Sweeter Than Tea

by Deborah Grace Staley

  “Your daddy sure was a handsome man,” she said with a sigh, but no trace of sadness darkened her words. She turned to look at me, her heels putting us nearly eye to eye. “I see so much of him every time I look at you.”

  The lump was already half way up my throat, but I swallowed it back and smiled anyway. “I wish he could be here today.”

  Mama kissed me lightly on the cheek then thumbed the pad of her finger across the spot. “He is, honey. I’ve heard half a dozen stories about him today. People remember him.” She hugged me tighter. “We remember him.”

  We stood there in the wake of our memories for a moment looking at the other pictures, when Mama pointed to one and asked, “Remember this?”

  The grainy black and white photo showed me and my three best friends—Cami, Alice and Marie—sitting on the welcome sign at the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans. They were all standing in the wedding today, as much a part of my life now as they had been that hot May day. It had been our sixth grade class trip, a yearly tradition at Sisters of the Sacred Heart as the kids graduated from the private school. We were clustered shoulder to shoulder, hardly a whisper’s breath of space between us. Huge grins showed off the braces we’d all gotten that summer. But it wasn’t my friends’ smiling faces that captured my attention. It was the girl in the photo with us, standing so far to the right she was just a step away from being out of the picture. A tight-lipped smile barely cracked her face as she peeked out from beneath layers of unruly dark hair.

  “Yeah,” I finally croaked in answer to Mama’s question. “That was some day.”

  I slammed the car door as Mama called my name. She used the full Mary Margaret for emphasis as I retreated to the schoolyard, but I knew she would not carry our fight out into the open. She’d never make a scene. I could hear my own frustration echo in her voice, and even that tiny bit of similarity was enough to drive me crazy. We were different, that’s just all there was to it. I would not be like her. I wouldn’t. The rebellion in me at purposefully ignoring her was new, and it still tasted sour on my tongue and felt heavy deeper down inside. The nuns at Sacred Heart were good at making us feel guilty, and I’m sure later when we had to go to weekly confession I would have to say a rosary for my actions. Lately I said a lot of rosaries.

  The other kids in my sixth grade class ran around like leaves scattered on the playground, swirling from their own excitement and pent up energy. From the looks of it we were the last to arrive. It was Friday in the final week of school and the entire sixth grade class was going on its traditional trip to the zoo in New Orleans to celebrate graduation. It was a big deal in our little school. A day away from school and the nuns. A day away from uniforms and plaid skirts that the boys liked to flip up or peek under. A day to be free. But my freedom had been stepped on, and I was not happy.

  The principal, Sister Rose Claude, called Mama yesterday to see if she could join the group at the last minute. Unlike most of the other mothers, Mama worked, so she never went on daytime school trips. That was fine with me. It was the only benefit I could find out of her working as a teacher at the junior high. Next year she’d be teaching my friends. That was a nightmare I didn’t want to think about yet.

  I spied my friends waiting near the idling school bus and stomped intently through the hedge to the closed circle of three girls. They were my best friends and my sole source of comfort the last few weeks, ever since Daddy died driving home from Baton Rouge, leaving me and Mama alone to deal with each other. Neither of us was really good at it, and there didn’t seem to be any hope that things would change. Hot tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I swiped them away with a slash of my hand. Daddy had been the link between what he called our ‘mirror-image souls.’ We’d studied atoms in science, and it seemed me and Mama were more like atoms in space: we collide on occasion but mostly just circle one another from a distance.

  “Well is she, or isn’t she?” Camille prodded, twirling a long ribbon of red hair between her fingers. I’d called Cami last night as soon as I knew about Mama. Cami and I had known each other as far back as I could remember, the sister I’d always wanted. She’d gotten a little brother last year, and I think she would have agreed with the trade in a heartbeat.

  “She is,” I answered with a huff, tossing my blue jean purse over my shoulder and crossing my arms across my chest. Every girl I knew was eager for her breasts to grow. Mine had, and already I wished they’d go away.

  As confirmation of my revelation, we all turned to watch Mama get out of her car. The shiny silver paint of the car reflected the morning sun, and it circled around her like a halo. She checked her reflection in the side view mirror then picked her way through the parking lot, a large purse draped over the crook of one arm and a picnic basket held in front of her like a shield, reminding me of a picture I’d seen of Joan of Arc going off to battle. The ends of the white scarf tied around her head flapped in the warm May breeze, announcing her approach like the terns when you got too close to their nests. She waved at the four of us, her fake smile causing her eyes to close tightly, then turned to join the teachers and other parents standing by the front door of the school.

  “That’s just uncool.” Alice’s sentiment pretty much summed it up for us. She smacked her gum and planted a hand on her left hip, her fingers running along the glitter belt she wore with her shorts. “Why do parents always have to ruin everything?”

  “And why does it always have to be my mother,” I whined. It was bad enough Mama was a school teacher, always calling or writing my teachers when I did poorly on a test. But next year there was a good chance that those of us going to the public junior high school would have her for English. Could there be anything worse? I was already nervous about switching from private school to public. Having my own mother as a teacher in the same school was just mortifying. I hoped there was a rule about kids being in a parent’s classroom, although that wouldn’t help my friends. And would they blame me?

  Marie patted my arm. “Maybe they won’t put us in her group, Meg.” Marie could find something nice to say about anything. Normally we liked that about her. Today it was just annoying.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, Marie. You know they always put kids with the parent.”

  “Yeah,” Alice chimed in. “It’s s’pposed to build good bonds.” She exaggerated the last two words to mimic Sister Rose Claude. We’d all gotten a lecture from her yesterday on the things we should get out of the trip. We were told to be on our best behavior, otherwise future classes may not get to go. Like I said, the nuns used guilt whenever they could. Sister Rose Claude said it wasn’t just a day of fun, either, but a day to build bonds that would last a lifetime. Belle Terre was a small town at the edge of the parish, and most of us had known each other our entire lives or were related in some way. How much more bonded could we get?

  That thought dragged my attention to the one person in our class we’d not known since kindergarten, who’d come into our world as different as she could just a few months ago.

  Evangeline Rayne.

  Even her name sounded different. I’d gone to the same school with the same people for the last seven years. Same teachers. Same friends. I’d known most of them even before that. I knew enough at twelve to know different was not good.

  “I didn’t think Evangeline was able to go on the trip,” I whispered to the others, and their heads swiveled in unison.

  “I heard Mama tell Daddy last night the nuns had called. Maybe they were looking for donations so she could go,” Marie added, running the gold cross back and forth on the chain around her neck. “It wouldn’t be right to leave her out.”

  “The trip isn’t that expensive,” Cami snipped. “She gets free tuition. You’d think her folks could at least pay for this.”

  Every year Sacred Heart gave scholarships, finding families that couldn’t afford the private tuition. We all wore uniforms, so in t
heory we all looked alike, but everything about Evangeline made her stand out. Although she was our age, her dark skin and oddly up-tilted eyes gave her the grown up look of a movie star. Her long hair looked limp and barely combed, not put up in a ponytail or pulled back with barrettes like the rest of us. She sat at the bottom of the front steps by herself, a greasy brown grocery bag crumpled up beside her.

  “Don’t be that way, Cami,” Marie scolded softly, and we all refocused our attention on our own little circle. “Father Gabe said we’re not supposed to judge.”

  Cami stiffened at Marie’s words. “Thank you, Sister Marie,” she said angrily. But at Marie’s hurt look she quickly added, “Sorry. I’m not judging. Just wondering.”

  Our talk turned to other things, but the image of Evangeline stayed with me, and my gaze wandered back to her several times over the next few minutes. We were all wearing sundresses or shorts to fight the Louisiana heat and humidity, but Evangeline dressed in long sleeves and long pants that rode up near her ankles. She didn’t have on socks or tennis shoes either, but these big clunky black shoes that a kid might wear when trying to play grown up. The worse thing about her outfit, however, was the blazing black and green plaid pattern zigzagging across the top and bottom of her clothes. It was enough to make your eyes hurt.

  Kids and teachers mostly ignored her. She sat in the back of class or at the end of the table at lunch. Her parents didn’t come to any of the open houses or parent-teacher conferences, hadn’t attended the Christmas assembly where we sang stupid songs and acted like we were happy about it. Like the thought of junior high, she made me nervous, but I wasn’t sure why.

  Sister Rose Claude interrupted my thoughts, calling us together so we could line up to board the bus. Like every other day, she had us close our eyes and bow our heads for a prayer. I hadn’t been closing my eyes for prayers lately, wanting to watch for any sign that God was watching or listening. I hadn’t seen anything to convince me and didn’t see the need to thank Him for anything. Daddy had died in spite of everything I’d been told would keep us safe. Be good. Go to church. Pray. Along with the sadness, I’d been filled with a powerful anger over the last few weeks. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe it hurt so much. He was gone, and I didn’t see the need to keep on praying to someone who didn’t listen.

  Before the prayer ended, I looked around at the group and found Mama standing next to Evangeline. When they raised their heads, Evangeline said something to Mama, and Mama laughed, her eyes wide as she tilted her head down to Evangeline’s level to respond. Her eyes didn’t crinkle when it was a real smile, and a spark of jealousy caught in my stomach, but I shook it out. Why did I care if Mama smiled at Evangeline?

  Alice, Cami, Marie and I hurried to the front of the line so we could get seats near the back of the bus. Although barely seven o’clock, the bus radiated heat like a humid tin can in the morning sun. We quickly lowered the windows, sat down and added to the rising level of chatter bouncing around the inside. As usual, boys paired off on one side of the bus and girls on the other. It’s not that we weren’t allowed to sit together, it’s just that no one really wanted to sit together.

  I could see Mama and Evangeline over the heads of my friends walk onto the bus together and take a seat at the front of the bus. Like Mama’s smile, though, I wasn’t going to let it bother me. I didn’t want to be with Mama. Why should I care if Evangeline did?

  I pushed the thoughts of Mama and Evangeline out of my head, wrapped up in my own world with Cami, Alice and Marie. Did I need any more?

  By the time the yellow bus squealed to a stop at the gates of the Audubon Zoo, we were all sweaty and ready to explode with energy. Cami, Alice, Marie and I spilled onto the pavement in a samba chain, our voices a rising chorus of the Latin rhythm we’d learned in dance class last Saturday. The parents formed a semi-circle around the bus, our own personal fence line to keep everyone close.

  I pulled my new Instamatic camera out of my purse and waved it at my friends.

  “Let’s take a picture near the sign!” I yelled to Cami, Alice and Marie, and they tromped over to the “Welcome” sign without question.

  I ran to Mama and slapped the camera in her hand. “Take our picture!” I demanded then joined my friends, pushing and squeezing between them with giggles and flying elbows.

  Mama sat down her purse and picnic basket and then to my shock, turned to Evangeline. “Why don’t you get in the picture too?”

  Evangeline’s face flashed this mixed look of joy and horror like she was afraid to get so close. Her face went from Mama to me, then back to Mama. Mama put an arm around Evangeline’s shoulder and walked her part way to the sign, once again leaning down to whisper in Evangeline’s ear like she’d done after the morning prayer. She took the paper bag clutched in Evangeline’s hand and shooed her forward.

  Cami, Marie and Alice went quiet as Evangeline took up a seat at the end of the cement base, as far from us as she could get without falling to the sidewalk. I sat there in silent anger, shooting Mama eyefuls of contempt as she framed the picture. I felt this little burn start in my chest and spread to my fingers and toes, heat filling up beneath my skin. This was a picture for my friends, not hers. Marie started to elbow Cami, and within seconds we were giggling again, Evangeline’s intrusion in our group momentarily forgotten.

  Mama looked over the edge of the camera and shouted, “Everyone say ‘Elephants can dance!’”

  In unison we yelled back at her, and Mama snapped the picture. Evangeline bounced off the seat like it was on fire and quickly put some space between us. She hovered a small distance from Mama, plucking nervously at the edge of the greasy paper bag she’d retrieved and glancing in Mama’s direction. I was struck still for a moment, watching Evangeline stand as quiet as a statue while she waited to see what Mama would do.

  The look on her face made my chest hurt. With her chin tucked in close to her chest, she watched Mama from beneath the fall of her bangs. Her knuckles were white clutching the edge of that paper bag. Dozens of people moved around Evangeline, but her eyes were only for Mama. Had I ever wanted for attention that badly or looked so . . . alone? I was an only child, but my world was filled with people. Grandparents. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. And that was just family. I looked at Cami, Marie and Alice. They were as much a part of my family as my blood relatives. Did Evangeline have brothers or sisters? Did she have friends outside of school? Everybody had somebody. Didn’t they?

  Mama bent to gather her things from the sidewalk, stopping to stare at a family walking past pushing a stroller. She watched the mother and father until they disappeared behind the zoo gates, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her shoulders lifted then fell heavily with a sigh, and her face changed with the small motion, like she was releasing whatever thoughts filled her eyes with sadness. Mama turned and beamed another smile at Evangeline and handed the picnic basket to her. Mama pointed to Mrs. Leonard standing near the bus. Evangeline nodded her head, pushing her fly-away hair behind her ear and taking off like a shot.

  When Mama looked to me, she whispered seriously, “I need to talk to you, Meg.”

  “Not now.” I snatched the camera from Mama’s hand and turned towards my friends. Besides, she had Evangeline to keep her company. She didn’t need me. That thought didn’t sit easy as I wandered back to Cami, Marie and Alice.

  “We’re trying to figure out which group everyone will be in,” Cami said as I rejoined the circle. She pulled her long hair up and fanned the back of her neck.

  Alice sighed, scanning the crowd. “I hope we all get to stay together. It won’t be any fun otherwise.”

  “Marie?” said a voice from behind, and we all turned to see Evangeline standing behind us, her hand stretched out towards us. A delicate gold chain and cross winked in the sunlight. Her hand shook like she was too cold to stand still. “I think this is yours. I found it on the ground near the bus.�
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  Marie gasped, her hand clutching her neck. “Oh my goodness! That was my Nana’s.” She delicately took the chain from Evangeline’s hand.

  Cami and I each had a hand on Marie’s shoulders during our little samba number. “It must have broken as we got off the bus,” Cami offered.

  Evangeline stood still again, her eyes wide, hands in tight fists at her side, while Marie studied the chain. “I—I just found it,” she stammered, and her voice cracked. “I think the clasp broke.”

  I read more meaning in the words and tone, like she was afraid we’d think she’d stolen it.

  Marie threw herself at Evangeline and wrapped her arms around the girl’s neck. “Thank you so much, Evangeline. I’d have died if I lost this.”

  Mama walked over to see what the commotion was about and hugged Evangeline’s shoulders as we told her the story. “What a great pair of eyes you have, Evangeline,” she exclaimed loudly. “How many people walked by that exact spot and didn’t see a thing?”

  Evangeline blushed, but her shoulders drew up around her ears as if waiting for more than thanks to come her way. “It was nothing, Mrs. Adams. I just got lucky.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m with you today because I can always use a little luck,” Mama gushed.

  Mama told Marie she would hold the necklace in her purse until they got home, that way it wouldn’t get lost. Marie, Evangeline and Mama walked off towards the others while Cami, Alice and I waited behind. Marie chatted with Evangeline as they walked.

  “That sure was nice,” Alice observed. “That necklace means a lot to Marie. Remember when she got it at her birthday?”

  Cami and I nodded. I ran my fingers over the Instamatic camera in my hand. My birthday was in another week, but Mama had given me the camera last night. It was a gift from my dad, she said. He’d gotten it early so I could have it for this trip, and she’d nearly forgotten about it after his accident. Knowing he’d been thinking of me made me want to smile and cry at the same time.