“Miss, we are real sorry for your loss,” he said as the others stood silently, bearing the weight of the casket. “You are obviously upset, and I understand your wanting to see your daddy, but the parking lot is not the appropriate place for a viewing. You need to go on home like I said and come back later, with your mama.”
I didn't have a mama, I told him, and at that very moment, I wasn't really concerned with what was or was not the proper etiquette of the dead. So I walked toward the men, and without waiting for an invitation, squeezed my body between them. And right then and there, in the parking lot of Cedar Grove Baptist Church, I lifted the lid of my daddy's casket.
Resting his head on a white satin pillow, my daddy was just lying there, quiet and peaceful, far away from all the trouble and sadness he left behind. He was so still. He didn't look like the man who used to carry me in his arms. There was makeup on his face, and it made him look like one of those mannequins in the men's department at Davison's. I touched his hand, but it was cold and hard. I yanked my hand away and tried to catch my breath. My daddy was dead, that's for sure, but I didn't have any tears to offer him. I wanted answers. I wanted an explanation, and Daddy wasn't speaking up.
“Everybody seems to think that you had something to do with Mama's leaving,” I told him. “I missed her so much. Nobody knew that any better than you. And now I think I might be needing to hate you, but you've gone and up and died and I can't even do that. What kind of man runs away, Daddy? Huh? Tell me that.”
“Miss,” the man interrupted, “I'm not so sure you should be yelling at the dead out here in the parking lot. I understand you've got some things you need to say, but I'd feel better about it if we could at least get your daddy in the church safe and sound.”
“Fine,” I replied. “Take him on into the house of the Lord. He'll know what to do.” I couldn't help but wonder if the minute he arrived at those Pearly Gates, he hadn't gotten down on his knees before Peter himself and started begging for forgiveness.
I closed the lid and politely told the strange men in the black suits that I appreciated their time, and then I started my walk back home. I'd barely gotten one foot in front of the other when I looked up and saw Miss Raines standing at the end of the driveway.
“Well, hello,” I said abruptly, “I guess you heard all of that.”
“Yes, Catherine Grace. But I didn't mean to,” she said, casting those pretty eyes of hers to the side so she wouldn't have to look me in the face.
“So I hear you're expecting,” I said, hardly waiting for her response.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“How about that! What a wonderful surprise. You must be thrilled,” I replied with a big, sarcastic smile stretching clean across my face. “Listen here, Miss Raines, nothing really is as it should be right now, and I don't have the patience or energy to beat around the bush. Is my daddy the daddy of your baby? Tell me. Yes or no?”
A long silence said what Miss Raines could not.
“Well, how about that! Apparently my daddy did whatever the hell he felt like doing, all in the name of the Lord.”
“Catherine Grace, nobody needs to know.”
“It's a little late for that, Miss Raines, or did you forget you are living in Ringgold, Georgia. I bet the entire Cedar Grove congregation knew you were having that baby before you did.”
“It doesn't really matter what they think, I guess. I'm leaving town just as soon as I can. Nobody is going to want me here reminding them that Reverend Cline has . . . has . . .” She couldn't bring herself to say it, has gone and knocked up the Sunday-school teacher. That's right, my daddy, the great man of God, has gone and fornicated the Sunday school teacher. Adulterous fornication, that's it. Wonder how Martha Ann would like the sound of that—adulterous fornication. I knew Roberta Huckstep would love to let those words slide off her tongue.
“Listen, Catherine Grace, I promise I won't cause any problems for you or Martha Ann. Your daddy was a good man. He even arranged for me to stay with a wonderful family down in Summerville,” Miss Raines tried to explain.
“Oh good. Because it's so comforting for me to know that Daddy arranged to hide you away with some good Christian family. That does make it so much better, don't you think, Miss Raines?”
“Catherine Grace, he was only thinking about my reputation, and yours and Martha Ann's. He couldn't marry me and . . .” She started muttering.
“Excuse me. He couldn't what? He couldn't marry you?” My voice was loud and shrill and I could see Miss Raines started to tremble right there in front of me. “You knew, didn't you? You knew he was still married to my mama?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean, he only told me after I found out I was expecting, Catherine,” she said, as if that made good sense.
I stared at Miss Raines, and then at the men carrying my daddy's casket through the front doors of the church. I knew that was my daddy inside that box, I saw him with my own eyes. But it sure didn't seem like the same man who had taught me about football and pot roast and eternal salvation. And I wasn't so sure I was going to hang around town and act like he was the great man of God he had led me, and everybody else, to believe he was. I wasn't sure I had the strength for that.
CHAPTER TEN
Bearing the Sins of My Mama and Daddy
I left Miss Raines crying in the parking lot and headed back to my house under a sky that felt dark and dreary even though the sun had finally found its way from behind the clouds. My mama and daddy had certainly left me a mess to sort out, and I couldn't think of a single verse of scripture that was going to comfort me as I came to terms with an adulterating daddy, a resurrected mama, and an expectant mistress with an imaginary fiancé.
One thing was for certain, I was going to pack my blue vinyl suitcases, and then I was heading back to Atlanta, whether Miss Mabie and Flora took me or not. And as much as those two seemed to be enjoying the gracious hospitality here in Ringgold, I thought I might very well be traveling alone. But I didn't care, my head hadn't stopped spinning since I'd come home, and I needed to get back to the city where I could think straight.
As I walked past Ruthie Morgan's house, something red caught my eye. And there, in the dead of winter, I looked up to see three terra-cotta pots sitting on the front porch, each one filled with a large, blooming geranium. I knew they were made of plastic, nothing could be that perfect, not even at Ruthie Morgan's house. I wondered if she was out with Hank, snuggled up close to his body in the front seat of his red truck. Maybe I needed some plastic plants on my front porch so I could pretend, at least for a day or two, that everything was perfect.
Instead, my house was looking pretty pitiful, smoke pouring out of its single brick chimney, a dead poinsettia left sitting by the front door—an appropriate welcome to the Cline house.
Everyone was probably still sitting around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reassuring Lena Mae that her oldest daughter would find it in her heart to forgive her. Not yet. No, I wasn't ready to start forgiving anybody. I walked right past my house and into town. I walked past the Shop Rite and the Dollar General Store, where I could see Mr. Tucker stacking jars of Vaseline on the end of aisle eight. I kept my head down, hoping he wouldn't notice me and want to stop and speak. I walked past the high school, where a couple of boys were bundled up in jackets running around the field, tossing a football. I walked past the Dairy Queen and could see Eddie Franklin's red hair popping up behind the ice cream machine. I imagine he practiced making chocolate-dipped cones all winter long just to keep his form at its best.
I walked past the Old Mill, and then turned right, and headed straight for Lolly Dempsey's house. When I lived here, I rarely went to Lolly's house, and yet today I was desperate to get there. I was desperate to find something normal, even if it was a house full of anger and stale cigarette smoke. A tattered paper sign taped to the Dempsey's doorbell said it was broken. That bell had been broken for years, ever since Lolly and I accidentally tripped on some wires up in the attic.
We were playing with a Ouija board we had bought at the Dollar General Store, both of us too afraid to admit that we had it, for fear that my daddy or her mama would think we were playing some game with the devil. Mr. Dempsey decided that a rat ate through the wire, and we never had the nerve to tell him any different.
I pounded my fist on the door and then waited a moment for Mrs. Demspey to start yelling, just like she always did. “Lolly! Lolly! Get the damn door, I'm watching my programs.”
Lolly acted like she never heard her mother screaming across their tiny, two-bedroom house. It was Lolly's one little act of defiance, one that always seemed lost on her mother. I waited a minute more, then Mrs. Dempsey cracked the door just enough for me to see her standing there in her bathrobe, a lit cigarette dangling from her mouth. It was good to see her.
“Lord, Catherine Grace, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked, opening the door all the way into the living room. I didn't even bother trying to explain because I knew Mrs. Dempsey wasn't really interested in anything I had to say. “Sorry to hear about your daddy. Tough break,” she added, making that the most she'd ever said to me. I guess dying really does bring out the best in people.
Lolly suddenly appeared behind her mother, almost pushing her aside to make room for herself. “Catherine Grace,” she shouted, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me inside the house. “I was so afraid I wasn't going to get to see you,” she said as she hugged me tight around the neck, again. “Come on, let's go to my room and talk. You want a Coca-Cola or something, some hot Dr Pepper?”
“No thanks, I'm good. I just wanted to see how you were doing, before I headed back to Atlanta.”
“So you're going back right after the funeral? I was kind of hoping you were going to stay for awhile.”
“No, I'm leaving tonight.”
“Catherine Grace, are you kidding me? Tonight? The funeral is not till tomorrow. What's going on?”
I told her straight-out that my mother was still alive, and I said it with such a matter-of-fact calmness that I think it took Lolly a minute to comprehend what I had said. “Yep, looks like she ran away from home,” I repeated, just to be certain that she had heard me right.
Lolly's mouth fell open, and I threw myself across her bed. “Now that my daddy's dead, she's shown up to let me know that she loves me. You know my mama has an absolutely beautiful singing voice. I mean it would have been a sin if she had kept that gift to herself. So she went and followed her big dream, and I think that took her right back to Willacoochee. And the best part, my daddy knew she was alive, sharing her gift with a bunch of drunken men in some no-good, sleazy honky-tonk. But Martha Ann, she doesn't really care what he did or what she did. She's just so happy to have a mother, any mother, heck, she'd probably take yours,” I said, without thinking about Lolly's feelings.
“I'm sorry, Lolly,” I said. Somehow I'd always found some rotten comfort in thinking that no matter how unfair my life seemed, it was always better than Lolly's. But now I wasn't so sure. Mrs. Dempsey might not like Lolly, but at least she never abandoned her.
Lolly asked me about Miss Raines's baby, if what Emma Sue had been saying about town was really the gospel truth. I told her, yep, my dead daddy was going to have a baby. Lolly's mouth fell right open, but then she started talking in her kind, smooth voice, trying to reassure me that my life was not as tragic as it sounded. As the sound of Lolly's voice filled my head, my eyes were drawn to a small crystal vase sitting on the table next to her bed. I picked it up and turned it over and over in my hands. I had never seen anything so beautiful in Lolly's house.
“Where'd this come from?” I asked, interrupting her good-hearted effort.
“How about that?” she said with a smile on her face. “My mama gave that to me for my eighteenth birthday.”
I couldn't believe something so fine had come from Mrs. Dempsey. She didn't seem capable of giving anything of any beauty to anyone. I kept turning it over in my hands, trying to absorb the unexpectedness of her gesture.
“Catherine Grace, have you talked to your mama?”
“A little bit. No, not really,” I said. I told Lolly there was nothing much to talk about. I didn't believe there was any good reason for leaving your children and letting them think that you're dead. But what I didn't tell Lolly was that I was really afraid that the woman sitting at my kitchen table was going to tell me that she left because she just hadn't wanted to be a mama, that she wanted something else more than her girls.
“All I'm saying, Catherine, is that you of all people ought to understand what a powerful hold a dream can have on a person.”
“Damn it, Lolly. Why does everybody keep telling me I should understand? I didn't float down some river leaving two little babies behind thinking I was dead.”
“No. No, you didn't. But if you had been walking around in your mama's shoes, you might have wanted to float away, too,” Lolly said as she moved next to me on the bed. She wrapped me in her arms and we sat there for a long time before she said another word.
“Catherine, your daddy always said that the Lord plants a small seed of goodness in each and every one of us. Sometimes that seed grows into a mighty tree, and sometimes it struggles to take hold at all. It's up to us to help the Lord nurture the good in ourselves and the people around us.”
“Yeah, well, he said a lot of things that weren't true.”
“Maybe. But you know there's some good in all of us,” Lolly said, taking the vase into her hands. “You just got to be willing to look harder in some than others.”
I fell back on Lolly's bed. Her room was so wonderfully still and quiet. I closed my eyes, trying to absorb the peacefulness through every part of my body. Then Lolly touched my hand. “Catherine Grace, I really don't know which is worse, having a mama who leaves you thinking that she loved you or having a mama who lets you know almost every day of your life that she wished you'd never been born. I just think you need to hear her out.”
I pulled my body up and rested my head on Lolly's shoulder.
“Just hold on to the good,” she said, still holding the vase in her hands. “Remember, Hank found the goodness buried way down deep in Ruthie Morgan.” Lolly laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, I guess poor Hank had to water and fertilize that scrawny little vine every day to get it to take root.”
“Yeah, but I think Ruthie may be heading into a hot, dry summer,” Lolly said, smiling, waiting for me to beg her for more information. I tried to act like I didn't care, but Lolly knew better.
She slowly unfolded the details of her information like she was unwrapping a beautiful package, trying hard not to rip the paper as she went. Lolly said that before I had come home from Atlanta, Hank and Ruthie had been over to my house to pay their respects to Martha Ann. Hank had asked Lolly if I was home yet, and apparently Ruthie thought he had kept an awfully close eye on the front door.
I told Lolly that didn't mean anything. Hank was just being Hank.
“Maybe. But I walked out behind them. I just wanted to get a little fresh air, so I stood out in the driveway away from the crowd that had gathered on the porch. Anyway, they started arguing about something.”
“About what?”
“I don't know for sure, but I think Ruthie was mad that Hank kept looking at that door, obviously waiting to see you. But I did hear this. Ruthie said something about Miss Raines's illegitimate baby, as she called it, and then she said something about it explaining the way you turned out.”
“Huh? Like what? What'd she mean by that?”
“Who knows, who cares? That's not the point. Hank was so mad he walked her straight to her front door and left her there, not even waiting to see that she got inside,” Lolly said triumphantly.
My heart suddenly felt a little lighter, and yet I hated to credit Hank Blankenship with that. “Well, I guess that's a tiny bright spot in an otherwise crummy day.”
“Tiny bright spot! Damn it, girl, are you blind?
Don't you get it, Catherine Grace? Hank still loves you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Finding Salvation at the Dairy Queen
Mrs. Dempsey was sitting on the sofa watching The Price Is Right when I walked back into the living room. A fresh cigarette was clenched between her lips, and she was maneuvering a lit match toward its tip. I said a quick good-bye, barely raising my head as I walked toward the door. I'd learned through the years not to expect any conversation from Mrs. Dempsey, especially when she was watching one of her programs. She never offered much more than a grunt and a wave of the hand, and even the effort of doing that seemed to annoy her most days.
Today wasn't any different. But as I opened the front door, I glanced back at her, and even though the room was filling with smoke, I could see that her eyes were saying something I had never noticed before. They were wounded and dull. She looked like an animal that's hurting but can't tell you where.
When I was little, I couldn't imagine Mrs. Dempsey not loving Lolly. I couldn't imagine any mama not loving her baby. Truth be told, it scared me, but not for Lolly. I figured if Mrs. Dempsey could hate her own daughter, then maybe it was possible that my own mama hated me. I mean, if she had loved me, really, truly loved me, then she would have been more careful in that creek and not gone and gotten herself killed. That's what I used to think, but now not even that crazy talk makes any sense anymore.
Turns out, Mrs. Dempsey does love Lolly. I mean, she sure doesn't love her right, but in some small or strange way, that woman sitting on that faded old sofa loves her daughter enough to save what little money she has to buy her something as beautiful as that crystal vase.
Daddy said you can see the devil in people's eyes, but maybe the devil is nothing more than the sadness they carry around inside of them, bottled up so tight that it comes out as pure ugliness, like it does with Mrs. Dempsey. And maybe my own mama was too filled with sadness to love Martha Ann and me right. Maybe she wanted to be up on some stage so badly that she couldn't figure out a way to make herself happy without it. And maybe that's the way it is sometimes, that there are some mamas so filled with sorrow that it's better that they leave the mothering to somebody else. I needed to see my mama's eyes.
Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen Page 17