wiping my mouth. Relieved that the opportunity to cut myself was gone.
“I’m okay now, you know. God really took care of me.”
“It’s my fault. If I could have kept it all together those things never would have happened to you.” I clenched my fists at my sides. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel ready to be back in the world.
“You can’t put that on yourself, Mom. It happened and it was bad. But it’s over now. I’m happy. I want you to be happy, too.”
Dot pulled on the stall door. I unlocked it, allowing her to come in. She took a step toward me, looked into my eyes.
“I failed you,” I cried.
“No, Mom. You can’t think like that.” She cocked her head to the side. “All that bad stuff is done in my life. Let’s keep our focus on the future together. Okay?”
“You are beautiful. Your heart, it’s just beautiful.”
She kissed me on the cheek. “Come on,” she said. “You want to get back to the celebration?”
My daughter led me back to our table. I sat with the three people I loved most in the world. And those three women loved me back. The day before I’d had nothing. Suddenly, I was rich beyond measure.
Dot – 60
The day after my mom moved out of the state hospital, we had our first snow. Just tiny flakes that wisped through the air before hitting the ground and melting. As the sun set, I retreated to the kitchen to catch the scene. With the crystal snow reflecting the light, it was sure to be a beautiful sight.
My mom and Lola sat at the table. I grabbed a cup of coffee and joined them, facing the window.
“How did you ever get away from our father that night?” my mom asked Lola. “I was sure he would kill you.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Lola answered. “But eventually he passed out. So I ran as fast as I could. A car drove past me and stopped. It was the preacher’s wife. Do you remember her, Cora?”
“Oh, yes. I could never forget Mary Wheeler.”
“She took one look at my bloody face and told me to get in.” Lola smiled. “She told me she was sorry for the way she’d spoken to Mother and me. I just let her believe that I was you. I assume there’s a story there.”
“There most certainly is. Mother called her a whitewashed tomb.”
“Oh, dear,” Lola cried in delight. “I can’t even imagine.”
“That’s a story for another time.”
“Well, Mary Wheeler drove me to the bus stop. The woman at the counter told me that I needed to go to Michigan. That my twin had already been through and bought a ticket for me. Mary gave me a dollar for food.”
“That was generous,” Mom said, rolling her eyes.
“Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep her lips sealed. She told just about everyone on the mountain that she saved ‘poor Cora’s life by sending her to Michigan.’”
“She never could resist tooting her own horn.” My mom sipped her coffee. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was harsh.”
“It’s the truth, though,” Lola said. “Anyway, when Ducky and Father found out about it, they went looking for you. They found me instead. They nearly killed me. But they wanted to get a little more profit out of me. They made me walk the streets here to get them more money.”
My mom sighed. Put a hand on her chest.
“Eventually, they sold me to another pimp. I worked for him for a few months or so before I was arrested.” She smiled. “It changed my life. And then God called me to this work. It’s been amazing.”
The three of us talked for hours past the sunset. Sharing stories, catching up. Eventually, Grace joined us. Then Mercy, Peace, and Faith. We laughed together. Cried. Then laughed some more.
“Good heavens,” Lola said, looking at her watch. “Look at the time. And I haven’t even thought about getting dinner around.”
“I can heat up some of that leftover casserole,” I said, moving toward the refrigerator. “Mom, how about you bake some cookies?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” my mom said.
“Please, Miss S,” Grace begged. “Dorothea’s been braggin’ about them cookies ever since I met her.”
“Okay. Just don’t expect too much.” My mom stood, taking an apron from the hook on the wall. “Chocolate chip okay?”
She stood at the counter, all of us surrounding her. Mixing the ingredients, she taught us all of her secrets. My mom let us sneak little bits of cookie dough, laughed when the bag of chocolate chips exploded on the floor.
After she put the cookies in the oven, she turned to me and smiled.
“Just like the old days,” she said, beaming.
“Look at your apron,” I said, pointing at her.
Flour and egg yolk dirtied the front of her. She looked down, her mouth open wide.
“Well, would you look at that,” she said. “So that’s why people wear aprons.”
Laughing, she rinsed her hands off in the sink. Looked around for a towel. I tossed her one from the drawer. She wiped her hands. Then stopped. Held the towel close to her face.
“This is too rich,” she whispered. “I can’t believe this.”
“Cora,” Lola called across the room. “Is everything okay?”
“This towel.” She shook her head. “It was a wedding gift to me from Steven’s Great Aunt Beatrice. See?”
Lola and I joined her, looking at the towel.
“She hand monogrammed it with our initials.” My mom laughed.
“I remember the man who brought these,” Lola said. “He had a whole truck load of donations.”
“It was like Christmas,” my mom said.
“Exactly.” Lola pulled her eyebrows together. “In fact, I recall saying that several times.”
“That was Steven.” My mom hugged the towel. “All of our wedding extras came to you.”
“Oh, Lord,” Lola said, laughing, eyes closed in prayer. “You are too, too funny.”
“So when are them cookies gonna be done?” Grace called from across the kitchen. “I’m real popping hungry over here.”
My mom and Lola looked at each other and smiled.
“God is good to us,” Lola said.
My mom closed her eyes. Nodded in agreement.
Cora – 61
I woke up in my room at the house Lisa shared with me. Wednesday. Art therapy day. Inhaling deeply, I grinned. I’d been away from the hospital for a month of Wednesdays. My art therapy had changed. No more scribbling with crayons. On that day I looked forward to transforming my old house into a safe place like Lola’s home. Far more satisfying than working with markers.
From my soft bed, I looked around my room, taking my time getting up. The walls displayed the pictures of my family. Steven, Pete, Dot, Lola.
“Thank You.” I whispered a prayer. In recent weeks, my prayers had become laden with gratitude.
I sat up, letting my feet touch the fringed
area rug. Facing the window, I looked through the clear glass. No grid obscured my vision. No buzzing of lights or dingy walls. No plastic trees or ugly orange chairs. Just warm sunshine, unlocked doors, and open fields that spread out for miles. Freedom and joy. Family and friends. And peace.
Lisa knocked on my door.
“Good morning,” she said. “Just making sure you’re up.”
“I am,” I called back. “I’m getting myself around.”
“No hurry. Did you want to stop on the way for coffee?”
“That would be lovely.”
After dressing in my work clothes, I joined Lisa in the living room.
“All set?” she asked, grabbing her keys.
“Yes.” I worked the buttons on my jacket. “I can’t wait to get started.”
The Wests had walked me through the house a week before. It was the first time I’d been there since my breakdown so many years before. Lola walked with me, holding my hand. Allowing my tears and sorrow. The kitchen brought out the most pungent of emotions. Guilt, shame, anger, fear, grief. She held me, helping the calm to overtake my upheaval.
“Are you going to be all right going back again?” Lisa asked. “We’re going to have a lot going on.”
“This is what Steven and Pete would have wanted,” I answered. “What’s left after our suffering is being turned into good. I don’t want to miss out on that.”
“If you need to take a few breaks, that’s okay. You know that, right?” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
About half an hour later, we arrived, carrying trays of coffee cups into the kitchen. The rest of the crew had already started their work.
“Oh, lovely,” Lola said, looking up from scrubbing the sink. “It is the perfect time for a short coffee break.”
“I ordered you a hazelnut coffee, Marlowe,” I said, catching myself. “I’m sorry. Lola. I’m just trying to get used to calling you that.”
“My dear,” Lola said. “You don’t need to worry about it. I don’t mind either way.”
“I prefer the name Lola anyway.” I handed her the coffee. “It suits you.”
“Where do you need me?” Lisa asked.
“Ah, do you mind finishing up in here?” Lola asked. “I wanted to scrub some bedroom walls with Cora.”
“Fine by me,” Lisa answered, finding a washcloth.
Lola and I took the steps to the bedrooms. She carried a bucket of clean, soapy water. I had a few sponges.
“Coffee is in the kitchen,” she announced, reaching the top step.
The girls from Lola’s House rushed past and down the steps. Dot kissed my cheek before going downstairs.
“Now, where to begin?” Lola asked.
“Pete’s room,” I answered, stepping in front of her. “It’s this one.”
Entering the room, I tried to remember what it was like when Pete lived there.
“He was such a messy boy,” I said, smiling. “Can you believe I never made him clean it? I’d always do it for him.”
“I believe that,” Lola said, placing the bucket on the floor and dipping her sponge in the water.
“You know, I thought that after all this time, I would figure out why he had to die so young.” I wet my sponge. “That I’d see the good that came from his death. Will I ever understand?”
She turned to me, head to one side, sponge dripping. “I don’t know.”
“He was a remarkable boy,” I said, wiping a wall. My heart full of grief mixed with joy. “I wish you could have met him.”
“Me, too, Cora.”
We worked, the sudsy water in the bucket turning a gritty brown as we rinsed our sponges.
“This room used to be painted bright green,” I said after a pause. “Pete picked it out.”
“And whoever thought to cover it up with this color?” Lola asked. “You know what this shade makes me think of?”
“Baby poop?” I asked, giggling.
“Exactly.” She moved to the door. “And dark brown for this door?”
“It isn’t appealing, is it?” I continued scrubbing.
“Not in the least.” She rubbed the soapy sponge on the brown door. “Perhaps if I apply enough pressure, I’ll be able to coax some of this paint off.”
“I believe we need fresh water,” I said, lifting the bucket and taking it to the bathroom across the hall. Dumping the water, I turned the faucet on warm, looking under the sink for cleaner.
“Cora,” Lola called to me.
I turned off the water and returned to Pete’s door. She kneeled, her sponge in one hand, a large, shard-like paint chip in the other. Lola smiled in triumph.
“Do we have any scrapers?” I asked.
“I believe so,” she answered, standing. “I’ll go find a few.”
After she left, I used my fingernail to pick away some of the brittle paint. Brown, white, tan paint chips fell from the door. Collected under my nail. Stuck to my skin.
I closed my eyes, remembering paint peeling from rotting wood. The yellow flower petals to hide the decay. A cedar box full of paint chips, dumped on the floor of a bus.
“Good news,” Lola said from the hallway. “Not only did I find two scrapers, I also discovered paint stripper.”
Opening my eyes, I smiled. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”
We worked at that door for hours. A pile of color gathered on the floor around us, on our clothes, in our hair. Eventually, with sore arms, Lola and I removed the last of the paint. We stepped back. Inspecting our work. The rich wood which, for years, had hidden under all those layer of paint, took my breath away.
“Now that is a thing of beauty,” I said. “Why anyone would want to cover that up is beyond me.”
“Indeed.” Lola put her elbow on my shoulder.
“If only I’d known about this when I lived here. I would have uncovered it years ago.”
“Sometimes we just don’t know what we have.” She looked at me. “At some point someone looked at this door and thought it was ugly. And so they covered it up. I suppose there is just no accounting for taste.”
“And look at this floor,” I said. “What a mess.”
“A vacuum will make short work of that,” Lola said, leaving the room. “Now to remember where it traveled to.”
I stood by the door, brushing the paint chips off of me. Reaching out a hand, I felt the smooth wood against my fingertips.
Dot – 62
“Dorothea,” Lola woke me, jostling my shoulder. “Wake up, dear.”
“Okay,” I said, opening my eyes. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“No, thank you. Your mom’s coming to do that. I want you to come with me.” She stood upright. “Quickly now. We must hurry.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
I dressed as fast as I could and followed Lola out into the early winter morning. The windshield of the newly donated station wagon was covered with frost. I scraped it away as Lola started up the engine.
“Now can you tell me where we’re going?” I asked from the passenger seat. “It better be real important to get me up at three in the morning.”
“I received a phone call from Kristi,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “A girl is in her care at the ICU. She’s badly beaten. In and out of consciousness.”
“Why did Kristi call us?”
“She’s been crying for me.” Lola glanced at me. “I felt the Holy Spirit nudge me to bring you.”
The rest of the drive, I fidgeted, nervous about what I might see.
We arrived at the hospital and rode the elevator to the ICU. Kristi met us in the hall.
“Oh, goodness, Lola,” Kristi said. “I’m so glad you got here.”
“I always find a way.” Lola smiled. “Do you have any idea who she is?”
“She had nothing on her. And I mean nothing.” Kristi looked at us with weary eyes. “Lola, whoever did this was trying to kill her.”
�
�I’m sure.” Lola sighed. “It’s common. I can’t tell you how many times this happens.”
The doctor walked out of the room. With Kristi in the lead, we approached him.
“Doctor,” Kristi said. “This is Lola.”
“Right,” he said. He had a soft voice. “I’ll just get right to it. She doesn’t have a whole lot of time. She’s been assaulted in so many ways. I’ll need a nurse to do a rape kit.”
“Okay. I’ll do it,” Kristi said, rushing off.
“What happened to her?” Lola asked.
“I normally wouldn’t be able to tell you, but she’s been asking for you, so I feel it’s necessary.” He looked at the chart he held in his hands. “She was beaten with a bat or pipe. Something that could do substantial damage. She is suffering. She’s had massive head trauma.”
“The prognosis?”
“Grim.” He sighed. “I don’t expect her to make it to the morning. We’re trying to keep her comfortable.”
“May we go in?”
“Go ahead.”
Lola opened the heavy wooden door and entered the room. She looked over her shoulder at me.
“Start praying,” she said.
“About what?” I felt like a scared child.
“Whatever you can think of.”
The covers were pulled up under the girl’s chin. She had an oxygen tube in her nose and a needle in her arm. A machine beeped with her heartbeat. I tried to stay calm. Attempted to keep my mind from thinking of Pete.
“Oh,” Lola sighed. She looked at the girl’s swollen face. “Promise.”
Bandages seemed to be holding her face together. Her blond hair matted and greasy on her scalp. I remembered Grace’s words. Best find a way to bless her.
“God, help Promise,” I prayed.
Lola touched Promise’s hair. It seemed to be the only part of her that wasn’t bruised or bloody.
“Lola,” Promise whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk, honey,” Lola said, soothing her. “You save your strength.”
Promise’s eyes brimmed over with tears.
“Please don’t feel badly, my dear.” Lola found her hand. “We love you. We always have. We never stopped.”
Paint Chips Page 26