Shug

by Jenny Han

  “You want somethin’ to drink?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well, let’s get to work then.”

  Jack grins and salutes me. “Sir, yes sir.”

  I make a face, but I’m not really mad. We sit down at the dining room table, and the two of us get straight to work.

  I’m explaining what a split infinitive is when Mama waltzes into the room. She’s wearing her silky emerald green nightgown, and I already know something’s wrong. Her eyes look glassy and unfocused, and my heart almost stops when I realize she’s been drinking. Not a little, but a lot. “Mama, I thought you were at work.” My voice comes out sounding highpitched and worried.

  “I wasn’t feelin’ so hot this mornin’. Can’t a girl take a sick day?” When she’s been drinking a lot, she talks extra slow. That’s how you know she’s in a bad way: She sounds like the South.

  Mama zeroes in on Jack. “Hi, there. Who’s your little friend, Shug?”

  “Mama, this is Jack Connelly. You’ve met him before. We go to school together.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Wilcox.”

  “Jack Connelly … Hi, darlin’. Your mama works at that steak restaurant over on Clinton Boulevard, right?” She beams at him.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I’ve never seen Jack so polite. He’s acting as if everything is normal. He’s acting like he’s come to pick me up for the prom and he’s tryin’ to make a good impression on my folks.

  “Your mama and I go wayyy back. She had her eye on my Billy, you know. So did just about every girl at Clementon High School.” Mama giggles. “But I got him, yes siree. And your mama, well, she was just fit to be tied … Trish, whatever happened to her? She took up with that no-account fool Glen after graduation. And then he up and left her, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, ma’am, he did.”

  “I tell you, Jack, Trish is better off without a man. Men’ll just break your heart. Don’t you grow up and be a man, y’hear?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  In a low voice I say, “Mama, we’re trying to get some work done. Will you please just go back upstairs and leave us alone?”

  “Now, Shug, don’t you go gettin’ uppity with me.” She smiles winningly at Jack. “This one over here thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba. … Are you two hungry?”

  “We’re fine,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Now don’t be rude to your little friend. Jack, are you hungry, darlin’? Wouldn’t you like a ’lil snack?”

  “No, thank you. I already had dinner.”

  “All right then.” Her gaze wanders around the room, then refocuses on the two of us. “Are you two gonna be all right alone in here?”

  Oh God, no. This is every nightmare I’ve ever had, times a million. “Yes, Mama.” With my eyes I beg her to leave, but she doesn’t seem to see me.

  She winks at Jack. “Can I trust you alone with my Shug? I know how boys your age think.”

  “We’re just friends, Mama,” I hiss. I glare at her so hard it seems to wake her up a bit.

  She nods. “All right, all right. Nice to see you, Jack. Say hello to your mama for me.” She goes back upstairs without another drunken word.

  For a long time neither of us say anything. Tears are pricking the backs of my eyelids, and I’m afraid to speak. I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll start bawling and everything inside of me will come out.

  Finally I manage to croak, “Sorry about my mother. She didn’t mean any of it. She just gets like that when she drinks.” I’ve never been able to say those words to anybody, not even Elaine. Especially Elaine. But somehow, I knew I could say them to Jack. I sort of needed to.

  Jack shrugs and grins at me. “Aw, that was nothin’. My dad could be a real asshole when he drank.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’d get in these tempers, throw stuff around. Once, he threw me down the stairs. That’s how come I had a cast on my leg back in fourth grade.”

  “I thought you said it was ’cause you were poppin’ a wheelie on your bike.”

  “Nah. I just told everybody that ’cause it sounds better than gettin’ thrown down the stairs by your drunk dad.” Jack grins again, but it’s not his usual grin, cocky and sure of himself. This grin is empty and sad. “But everybody knew anyway, right?”

  I don’t say anything. All of the neighborhood kids knew that Jack’s dad knocked him around sometimes. There was getting in trouble once in a while, and then there was getting beat up, and Jack got beat up.

  “Who cares. It was a long time ago. He doesn’t even live with us anymore, and he stopped drinking anyway. Well, he says he has. He says he’s changed. He goes to AA and stuff. My mom and Clarice go visit him sometimes.”

  “What about you?”

  “I say, once a deadbeat, always a deadbeat.” He looks away. “But maybe one day, you know? He’s been helping my mom out with bills and stuff for a while now, so maybe he really has changed. Anyway, your mom’s not so bad, Annemarie. I remember that time she was one of the chaperones for the circus field trip back in third grade. She wasn’t supposed to buy us any popcorn or cotton candy, but she did anyway.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I’d been proud of her that day. She’d worn a blue-and-white-striped sweater and blue slacks, and she’d been prettier than every other mother there.

  “And she used to come to those pickup softball games in the park. She’d bring Styrofoam cups and a big jug of Kool-Aid, and she’d cheer you on.”

  “I remember.”

  “She’s a pretty cool lady.”

  “When she isn’t drinking.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s more than some people.” For someone who’s not so good with words, he knows exactly how to say the right thing. Which is a whole lot more than some people.

  When I see Jack at school the next day, I’m only a little bit embarrassed. It’s like we share a secret. I know he won’t tell anyone about Mama, and he knows I won’t say anything about his dad. When he sees me in the hallway, he says, “Hey, Einstein” and that’s it. It’s like nothing happened.

  But something did happen, and part of me is glad. Part of me is relieved. Somehow, saying it out loud makes it all feel a little less terrible. I know Celia’d probably be mad at me for telling, but it’s not like I had a choice. He saw it all with his own two eyes. He was a witness, and I’m not even ashamed.

  At dinner that night I don’t even look at Mama. But I do eat her chicken à la king. There’s corn pudding, too, and ice cream for dessert. Rocky road.

  chapter 29

  Elaine and I are sitting in science class when we hear the announcement. It’s the end of the day, and whoever’s on the PA system is going on and on about school spirit and picking up trash. No one pays attention until we hear the words “seventh-grade dance.” “Clementon Junior High will be having its annual seventh-grade dance this month. It will be held on the second Friday of the month. You’ll get more information in your gym class, where you will have a lovely dance unit. And girls and boys, please note that this is not a formal dance. Churchgoing attire will be just fine, and formal wear would be incredibly inappropriate. On that happy note, have a nice afternoon!” The bell rings and everyone makes a rush for the door.

  A dance.

  Mama tried to teach me how to dance when I was seven. Celia was eleven, and of course she already knew how. She was born dancing. It was after supper, and I was trying to watch cartoons. Mama suddenly got it into her head that I simply had to learn how to dance. It was all very life and death, and if I didn’t learn right that very minute, well, it would just be tragic for all concerned. She said that all Cavane women could dance. I said I’m not a Cavane, I’m a Wilcox, so it doesn’t matter.

  She cranked the stereo up high, and Nina Simone’s growly voice filled the whole house. Mama dragged me off my feet and said we’ll fox-trot first. She danced me around the living room, and I just couldn’t get the hang of it. I couldn’t find my rhythm; I couldn’t hear the beat. I was just tryin
g to keep up, and I couldn’t. Next we tried the waltz, and I couldn’t get that, either. It was the going backward part that messed me up the most. But Mama just kept whirling me around like she couldn’t hear me.

  She had been drinking that night; of course she’d been drinking. Her breath was hot on my cheek when she said, “Two left feet, just like your daddy. You really are a Wilcox, Shug.” My eyes burned, and I snatched my hands away. I said, “I don’t want to dance with you anyway.”

  Celia had been reading a book in the tatty old armchair, and when Mama said, “Celie baby, come dance with your mama!” she leaped up and danced like the Cavane she was. They did the Lindy Hop, and both of their feet moved just the way they were supposed to.

  My feet don’t move the way they’re supposed to. How in sam hill am I supposed to go to a dance?

  As Elaine and I walk to the bus loop, I say, “A dance sounds dumb.”

  “Are you kidding me? A dance will be the funnest thing that’s ever happened in this town!”

  Geez. I thought we’d had some pretty fun times too. “I don’t know. It’ll probably be lame. I doubt I’ll even go.”

  “Don’t be crazy. Of course you’re going. You could ask Mark. It’ll be fantastic,” she says. Her eyes are glazed over, and I know she’s picturing herself in some strapless dress with a corsage on her wrist. “Your big chance for him to finally notice you.”

  “Uh … I don’t know.” I don’t know if having Mark notice me is worth having to go to a dance. “Might not work.”

  “Oh, it’ll work all right.” She puts her arm around me. “We’re gonna make you hot. He’ll fall all over himself when he sees you.”

  Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Sounds pretty good, actually.

  Elaine volunteers to chair the decorations committee, and like a shot, Hugh says he’ll cochair it with her. Hadley’s in charge of refreshments with Mark, and Mairi’s heading up music with Kyle Montgomery. The dance committees read like a who’s who of Clementon Junior High. Guess who I am. Nobody. I’m not on any of the committees.

  When I can’t fall asleep at night, I close my eyes and picture how I want the dance to go. We’re in the gym, and a slow song comes on. Maybe “Crazy Love” or “Unchained Melody” or “I Only Have Eyes for You.” Yeah, definitely “I Only Have Eyes for You.” He pushes his way through the crowd, and there I am, swaying to the music by myself. He says, “Annemarie, will you dance with me?” I say okay, and he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. And I put my arms around his neck, and then we’re swaying together. He’s holding me tight, and he keeps looking at me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, what’s been right in front of him all along. Me, Annemarie Wilcox.

  chapter 30

  Mama’s missing.

  Before I left the house this morning, I told Mama that I needed a ride home from school today because of French club elections. Normally I’d ask Celia to swing by and get me in Margaret’s car, but Celia’d gone away on a camping trip for the weekend. Anyway, Mama said no problem, she’d be there. She wasn’t there. Everyone else’s parents came to pick them up at 4:00. I stood at the bus circle, waiting for her, knowing she wasn’t coming, but waiting all the same.

  When it started to get dark, I gave up and walked home. It’s a long walk when it’s just you and your thoughts. I was really steaming by the time I finally got home, planning out how I was gonna yell at her, how I was gonna make her sorry. But then I saw that Mama’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

  For two hours I paced the living room floor, watching the clock. Ever since I was little, I had a fear that Mama might get into a car accident and never come back home. An irrational fear, Mama calls it. Doesn’t seem so irrational to me. There’ve been times when she had a little too much to drink and she still drove anyway. Nothing stops her when she gets it in her mind to do something.

  It’s late now, and I’m not mad anymore. I’m just scared.

  With Celia on a camping trip, the only person I can call is Mrs. Findley. She’d help me. She’d know exactly what to do. But Mama would hate her knowing our business, and to be honest, I’m not too keen on the idea either. Maybe before, it would’ve been okay, but not anymore. It’s not that I don’t trust Mrs. Findley, because I do, maybe more than any other adult I know, but I don’t want her thinking badly of Mama. Or of me.

  There’s only one thing I can do. I’ve gotta call Daddy. Mama could be hurt somewhere. And if she’s not hurt, if she’s off having fun, then maybe she deserves to get in trouble. I could’ve been kidnapped or run over or worse. It would’ve been all Mama’s fault. I almost wish I was kidnapped or run over or worse; that way she’d feel awful. Like the worst mother in the world.

  I dial the numbers slowly, giving myself one last chance to back out. I tell myself maybe she’s called him already, and everything’s fine.

  He picks up on the third ring. “Bill Wilcox,” he says.

  “Hi, Daddy. It’s me, Annemarie.” Your daughter.

  “What’s going on, Shug?” He sounds busy, distracted.

  So Mama hasn’t called him. This could be good or it could be really, really bad.

  “Nothing …”

  “Good, good. Listen, I’m on another call, so I can’t talk just now. We’ll talk when I come home next week, okay?”

  “You were supposed to come home today.”

  “Change of plans. There was a meeting I couldn’t get out of. Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “She must have forgotten.”

  “Ah, well. We’ll have us a good visit when I come home next week. I’ll bring you something extra special. Listen, I’ve really got to get back to work, Shug. Give Celia and your mama kisses for me. And one for you, too.”

  “Okay … Daddy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Daddy, Mama hasn’t come home yet.”

  Silence. “What do you mean, she hasn’t come home yet? Is she still at work?”

  “No … She was supposed to pick me up after school, but she never came. I’m worried, Daddy.”

  He sighs and says, “Annemarie, I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just got caught up somewhere. You know how your mother is.”

  “Daddy, she could be hurt. She was supposed to pick me up hours ago.” I am waiting, waiting for him to say sit tight, I’m on my way.

  He doesn’t say it. He says, “Where’s your sister?”

  “On a camping trip. Daddy, maybe you should come home. Something could be really wrong.” I pause carefully. “She could’ve had an accident or something. A car accident.”

  Daddy curses under his breath. “That woman …”

  I wait. I’ve planted the seed; he’s worried now. Even though he’s mad, he’s worried, too.

  “Sit tight, Annemarie,” he says at last. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  It takes about three hours to get from Atlanta to Clementon. Daddy makes it home in just over two. Mama still hasn’t come back. We sit on the couch and wait.

  “It’s just like your mama to pull something like this,” Daddy says, twisting his tie loose.

  I’m starting to regret this already. “She might be hurt somewhere, Daddy.”

  He just shakes his head.

  Mama comes home around 2:30 a.m. She is drunk. When she sees Daddy sitting on the couch, her happy smile fades. She looks confused. “What in the world are you doin’ home, Billy?”

  “I’m home because our daughter called me,” Daddy says. He’s so angry, his voice shakes. “Annemarie was worried sick.”

  “Gail and I had a drink after work,” Mama says, her hand fluttering to her forehead. The confusion is gone, and defensiveness is starting to creep into her voice. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. Annemarie, I told you I’d be home late tonight. Why did you go calling your daddy?” She looks at me like I’ve betrayed her, like I’m not her daughter anymore.

  My mouth is dry. Licking my lips, I say, “I-I guess I forgot.”

  Daddy stands up and
strides over to Mama in two big steps. He looks like he wants to shake her, like he’s going to shake her. “She walked home from school in the dark! You were supposed to pick her up from school! Do you know what can happen to a child in the dark, Grace? Do you? Do you even care?”

  Mama looks at Daddy like he’s slapped her. “Of course I care!” She looks at me then, eyes pleading. “Shug, babydoll, I’m sorry. I just forgot.”

  Before I can speak, Daddy says harshly, “You’re pathetic.”

  Jumping up from the couch, I shout, “Don’t say that to her! Don’t you say that to her!”

  “Annemarie, go to your room,” Daddy says, in a low voice. It is an order.

  “No,” I say. My fists are clenched at my sides. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “I told you to go to your room,” he says. Every word is clipped, precise. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

  He’s so angry, I’m scared. Scared of my own daddy. But I don’t move. “Why should I? I can hear you two up there, too, you know.”

  “Annemarie,” he warns. The muscle in his jaw is twitching.

  “Go on, Shug,” Mama says. “I mean it; go upstairs. This is between me and your daddy.”

  I look at her then, really look at her. To her I say, “You know what? You’re both pathetic.”

  Then I run upstairs and slam my door. As soon as the door closes, I start to cry. I went and told on Mama. Now everything’s wrong.

  They fight for a long time. I lay there in the dark, listening for as long as I can. I hear Mama say, “If you hate your life here so much, you should just stay gone.”

  I don’t move. I wait to hear what he’ll say next.

  (Don’t go, don’t go.)

  Daddy says, “Darlin’, I’m not the one who hates her life. That’s you. You’re the one who can’t stand to be here.”

  That’s about all I can take. I reach for the headphones on my nightstand and turn my music up loud. I fall asleep and dream and dream.