All the Best People

by Sonja Yoerg

  Forty minutes passed in the hospital lounge until Solange tired and became unfocused. Carole and Walt kissed her cheek and promised to return soon. As they left the building, Walt remarked on how lucid her mother had been. A flood of truths welled up inside Carole, and she coughed to stop them from slipping out. Walt patted her on the back, and they drove from Underhill in mutual silence toward the duties and distractions that would welcome them at home.

  • • •

  On a Tuesday afternoon in late October, Carole folded laundry in the living room. A soap opera was on the television, but she wasn’t paying attention to it. She’d turned it on to drown out the murmuring. It had started mid-morning and was getting louder, closer, filling her with dread. Every few minutes, a distinct voice would shout above the others, nonsense phrases, strings of words with the cadence of a foreign tongue. It was a splinter in her brain pushing deeper.

  Carole busied herself, paired athletic socks—green stripes, blue stripes, plain—folding one cuff over the pair, uniting them.

  Upside down.

  It came from behind her left ear.

  Upside down.

  On the television, a woman cried, clutching the arm of a man. The woman’s mouth moved, but a man’s voice said, “Upside down. Inside out. Worthless. Like your mother.”

  She placed the socks on the pile and rubbed her fingers into her temples. The murmurs merged, tones knitted together into clearer sounds, a mass of blurred words coalesced, sorted into louder stronger phrases, coming from inside her head out from the television surrounding her from everywhere all at once.

  Inside out. Like your mother.

  Bad blood will tell. Bad blood will tell. Bad blood will tell.

  She clasped her arms around her head and dropped to her knees, shielding herself from the voices outside, collapsing over the voices inside. A sickening wash of fear sloshed through her. Her temples pounded, the pulses in time with the voices, chanting now.

  Inside out. Like your mother.

  Bad blood will tell. Bad blood will tell.

  She rocked and hummed against the tribe in her head and all around. Rocked and hummed, rocked and hummed. Grasping her elbows, she squeezed the nubs of old scars, pinched the skin between her fingers and twisted as hard as she could, dug her nails into the skin, twisting and digging.

  Something soft rubbed against her. She looked up. The cat circled, rubbing its flank along Carole’s upper arm and came to face her, inches away. The cat’s pupils sprang wide open, black, malicious. Carole was paralyzed.

  The cat spoke with a voice like tires on gravel. “Inside out. Upside down. Like your mother. Bad blood will tell.”

  Carole shrank from it. The cat put its paws on her knees, advancing, chanting. Carole struck out with her arm. The cat fell back swiped with a paw catching a claw on Carole’s skin. Ripping slipping.

  The cat ran away with the spoon and the voices stayed and played all the livelong day. The world was inside outside pineapple upside-down cake take the cake bake the cake.

  Carole crawled across the carpet staying low going slow to the television. They might not see her down here crystal clear. She reached up switched it off. She stood mind over matter mad as a hatter and climbed the stairs to her room to the moon Alice to the moon.

  When the voices receded, she stumbled to the bathroom and took two Valium. Sometime later—she had no idea when—Walt came in to see if she wanted dinner, but she was too groggy. Later she came downstairs and sat with Walt and the kids while they watched television. She couldn’t follow the programs. Before going to bed, Carole took another Valium and fell asleep before Walt.

  • • •

  In her dreams, she was lying in an unfamiliar bed, her head resting on the chest of a man whose face she could not see. His arm was around her, his naked body warm and strong down the length of her. Shadows stretched across the walls; it was dusk.

  The door opened. A man entered, his outline and movement so familiar she gasped even before he turned to face them. Walt.

  She hid her face, sickened with shame. Panic surged through her, every muscle in her body primed, urgent, but she could not move. Bile rose in her throat.

  The scene shifted. Relief and apprehension swirled inside her.

  She stood in a doorway, a bag at her side, facing an opulent, cavernous foyer.

  In the center stood Alison, her face a mask of reproach. Alison held a bundled infant to her chest.

  “Be good,” Carole said.

  The dreams haunted her every night, and she came to fear them more than the voices.

  27

  Alison

  Her classmates piled out the door for recess, but Alison stayed behind because it was her turn to help Mr. Bayliss clean out Yertle the Turtle’s cage. They talked about White Fang. Mr. Bayliss wanted to know if the ending made sense to her.

  “You mean that White Fang was happy, even after everything that happened to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Alison handed Mr. Bayliss one of Yertle’s rocks, which she had washed and dried. “I think so. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He was safe in California, and could lie in the sun instead of freezing up north.”

  “And he had all those puppies.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, a lot of puppies.” She thought for a moment. “But I don’t think he forgot how hard everything had been, do you? It seems like too much to forget.”

  “Even for a wolf.”

  “Oh, I think animals have good memories, maybe even better than people.”

  “Do you? Why?”

  Alison shrugged. “People talk themselves out of things, cover things up with words, make up stories. A wolf can’t do that. A wolf has to feel and remember.”

  Mr. Bayliss was lowering Yertle into his cage and stopped halfway. The turtle’s legs kept moving like he was swimming. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.” He put Yertle down, pulled the cover over the terrarium and looked her straight in the eye. “You’re amazing, Alison. Did you know that?”

  Her cheeks turned hot. She smiled at him, her insides sliding around. The bell rang. Kids would burst through the door any minute. Without thinking, Alison threw her arms around Mr. Bayliss’s waist. He hugged her back—it felt so good!—and she said, into his shirt, “So are you.” She let go and went to her desk. The classroom door opened and kids streamed in, playground noise following them.

  “Okay, class,” Mr. Bayliss said, putting the lid on the terrarium. “Inside voices.”

  Alison slid into her seat, happiness shooting down her arms and legs until she thought she might melt. She worried that everyone would see how much Mr. Bayliss liked her and be jealous, so she tried to pretend she was the same as every other kid in the class and not, in fact, amazing.

  After lunch, the usual gang, Alison, Delaney, Maggie, J.J. and Caroline, chilled out on the monkey-bar dome. Maggie and Delaney started talking about horses and five seconds later were in the middle of a fight about which one’s colors were prettier: palominos (Maggie’s horse) or dark bays (Delaney’s).

  “Blondes have more fun, or haven’t you heard?” Maggie said.

  “That’s an ad, not a fact,” Delaney said. “And plus that’s people. Horses don’t even know what color they are.”

  “My horse does. She knows she’s a gorgeous blonde.” She flicked her dark blonde hair off her shoulder, lifted her chin and did the sexy-eyes thing.

  “That just proves she’s as stuck on herself as you are.”

  Maggie looked like she would spit. “You’re the one who can’t stop playing with your hair, Delaney. Oops, I mean ‘your mane.’”

  Alison winced. Nobody criticized Delaney’s hair and lived to tell about it.

  Delaney pretended she hadn’t heard. She pointed her finger at J.J., who was all the way at the top. “You’re on my side, right?
You’re a brunette.”

  J.J. pulled a lock from behind her ear to check. “Looks that way. But I think I was born with blonde hair. Or maybe red.”

  “Well, you’re a bay now.”

  “No, I forgot. I was born bald.”

  “It doesn’t matter, J.J. You’re on my side.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking about dying it blonde.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I have, too. Just yesterday. I even went to the drugstore and looked at the boxes.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Did, too.”

  Delaney let out a huge breath. She was going to lose her rag in two seconds. “J.J., you’ve got brown hair. You’re automatically on my side.”

  J.J. studied her hair again. “If you say so.”

  Maggie gave J.J. the evil eye. “You’re with her? Thanks a bunch.” She nudged Caroline, who was sitting next to her, swinging her legs and hoping to become invisible. “Then you’re with me.” She wasn’t asking. “All the blondes are. Automatically.” She got up and pulled Caroline’s sleeve. “Come on! Let’s get all the prettiest girls, the blonde ones, together.” Caroline stopped swinging her legs. She looked at Alison, who shrugged. Caroline jumped down and scampered after Maggie. Alison couldn’t blame her. Maggie had a terrific temper.

  Gretchen Wilner walked by. Delaney climbed out of the bars and called to her. “Gretchen! You’re with J.J. and me. We’re the Brunette Bay Bombshells!”

  “We are?” Gretchen looked worried. Delaney had never said a word to her before.

  “Yup. Go get all your brunette friends, okay? Bring them over here.” The girl stared with her mouth open. “Get the lead out!”

  Alison said, “Delaney, this doesn’t seem like such a hot idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just the color of someone’s hair.”

  “So?”

  “You and Maggie are friends.”

  “We used to be friends.”

  Alison’s heart sank. She wanted to run inside to the classroom, where things were simpler, but no one was allowed during lunch. She thought about walking off, but where would she go? Most of the boys were in a circle playing dodgeball, laughing and shouting. If only she could play with them. Try not to get hit by something she could actually see coming.

  Since school started, Delaney had been a real friend some days and a real turd others. Alison never could predict. Yesterday, Delaney had been teasing Alison about having a huge crush on Mr. Bayliss, and Alison had gotten really embarrassed, even though it wasn’t true. No way she could make Delaney understand what it meant to be special to Mr. Bayliss. Delaney thought she was special every minute of every day to every single person in the universe. What would she know?

  Delaney was whispering in J.J.’s ear. She saw Alison staring at her and cocked her head to the side. “What?”

  “Which side do I get to be on?”

  Delaney gave her the don’t-be-a-moron face. “Duh. Neither.”

  Alison slid off the bar and went to the water fountain, not knowing what else to do. She had a drink, pulled up her kneesocks and leaned against the wall watching the blonde and brown heads move around the blacktop, blondes moving with blondes and away from browns, and browns doing the opposite. It was so stupid. Mr. Bayliss sure didn’t think her red hair was a problem. In fact, she was pretty sure he liked her exactly the way she was.

  • • •

  Rain was coming down in sheets when she got off the bus. She made a mad dash for the office, hugging her book bag to her chest. She pushed open the door. The chimes went off and she nearly slipped when her shoes hit the linoleum. She was about to go into the kitchen when her dad came in from the garage wiping his hands with a rag.

  “Hey, sunshine. Great day for ducks, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m soaked.”

  “How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s good.” He paused and rubbed his cheek the way he did when he had something to say. Alison pushed a damp curl out of her face and waited. Her dad shifted his feet around. “Your mother’s upstairs lying down, so no watching television, okay?”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. Just didn’t have a good sleep. And she has a headache.”

  “I thought she was better. She has pills.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He fiddled with his fingernails. “Be best if I leave it to your mother to explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  He sighed. “Seems she’s got what you call ‘the change of life.’”

  Alison didn’t like the sound of it. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s when a woman, like your mother, when she gets . . .” He shook his head, then looked at her. “Like I said, when your mother’s feeling better, she’ll explain it to you, all right? That’d be best.”

  Her mother had been feeling better, and she hadn’t explained anything yet. Nobody ever told Alison anything.

  Her father went on. “One other thing, and then I’ve got to get back to work. About Sally.”

  Alison’s throat squeezed shut and she almost let go of her book bag. “Is she okay?”

  “Oh, sure, she’s fine. But she’s been acting peculiar, so I want you to keep her outside while you’re at school.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Sally.”

  He held up both hands. “Your mother said she was acting peculiar and I’m not getting in the middle of it. The easiest thing to do is put her outside in the morning.”

  “But what if it’s raining? Or if it snows?”

  “Put her in your room, then. Your mother’s not feeling a hundred percent and has lots to do besides worry about a cat.”

  Anger boiled up inside Alison. It was so unfair. How would her dad or her mom like it if they had to stay outside in the rain or the snow? Sally was her cat, and it seemed that what mattered to Alison was always the last thing on everyone’s list.

  Her dad must’ve seen her face. “Now, Alison, you know I like Sally just fine. If the weather turns bad when you’re out, I’ll put her in your room for you.”

  “She doesn’t like being locked up.”

  “She’ll be just fine. Right as rain.”

  “That’s what you said about Mom, but it isn’t true!”

  She stormed into the house, dropped her bag on the kitchen table and went straight to the back door and called for her cat. It was raining so hard she couldn’t see past the toolshed. Sally streaked across the lawn, flew up the steps and ran inside. The cat was soaked, making her look tiny and pathetic. Alison stroked her. “Poor Sallypants.”

  She got a towel from the oven door. The cat let Alison dry her for a minute, then scooted out from under the towel, rubbed against Alison’s shin and meowed.

  “You hungry? Me, too.”

  Alison opened a can of cat food and mixed it with some kibble, adding more of the wet food than she was supposed to. “Just the way you like it.” The cat purred as she ate.

  Alison got some milk and made a peanut butter and honey sandwich. She took a bite and tried to purr, but it made her choke. She listened for her mom, wanting to see her, but all she could hear was the drumming of rain on the roof. Outside the window, the rain beat down as if it was mad at the ground, forcing it to soak it up, to drink. The river would be high, eating away at the banks, greedy. Leaves fell down, not drifting slowly like notes in a lullaby, but dropping wet and heavy, starting to rot before they hit the earth.

  Why couldn’t her mother be herself again? It was so unfair. And getting the Change of Life didn’t make sense. Maybe it was something everyone got, at least all the moms. Why hadn’t she ever heard of it, then? Why did some people get headaches and ignore their kids and forget stuff, and other people didn’t? Sounded more like a disease. Alison wanted to ask someone abo
ut it, but there wasn’t anyone. Loneliness made her stomach sour, and she tossed the last corner of her sandwich in the trash.

  She grabbed her bag and her soggy sweater, one of three Aunt Janine had given her. Aunt Janine. Why hadn’t she thought of talking to her before? Alison left her stuff behind and went to the hall and dialed her aunt. On the third ring, Aunt Janine picked up and said hello.

  “It’s Alison. Hold on a sec.” She unkinked the cord and angled into the kitchen, wedging the door shut behind her for privacy, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

  “Alison, is everything all right?” She never called her aunt, so of course Janine thought it was an emergency.

  “Yeah. I mean, nobody’s hurt.” She should’ve thought of what to say before she’d called. What would she say?

  “Oh. So what’s going on?”

  Alison heard her aunt moving around. She’d just gotten home from work and was busy. This was a dumb idea. “I wanted to ask you about something. About my mom.”

  “Okay.” The crackle of ice cubes falling from a tray.

  “Well, she’s been acting weird.”

  “Weird? Weird how?”

  “Forgetting stuff, like that paperwork you brought over, remember?”

  “Everyone forgets things.”

  “Okay, maybe.” Alison searched for a better example, something solid. “She doesn’t pay attention, even when she’s not doing anything important. It’s like she’s not there. Or she’s there but too busy in her own head.”

  The pop and fizz of a soda can being opened. “People get distracted. It doesn’t mean anything other than they have things on their mind. Adults have a lot to think and worry about.”

  The way she said it put a big space between adults and Alison. As if Alison didn’t have anything to worry about. She picked at a loose thread on the top of her shoes. There really was something wrong with her mom. She was sure of it. “My mom has headaches. And she seems scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “Yeah.” Alison realized that was really the biggest change. Not forgetting, not ignoring, not all the rest.