Tender Graces (20 page)

Daddy took a hippopotamus bite and I did the same. The bread was crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. The fried shrimp were stuffed full inside the bread and had a spicy taste. Even though I tried, I couldn’t finish mine. Soot wrapped it up for me to take. I felt sad when it was time to go.

Soot said, “Y’all come on back so I can see that pretty smiling face again.”

I carried my po-boy out, my stomach full of food and my heart full up with Soot. I was getting in the car when I had a thought. “Wait, Daddy.”

“What is it?”

I took my camera and ran back in the diner.

Soot turned around and put her hands on her hips, “You still hungry, Boo?”

I felt shy, but I wanted that picture. “Can I take a picture of you?” Then to be nice I said, “And Marco, too.”

She grabbed Marco by the sleeve and they stood together, grinning big and happy. I snapped two pictures, one for me and one for Andy. “Thank you, Soot.” She came over,  hugged me, and underneath the fried food, I smelled clove in her hair.

She said, “Come again soon, Sweets.”

When I climbed back in the car, Daddy roared away, both of us grinning because of Soot.

Back at the house Daddy made himself a big fat drink, and then flopped on the couch to sip and read. I sat beside him, leaned into him, closed my eyes, and pretended we were home.

Rebekha brought the surprise on a day that melted my ice cubes before I took the second sip. I was finishing
Black Beauty
, sipping down a glass of Amy Campinelle’s tea that was so sweet it curled my tongue up in a knot. Amy Campinelle liked to feed and drink us all to death. She walked across the street with all her body jiggling to beat the band, holding things in her big hands like sweet tea, lemonade, gumbo, bisque, and shrimp salad sandwiches. She had a nest of frizzy Louisiana-egret-white hair that puffed around her head like a Q-tip. Sometimes her friend Mrs. Portier came with her and they both clucked over me and Micah like funny chickens.

I was just to the sad part about poor Ginger when Rebekha pulled up in her serious Oldsmobile, black with a white stripe down the sides. Different from Momma, Andy, and me flying down the road in our pink Rambler, Momma’s hand stuck out the window, our hair in tangles.

Rebekha stepped out grinning, ran around to the back of the car, calling out, “Virginia Kate, come see!”

I put down my book, jumped off the porch, and stood in the middle of the yard while she untied a rope from the trunk.

She said, “It’s almost brand new.”

I eased over, peeped in the trunk. And there it was.

“It was my boss’s daughter’s. She didn’t want it, can you imagine? Never even rode it.”

I couldn’t imagine. It was beautiful.

“I was going to wait for your birthday, but, well, I couldn’t stand it.”

It was fire-engine-red with happy-colored streamers hanging from the handlebars and a white basket on the front just perfect for books. I asked, “For me?”

“Yes, for you.”

I helped her pull it out of the trunk, my heart thumping with all the happy I felt. I hopped on it, rode it down the driveway and back. I couldn’t help it; I had to smile at her since she bought me a bike. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome. And remember, you can call me Rebekha.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I have to run. Can you tell Miss Amy I have a doctor’s appointment?”

I nodded, and then rode back down the driveway and part ways down the sidewalk, until she ran to the end of the driveway, shouting at me to, “Wait! Virginia Kate!”

I pedaled back to her, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind. Sometimes those things happened.

“Solemn swear you’ll be careful.”

“I swear, Ma’am.”

“Don’t talk to strangers. And, don’t go far. And tell Miss Amy where you’re going.”

I nodded.

“Where are you going?”

“To the library.” I smelled the books already.

“Straight to the library and back and nowhere else.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I watched her climb back into her car, wave, and drive away. I rode across the street and yelled in Amy Campinelle’s back door that Rebekha was off to the doctor and I was off to the library. I tore off, my empty basket ready to fill up with books. At the library, I parked and went into the cool and book smell. After I got a library card, I picked out five books, checked out, and put the books in my basket. The wind felt good blowing my hair back as I rode. I wished that Micah would happen by so he could see me.

Back at the house, I corralled my bike in the back yard. Rebekha’s car was already back in the driveway. I went through the kitchen and saw a plate of cookies with a note, “Help yourself. Three for Virginia Kate and three for Micah.” I took four cookies and went into the living room. Rebekha lay on the couch with her right hand slung on the floor and the other over her stomach. I sneaked over to see if she was still alive. She was hard asleep, with wet on her cheeks and on the pillow.

I put my hand on her forehead to see if she was sick and she opened her eyes. I jumped back, hoping she didn’t know I’d touched her. “Thank you for the bike, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Hon.”

I left her there and went to my room.

Chapter 17

She’s in her whirly-world again

For my eighth birthday, there was white cake with pink frosting, crab cakes, and potato salad. Rebecca decorated the dining room (in pink and white) and used her pink dishes to serve the cake and Neapolitan ice cream. On the white tablecloth were two presents from Rebekha and Daddy; a card from Mee Maw, who was in Colorado with her new boyfriend; and presents from Amy Campinelle and Mrs. Portier.

I was bug-eyed. I thought the bike was my only gift. Everyone sang
Happy Birthday
all silly. Daddy and Micah ended with, “You look like a monkey and you smell like one too!” I blew out the candles and wished for Andy, even though I knew wishes didn’t come true.

Rebekha cut huge slices of cake; Daddy scooped big scoops of ice cream.

Micah stuffed half of his in his mouth, said, “Hurry and open the presents, Monkey-face.”

“Do you have to call your sister names, Micah?” Rebekha asked. “And no talking with your mouth full.”

“She likes it, don’t you, Worm-brain?”

I smacked him on the arm.

“Okay, you two, cut it out.” Daddy held his sparkly crystal glass in one hand and my camera in the other, snapping pictures in between swallows. “They’re just playing around, Rebekha. That’s what kids do.”

She smiled small at Daddy.

After we ate, I unwrapped my presents nice and slow, so they wouldn’t think I was excited. Amy Campinelle gave me a sweater she knitted out of red yarn, and Mrs. Portier gave me a Barbie doll with a shiny silver evening dress.

Rebekha said, “Oh, that red will look good with your coloring. Be sure and go thank them both tomorrow.”

“Yes Ma’am.” I opened Mee Maw’s card. She’d given me a ten-dollar bill, with two quarters and five dimes taped on the inside.

She wrote,
To my Laudine Virginia Kate, may you have the happiest of birthdays. I knew some day you’d be where you belong. Two down, one to go!

I decided Mee Maw was No Good even if she did send me money. I wanted to put her money right in the garbage, but I didn’t. Next, I unwrapped the pink-and-white-papered boxes. I was getting right tired of pink and white, but I didn’t say a thing. The first box held a baby blue diary and fancy pen. I turned the diary over in my hands, liking the little lock and key to hide my secrets in. I thumbed through the blank pages, thinking about what I’d write.

Micah hummed, which meant, “Hurry up, Stupid-head.”

In the last box lay hair ribbons in blue, red, green, and—pink. Underneath the ribbons was a bookmark with a horse like Black Beauty, running in a meadow. I said to Daddy. “I like my presents a lot.”

“Glad you like them, Baby Bug.” Daddy went to the kitchen. Ice dropped into the glass. All the thoughts of home were in that sound. Times Momma turned on her radio to dance, and didn’t matter whose birthday it was. Times Momma wrapped the presents in foil then put a ribbon over it, Momma liked shiny things. I decided that the first thing I’d write in my diary would be about birthdays. I’d write about all that dancing and smiling and eating cake.

“Virginia Kate? I asked if you’d like more cake.” Rebekha held out a slice.

“Oh. No, Ma’am.”

Micah said, “She’s in her whirly-world again, aren’t you, Vee?”

“Am not.”

“Are to. This is you.” Micah stared off with his mouth open just a little, his body still as dead.

Daddy laughed, said, “That does look like her.”

I mean-stared x-ray beams at my brother, but he didn’t care, he was too busy pretending he was me.

“Well, girls have all kinds of secret things they think about,” Rebekha said.

Daddy sipped, wet his mustache that sprung out from his lip like Rebekha’s bottlebrush plant.

Micah finished up a third piece of cake. “Can I go to my room now?”

“
May
you. And yes, you may be excused,” Rebekha said.

Micah pretended he was Elvis, singing about a jailhouse rock, swinging his hips as he left the room.

I went around the table to hug Daddy, then turned to Rebekha. She
had
bought me the bike. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Virginia Kate.” She leaned towards me.

I stepped back. I still hated her some, but I wasn’t sure. I was all mixed up since she was good to us, and to Daddy. My head hurt, thinking about things that were too hard to figure out. Like maybe Micah was wrong about her not liking him. Seemed she smiled at him a lot with kind eyes.

The phone rang and Rebekha left to answer it. Daddy tried to snake-charm me again. “You look so much like your mother and grandmother.” He sipped from his glass, swallowed. “But you have your grandma’s spirit.”

I was getting ready to ask him what he meant when Rebekha came back into the room and whispered to Daddy. He said, “I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure, Frederick?”

“I know what’s best for my children.”

“I see.” Rebekha picked up dishes real fast.

Daddy went to the phone and soon his voice rose up louder, “Katie, this isn’t the right time and you know it.”

I hollered out, “Momma?” and ran into the living room, but Daddy hung up just as I got there. “That was Momma! She called for my birthday. She remembered it.” I gave Daddy a look worse than cats give dogs.

“Bug, I’m sorry. She was drunk.”

“I don’t believe you.” But I did.

He came over and sat on his heels so he could look straight at me. “I’m doing the right thing.”

“What about Andy?”

“He wasn’t there. He’s at your Uncle Jonah’s for a few days.”

I ran to my room, slammed the door a good one, and lay in bed with all that pink tickling my nose. Through my door, I heard them.

“When Katie grows up maybe I’ll change my mind,” Daddy said.

“I’m worried about what this does to the children. They need their mother, don’t you think? I mean, some kind of contact?”

“Let me worry about my own, Rebekha.”

“Oh, I see how you do that.”

Another door whammed. Then the front door ker-blammed. The whole house rattled with doors hitting the frames hard. I got up, dug in my dresser drawers, and pulled out Momma’s shirt with all her smells washed away. I lay on it, closed my eyes, and tried to pretend I was home again. But it didn’t work.

Rebekha knocked on the door and walked in before I could say anything. “Hon, here’s your birthday presents. Thought you might need them about now.” I listened to her breathing, but I wouldn’t look up at her. She laid my things on the bed beside me and left, closing the door soft behind her.

Propped against the presents was an envelope. I recognized Momma’s scrawly writing on the outside. My heart beat like a baby bird. I picked it up, sniffed it, and smelled Shalimar. I sat up and opened it. A birthday card with a blue bird sitting on a branch and a note inside from Momma, three dollars, and a folded piece of paper.

I read,
Virginia Kate, please don’t hate me. You’re my daughter. One day you’ll understand. One day we’ll be together again if I can work things out. I’m sorry I couldn’t send more. Love, Momma
.

The folded paper was Andy’s school letters written between the wide-lines, the same ones he used to watch me work on. There was an A and a silver star from his teacher, my own Miss Bowen.

My eyes burned, and I lay back, holding onto the paper. I fell asleep and dreamed I was driving the Rambler, the wind blowing my hair out the window. Andy and Momma were in the back seat, jumping up and down. I hit a bump and we all laughed when the car flew up into the air. I woke when my leg jerked, got up and put away all my presents, except the diary.

On the first page, I wrote,
I miss Andy. I miss Momma. I miss my good old mountain and the maple and Grandma’s quilt! Everything is stupid here. Everything is hot and pink and neat and clean
. I wrote about Daddy not letting me talk to Momma or Andy. I wrote about Micah making fun of me. About all the neighborhood kids who acted as if I was see-through. When I was tired of writing, I closed up the diary, locked it with the little key, and hid it in my underwear drawer along with Momma’s card and Andy’s school paper.