by Lynne Hugo
“So you’re gonna put the burden of your sin on the good people of the church? Stomp on their belief and leave them with nothing? Does that sound right to you? Who is it that didn’t register with the authorities? Huh? Those members joined in good faith. You can’t let them down. Who you got you can borrow off of?” Gary heard the fire in Brother’s voice. He was exhorting him to turn from committing another sin, to fix this. He must be right. Gary thought of the Daily Prayer Callers, all the work done by the Clean for Jesus Committee, the enthusiasm of the hymn-singing on Sunday mornings, led by Sister Ann and Brother Michael, who’d once hoped to make it in Nashville but had that hope crushed by a tone-deaf producer who said their pitch was flat and the lyrics they’d labored over made no sense. They’d found their Purpose with the church. What would happen to them without it?
“Maybe I could ask my aunt.”
“Well, Brother Gary, you go do that straightaway. And get that sermon in shape now. You do it. And you say nothing to another human being about this child, hear me? You said you can’t find the mother?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, look harder and give that child back. Hear me?” Even the daylight outside the small office window was waning. Was it a Sign that he hadn’t much time?
“Uh-huh.” Gary nodded, straightened his shoulders. “Yes, Brother, I hear you.”
Chapter 21
Gus
Something was up with those two, Louisa and CarolSue. Gus had seen the secret looks pass between them, like they were making something up as they went along, and he didn’t appreciate being left out. It was like middle school all over again. High school, too, come to think of it. Just like back then, he pretended he didn’t notice, and asked no questions. But seriously, CarolSue had dinner plans with a friend she’d met at the library? For one, he was pretty sure that Louisa would have mentioned it if CarolSue had been going to the library, because it was located almost all the way to Elmont, and it might have represented a napping opportunity if he could have shaken free. He’d mentioned repeatedly how extra tired he was of late and Louisa had said yes, she sure was, too, and even a quick nap would have been something.
So there was that. And there was weird stuff he’d seen in the house. An actual baby bottle in the refrigerator behind the steak sauce. He’d pulled it out and held it up to Louisa. At first she looked like she had no idea what to say and then she said, “Oh yeah, geez, is that still there? I thought Rosie was sick a while back. She wasn’t eating the grass—didn’t you mention how long it was?—anyway, and I was trying to get her to take a bottle, you know, like when they’re kids and you have to hand-feed them if their mothers don’t . . .” and she’d sort of petered out then.
“I didn’t know Rosie was sick,” he’d said. “You never mentioned it.”
“Well, you’ve been so busy. And anyway, she’s fine,” and she’d sort of snatched the bottle away from him and emptied it into the sink.
“Huh,” he’d said. “Never heard of a grown goat hand-fed.”
“You a farmer now?” she’d snapped at him, and he’d had the sense not to argue the point since he wanted the most direct route to a nap.
Almost to the goal, in the guest room, which was now Louisa’s room, he was darned if there wasn’t a baby blanket, the pale cotton kind, right on the bed. This time she was ahead of him. She grabbed it up and said, “I don’t like Marvelle’s fur on the spread. I can wash this easier.”
Now Gus knew perfectly well that Louisa had never cared a fig where Marvelle plunked herself, and that cat had been known to curl up right on Louisa’s pillow. However, Gus caught himself from reminding Louisa of that cat-fact, said, “Good idea,” and silently congratulated his own brilliance. His sister hadn’t raised an idiot after his mother left them. Rhonda had done her best.
After they were each refreshed by the nap, just lying in the bed with her head neatly in the space his chest and shoulder made for it, no longer testy with each other, Gus almost asked Louisa if something was going on. By then he’d remembered that during the summer there’d been that rubber duckie toy in the tub, and another time he’d seen a book for a little kid on the floor next to the wingback chair. Of course Louisa had said she was previewing kid books for her tutoring, so that made sense. But he held off asking, because it was so nice there, peaceful in the clean white sheets that smelled like Louisa after a shower, with the midafternoon light sliced by the blinds and lying soft on the light coral wall like pieces of fruit. And he held off because Rhonda had always cautioned him about his big mouth and told him to be careful about what he said to women. She said he could go way wrong with saying what he thought because it was so often stupid, and it was way less likely that he’d go wrong if he shut up and thought it over for a while first. So he impressed himself and said nothing. Rhonda would have been proud of him. He wished he could tell her.
When he left after dinner and had a chance to think over what it meant, he was glad he’d kept his trap shut. Rhonda had tried to explain the hormone thing to him several times. Of course that was a long time ago, but it was probably still true, wasn’t it? Louisa must be missing Cody and longing for a grandchild again. Maybe this baby stuff around had to do with that, with how much she was still grieving. If he brought it up at all, he’d have to be . . . what was Rhonda’s word? Sensitive. He’d have to be really sensitive.
Gus decided to watch what went on, wait a while longer. To make sure he would be sensitive.
CarolSue
Isn’t it disconcerting how you can absolutely know something is right, so certain that you’d swear by it, maybe be dumb enough to stake your life on it, and then one day you up and realize you’ve changed your mind? It’s enough to make you wonder if you should follow your own instincts or just go ahead and follow whatever nonsense gets published in that daily horoscope. Or just do what my sister does and make special tea, share it with Marvelle, and ask the chickens what they think. It’s all going to come out making the same amount of difference in the end, I figure, because I was one hundred percent positive I wanted to go back home, but this morning I called my real estate agent and told him that he could leave the house on the market when our contract expires soon. At least for the time being. Here’s the thing: There’s no way I will leave Gracie.
Not only won’t I leave her now. I don’t want to ever leave her. I want to keep her and raise her.
You might be thinking I’ve not only lost my marbles, but they’ve rolled way under the furniture never to be retrieved. But you don’t realize how that baby lights up in a grin when she sees me and now she’s started to hold up her arms for me to pick her up. She doesn’t do that with my sister. Oh, I admit Louisa can get a smile out of her, but it’s not the same. She has to work at it. Gracie and I have a bond. She would suffer if I left her, to say nothing of how much I would ache for her.
Yes, I think about her mother—she’s like a ghost here always—and I wonder if she’s dead or alive, what happened to her, what would possess her to leave her baby. She’s a mother; she must be suffering and longing and yet she’s done this, and I cannot say I want it undone. Is that selfish? Call me selfish then and I will own it. All my babies were taken from me. Not this one, too. I cannot lose this one, too.
* * *
“This can’t go on,” Louisa announced the day after that closest call yet when Gary and I ended up at his barn-turned-church.
“What?”
“This whole thing,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “You know.”
We were in the kitchen. She was doing the dishes after supper and she probably figured I was being useless because I had Gracie on my hip and wasn’t drying. “If you just let them air-dry, I’ll put them away as soon as I put her down for the night. It’s starting to get dark earlier and she’ll go down easy.” That last was pure malarkey. Gracie didn’t care about daylight. I was buying time, diverting Louisa from talking about the inconvenience of Gracie. I’d done that a lot, but this time Louisa was having n
one of it.
Louisa made an unnecessary amount of noise banging a pot into the drying rack. She sighed heavily. Even though her back was to me, I knew another eye roll was going on. Then, abruptly, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned around to face me. Confront me, was more like it. I knew something bad was coming; half the dishes were still in the sink.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Please. The baby . . .”
“It’s always the baby.”
“Sister. Come on. I’ll just go try to put her down a little early, okay? Then you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
“As if you didn’t know.” With that, she went back at the dishes with an exaggerated sigh to make sure I got the point.
I picked up Gracie’s last bottle, which had two ounces left in it, and headed to the living room talking quietly to Gracie. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. It has nothing to do with you. It’s grown-up stuff. Look out the window. See how pink the sky is, it’s even turning red, isn’t it? That’s a sunset. It means it’ll be sunny tomorrow, too. You and I will take a good walk. We’ll look for deer, okay? You know Auntie Louisa feeds them, right? And we’ll talk to JoJo and Beth and Amy, and pat Rosie Two. Jessie will come with us. All us girls together . . .” I rambled on like this, rubbing Gracie’s back, feeling her relax toward sleep against my body, ready for those last two ounces when her eyes would open, close, open, search for mine, and finding them, finally stay closed, content, safe, loved. So loved.
Darkness had crept into the bedroom while I walked Gracie. Gary had moved Glitter Jesus in here, to watch over Gracia, he said. It was a sweet impulse, I’m sure, and I couldn’t begin to say the truth, which was that it was my room, too, and having Elvis in drag staring at me undressed made me plain uncomfortable. Gracie’s nightlight made the red glitter dots in his eyes look creepy. This was why I’d taken to rocking her to sleep out in the family room. I didn’t want Gracie to sense another presence in the shadows. She was too young to be anxious about Glitter Jesus—or any ghost. And I didn’t want her to feel claustrophobic, but there I was, too, checking that the windows were locked. Oh, I told myself I got that sense because she barely fit in the bassinet anymore. I needed to get her a crib. I could just imagine how Louisa would flip out about that, especially since I knew what she was about to say—and what I was going to answer. You can see, perhaps, how I hadn’t been telling her or Gary what I thought, what I wanted. That had been my modus operandi for years. Go along to get along. Once Gracie was well into her good sleep, I left the bedroom door cracked so I’d hear her, and went to the kitchen, bracing myself for Louisa’s argument.
I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and used the best defense is a good . . . tactic, which is usually Louisa’s specialty. I made the announcement as I walked in the kitchen. “Sister, I want to keep her.”
Louisa had been loaded for bear, as I mentioned, and now she turned away from the sink, dried her hands, stared at me, and blinked as if I’d entered the room on roller skates, naked and sporting neon tattoos all over. I tell you now, the look on her face was hilarious. However, don’t worry. I wasn’t dumb enough to laugh. I just took a mental photograph, thinking I’d enjoy the moment later.
“Keep . . . Jessie?” she said. Now really. Did she seriously think I was talking about the dog? Much as I love that dog and intend to keep her anyway since Louisa already has a menagerie, I didn’t see how she could possibly be so obtuse.
“Before I left the room, I believe we were talking about Gracie. You know, the baby I had in my arms at the time.” I know that wasn’t smart, but I simply couldn’t restrain the sarcasm. Everyone thinks Louisa has the true gift for it, but if I wanted to compete, I could bury her.
“You . . . want to . . . keep . . . a baby? Did you make a batch of special tea all your own? Whatever are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I love her, and she needs me, and I can raise her. That’s what I’m thinking. Her mother left her and I won’t. Ever. Which of those big words are you having trouble with?” I threw that last part on because she was looking at me as if I was using words that weren’t in her vocabulary.
She angled her head sideways. Speaking slowly she said, “Do you know how old you are?”
I palm-slapped the side of my cheek. “No! It’s lost, like my shoe, and my toothbrush ran away, too. When you find them, can you find my name for me, too, honey? You’re a sweet girl. Do I know you?”
“For God’s sake, CarolSue. Gary is out looking for her mother every day.”
“And quite a fucktacular job he’s doing of finding her, isn’t he?”
“A what job?”
“Never mind.” I’d gotten carried away. It was something I’d heard Charlie call a politician’s mess once. “I mean, it seems less and less likely that Gary’s going to find her. And the idea of Gracie being dumped in some Elmont foster home is . . . well, it’s just not going to happen.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. You can’t just permanently hide a baby. In case you haven’t noticed, they tend to grow up. Are you talking about trying to adopt her? Then you have to tell someone, and initially that person would be Gus. And he’ll have to put her in foster care.”
I shook my head. “No way. She has to stay with me.”
“And meanwhile, you’re going to get caught . . . I mean we . . . we’re going to get caught. Maybe we’re breaking some law. Have you thought of that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re still babysitting. Nothing illegal in that. Not you, anyway. I’m babysitting.”
“We have to tell Gus.”
“No!”
“You know, this is also sort of wrecking a good thing I have going with Gus . . .”
“You insisted I move here. I didn’t get that you wanted slave labor in the garden.”
“Are you serious? That’s really what you think? I’m trying to give you a purpose.”
What? Oh yes, there it was, that homicidal impulse. I didn’t even feel guilty when I said, “More like a reason to die now and get it over with.”
My sister stood there shocked, her mouth slightly open. She shook her head slightly and then she shrugged, as if all she could do was react with her body, there were no words she could put to her horror. Or bewilderment. Or disgust. Normally I could read her expressions but not this time.
Finally she said, “So you don’t want to be here?”
Then it was my turn to shrug. “I didn’t. Until Gracie. And now I do because I think she should have some more family than me around, like you if you were willing. But I can take her back to Atlanta with me if you don’t want us here. If you’re going to tell Gus, I’ll do it now. Tonight. We don’t need you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Too late I saw how much I’d hurt her. The early dark had crept up off the ground outside and come in the windows while we’d argued and neither one of us had turned on the overhead kitchen light. The room was dim. I don’t know how long her eyes had been glistening before I noticed. Louisa’s not a crier, and her voice hadn’t betrayed that she was breaking. I don’t know what exactly I said that had been too much. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but at that moment I didn’t want her to think I meant I was sorry for insisting on Gracie. So I didn’t. “So, what’ll it be? Do I need to pack now? Are you going to tell Gus?” I had to have a clear answer.
She thought about it before she answered and when she finally did she sounded tired. “No. I won’t tell him. But you could get caught anyway.”
“For now, I’ll take that chance. While I figure things out.”
Do I seem uncaring for Louisa? Or are you thinking I’ve forgotten the specter I try to banish from the shadows outside my window at night while Glitter Jesus sheds his halo, the mother who made this Gracia out of her own flesh and suffered to give her life? I’ve not forgotten her, though it’s true I’d like to. If she’s alive, some part of her must want her baby back. Ye
t, here I am, and I want her just as much. It fills me with guilt and then it fills me with defiance. Aren’t I, too, giving her life now? I want to say You left her. I never will. Someday Gracia will ask me. What will I say? Can I tell her that life does not follow clean lines, but ones that stagger? We limp along, trying to keep up, carrying baskets unevenly loaded with failures and regrets. We find our joys accidently, unexpectedly, along the way and must cherish them. Cling to, remember, and cherish them. (And oh my Gracia, I do cherish you.) It’s the truth. Can I just tell her the truth?
But you’re right. I will tell Louisa I’m sorry. I’ll mean it when I say it, because she’s cherishing a joy, too. It’s something to tell Gracie someday: Don’t take away someone’s joy.
Chapter 22
Gus
It had been a good couple of weeks at work, which added up to practically no private life—meaning precious little in the way of napping—for Gus, but on the other hand, his reelection ought to be reasonably easy once it was public that he’d gotten a bead on the two guys that were producing the fake I-9 papers over toward Elmont. Not that he’d been after that at the time—if he’d known, the Feds probably would have handled it. No, he’d gone after the clowns making fake community college IDs the high school kids were using to buy booze in the Elmont and Indy liquor stores and clubs. The quality was so good the clerks and bouncers couldn’t tell; let them go on no matter how young they looked because the ID said so. When he got an anonymous tip, Gus followed up, not knowing who the forgers had pissed off, but pleased they’d been stupid.
Finding the I-9s in the works was nothing but a bonus. Sheer dumb luck, but he didn’t tell the Feds that. Let them think he’d been working on it for months. Let them think he’s a freaking Dick Tracy. The good thing was that it accelerated the whole operation, moved it to the front burner before word spread. Even Gus didn’t know if they were going to hit the convenience store chain, or the garden supply place—that seemed unlikely this time of year—or one of the meat packing plants. Or all of them. The Feds were tightlipped, avoiding leaks, but Gus and Billy from Dwayne County plus men from the departments in Couter and Melvin counties would be involved as “force magnifiers.” That term just made Gus chuckle and shake his head while muttering pathetic. In private. Billy couldn’t believe it either.