Calling Home

by Janna McMahan

  Shannon had believed in Santa Claus until she was ten years old. You didn’t find that type of wide-eyed innocence anymore. People were always telling about the Santa scam earlier and earlier. Why did people always have to go and ruin the fun in stuff?

  Shannon was knocking around upstairs trying to get ready for Kerry to come over. Virginia had offered to wash her hair, but her daughter had insisted that she could take care of herself even though she had only one hand to use. She was a determined girl in so many ways. Good thing she’d broken her left wrist, since school started back in a couple of weeks. Virginia wondered how she would handle not being in Junior Miss. She had worked so hard to make it happen and now this. But there was nothing anybody could do about it. It was Shannon’s decision to drive on slick roads. Consequences were a hard part of growing up.

  But then not everything in life was a result of your own actions. Sometimes you got thrown a curve ball and all you could do was work with it. Everything was getting ready to change. If Patsy got married and Shannon went off to school this summer, Virginia would be alone for the first time in her life. It would be just her and the dog. She had never lived by herself, had always had somebody she had to care for, and the thought of being all alone was troubling, yet vaguely thrilling. It was an opportunity to do something for herself. She could try a class at the college; she’d heard they had a typing course. Her old sticky typewriter was somewhere in the basement. Maybe she would pull that out and see how much she remembered. Her fingers tapped on a Reader’s Digest, recalling the alphabet order of the keys. A noise made her stop. She looked up the stairs, listening for it again. Shannon moaned. Virginia threw down the magazine and took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t in her room and Virginia moved to the hall bathroom and knocked lightly.

  “Shannon? Are you okay in there?”

  She heard vomit forcefully hit toilet water and her daughter’s dry heaves afterward. Virginia jiggled the doorknob. “Shannon, open the door. Can you open the door, honey?”

  “Go away.”

  “Shannon, let me help you.”

  “I’m okay.” She sounded hollow. She must be leaning into the bowl.

  “Shannon, it could be the concussion. That could make you throw up. Open the door.”

  Another stream of puke flowed. Virginia went into her own bathroom and found a bobby pin. Down on her knees it only took a moment to finesse the lock, and when the door swung open Virginia was hit by a familiar, oily stench.

  “Oh, honey,” she said and covered her nose. Shannon slumped back against the tub, her face pale as a snowdrift. Virginia took a washcloth from the hall linen closet. She wet it and wiped sweat from her daughter’s forehead. She lifted Shannon’s mass of curls and ran it around her neck. Shannon began to shake and then she pushed Virginia aside and puked into the bowl again, a dark golden oily liquid.

  “Shannon, what have you been eating?” Virginia asked and held her curls from her face while she was sick again. That was when she saw the empty bottle of castor oil on the floor between the toilet and the wall. She picked it up.

  “Why are you taking castor oil? This was practically a full bottle. There’s no telling how old the thing is. Shannon, answer me.”

  And then she knew.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Are you pregnant? Are you?” She knelt next to her daughter and took her shoulders, but Shannon pushed away again. “You are. You’re pregnant. And you thought this would get rid of it.”

  Shannon started to cry then—a long wail, high and childlike.

  “God damn it!” Virginia spat. “I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t let you date that boy.”

  There was a loud knock on the door downstairs.

  “Don’t let him in!” Shannon cried.

  “Oh, I’m going to let him in all right.”

  “No! Please don’t, Momma. He doesn’t know.”

  The door opened and Kerry’s voice carried up the stairs. “Hello! Mrs. Lemmons? Shannon?”

  “Please,” Shannon mouthed to her mother. Then she whispered, “Tell him I’m sick. Send him away.”

  “You have to tell him sometime. You can’t hide this forever.”

  “Please.”

  “He’s got a right to know.”

  “Shannon?” Kerry was coming up the stairs. Virginia moved quickly to pull the door closed behind her and meet him before he reached the landing.

  “Kerry, let’s go downstairs,” Virginia said. “Shannon’s not feeling good.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Is she okay?”

  “Go on now. I’ll be down shortly.” Virginia tapped on the bathroom door, slipped inside and gently closed it. Shannon was slack against the tub. She held the wash cloth on her face and breathed rapidly.

  “You still sick?”

  “Cramps.”

  “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  “Momma, please don’t be mean to me.”

  “It’s a wives’ tale, you know. Castor oil won’t cause you to lose a baby. I know. I tried it once myself.”

  Shannon lowered the wash cloth and considered what her mother had just said.

  “You need to clean yourself up and come on downstairs.”

  “Don’t make me. I don’t think I can.”

  “Yes, you can. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Virginia closed the bathroom door and put her hand on the banister to gather herself. She walked down slowly, formulating words in her head. Kerry stood next to the fireplace warming his hands.

  “Kerry, take a seat. You and me need to have a talk.”

  He looked like a spotlighted deer, eyes wide and round. He sat cautiously on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his cap in his hands. “Is everything all right?”

  “No. Everything is not all right.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No ma’am.”

  She could tell that he truly didn’t know. This little shit who wouldn’t leave her girl alone. “Shannon’s pregnant.”

  A dozen expressions washed the boy’s face. He stared at the cap he twisted around and around.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Suddenly, the boy’s attitude changed. “I say if I got a responsibility to live up to then that’s what I intend to do.”

  “What? You going to marry her?”

  “If she’ll have me.”

  “Then what? You realize she was going to go on to college. She had dreams and now all she’s going to get is life down on the farm. Maybe a job at the factory.”

  “I promise you she’ll go to college if that’s what she wants.”

  “You two can get married and live happily ever after, is that what you think? Let me tell you something. Being married is a lot more than that. It’s work and struggle and—”

  He held up his hand to stop her and said, “Ma’am, I love your daughter and you got to understand that I’ve always wanted to marry her. She’s the one I love and—”

  “If you really loved her, really cared about what was best for her, then you would have kept your pants zipped.”

  “Momma!” Shannon was on the stairs. “Momma, stop it. Don’t do this.”

  “Well, Mr. Honorable here has decided to ask you to marry him. Answer me this, where do you think you two are going to live? Don’t think you’re going to move in here on me and I’m going to be your built-in babysitter.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t. I’ve got a house, and if you don’t want Shannon here she can come home with me right now.” Kerry walked to the bottom of the stairs and held his hand out to Shannon. “Come here.” When she reached him he gathered her in his arms. “Grab your coat and let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “She is not leaving this house.”

  Shannon pulled on her hiking boots by the door and began lacing them. Kerry took her coat and hat down from the rack.

  “You can’t take her now. She’s not well enough to leave.”

>   “She doesn’t need to be here. Not with you acting like this.”

  “Oh, so now you’re her mother.”

  “Look, Mrs. Lemmons, you’re probably going to be my mother-in-law pretty soon so let’s get one thing straight. You don’t intimidate me. I won’t let you bully Shannon anymore.”

  “Bully? Is that what you think of me? That I’m a bully? I’m just trying to be the best mother I know how and look what happens. You come along and everything goes to hell in a hand-basket. I’m not the one destroying her life. That seems to be your job.”

  Kerry opened the crystal storm door and Virginia drew her sweater tighter against the cold. “We’ll call you,” he said and closed the door gently.

  The taillights of Kerry’s truck grew faint and a shudder seized Virginia. She recalled the first time she saw the Rucker boy, he’d stood on her porch with beer breath after bringing Shannon home late from school. She’d been pointed; all she had wanted from him was his taillights going off down the road. What she’d always dreaded was the day her daughter would be along for the ride.

  28

  Roger shivered under the blankets. The damn pilot light had probably gone out again. What a way to start the New Year. He got up and adjusted the heater. It cranked to life and blew warmth into the tiny trailer. He clicked on the gas stove, set a pan of water to boil, and spooned Taster’s Choice into a mug. The Airstream wasn’t comfortable, but it was convenient. He could basically turn in a circle and accomplish everything he needed. Except piss. Stewy had made a point that Roger use the jerry-rigged outhouse instead of the tiny inside toilet. That was fine with Roger. He practically lived in the woods anyway.

  He threw on a jacket and slid his feet into boots, not bothering to lace them. His bladder throbbed. Around the trailer at the edge of the woods tree boughs were still broken and bent toward the ground from the ice storm. The sweet tingle of relief flooded him as he peed. Frost turned a sickly gold before it melted. Squirrels chased each other, knocking twigs down through the skeletal trees. A hawk screamed and Roger searched the sky. The raptor glided low over treetops.

  Roger was zipping his pants when he heard the unmistakable rattle of Virginia’s car. What was she doing coming out here on a cold Sunday morning? She got out and touched her hair and leaned down to check her teeth in the side mirror. It made him grin.

  For a moment, she took in the silver trailer humped in the gray-frosted clearing, as if she wasn’t quite sure that she wanted to approach it. He should have cleaned up the place; there were week-old dishes in the sink and piles of clothing on the floor.

  She knocked loudly. He just watched her. When there was no answer, she tried to peek into the frosted jalousie door.

  As he walked toward her, it crossed his mind to suggest she stand on a concrete block and crawl in. He was sure Virginia had been the one who left the block outside Bootsie’s bedroom window.

  She heard his boots crunch grass and turned.

  “Hey, Virginia. What you doing coming all the way out here? Is everything okay?”

  “No. Everything is not okay. Shannon’s pregnant and she’s going to marry that Rucker boy.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Your daughter’s pregnant.”

  “Whoa. You’d better come inside and have some coffee. Let’s sit down so we talk about this.” The trailer shook slightly with their steps. He grabbed a sweater and cap from the bench seat at the compact table and motioned for her to sit. Luckily, he found another clean mug, and the water was already boiling.

  “Nice place you got here.”

  “I’ll tell my decorator you approve.”

  “I see you’re still no housekeeper.”

  He handed her a mug. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” He settled into the other side of the booth and blew across the top of his drink, stalling.

  “So you want to hear what’s going on or not?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Last night I found Shannon drinking castor oil trying to get rid of the baby. I didn’t even have a chance to talk to her about it before that Rucker boy comes to the house and then all hell breaks loose. He wants to marry her. I just knew it was going to happen. He’s just like the rest of them, always pawing at girls. Boys only want one thing.”

  He sipped his coffee and waited for her to get it all out.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I guess most of the time that’s true.”

  “I told them that it’s ridiculous, that they’re not thinking it through. They have no idea what they’re getting into. They’re going to be parents when they’re both still kids themselves.”

  “Shannon ever say anything?”

  “Not yet. But I know what she’s going to say: ‘Lots of people around here have families young. You were pregnant when you got married.’ But she doesn’t understand! How can I ever explain it to her? She had choices. Now she doesn’t have any.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her.”

  “It’s all my fault. I should never have let her date that boy in the first place.”

  “You’re a good mother. It’s not your fault. Deal with it and go on.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re living out here to yourself, not a care in the world. Who do you think is going to end up taking care of that baby, huh? Me. That’s who.”

  “Calm down, Virginia.”

  “I told them if they think they’re going to come live with me and I’m going to take care of the baby for them all the time that they had another think coming. And then, all smart aleck like, he said that he’s got a house and that he could take Shannon home with him right then if I didn’t want her living with me anymore. Can you believe it? Some snot-nosed kid telling me he’s in charge now.”

  “Sounds like he’s trying to be a stand-up kind of guy.”

  “You would take his side.”

  “I’m not taking sides, but what other choice do they have?”

  “She could get an abortion.”

  “Does she want to get an abortion?”

  “She chugged a bottle of castor oil.”

  “That explains why she came to me asking for money back in December. Sounds like that’s what she wants. Ask her.”

  “I haven’t had a chance. She went home with him last night. Said she was staying at his sister’s or something, like that matters at this point. I guess half the county knows she’s pregnant by now, so I don’t guess she could get an abortion even if she wanted to. I bet that boy wouldn’t let her get one anyway. He sees this as his chance to get her. He’s perfectly happy I’m sure. He might have planned this for all I know. Shit.” She knocked her palm against her head. “Why does everything have to go wrong?”

  “Hey,” he said, but she didn’t look up. “They’ll get married and work it out like everybody else. You don’t know. They might do okay.”

  She put her head down on the table. “No, no, no.”

  Roger had seen her angry hysteria, but never this. It hurt his heart. He searched for something to wipe her nose, but found nothing. He reached into her purse and brought out the small package of tissues she always carried.

  “They’re going to end up divorced.” She choked and coughed. “Just like us, miserable and pathetic and divorced.”

  “We’re not divorced yet.”

  She focused green eyes on him, her bramble of lashes dripping tears. Her nose was red and her lips were swollen and quivering. “Aren’t you going to divorce me, Roger? You hate me. You hate everything about me.”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  “Then why did you leave? What did that woman have that I didn’t?”

  “It wasn’t about her, Virginia. It was about us.”

  She went back to crying then, leaning over on her knees, her shoulders shaking, her face in a wad of tissue. He crouched down next to her and brushed her silky hair back, catching her scent of shampoo and soap. She was always so strong, so closed off, and he didn’t know how to react to this, to her
sudden helplessness. He ran his hand up the nape of her neck to cradle the back of her head. With his other hand he raised her face and wiped her eyes.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “I—”

  She pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was salty and he swallowed her taste. She kissed him hard as if she were pouring her hurt into him. Her urgency frightened him. She felt his hesitation and shoved him away. She stumbled out, leaving the trailer door slapping against the outside wall. A chilly current of air rushed in.

  29

  Wind lightly rocked Marcia Sue’s house trailer. It was still early and the light above the kitchen table swung ever so slightly, the beam’s edge moving against the wall. Marcia Sue was filling Green Stamps books. Her fingers ripped tiny perforations, dabbed the squares of paper on a sponge, smoothed the stamps into a book. Kerry flipped through the Green Stamps catalog vaguely looking at percolators, toasters, and electric skillets.

  “I meant to do this before Christmas so I could get some stuff for the boys, but I never got around to it,” Marcia Sue said. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t just sit there. Grab a book and start sticking.”

  “You’ve got enough of these things to get a car.”

  “I wish.”

  Kerry found a clean book, licked a few stamps, pressed them down.

  “So you going to tell me?” Marcia Sue said.

  “What?”

  “You never come over here this early. Something must be up. You going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”