by Leanna Ellis
“Very solid thinking,” Myrtle says.
“But I’m just a dad. I don’t know anything.” He pulls an envelope out of his hip pocket and unfolds it. Age has yellowed it. He turns it over in his hands. “Then I find out she’s wanting to see her mom. I thought I handled all that the right way. Years ago the counselor said to wait until she was old enough to understand about her mom. But … ,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, “she’s been impossible to talk to lately.
“What’s going on?” He leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. His eyes darken and his gaze shifts sideways toward me, then Rae. Finally he looks back at Myrtle. “Is it drugs?” His voice is almost inaudible. He drags his fingers through his thick, wavy hair, leaving tracks like unanswered questions. “God, what did I do wrong?” Then his head snaps upright. “She had a boyfriend. Could he have gotten her to use cocaine or—”
“I don’t know,” Myrtle says. “We asked her about drugs and she denied taking, smoking, or snorting anything. I even searched her bags when she was asleep. I hate to do that, but we have to be careful, too. Can’t have illegal drugs on the premises, you know. Besides, if it is an addiction, then we can only do so much. She’d need professional help. But I think you’re right, Mr. Moore. Ivy needs a mother. She’s a young woman with a lot of questions right now. She’s needs that maternal guidance.”
“Which she didn’t find with us,” I say, feeling guilty and helpless.
“Now I wouldn’t say that,” Myrtle tsks. “I’m sure you did the best you could. What Ivy wants is her real mother. Her own. Not a substitute. She said she looked in the phone book but couldn’t find her. She called directory assistance—”
“Her mother’s dead,” Ben states matter-of-factly.
It feels as if Ben’s words suck all the air from my lungs. “What? Gwen?”
Ben and Gwen married not long after Stu and I. We’d talked many times about wedding things—flowers, rings, mothers-in-laws. I remember sitting in the church, watching them take their vows. Stu stood next to Ben, supporting his friend the way Ben had weeks earlier championed Stu during our wedding. Together we rejoiced with them when Gwen became pregnant. We visited baby Ivy in the hospital the day she arrived.
When Gwen left their little family, we grieved with Ben, feeling resentful and betrayed ourselves as if she’d duped us all. We asked all the same questions, starting with why. But I’d always imagined her living somewhere alone, maybe, or starting another family, pursuing some dream. I never thought, believed, or hoped for her death.
Hearing Ben say it now feels like a rebreak of an old injury, the throbbing pain more penetrating, the bruises fresh and swelling, the anger screaming inside my head. I can barely speak when I ask, “When?”
“The year after she left. I–I didn’t say anything because she was gone already. And I thought it would be harder. It was hard enough. I couldn’t talk about it. But Stu knew.”
“He did?” Once again I feel outside the loop, oblivious of the undercurrents sweeping around all of us. Why did Stu keep the secret from me?
“Then,” he says, “I simply blocked it out. Ivy was too young to know. I knew someday I’d have to tell her. We’d have to talk about it. But I waited—I guess too long.”
I touch his arm, trying to understand, suspecting how painful it must have been, the deep resonance of his loss. He’d dealt with it alone. Tears press against my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ben. So sorry.”
Words feel inadequate, but Ben accepts them.
“What happened?” Rae asks.
Ben leans back, his shoulders look weighted down with exhaustion and worry. “She killed herself.”
I slump suddenly back against the pew. Tears spill over. Now I understand. Or think I do. Had shame kept Ben silent? Regret? Guilt? Sorrow so deep it couldn’t find words? “Oh, Ben.”
Moving toward him, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He puts a hand on my waist. He doesn’t turn toward me, but he doesn’t turn away either. It’s as if he doesn’t need the comfort, but he offers what he can to me, as if he’s tried to shelter all of us from this news.
“Ben, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything to say.” He lifts a shoulder, not suggesting he doesn’t care, just an uncomfortable shrug that no words can convey. “She wasn’t happy. And I couldn’t make her so. She left because she was lost. I think it ate her up even more. But she couldn’t find her way back emotionally. So she ended it all. I couldn’t tell Ivy.”
“Of course not. I understand.”
“She’ll have to know now,” Myrtle says.
“I don’t know how I’ll tell her.”
I can’t speak for the tears clogging my throat. Laying my head against his shoulder, I offer the only comfort I have— warmth and closeness. I remember Gwen fretting over her wedding dress. “Is it beautiful? Will Ben like it? How do you know Stu really loves you?” Her words float back to me.
Was her insecurity her undoing? Did Ben make her feel unloved? I can’t imagine that, although I don’t know what went on between them behind closed doors. But I remember how Ben looked at her with eyes shining, how he would watch for her when we would meet after work at a restaurant, saving a seat beside him, uneasy until she arrived. Even during all these years suffering her absence, he kept any disparaging comments to himself. I realize there are no answers for the questions churning inside me.
“Ivy has something pretty difficult to tell you, too,” Myrtle says, interrupting our quiet grief.
Ben stiffens. “What?”
“She’s scared. It’s one of the reasons she ran away. Why she needed her mother. She was scared how you’d react. She didn’t know what else to do.”
“She’s pregnant,” Rae says.
Her words fill the room like a loud heartbeat.
“Yes.” Myrtle confirms.
Silence descends on the chapel like a prayer. I don’t know what to say or feel. Then Ben erupts. He jumps up from the pew and spews language I’ve never heard Ben use, much less in a chapel.
“Ben!” I reach for his arm.
Myrtle waves me back. She watches him, not flinching at his words. Maybe she’s wise to let him blow all his anger now. Better than in front of Ivy, which would not do any good.
“How old is Ivy?” Rae asks when Ben, mottled face and sweating, sits back down as if he has no steam left.
“Fifteen,” I answer.
Ben leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. He looks defeated, the way Stu looked when the doctor told him to contact hospice, that there was nothing else to be done for him. My throat tightens with words I want to say, should have said, but they can’t get through. Finally I put my arms around Ben again and just hold on tight. He did the same for me when Stu died. Then I hadn’t known who was holding whom together. But I suspect now he doesn’t need me.
Ivy’s news is not tragic, not like a death. I believe Ben knows that. But for a father it is the death of his hopes and dreams. Life will never be the same or as simple again. But has it ever been simple for Ben?
Knowing Ivy is pregnant answers a lot of questions Rae and I asked during the drive to Memphis. It explains her acute car sickness that never stopped, her mood swings, and her sudden yearning to find her mother. Did she seek the answers to the questions that haunt her, answers that might help her make the right decision concerning her baby?
“It happens all the time,” Myrtle says. “It’s not the end of the world. Things can be done if she’s not too far along. Although we don’t promote that here. We like to preserve the sanctity of life. There are no mistakes, we believe, only consequences. And so, there are choices she can make. There’s no stigma these days.”
She continues talking about young girls raising their own babies, adoption, and so many other things that make my head feel woozy. I know Ben isn’t hearing any of it. He’s in his own dark world of grief, a place I know well.
“College,” he says in a rough voice. “She was supposed to go to college. She had good grades … such potential.”
Myrtle moves with lightning speed and kneels down in front of Ben, her hand on his knee. “Now you listen here, mister. She still has plenty of potential. She’s a very smart girl. And she can still go to college. This is a little detour on that path. This doesn’t have to change anything. Especially the way you feel about her.”
Ben bristles. “What do you mean?”
“Your daughter is back there, terrified that you will hate her, disown her.”
“She’s all I have.”
“Then she needs to hear that from you. Not all that filth you were tossing out earlier.”
His eyes widen, as if he’s suddenly seeing he’s in a place of worship. Elvis decorations aside, it’s still a house of God. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You should. And it’s perfectly justified. You’ve had quite a shock. That’s why I didn’t stop you. You need to get it out, not stuff it in.” She looks at the rest of us. “Bad for the heart and indigestion to stuff emotions, you know.” She peers up into Ben’s face. “Don’t let her hear or see it. She needs your support. She needs your love.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Why? Because you’re angry? Embarrassed? Morally discombobulated?”
“What if I don’t have what it takes? What she needs? I mean, I haven’t been much of a father up to now. Isn’t that how we got here?”
“Ben!” I slap his shoulder in rebuke. “You have been an adoring father, supportive, loving. Not permissive. I’ve watched you from the time Ivy was born, and you’ve done a great job. These things happen to girls from broken homes, to girls from all walks of life. To my own mother!” Reality sinks into me. “No matter their economic status, no matter their family background. Mistakes—”
“Ah-ah,” Myrtle waves her finger at me. “No mistakes. Consequences. She made a choice. A choice to be intimate with a young man. How many of us can boast we haven’t done that? None of us are any better, none of us any worse. Just a choice. The Bible don’t say anything bad against loving somebody. Who was it, honey?” She turns to Guy who’s been leaning against the white grand piano and watching the whole scene dispassionately. “Who was against foolin’ around?”
“I believe it was the apostle Paul.”
“Yes. Good advice, that’s for sure. I mean, diseases, unwanted pregnancies, all sorts of problems. But it happens. Has since the beginning of time. And we all know that’s true.”
“Elvis didn’t invent it,” Guy says with a chuckle. “Sex, I mean. Although there were plenty of pastors and parents who acted like he did back in the fifties. Said he’d put sex in the mind of all those young innocents. But the fact is, the good Lord made us with all those surgin’ hormones.”
“That’s right,” Myrtle pipes in. “So we don’t promote sex before marriage, but we don’t condemn it either. But heavens, it certainly complicates matters when it ain’t done God’s way.”
Once again the room grows quiet except for some piped-in Elvis music—the King singing “Amazing Grace.”
I hadn’t noticed the music until now. It has a soothing quality and somehow makes the chapel complete.
Ben nods, as if resigned, as if he’s tidying up his emotions like tightening shoelaces on his running shoes.
“I had a baby when I was nineteen,” Rae says.
No one speaks, but all eyes turn slowly toward her once again. She lifts her chin a notch as if challenging anyone to condemn her for it. I wonder if anyone had.
“You weren’t married?” Ben asks.
“No.”
“What did you do?”
She met his gaze without shame or remorse. It’s then I realize her own experience helped her piece together Ivy’s mysterious behavior. “I had the baby. But I gave her up for adoption. Then I tried to put my life back together.”
I want to ask if that was what she’d been running from, the memories, the pain, but I decide to wait until later. If it’s the reason, it won’t help Ben to know that now.
“I didn’t tell you for the shock value,” Rae says, “or for sympathy. I just wanted you to know it happens and life goes on.”
“It’s all about life,” Myrtle says.
Ben leans back. “So now what? What do we do?”
“I need to talk to Ivy again. Tell her you know the truth, that you love her, and convince her to come out.”
“Will she?” He looks hollow eyed, shaken but steady. This is a serious blow to him, but he’s survived worse. I’ve only now realized how much worse.
“I don’t know,” Myrtle says.
Chapter Sixteen
You’ll Never Walk Alone
The track of Elvis spirituals loops around again. I’m growing weary of “Crying in the Chapel.” But there isn’t much to do but wait and hope.
I bought an assortment of sodas for everyone at a nearby general store, along with cookies and chips, and brought them back to the chapel. It’s given me something useful to do. But now it gives me something to hang onto while we wait.
Ben paces the floor. Rae tinkers at the piano. I sit in a pew, wondering and thinking through the surprising things I’ve learned about my friends and family over the past two days. What next?
“What are you doing?” Rae asks, looking at my hand.
I realize I’m tapping on the top of my Coke can, way over the three-time requirement. “Sorry.”
“Why do you do that? The tapping thing?” she asks.
“It’s supposed to keep it from spewing Coke all over the place.”
Ben stops his pacing and looks at me.
“It works,” I say, defensive.
“Who told you that?” he asks.
“Stu. He said it diffused—”
“Figures.”
Is the tapping another practical joke courtesy of Stu? I sigh and pop the lid on the can. Bubbles spill up and over the top. As fast as I can, I slurp them down and manage to avoid a mess on the red carpet of the chapel.
Shaking her head, Rae turns back to play the piano, her fingers moving agilely over the keys. The irony strikes me then that Rae had a baby out of wedlock and my own mother got married because of a pregnancy that ended too early. I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with an older brother or sister. What would it be like to have a sibling in my life now? Would it have changed anything? My personality? Would it make my life, especially life without Stu, easier? No. But it might have eased the loss of my parents. But my one sibling did not survive the womb, so it’s a moot point. But somewhere I have a cousin. In Oregon? California? New York? Here in Memphis even? I wonder if Rae knows where her child is.
The tinkering of the piano keys draws my attention. I wonder if Rae felt the same way, ill equipped to care for someone else. Did that help her give her baby to another family?
I watch her back, so straight as she sits at the piano, toying with the keys. Age has crept into her silvery hair and formed graceful lines around her features. She’s younger than my mother but is now at the age when my mother died.
“You play?” Guy asks Rae, leaning on the white piano.
“Not much. Not anymore.” With her pointer finger she picks out a tune that sounds familiar but which I can’t place. “When did you open this chapel?”
“’Round seventy-nine,” he says.
She nods and keeps playing, her fingers moving rhythmically and skillfully over the keys. Occasionally she hesitates, as if trying to remember the notes. “I lived in Memphis in the early sixties … but haven’t been back since.”
“We were here then, too. Fact is, Myrtle grew up here. I’m from Georgia. Things have changed since the sixties. Then again, not so much.”
She smiles an obscure remembering smile, like she’s caught in her own memories. “I know what you mean. What made you want to open a chapel with an Elvis motif?”
“Well, I knew him. See?”
; She misses a note but recovers.
“Myrtie and I knew Elvis, knew he was hurtin’, but there wasn’t much could be done. We couldn’t help him. When he died, it affected me deeply. I wanted to be a help to others who are hurtin’, to do something. I figured there were a lot of folks out in the world that had lost their way, needed help finding their way back to faith, to believe its yours for the taking. So we just decided one day.”
Rae smiles with her lips closed, still listening, still fooling with the keys.
“Kickin’ around names, of course we thought of Graceland.”
“But that’s already been taken.”
He laughs. “Sure, sure. But it wasn’t about grace. The grace was already there. Folks, I figured, needed faith, to find their faith again. You gotta have faith to receive the grace.”
“Isn’t it a free gift?” I ask, moving toward them.
“Sure, sure.” Guy gives me a welcoming grin.
Rae moves over and makes room for me on the piano bench.
“But,” Guy says, “if you don’t know a fancy car is sit-tin’ in your drive with a big red bow on it, what good does it do you? You gotta take the step out the door or peek out the window to see it. If I gotta big wrapped gift box for you, you gotta reach out and take it. It’s still free, but it takes an action of faith. See what I mean?”
I think back to what Ben said, how he trusted, how I couldn’t.
“Maybe.” Rae’s fingers loosen up, scattering over the keyboard in a rambling fashion.
Guy and I watch her a moment. He grins and winks. “I think you still know how to play that thing.”
Her smile broadens.
I close my eyes, listening to the notes climbing and descending the scales. Then I look at Ben, sitting slumped in a pew, thumbing through a Bible. I wish I could help him, but he seems trapped in his own private thoughts. I know that place. Sometimes I need to be alone to get my bearings and find my own way out. Or maybe he’s praying again. Something inside me envies his ability to pray, his unquestioning belief. Inside I know the ugly truth about myself. It’s easier for me to sit back now and do nothing but watch and empathize with Ben, especially when I don’t know what to do to help him. Besides, I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make the situation better.