Semiprecious

by D. Anne Love

  I had a big bite of steak in my mouth, so I just nodded. Then Mama asked me if I wanted dessert, but I was too full of steak and potatoes. After that we ran out of things to say. Mama finished her coffee and paid the check, and we went back to her apartment.

  Even though it was barely nine o’clock, I was craving sleep. Mama turned down the bed and tucked me in, like she used to when I was little. She changed into her nightgown, washed her face, and slid under the covers beside me, and for a moment I was five years old again, happy and safe.

  “I have to get up at four in the morning,” Mama said, just as I was drifting off, “but you go ahead and sleep as long as you want. There’s cereal and milk for breakfast, and bologna for sandwiches in the fridge. Keep the door locked and don’t open it for anybody. I’ll be back around three o’clock.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Okay, then. Good night.”

  That was the last I remember before I fell into a dream. Daddy and I were playing baseball in the yard, laughing and yelling, and Mama and Opal were sitting on the porch sipping lemonade. I could feel Daddy’s rough palms on my hands as he showed me how to swing the bat. I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his spearmint gum and the sweetness of Mama’s perfume. It seemed so real that when I woke up to the sound of a hard rain and remembered where I was, the hurt came down on me like a rock. Before I knew it, I was bawling like a calf in a hailstorm, and there was nobody there to hear me.

  When I was all cried out, I got dressed and went to the kitchen. I poured a bowl of cereal and ate at the sink, watching the rain.

  Maybe if the sun had been shining, I’d have sat by the pool reading my Sherlock Holmes mystery. Maybe I’d have walked down to the stores on Fairview Drive and pretended to shop for magazines or a new record.

  Because of the rain, I discovered Mama’s secret.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  There was no TV in the apartment, and nothing to read except an old movie magazine with Elizabeth Taylor’s picture on the cover. I finished reading my Sherlock mystery, made a bologna sandwich for lunch, and thumbed through Mama’s sheet music, humming the tunes I knew by heart. After that I got bored and started snooping through the drawers in Mama’s dresser. Mixed in with scarves and earrings I remembered from back home were a tangle of stockings, receipts from the Music City Dry Cleaners, a bill for a new tire, and fifty-nine cents in loose change.

  In the bottom drawer, hidden way in the back, was a stack of envelopes held together by a rubber band. I opened the first one and a check stub fell out. I looked through the other envelopes. Each one held a check stub from a company called Great Southern Accident and Life. It took me a minute, but then I understood that Mama was cashing the disability checks meant for Opal and me. I sat in front of the open drawer, breathing like I’d just run ten miles, sick with the realization that the people you trust the most may not be what they seem, and what you think is the gospel truth may be nothing but a big fat lie.

  The front door opened and Mama called out, “Garnet?”

  I fumbled with the envelopes, trying to stuff them back into the drawer. Mama came into the bedroom. “What do you mean, going through my things?”

  My rage made me bold. “What do you mean, stealing from your own kids?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I had to hand it to Mama. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “Daddy’s checks,” I said. “We’ve been waiting and waiting for them, living on welfare, wondering why we hadn’t got them, and you had them all the time.”

  Her face closed down and the room felt like the Arctic Ocean, vast and icy cold. “I had to drop everything and go to New Orleans to sign papers for his care,” Mama said. “Because of his fool accident, I missed my chance to sing for those music producers. So don’t try to make me feel guilty. I’m entitled to that money. It’s only fair.”

  But there was nothing fair about anything that had happened to my family.

  “You left him!” I reminded her. “Mr. Hancock told Aunt Julia the money was for Opal and me. Do you care that Aunt Julia sold her piano to buy food? That I have to eat sausage and biscuits every single day? Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

  Mama shrugged. “I ate plenty of sausage and biscuit lunches when I was your age. It didn’t hurt me.”

  I wanted to say something to hurt her as bad as I was hurting right then. So I told her the truth about the scenery project at school: that I was too ashamed of living in Aunt Julia’s run-down house, too ashamed of taking welfare, to accept a ride home after school. But Mama didn’t care about my feelings one iota.

  “I lived in that house until I was eighteen,” she said. “I remember the shame of it. But shame made me tough, and determined to get out of Willow Flats to make something of myself.”

  She perched on the unmade bed. “I know how you feel. Being poor changes who you are inside. It beats you down and crushes your spirit, and forces you to fight for your dignity every single day of your life.”

  I gnawed at a cuticle, unwilling to admit she was right. I thought about the kids at the losers’ table in the cafeteria, about the way the Barton girls seemed to crawl into a shell whenever anybody looked at them. I thought about my embarrassment at missing that stupid magic show, and the fact that I hid in the bathroom at Aunt Julia’s every time the county welfare worker delivered our food box.

  Mama went on. “Let’s face it. The world is a hard place, Garnet. Nobody gets a break just because of good looks. You’re going to have to grow some backbone and go after what you want. If you don’t, you’ll wind up as roadkill on the great highway of life.”

  She stood up and stripped off her ketchup-stained waitress uniform. “I smell like grease. Let me wash up and take a nap before we eat. My feet are killing me.”

  Anger and hurt burned like acid in my blood and choked off my words. It’s one thing to tell yourself you’re an ugly toad; it’s another when your own mother confirms it.

  Mama cupped my face in her hand. “Let’s have shrimp for dinner. I know it’s your favorite.” She sounded desperate, like she’d all of a sudden realized she’d messed up really bad and was trying to fix it.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Fine. I’d rather sleep than haul you around, anyway.” She opened her purse and took out an envelope. “I was going to wait until later to tell you this, but you may as well know now. I got you a ticket back to Oklahoma. The bus leaves tomorrow at nine.”

  While she showered and napped, I sat at the table remembering the Christmas when I was seven and Daddy gave me a kaleidoscope. He said the patterns of color and shape were almost as infinite and individual as snowflakes, and that once I turned the cylinder and the pattern changed, I could never get the same one back again. It was the same with Mama. She had arranged all our lives into a whole new pattern, and no matter how bad I wanted to, there could be no going back.

  When Mama woke up, we went out for shrimp, but I didn’t enjoy a single bite. I sat across from her in a booth at the Surf and Turf, still smarting from her lecture, missing Opal more than I thought was possible, and wishing I was back in Oklahoma. Then she took me to an open mike club, where people could get up and sing whether they had any talent or not. It was a tiny, dark place that smelled like beer and hair spray.

  It was obvious Mama went there a lot. When we went in, the owner waved and said, “Hey, Mel.”

  “Hey, Richie,” Mama said. “Okay if I let my little girl sit in tonight?”

  “If the cops find out I’ve got a minor in here, they’ll yank my liquor license.” He grinned at me. “If I tell you to scram, you scram.”

  We sat at a table near the back. Mama ordered a Coke for me, but all she had was a glass of water with lemon in it. “To keep my voice limbered up,” she said, as the lights came up and a boy in a white cowboy hat three sizes too big ambled onto the stage.

  “Hey, ever’body,” he drawled, even though there was no
body there except Mama, Richie, me, and a couple of waitresses behind the bar.

  The cowboy said, “I’m Dusty Rhodes, and here’s a tune made famous by the great Hank Williams.” He strummed his guitar and he started wailing about broken promises and cheating hearts and how being unfaithful to your one true love was sure to keep you awake at night.

  I stole a glance at Mama. She seemed transported to another place, mouthing the words along with the cowboy, her fingers stroking the edge of her guitar like she was petting a cat. Dusty finished his song. We clapped, and he shuffled off the stage and into the dark.

  A couple of men came in. Mama turned around and her mouth dropped open. Her fingernails dug into my arm.

  “Ow! What is it, Mama?” I whispered. “Cops?”

  “No. Record producers. See that guy with the gray ponytail? That’s Ash Wilkins. He’s a big shot at RCA. Oh, my lord. I can’t believe it! Ash Wilkins!”

  Ash and his pal said something to the waitress, then leaned against the bar talking to Richie, who nodded a few times and called, “Hey, Mel. Sing something for these guys, will you?”

  Mama grabbed her guitar and gulped water. “Wish me luck, precious.”

  She ran onto the stage and adjusted the mike. “Hi, everybody. I’m Melanie McClain, and here’s a little song of my own. The story of my life so far. I hope you like it.”

  She strummed a few chords and sang:

  She was seventeen and a beauty queen

  On the day they said ‘I do.’

  They settled down outside of town

  In a love nest built for two.

  But when the crops all failed

  And he got jailed

  She decided to try her luck.

  With nothin’ but a dream and an old guitar

  And a ’forty-seven pickup truck.

  In my humble opinion, the song was awful. Plus, most of it was lies. It was true Mama married Daddy right after high school, and she was the Willow County Strawberry Queen one year, but the only crop my parents ever planted was our vegetable garden out behind the house. Most of all, my daddy had never spent a day of his life in jail. I couldn’t believe Mama would make up such a whopper and sing it in front of total strangers.

  Mama threw her head back and launched into the second verse. I snuck a peek at the big shots to see how her act was going over. Ash Wilkins had turned his back to the stage and was whispering to one of the girls at the bar. Mama kept singing.

  Well, she was wild, she was crazy,

  The future looked hazy,

  But she wanted to try her luck.

  With a pocket full of dreams and an old guitar

  And a ’forty-seven pickup truck.

  Mama hit a few final chords and bowed, but Ash and his pal had already left. Richie said, “Too bad, Mel. Better luck next week.”

  “Sure.” Mama’s voice cracked as she packed her guitar away and snapped the case shut. “Maybe I’ll do a Hank Williams number next time.”

  “Ash Wilkins isn’t the only producer in town,” Richie said. “You want to hang around a while, see if somebody else shows up?”

  “I’m tired,” Mama said. “I think I’ll call it a night. Besides, I’ve got Garnet with me.”

  Mama waved to the bartenders, and we went out to the truck. She started the engine and turned the heater up. “We need to get home and get you packed,” she said. “The bus leaves early tomorrow.”

  But I didn’t take the bus back to Willow Flats. When we got home, someone was waiting for us. Mama peered at the dark figure on the doorstep.

  “Holy moly!” she yelped. “Julia, is that you?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mama handed me her guitar case and put her key in the lock. “I swear, Julia, I feel like I’m hosting a family reunion, only somebody forgot to tell me. Where’s Opal? Or is she the surprise for tomorrow?”

  “Opal is staying with Sunday Larson,” Aunt Julia said. “And hello to you, too, Melanie.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mama threw the door open and we went in.

  Aunt Julia said to me, “Are you okay?”

  Before I could open my mouth to answer, she said, “If you ever run off like this again, I’ll wear you out, do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry I worried you.” I set Mama’s guitar case down. “I left a note.”

  “So that makes it all right?” Aunt Julia looked so frazzled I felt ashamed for what I’d put her through.

  Mama tossed her purse onto a kitchen chair. “Lighten up, Julia. She apologized. And there was no use for you to come all this way. I told Sunday I’d send Garnet home on the bus.” She squinted at Aunt Julia. “How did you get here, anyway?”

  “Borrowed Charlie’s car.”

  I couldn’t believe Aunt Julia had driven across three states to bring me back. “Mama said you were afraid to drive!” I blurted. “Because of your accident.”

  “Nevertheless, I made it,” Aunt Julia said proudly. “I didn’t get lost even once, unless you count the fruitless trip to that fleabag hotel clear across town.” She frowned at Mama. “How come you didn’t tell us you’d moved? What if there had been another emergency?”

  “I was going to,” Mama said, “but I’ve been busy. Building a career in the music business takes a lot of time.”

  “Mama’s been real busy being a waitress and singing stupid songs to empty rooms,” I said to my aunt.

  “Right,” Aunt Julia said grimly. “Busy taking money from her own children.”

  Mama cocked her hip and crossed her arms. “So you know.”

  “Finally,” Aunt Julia said. “After umpteen phone calls to poor Mr. Hancock, who must think I am the stupidest woman on the face of the earth. How could I not know the checks were going to my own sister all this time?”

  I had never seen Aunt Julia so mad. She snapped her fingers at Mama. “Hand me your purse.”

  I was stunned at how fast Mama handed it over. Like she was six years old and had got caught stealing from the candy dish. Aunt Julia counted the cash in Mama’s wallet and flipped through her checkbook. She added things up in her head and said, “A check for nine hundred dollars should tide us over. Where’s your pen?”

  “But that’s half of what’s left in my account!” Mama cried.

  “Yes,” Aunt Julia said calmly. “I talked to Mr. Hancock yesterday. Apparently there was a mix-up in their accounting office. But it’s all straightened out, and from now on the checks will be coming directly to my house for the girls. So I suggest you get famous in a hurry. Your gravy train just left the station.”

  For a minute none of us said a word, but I could feel that something had changed between Mama and me. And between Aunt Julia and me. Out on Fairview Drive, cars and trucks rushed past, their tires hissing on the pavement. Mama’s alarm clock tick-tick-ticked too loud in the silence.

  “Fine!” Mama said at last. “You don’t have to be so mean about it.” She scribbled a check and handed it to Aunt Julia, who dropped it into her pocketbook and said, “Garnet, get your things. We’re going home.”

  “Now? In the middle of the night?” Even though Mama and I were mad at each other, I wasn’t completely ready to let her go. I hoped she would ask us to stay until morning, but she didn’t. I gathered my stuff and met Aunt Julia in the hallway.

  Mama cried a little as she kissed me good-bye, but I could see she was relieved, too, and I had to accept that Melanie Hubbard—excuse me, Melanie McClain—just wasn’t mother material, no matter how badly I needed her to be. Me and Aunt Julia climbed into Charlie’s car. She started the engine and switched on the headlights, and we pulled onto the street.

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” I said when we stopped at a motel for the night. “I was desperate for Mama to come home. I thought if I could talk to her she’d see—”

  “Never mind.” Aunt Julia pressed her callused hand to my cheek. The love in her touch was an early Christmas present I hadn’t even realized I’d wanted.

  In the morni
ng, after breakfast at the Pancake Palace, we started off again. As I settled onto the seat beside Aunt Julia, I thought about Celestial and Faith and the tales they would tell about my adventure in Nashville. They were always in on the latest gossip, though they never took blame for spreading it around. But it didn’t matter anymore. Despite the way things had turned out with Mama, I was glad she’d shown me the importance of following your heart, even when everything seems totally hopeless.

  As the miles slid by, I thought about Powla. I hoped my skipping school hadn’t got her into trouble with Mr. Conley. I decided that after I apologized to her I’d try to grow the backbone Mama had talked about and sign up to help with the scenery project. The thought of working with my favorite teacher after school put me in a better frame of mind. I switched on the radio, and me and Aunt Julia sang until the station faded to static and a Spanish station came on. Then Aunt Julia switched it off and said, “If you could pick any one thing from the Sears and Roebuck catalog for Christmas, what would you choose?”

  The vast array of possibilities left me momentarily speechless. Finally I said, “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as a heart attack,” Aunt Julia said. “You girls have had a terrible year. It’s time something good happened.”

  But I wasn’t ready to pick a present. There was too much to consider. I leaned my head against the car window, drunk on Christmas dreams.

  We got to Willow Flats just after midnight. It looked different in the dark, with shadows softening its sharp edges and a pool of red light from the traffic signal reflecting on the asphalt. We bumped along the road past the courthouse, past the feed store and the Rexall, then headed down to Sunday’s place. A lamp glowed in the living room, and the porch light blazed. Before Aunt Julia could turn off the engine, Sunday dashed outside, her polka-dot pajama top billowing out behind her, the laces of her work boots flapping as she ran.

  Aunt Julia cranked the window down.

  “Opal’s gone,” Sunday said. “I heard a noise out back and figured the foxes were after my chickens again. I went out to check, and when I came in, I peeked in to see if Opal was awake. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. I can’t imagine where she’s gone.”