Tending to Virginia

by Jill McCorkle

  “No, no, no,” is all Virginia could say.

  “Admit it, Ginny Sue,” Cindy said. “You are never gonna find all that you’re looking for so you might as well just spin around and pin the tail on the donkey. Pick a jackass and ride. I mean that’s what I did. I did that and now I’ve got Buzz Biggers, and he is something to ride let me tell you. If you fall off that horse, just get back up and ride like hell. It’s better than being alone.”

  “God is always here,” Gram had said. “You are not alone.”

  But God doesn’t say, “scrooch up sweets,” and God doesn’t change the washcloth when your head is so hot and God doesn’t pick you up and carry you to the commode if you are too sick to stand. God doesn’t brush back your hair and tell you that you are not alone; he doesn’t squat close to you when you smell like marigolds and have dirt under your nails, doesn’t call on the phone to ask how you are, doesn’t make things familiar when a long-distance call comes, the lonely sad news, and you turn to face rooms and windows and faces so unfamiliar that it makes you ask why am I here this way? He does not step in and tell you that you are about to make a mistake, that you’ve made a big mistake because you are moving far from your home and will always be lonesome when the winter sky is gray and cloudy and when Sunday afternoon comes and nobody goes to Carver Street and Roy Carter does not step from that maroon Lincoln and say “Do unto others before they do it to you,” and if the clock stops, it will stop and if the baby dies, it will die, and if those shoes are on the step, they do not go away but come closer and closer and closer.

  “Where’s Esther?” Gram asks.

  “She wanted the night off.” Virginia’s mama comes into the room. “She was all dressed up, too. I wonder if she’s got a date.”

  “Date. Pshhh,” Gram says. “Esther needs a man like a hole in the head.”

  “She might be happy,” Madge says. “She might be happy for the first time in her life and she deserves it if it’s the truth.”

  “That’s true,” Virginia says and looks over at Gram who nods with her.

  “I think you’re so lucky, Ginny Sue,” Madge says. “I wish Cindy could find herself a nice man like Mark. What kind of law is Mark going to do?”

  “Mostly business stuff,” she says. “Contracts, wills, divorces, I don’t know.”

  “So, he’s not going to be like Perry Mason and solve the murders?”

  “If he was,” Virginia’s mama calls from the kitchen. “He couldn’t have more to solve than right here in Saxapaw.”

  “I love Perry Mason,” Gram says. “Now he goes by the name of Ironside because he’s old and on wheels like me.” Gram laughs until the tears run down her cheeks and she pulls a Kleenex from her robe pocket. “Sometimes I laugh till I weep,” Gram says. “I don’t know why I do that but it’s something I’ve always done.”

  “These Pearson girls,” Roy Carter used to say. “Cry at the drop of a hat, happy, sad, monthlies or no reason at all.”

  Gram had stood by the kitchen table and cried like she was the child instead of Virginia. And Virginia saw the ambulance on the street below, the red light flashing around and around as she stood on a stool and looked out the kitchen window. Gramps was in the bedroom, silence behind that closed door, and her mama sat there at the table with Gram and watched that door as if she were afraid to open it. Virginia had a stuffed clown that Gram had made. His ruffled yellow suit had patches. “I made his hat out of one of your Uncle David’s favorite shirts that he had as a child, and I made his suit out of some of James’s old pajamas.” The clown had brown buttons for eyes and Virginia wanted them to be blue. Blue, she mouthed, her breath fogging the window over the sink where she sat on the counter. They should have been blue and Gram should have known that she’d want him to have blue eyes. She felt she could not give the clown a name until the eyes were right. She had found the ones she wanted, shiny pale blue buttons, and she had them there in the pocket of her corduroy pants. Those buttons did not have holes in them like the brown ones, but small silver hooks on the back so the eyes would be smooth and all blue.

  “These are the right eyes,” she had told Gram and showed her the buttons but Gram just rubbed her head and nodded.

  “I’ll do it later, Sweets,” Gram said. “Why don’t you and that clown take a little nap?” But Virginia couldn’t sleep. There was an ambulance on the street and men were coming up to the house with a stretcher and she couldn’t sleep at all. The men came in when Gram opened the door and they followed her to the bedroom where Gram showed them the way in but stayed outside herself, her eyes on the edge of the rug in front of her.

  “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave,” Virginia had screamed when they brought him through the kitchen, and she jumped from the counter and ran over to Gramps. “Please finish the story,” she said but his blue eyes were closed and he did not reach up and catch her nose between his fingers like he usually did. “Got your nose,” he would say and hold up his hand, thumb pressed between fingers to look like the stolen nose. “Please?” she asked. “Brer Rabbit?”

  “I’m going to miss you,” Gram said and traced her fingers down his nose, around his lips, lightly over his closed eyes. “There will never be another,” she whispered, and Gram’s lips quivered like she was freezing cold. “I will do right by you. I love you,” she said and then looked at Virginia’s mama, at Virginia. “We all do.”

  And Virginia’s mama and Gram had followed the men outside, leaving her there in the house by herself and she got back on the counter, her feet in the sink, and watched. Gram’s African violets were blooming there on the windowsill, purple, pink, white, and they put Gramps into the ambulance and the men got in and started it up. It moved from the curb and Gram and her mama stood there on the sidewalk with their heads pressed together and arms wrapped around each other. Gram started walking back in, bending to pick up a piece of old newspaper blowing in the yard, but her mother still stood there. She looked up and saw Virginia there in the window and lifted her hand, that brown sweater buttoned close and her mama’s hair blown back from her face, Gram in her gardening dress, the piece of paper in her hand while she stared in the other direction, stared out at the garden.

  Virginia did not leave the window until they were back inside and Gram pulled down her sewing basket and fixed the blue eyes while Virginia’s mother made telephone calls, her back turned to them and shaking, while Gram sewed the eyes and made a little pompom for the hat. “And he needs a mouth,” Gram said and cut what looked like a little valentine from a scrap of red velvet. “This old clown can talk and talk,” Gram had said and pressed it under Virginia’s neck, moved him back and forth. “He’ll tell you every story he knows.” And then people started coming and when Virginia went to sleep late that night, it was on a pallet on the floor near Gram’s bed, and when she woke up and everything was dark, she saw that Gram’s bed was empty and then she heard the glider moving back and forth on the porch. The front door was open and she stood there in the darkness, the clown clutched in her arms, and watched Gram swaying back and forth. “Gram?” she had called, and when the glider stopped and Gram turned to face her, she opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Are you waiting for Gramps?”

  “I guess I am,” she said and pulled Virginia up beside her, hugged her close, so close that Gram’s face felt wet against her neck. “But it’ll be a long time before we see Gramps again,” and Gram pushed off the floor and they rocked slowly, and Gram lifted the clown and made him dance a little in the air, back and forth, back and forth. “Do anything, anything,” she said and laughed. “Just don’t throw me in the brier patch.” And Virginia felt herself lean closer and closer into Gram and never remembered being carried back to bed, only remembered staring down the road in the direction that the ambulance had gone and there was nothing there except sparse streetlights and the smell of smoke from some chimney way on down the road.

  PART 5

  VIRGINIA OPENS her eyes to daylight, a gray hazy sky out Gram
’s window. It is Saturday, and for the first time in a week, Virginia really feels awake. It is Saturday, the day of Mark’s tests, the day to tell the truth. She will give him time to get home, time to open a beer and sit down, and then she’ll call. It’s over she will say.

  “Well, I thought you were going to sleep the day away,” Madge says, glancing up from her cards. “Cindy has been wanting to wake you up.” Madge takes a sip of her iced tea and shuffles.

  “Where’s Mama?” she asks, suddenly aware of the congregation. Gram is in the Lazy Boy, Lena stretched out on the sofa, sounds in the kitchen where Esther must be. “And what time is it?”

  “Hannah had to run to the Piggly Wiggly,” Madge says and looks toward the bathroom door. “She’s awake now, Cindy, so you can stop pouting.”

  “I’ve told her not to go to the Piggly Wiggly,” Gram says. “That is still my house.”

  “No, Aunt Emily,” Madge says, pity in her voice. “It’s the Piggly Wiggly now.”

  “Roy and me have been.” Lena opens her eyes and sits up. “Roy says they’ve got the seafood there where you used to sleep.”

  “Well I wouldn’t have it,” Gram says and puts a little snuff in her gum.

  “Where’s Chuckie?” Virginia asks, hoping to take the focus off the Piggly Wiggly.

  “He’s swimming and I hope the rain holds off until late tonight so he can stay all day.” Cindy moves from the doorway and sits on the floor, flexes her feet out in front of her; her toenails are painted the same shade of blue as her eyeshadow. “He’s getting to be a real pain in the rectum.”

  “Cindy,” Madge says. “He is going through a difficult age.”

  “Tell me about it!” Cindy snaps. “He stays in the bathroom forever; I’m beginning to think he’s you know whatting.”

  “What?” Lena asks and now she and Gram turn to Cindy with a dull blank stare.

  “God,” Cindy shakes her head and laughs. “I don’t know, probably in there squeezing pimples or something. He needs a man to talk to him but Charles doesn’t have a thing to do with him, ever.”

  “He does when you let him,” Madge says.

  “Oh right,” Cindy snaps. “He only wants Chuckie to do fun things. Charles is never around to see Chuckie when he looks so awkward and gawky; Charles doesn’t see him look like that when some sleezy little girl calls on the phone and he turns red as a beet, and Charles doesn’t have to stand outside that bathroom door about to pee in his pants while Chuckie’s in there you know whatting.”

  “What?” Lena asks again, her voice so slow now, eyes so dull.

  “Mashing bumps, I said!”

  “Then why don’t you say that?” Gram asks. “Why don’t you take him to a doctor?”

  “I would take him but it costs a hell of a lot. Phisoderm is cheap and if he’d use it like I tell him to, those bumps would probably go away. If Charles Snipes can afford to remarry, he can afford dermatology.”

  “You haven’t told me Charles is getting married,” Virginia says.

  “Good God, Ginny Sue,” Cindy says and waves her hand. “You been laid out like a dead whale for a week. How could I tell you?”

  “Your skin was never really bad, Cindy,” Madge says and Virginia listens to every word, her face still flushed by the words “dead whale.” “Chuckie got his skin troubles from Charles.”

  “God, you’re telling me,” Cindy says. “Daddy warned me, told me that Charles would always have a scarred-up face, and I should have listened to him. God, to think I ever kissed Charles Snipes.”

  “Cindy, I’ll help you with that, you know, money-wise. Chuckie is so self-conscious about it,” Madge says, her forehead wrinkled. “Bless his heart. He asked me if I thought it would go away before long.”

  “Roy went away,” Lena says, her eyes closed.

  “Bless his heart,” Cindy mimics. “I know you’d pay for it because Chuckie is your little ray of sunshine like I never was. Charles Snipes should have to pay.”

  “No sunshine today,” Gram says. “Weatherman says rain.”

  “I just wanted to help is all.” Madge stacks her deck of cards and wipes the sweat that has gathered around her hairline. “I know it’s not easy raising a child alone.” Madge stops and stares at Cindy, the words, the tension between their stares so strong that it makes Virginia’s whole body tighten.

  “A child is a big responsibility,” Gram says.

  “Lord God, tell me about it.” Now Cindy laughs, her back turned to Madge. “You’ll know soon enough, Ginny Sue. Of course you’ll have a man there to help you. Everybody really does need a man there to help them.”

  “Yeah, when I fall asleep there on the sofa watching TV that Roy will pick me right up and put me in my bed.”

  “Well, that must have been a hundred years ago,” Cindy says.

  “No sassy messy mouth, it wasn’t,” Lena says, but Cindy ignores her.

  “If we can ever have a little privacy, Ginny Sue,” Cindy says. “I’ll tell you all about my latest.”

  “This is my house and if anybody gets privacy, it’s me,” Gram says.

  “Oh, Ginny Sue,” Madge says suddenly. “Mark called you bright and early today, said he was going to take his test and would call back later.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asks, an accusing tone that makes Madge’s eyebrows go up. Her heart quickens with the thought of what he’s going to say.

  “It isn’t her fault,” Cindy says. “Your mama, St. Peter, has told us all not to disturb you.” Cindy sits forward with her feet pressed together like she’s doing yoga.

  Esther goes and opens the front door. “Thank God, Hannah’s here. Maybe I can get out and do a few things myself. I have a life, too, you know?” Esther faces them all now and Virginia lies back down, closes her eyes, thinks about what she will say. A baby cannot hold a marriage together. It’s hard to raise a child alone but it can be done.

  “I could use a little help,” Hannah comes through the front door with a bag under each arm, her hair all blown every which way and there they all sit.

  Cindy does not make one move from her spot on the floor to help. Madge follows Hannah into the kitchen and sits down to watch.

  “I see you still buy Crisco in the can,” Madge says and Hannah just bites her tongue and nods, keeps unloading the groceries. “Hannah, let’s me and you go down to the beach one weekend. Let’s go sit and talk.” Hannah stops unloading for a minute and stares at Madge. How in tarnation does she think Hannah can just drop it all and go to the beach? “I’ll pay for the room,” Madge says.

  “Money is no issue,” Hannah says now, determined to make a point. “I sold the shop for a large sum; I have money. Time, time is the issue.”

  “Esther could stay here,” Madge says, her words picking up speed. “I mean after Ginny’s well, of course. Just a day and night, you know, to talk.”

  “You might ask Esther,” Esther says and steps into the room.

  Hannah looks at Madge. “I’ll have to see.” Lena’s hat is cocked off to one side and Hannah goes over to straighten it, though God knows it won’t stay straight. “Roy’s dead, isn’t he?” Lena asks slowly and Hannah nods. “Hannah, you are a good child, sweet; you look just like me,” and Lena reaches out and touches Hannah’s hair. All through childhood, Hannah imagined looking just like Aunt Lena, the flashy clothes and dangling earrings, and now, all of that time has passed and it is like seeing what she will be in twenty years, thin little vein-streaked wrists and tired dull eyes.

  “If I should suddenly get quiet and not have anything to say,” Emily says, her hands gripping the edge of her lap robe and holding it up to her neck. “I don’t want any of you to bother me, I don’t want anybody trying to get me back.” She looks around the room, Lena with that fake fur cocked to one side. They just come in and make themselves right at home when there’s so much to be done to get ready.

  “Are you fixing to die?” Lena asks and hands the filter of her burned-out cigarette to Hannah. “
‘Cause I am. I’m fixing to die.”

  “Now you two stop it.” Madge drains the last of her iced tea and goes in Emily’s kitchen.

  “I get so tired of this,” that sassy Cindy says to Ginny Sue like she might own this house and they are the only two in it. “I wish you could get out and do something.”

  “Well, there’s a plenty to be done right here,” Emily says. “The wedding is today and there’s plenty to do.”

  “What wedding is that?” Hannah asks and Emily laughs, turns the TV up louder with her remote control. She’d rather listen to what they’re saying on TV anyway. Hannah wasn’t even at the wedding, wasn’t even born, so how would she know about it? It makes Emily laugh until tears come to her eyes.

  “Let’s talk about getting your hair fixed.” Hannah gets up and turns off the TV.

  “Before the wedding?” Emily waits, green eyes staring, until Hannah nods.

  “God, it’s always a wedding or a funeral,” Cindy says. “They don’t even know they’re on this earth, Alzheimer’s, and it really pisses me off the way everybody goes along with them.”

  “You talk so filthy,” Emily says, shaking her finger, so thin beneath that gnarled knuckle. “What I don’t know is how you all found me here and some not even born or invited.”

  “I said who’s getting married?” Lena tugs on her hat. “I thought we were at Emily’s house.”

  “No, we’re way up North at the Kennedy wedding,” Cindy says. “And then we might go to England for the royal wedding.”

  “We are at Mama’s house,” Hannah says over Cindy and Lena lies down, lights a cigarette.

  “I know where I am,” Emily says. “It was James’s idea that we marry here.”

  “Where are we then?” Cindy asks. “I just want to hear it.”

  “Tessy ought to wear you out for that sharp tongue,” Emily says and shakes her finger again. “And for painting your face.”