Alma laughs. “Yeah, it happens. My mom told me.”
“My mom never told me shit, except how to use condoms.”
“She probably told Tasha about what it’s like to be pregnant.”
“Maybe, but I kinda doubt it. Tasha was so young.”
In our apocalyptic world, the difference between Tasha being fifteen and Alma being eighteen, though barely, seems enormous.
“So, do we need to stop making love while you’re pregnant?” I pull my hands away.
Alma musses my hair that’s already poking out everywhere. “I think it’s fine.”
“Do you just think that, or do you know?”
“Pretty sure. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll ask other women about it.” Alma runs her finger down my cheek. “But let’s don’t tell anyone yet.”
“Sure, if you want. But why?”
“Let’s get used to the idea first. Just you and me.”
“That’s brilliant,” I say. “I’m too crazy to talk about it anyway.”
“Exactly. We need time to find the words. And the courage.”
I take a deep breath, like a backwards sigh. “This is gonna take a ton of courage.”
“Yep.” She flops back on the bed, and I flop down beside her. She turns her back to me and scooches against me to sit in my lying-down lap.
We say “I love you” a bunch of times, and then her breathing changes, and I know she’s asleep. I don’t sleep, though. How could I? I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna have a little kid running around.
I’m so freaking happy, and I’m scared to death. Raising a baby in the middle of all this danger—Jesus! I’m half-paralyzed with my eyes wide open.
I lie here clutching Alma in her sleep. I drift in and out all night, and now it’s morning. We only have one working clock in the house, and its battery won’t last much longer. But from where the sun hangs in the sky, I’d guess it’s around seven. One thing I learned how to do since the sun flipped out is to tell time from it—not the exact time, but it’s not like we have school bells to beat into class.
I feel kind of sick about the pregnancy, worrying about how the birth will be, how there are no doctors, but Alma’s belly will grow and grow. She’ll have to eat more. What if we don’t have enough food? Or water? That would be worse. If Alma barfs a lot like Tasha did, I’ll take care of her, I will, but all that barf without enough water to clean it up right? Sick.
Nana, Jack, Eddie, and the kids are probably waiting for us so we can go talk to Grandpa. Wish I could get out of it, but Milo will point a fork at me if I try.
I don’t want to wake Alma up. Pretty sure she needs extra sleep, but I don’t know shit about what she needs. They should’ve taught us kids more about how this works.
Too bad Alma can’t go. Having her there would keep me from going apeshit. She’d help the whole talk, too, because as mean as Grandpa is, he likes Alma.
During those first days they were back, Grandpa sat around seething, about to blow a gasket over Tasha dying and about Nana leaving him and lying to him about her inheritance and the Mint full of food and supplies. I felt sorry for Grandpa then. It was a whole lot to handle, even if he did deserve for Nana to leave him and to lie to him.
I was over at the Mint for days, dismantling shelves and moving stuff around so they could live in the house. Every time Grandpa saw me, he’d say shit like, “What’s wrong with you, getting married so young?” or “Have you lost your mind, boy?”
He was so skinny when he got here—they all were—and with him being so old, he looked like death. Stank like it, too, like the rat that died inside the wall at Mom’s house when I was ten.
But Alma wasn’t afraid. She would fuss over Grandpa, bringing him home-cooked meals and clean clothes, washcloths and soap and bowls of water.
“How can you do that, Alma?” I asked. “He’s so pissed off I’m scared he’ll grab me and choke me.”
“He’s a sad, skinny old man who needs help and a good bath. His heart is broken.”
She was so amazing that even Grandpa—stunned as he was—couldn’t help but appreciate what she did for him.
Once, he said “Thank you” to Alma, and he started crying and shaking.
Christ, he looked like he had so much pain I didn’t know how he could breathe. When I saw Grandpa crying like that, I watched him until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then I carried stuff to the garage and stayed out there organizing it.
I’ll love Alma forever for doing things for Grandpa I never thought of. She is wise.
And now she’s pregnant. She’ll be a wise mother, if I can keep her alive, and I will keep her alive if I have to die to do it.
Downstairs, I tell everyone that Alma’s sleeping in. I find tortillas and cold beans in the warm fridge that we use as a cabinet now. I make burritos on two plates, then take Alma’s plate upstairs with some water. I watch to make sure she’s breathing, and then I skitter down the stairs.
“Let me eat, then we can go,” I say to my family. Milo groans.
“Dad’s awful quiet today,” Uncle Eddie says. “No telling what he’s up to.”
Phil’s not here. He’s probably working on the wheat. We have to grow wheat in the winter in Texas, but we’re running late with the planting. I hope Uncle Tom’s helping Phil with the other rototiller—they have one can of gasoline left until we get into the Mint’s garage. Planting wheat all over that park is a huge job. And it’s so important for us to get more wheat before the bulk flour runs out.
“Everyone ready?” I ask after I rinse my plate.
“Wait,” Nana says. “We need… um, peace offering.” That is smart as hell.
“What kind of peace offering?” Uncle Eddie asks.
Nana puts her finger to her chin and smiles. “Chair.” She makes up and down motions with her hands going in opposite directions.
“The rocking chair,” Mazie says. She always understands Nana better than the rest of us do. Nana might’ve died from her stroke if Mazie hadn’t talked to her constantly until she finally talked back. Mazie is kind of a magical kid.
“Yes. It’s Grandpa’s chair,” I say, and Nana grins.
“Yeah, and he wouldn’t let anyone else sit in it,” Milo says. I swear, Milo keeps a list in his head of all the ways that Grandpa is mean. He never forgets a one of them. But it’s true that Grandpa used to yell at anyone who sat in his precious chair, even Nana, or especially her.
“Let’s get this done.” I pick up the big rocker. “Ready, Nana?”
“Yes, thank you.” Nana’s always polite, even now. She used to tell us about going to charm school, like Southern girls did back then. Nana wants us to be charming, too. We try, but we’re not as good at it as she is.
Jack strokes Nana’s shoulder, and she pats his hand. They love each other as much as me and Alma do, only they’re all old.
CHAPTER 10
I can’t wrap my head around talking to Grandpa, emotional as I feel. We go down the sidewalk that runs beside our yard and the Mint’s. One whole end of the block is Nana’s. No, ours. The houses and yards belong to the whole family, even nutso Grandpa. Nana told us.
We stop when we reach the Mint’s entrance sidewalk, clearing our noses, smoothing the dirty clothes we have to wear.
I turn to face the Mint, and Grandpa and Aunt Jeri are scowling at us from separate windows. Uh-oh. I should’ve gone to find Uncle Tom before we headed over here so he could help with these hotheads, but it’s too late now.
Jeri opens the front door with Grandpa behind her.
“What are y’all doing here?” she says, like she owns the place and we’re trespassers. What’s wrong with her? She’s been upset lately, but this is a step beyond.
But Mazie runs up to hug her mama anyway, because Mazie is like that—full of love. Jeri scoops Mazie in the door behind her. G
randpa ignores Mazie when she looks to see if he’ll hug her. He wasn’t much of a hugger before, but now, a hug from Grandpa ain’t happenin’. I just hope he doesn’t have a gun.
Milo shuffles to the door with me following. Thinking someone needs to cool the vibes, I say, “Grandpa. Aunt Jeri. We brought a gift.”
Grandpa snorts, that old fart. I’m sure he’s thinking that it’s his chair, he bought it, so it can’t be a goddamned gift. I don’t give a crap what he thinks. Jeri pats Milo on the shoulder, but she doesn’t say shit to me. Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be.
As soon as I maneuver the chair through the door and past the people standing around—including my mom, who just ran in the back door—Aunt Jeri steps across the threshold and straps her arms over her chest. She glares at Nana in the wheelchair with Eddie behind it.
“Eddie,” Jeri says, “what do you mean by showing your face in our yard and bringing her with you?”
Why’s Aunt Jeri acting this way? It’s freaking me out. What did Nana ever do to her besides take care of her kids for a year when Jeri didn’t come home from a damn football game? Talking to Nana like that after all she’s done for this family? Such bullshit.
I have to do something, so I say, “It’s Nana’s house, and she can come in if she wants to.” I stick my head out the door. “Nana, would you like to come in your own house now?” I grin at Nana, and she grins back but with pain in her eyes.
“Yes,” Nana says. It would be so cool if she could say more. She could tell the truth in just the right way to knock the wind out of Aunt Jeri’s meanness.
Uncle Eddie has always been closest to Nana of all the five kids, even closer than Mom and Aunt Jeri, Nana’s only kids by birth. Jeri probably hates that about Eddie, since she’s not her old self anymore. I guess she thinks we’re on Nana’s side. But we don’t need to have sides.
Eddie backs Nana’s wheelchair over the threshold. Jeri huffs and moves aside. Grandpa slaps his forehead and stomps into the dining room to pace while Nana gets settled in the living room.
I set the rocking chair next to Nana. She pats the seat and says, “Hank?”
“What?” he barks.
Mazie, being all innocent, thinks Grandpa needs to have Nana explained to him. “She wants you to sit by her in your rocking chair.”
Grandpa growls in his throat. “I’m not sitting next to her!”
“Dad,” Eddie says, “you were married to Mama Bea for thirty years. She raised your kids for you. You can sit beside her a few more minutes.”
“I don’t bite,” Nana says, and we’re all floored. She gives Grandpa the cutest grin, like she probably used to give him when she still loved him.
“I didn’t know she could talk like that,” Grandpa says. But he heard her say a few whole sentences when he first came home. She didn’t say what he wanted her to say, though, so he must have distorted the whole thing in his cracked head.
“Grandpa,” I say. “Nana wants to talk to you, and you need to talk to her, so please sit in your chair and get on with it.”
My mom comes up and puts her hand on my shoulder. She hasn’t touched me since she found out that Tasha was dead. I grab Mom’s hand tight and lean down to hug her. I just want to cry and forget about Grandpa’s stupid shit.
Mom lets me hug her, sort of cold at first, but finally, she sighs and hugs me back. I feel her crying, but I don’t look at her face. Seeing Mom cry would be the end of me for today—for the week, even.
“Come on, Dad,” Uncle Eddie says. “Please sit by Mom. We love you, and we need to discuss some things, like a—like a—”
“Family,” Nana says, and Grandpa gasps. “Please, Hank.”
Did Nana just bat her eyelashes at Grandpa? It was so quick; my eyes could’ve tricked me.
Grandpa grumbles, but he picks up the rocker and moves it away from Nana. He plops down his skinny creaky butt and starts rocking too fast, all agitated. Okay, that’s a start.
“Hank.” Nana looks like she might cry. Shit. If everyone starts crying in this room, I might have to leave. “Hank, I’m—I’m—I’m sorry.”
“You should be!” Grandpa leans forward like he’s fixing to yell at her. I think Nana might get mad, because I would, and she would’ve before her stroke.
But she nods and says, “I know.”
Wow. I didn’t think she’d be that sorry. Grandpa gave her every reason to do what she did. But Nana’s probably sorry she hurt Grandpa, knowing her. Likely, she’s sorry she spent thirty years with him and it didn’t work out like either one of them wanted it to. I’m going to be extra careful my whole life in my marriage to Alma so that nothing this screwed-up ever happens to us. Because look how many people get hurt by this shit.
No one’s moving. Everyone’s barely breathing. Finally, Eddie says, “Dad, do you have anything to say to Mom?”
Grandpa lets out a loud sigh. He leans back in the chair and starts rocking again, only slower this time.
Nana waves at Mazie to come to her.
Mazie runs over. “You need help, Nana?” God, it’s so sweet, I could cry over just that. Nana nods and unlocks her wheelchair brakes. She inches up in front of Grandpa. He leans the rocker back about as far as he can get without tipping over backward. Nana pats Mazie’s head.
“You, Hank. You,” Nana says, and she points at Grandpa’s chest. His eyelids are stretched wide. She shakes her head all exaggerated, puts her hands to her heart and moves them away from her then back, points to herself, and looks at Mazie.
“You,” Mazie says, “don’t? Didn’t? Something that means no. Her heart? Love? Then Nana. You didn’t love her, that’s what she said. Didn’t you love Nana, Grandpa?”
Grandpa’s mouth falls open, and his eyes look all wild, darting around. Maybe he’s trying to see what the rest of us think, but we’re waiting to hear him.
“I loved you,” he says to Nana, and he leans a hair closer. “I loved you a lot for a long time.” Now his voice is cracking, and my eyes start looking for the exits. “I loved you for years, Bea, but somewhere in the middle of it, I stopped.”
Tears spring to his eyes and he closes them, his face puckered with deep wrinkles. He’s going to start blubbering out loud any minute. Even Milo is about to cry.
The rest of us shouldn’t be watching this. It’s way too personal between Nana and Grandpa, and it’s about how their marriage went to Hell. But Nana needs our help to communicate with Grandpa so he can go on living without being such a dick.
Mazie is like an ambassador angel. She climbs into Grandpa’s lap, surprising him and forcing him to think for a second about someone besides himself. She puts her little arms around his neck and hugs him. He doesn’t hug her back, but he supports her to keep her from falling, and he just cries and cries.
Nana pats Grandpa’s knee. “It’s okay… It’s okay.” She’s trying to tell him he’ll be all right. But she’s got tears on her face, too. Because she used to love Grandpa a whole lot, and it’s just so freaking sad when love ends and there’s nothing left at all.
“Y’all go home,” Grandpa says, crying even more, his face so contorted it’s got to hurt him. He can’t accept comfort. He wants to wallow in it, seems like.
Aunt Jeri and Mom are watching from the couch, where they have a good view of the whole proceedings. Mom’s wiping her wet cheeks with her fingers, but Jeri’s all stone-faced.
I hug Grandpa. He’s the most broke-up person around. Nana spent the whole time he was gone being torn up and deciding to leave him. Grandpa hasn’t had time to let go yet. Even if he didn’t love Nana, he never admitted it to himself before. He relied on her, and that’s a kind of love, too. Now Nana’s with Jack. Plus, she could die soon, and none of us will be able to rely on her except in our minds. I know what she would say: rely on each other. And she would be right.
Milo stumbles a bit when he lean
s in to hug Grandpa, knocking me further into the old man, and Mazie cries out, “Hey, you’re smooshing me!”
We laugh and back up to let Mazie out of this hug-cluster. Grandpa even laughs a teeny bit. I feel kind of hysterical, half-laughing, half-crying, not knowing which way to turn.
“Better go,” Nana says, and a weird relief washes over me.
“Wait, Mom.” My mother rushes over to hug Nana. “I’m sorry I blamed you.”
Next thing I know, everyone’s crying again. I wipe my hands under my eyes and flick tears off my fingers. Biggest bunch of bawling people I ever saw. I’m glad I’m older now. If this shit had happened a couple of years ago, I would’ve been so grossed out I might’ve never talked to any of these people again. Milo looks kind of green, like he might puke. It is pretty pukey.
Finally, we file out the front door. It doesn’t seem like we solved a thing, except maybe we gave Grandpa a start on getting over it. But I have a sick feeling that he’s never going to change. He’s been a dick his whole life. Don’t know why he’d stop now.
We didn’t even get to talk about letting people into the Mint’s garage. I’m sick of tortillas. I want some bread. Plus, we’re running out of flour to make tortillas unless we can get to the bulk food bins. Alma needs her tortillas now more than ever.
Alma! I almost forgot about her. How could I do that? Uncle Eddie’s already got Nana to the big sidewalk.
“You got this?” I ask him. “I need to see about Alma.”
“I got it. But what’s wrong with Alma?”
It’s probably two hundred degrees on the surface of my cheeks. I rush away, hollering back, “Nothing. I just want to see her.” I run as fast as I can to the front door and fumble around for my key. Then I fly up the stairs. I hear Alma in the bedroom, squeaking the bed frame. Thank you, Jesus.
Jesus probably didn’t have shit to do with Alma being alive in the bedroom, but I thank Jesus anyway, just because.
CHAPTER 11
If the Light Escapes: A Braving the Light Novel Page 7