Homefires (37 page)

“What?” Callie’s gaze kicked back to mine, chocolate eyes wide.

“Cut a tape.”

“
Stop it
, you two!” She turned on her heel and retreated, shaking her loosely waved ebony mane, muttering, “quit that.” I had to grin at Cal, the ol’ hooligan’s newfound modesty.

“
Chicken!”
I yelled after her, drawing some curious looks from stragglers but for once, didn’t care. I was having fun and it felt good.

“What?” she shot me a slit-eyed appraisal over her shoulder.

“Fried,” I called nonchalantly, hugged Kaye ‘bye’ and turned for home.

I heard Cal’s footsteps fall in with mine. “Thanks for the invitation.”

I linked my arm to hers, sliding into our yoke of familiarity. To heck with Sarah’s sorry-placed banality.

“You’re welcome.”

I’d known pregnancy’s hormonal terrain would stretch my equanimity, but knowledge did not prepare me for the abruptness with which it came. Within weeks, surging chemical highs and lows jerked me around like MawMaw’s first agitator washing machine, churning my mood from serenity to ballistic in a moment’s span. And yet, the tiny ember nestling inside my womb fed my will to get on with the future. Not every second and not on every level, but the conscious-me finally grabbed a fragile lifeline.

Overall, everybody was pleased that Kirk and I expected another addition to our family. Outside Sarah’s insensitive remark, only my father appeared apprehensive. It surfaced during a visit.

“I can’t
believe
you actually shut down that shop of yours,” I shrieked and flung myself into his arms when he showed up with Anne on my doorsteps one Friday night. “Law, what’s gon’ happen?”

“They’ll wait on me. Least, most of ‘em will,” he kissed the top of my head as I squeezed his lanky ribcage and blissfully shut my eyes. “Anyway, they know all about what you’ve gone through and I’d been telling them I was planning on sneaking off one weekend.”

“C’mon in, I’m cooking supper – hope you can eat spaghetti, Daddy.” It wasn’t his favorite entree by a long shot. He was a bona-fide meat and potatoes man, my Dad, actually light on the meat and long on veggies. Mainly because it lay easier on his sensitive stomach, a trait passed on to at least half his kids.

“Long as it don’t have too much hot stuff in it, else it’ll bother my stomach.”

“No hot stuff a’tall. Only a speck of Worcestershire sauce.” A couple tablespoons. “I don’t tolerate chili powder too much
myself, you know.” Lordy, talk about two peas in a pod. I was a mite uneasy with all the similarities surfacing. “Especially now.”

He drew himself up to his slender six-foot-one and peered down at me. “You all right?”

His concern sorta ruffled my insulation. Ordinarily, it would’ve been comforting, but now, it bordered on prying. And censor.

“Daddy, you don’t seem too happy about the baby,” I mumbled, turning away to stir the sauce, fighting the danged angst that hovered like a vulture over a still warm carcass.

“I’m just worried about
you,
Neecy, is all. You’re not real strong right now and – ” he shrugged and gave a lop-sided Daddy rendition of a pained grin, “you know me. I worry because you’ve always been a bit frail.” He put his arm around my shoulder as I stood at my stove, adding a bit more salt and garlic powder, wanting to bristle at his claim but knowing any illusion of a pink-cheeked, robust self-image had been blown to smithereens by a host of allergies from hay fever to hives.

Still... “I’m not
that
fragile, Daddy. I’ve already had three kids, you know.” My words were gentle, yet firm.

“I know. I know. In some ways, Neecy, you’re one of the strongest people I know. The bravest. But – you’ll always be my little girl, honey. And I want you to know that I’m tickled as can be about the new baby.” He gazed solemnly at me. “You know that, don’t you?” he asked gently.

I nodded, emotions swirling like snowflakes in a blizzard... the little girl inside me trying to override the woman planted at the helm.

He patted my shoulder and gave me a Walter Matthau no-nonsense appraisal. “Just take care o’ yourself, y’hear?”

I could handle that. “Yep.” I hugged him hugely until Lynette tackled me around my thickening waist for her portion of hugs. My baby sis’ russet tendrils and periwinkle eyes were so
Anne
it took my breath. “Law, chile, you’re growing up. What a heartbreaker you’re gon’ be.”

“Can I play with Krissie’s Barbies?” she asked, knowing that should she ask, she could get my last nickel.

“Sure, Sweetheart.” I took off down the hall to pull the toys from Krissie’s top closet shelf. I couldn’t bear to part with
them. Just the week before, Kaye Tessner had offered to help me pack up Krissie’s things.

“I can’t, Kaye.” I’d fought the urge to explain myself, but the misery must have shone through.

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry.” Kaye hugged me. “I understand. I just thought you might – well, some folks say it’s easier if you get rid of the reminders. What do they know?”

“There
is
no
easier,
Kaye. Trust me.”

Kaye nodded, pushed a limp hair strand from my cheek and smiled. She was so sweet. So understanding. And she’d been there for me every waking hour. That day, she took me to eat at Pete’s Drive-In, where we scarfed down our favorite grilled chicken livers – with sweet coleslaw and golden crisp fries – a friendship ritual that barred any mention of a cholesterol payday up ahead.

“Sure you’re not trying to make me fat?” I teased.

Kay didn’t smile. “You still got a way to go to filling out those hollow cheeks, Neece.”

I sighed and ate another fry. I did look gaunt, even to myself. Despite my expanding waistline.

Tonight, Daddy’s presence secured me as nothing else recent had. Cole lounged with Heather in her room, quietly sharing peer experiences, while Toby and Lynette dubbed voices for dolls vacationing in Barbie’s two-story Dream Country Home. Dale, quieter than usual, hung out with us ‘old’ folks, usually within my elbow distance. I knew he missed Krissie dreadfully and while I was not her, I was his closest connection to her. We all hugged and touched spontaneously, healing one another with affection.

On Saturday, we piled into cars and drove into Charleston to dine at Bessinger’s Buffet. whose specialty is a wonderful barbecue hash. There, we ran into Moose, Roxie and Callie. Singing in the choir together had forged a tentative bond between the two females, while their statuesque-ness fashioned yet another. There, all similarity ended. A good thing, too, because too much would have caused a nuclear clash. As it was, they tolerated each other. So, understandably, I was delighted to see them together and insisted long tables be joined to seat them with our party, which, with the addition, now numbered an even dozen.

When I went for seconds of the sinfully rich sweet potato soufflé – Bessingers’ has the silkiest I’ve ever spooned into my mouth – Callie shadowed me and whispered, “Have you heard Sarah’s latest gossip?”

I turned to gaze at her, my heart doing a spiral dive. “No. What?” Curiosity only slightly overrode dread.

“Says Tillie’s husband Rick is running around.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t say that.” My pulse shot into syncopation. I dolloped a spoonful of yams onto my plate. “But – you can’t believe everything Sarah says.” It came out weak because while I could attest to Sarah’s being a cocklebur in the seat of one’s pants, her truthfulness bordered on brutal.

“She told me it came straight from the horse’s mouth.” Callie slanted me a dubious look. “
Whoever
the horse is, I can’t say.”

“You didn’t ask?”
Now why did I say that?
Cal’s black eyes sparkled.

“Nah.” She brushed past me to get some rice and hash gravy. “I didn’t give her the satisfaction.”

Oh Lord. What were we dealing with here? Tillie was such a – precious,
kind
person. A bit zany, true. But –
Stop it, Janice Crenshaw.
Do-not-believe-gossip. A husband as good as Rick Dawson would never do such a thing. I loaded up on just a tiny second portion of zesty smoked barbecue pork and resolutely put the thing behind me.

Sunday morning at the Crenshaws was an old Marx Brother’s movie, while bathroom use was musical chairs and hot water
obsolete
by the time my nausea subsided enough for me to stagger into the shower. Cool water tingled over my ever-hot skin, bringing me around and finally, refreshing me. Strangely, all that went on inside and around me during those days sorta bypassed my brain. I couldn’t then and still do not, years later, understand the invisible bubble that enclosed me or the segmentation that rewired me so I became someone entirely different.

One part of conscious-me stood aside while the physicalme hung my head over the toilet bowl to vomit up my insides. For once, my delicate, oh-so-sensitive mind overrode my body.
At times, I look back and yearn for that plane of existence. But it doesn’t come by a snap of the finger nor upon meditating and the price for it was too, too great.

At that time, however, it saved my sanity and gained me a new start. A new dawn.

That, I decided, was to be my baby’s name.

“Heavenly Father...hear us as we pray...here at thine altar, on our wedding day....”

The song, a prayer, floated effortlessly from Callie’s mouth. Her rich contralto soothed and convinced me that Moose’s marbles just might still be intact. Roxie, a virginal dream in white – if one’s gaze didn’t stray below her mini-skirt hem – actually looked at him as she vowed to “love and to cherish you from this day forward.” I wanted so much to believe she spoke the truth.

My solo“If” was done between the prayer and ring vows.

Poor Moose cried through the whole thing
,
obviously daft over his ‘pretty thang.’ I still couldn’t get a clear read from the new Mrs. McElrath but decided since she was now Moose’s other half, I’d just have to get past any misgivings. She had, after all, attended church regularly for months and should, in her new status, be considered family. Anything less would be an affront to Moose, something Kirk and I would avoid at all costs.