Waiting for Sunrise (18 page)

Pammie, as Gilbert called her, turned her face upward and giggled. “Daddy says I’m precock-shous.”

Patsy stepped over to her dressing table, opened a small jewelry box, and pulled out a single strand of pearls. Wrapping them around her neck to fasten the clip, she said, “Precocious.”

Pam went to her parents’ bed, jumped up on it, and crossed her ankles. “I don’t even know what that means, so how can I say it?”

Patsy gave her daughter her best “what are you doing” look. “Young lady, what is the rule about being on Mommy and Daddy’s bed?”

“I’m not to be on it?”

Patsy crossed her arms. “And so then would you care to tell me why you
are
on it?”

Pam cocked her head as though she were studying the situation. “Because . . .” she said, drawing the word out, “I’m . . .
precocious
?”

Patsy lifted her hands, palm up, several times. “Up, up, up.” Pam jumped off the bed, which Patsy immediately went to so she could straighten it. “Where is your brother?”

“Which one?”

Patsy sighed. “Greg. Where is Greg?”

“In his room playing.”

Patsy placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. “All right then. Go tell Greg to make sure Kenny and Georgy are ready for Daddy to come home.”

“They are.”

“Go . . .”

Pam turned to face her mother. “Mommy?”

“What Pam?”

“Why are you so awful tired lately?”

Patsy crossed her arms. Would she ever get this child of hers out of the bedroom so she could dress in private? “And why, pray tell, do you ask that, Miss Pamela Milstrap?”

“I heard Grandma tell Grandpa that you were awful tired lately. Are you not sleeping well, Mommy?”

Patsy pressed her index fingers to her temples. “Mommy is sleeping just fine, sweetheart. But I know a little girl who won’t be able to sit down for a week if she doesn’t scoot and let me get dressed.”

“But, Mommy. You can get dressed with me in the bedroom. We’re both girls.”

“Pamela Elizabeth Milstrap.”

Pam’s face registered surprise. “I’m going,” she said before scurrying down the narrow hallway of the oversized house Gilbert had gifted his family with.

Patsy sighed as she closed the door again. This time, she went to the end of the bed, sat upon it, and then threw herself back. The tears she had grown familiar with welled up in her eyes before sliding toward her ears, one at a time.

She pressed her palms against her belly again and wondered how much longer she could keep up the façade. Perfect wife. Perfect mother. Perfect homemaker.

Perfect because she must be. Had to be. So Gilbert would come home. Would never leave her. Or send her away.

She. Had. To. Be. Perfect.

Truth was, she stood at the edge of a precipice, looking over the edge, barely able to stand. One incorrect move and she would topple over like the Winnie the Walking Talking Doll she’d come to be.

With broken parts.

What is wrong with me?

Fluttering beneath her palm caused her to rub the satin between flesh and flesh. Another life . . . a fifth child . . . and she wasn’t even sure she knew what she was doing with the four she already had.

And, just as with the previous four pregnancies, the dreams had returned. Dreams of a pea patch, and Nehi Peach soda, and a pretty but haggard woman waving good-bye from beyond a bus window. Dreams of two little boys with upturned noses and of a man with steel-gray eyes.

Even the thought of him caused her to sit up. To shudder. To shake her head in defeat. She could not do this again. Not like before. Not alone.

Tonight, she decided, she would tell Gilbert.

Tonight, she would demand that things change.

Tonight, she would move away from the edge of the cliff, if only by one step.

20

Sweat dripped from the tip of Billy’s nose, off his brow into his eyes, and down the front of his bare chest in rivulets. His legs and arms were clammy and his socks drenched. But, he was nearly finished with the Stones’ yard; when he was done, he had only his own to do—hopefully before Daddy made it home that afternoon—with just enough time to shower, get dressed, and head over to the recreation department for the pregame warm-up.

He pushed the mower across the final stretch of green grass before shutting the motor off. It whirred to silent as Billy pulled a limp handkerchief from the back pocket of his dungarees. He wiped his face, down and around his chest, then stuffed it back into his pocket. A noise behind him caused him to look over his shoulder. Mrs. Stone was coming out with her customary glass of icy-cold lemonade.

Billy reached for the T-shirt draped over the handlebar of the mower, guided it over his head, and pushed his arms into the sleeves in time to reach for the glass and to thank his mother’s best friend.

“You are more than welcome.” She glanced around her. “Another fine job.”

“Thank you.” He took a long swallow of the refreshment. “Again.”

Nadine Stone planted her fists on her hips. Today she wore a pair of fashionable black-and-white checkered shorts and white top. In spite of her age—which Billy dared not even guess—he had to admit she could pull off the look. “I need to ask you to do a favor for me, Billy, if you will.”

He drained the last of the lemonade before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and asking, “What’s that, Mrs. Stone?”

“I know you still have to cut your lawn—I just talked to your mother on the phone—but Mr. Stone left some important papers on his desk and he’s asked if I can bring them down to the hospital.”

Billy handed Mrs. Stone the empty Tupperware glass. “I wondered where Mr. Stone was at today.” He smiled. “Glad to know I’m not the only one working hard on a Saturday.”

Nadine Stone returned the smile. “He’s horribly behind on a project and . . . well, he just realized he forgot the file, and wouldn’t you know it? I just put a pound cake in the oven. You
know
how long those take to bake. I can’t turn off the oven and I can’t leave. Herbert can’t come home because he has a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“So, how can I help you, Mrs. Stone?”

Her hands dropped from her hips and her arms crossed in front of her. “Would you mind horribly taking the file to Mr. Stone?”

Billy looked down at himself. “Like this?” He laughed. “I’m filthy. Mama wouldn’t let me be caught dead at the hospital looking like this.”

She waved at him. “Of course, I know you have to shower. There’s time. As far as your lawn is concerned, your mother said you can just deal with it on Monday and she’ll explain it all to your daddy.”

Billy nodded. “Okay, then. Sure. I’m happy to.” He glanced toward his house. “I’ll shower real quick and get on back over here as soon as I can.”

“You are the best,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later he had showered and dressed. Mama stood by the back door, ready to hand him the keys to her car. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek.

“Drive careful,” she said.

“I always do, Mama,” he said as though chiding, even as he smiled.

He drove the two houses over to pick up the file, which he thought to be relatively thick for something forgotten. He walked from the Stones’ front door and returned to the car, file tucked into the curve of his hand and resting against his thigh and hip. He wondered what it would be like to be a businessman like Mr. Stone. To
run
something.

As he pulled out of the driveway, it dawned on him that he actually did run something. Something besides a lawn mower. He ran a business. It didn’t have a formal name and he didn’t have an accountant or a secretary, but he did have a savings account and a bankbook with pages of entries, all in the black.

The thought kept him smiling as he drove to the hospital. Yeah, boy. He already
was
a businessman. And not just that; his business was booming.

He was also doing well with the man he hoped would one day be his father-in-law. The more he learned about the restaurant business, the more he liked it. Billy entered the parking lot, parked his mother’s car in the first open spot he could find, pulled the key out from the ignition, and allowed his mind to travel to a future time and place.

Him and Ronni, in business together. Maybe managing Sikes’s Seafood Restaurant together.

But then, where would Mr. Sikes be? Billy could hardly see the man retiring, and he couldn’t imagine himself bussing tables and serving sweet iced tea and hush puppies the rest of his life either. He’d made enough money to soon buy his own car for cash and still have some in the bank. But it wasn’t enough to support a wife and children.

Children . . .

He grabbed the file resting beside him on the seat, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the asphalt of the parking lot.

He’d only been to the hospital once. His friend Frank Morris had tripped over second base during practice and severely broken his right leg, which had then led to pneumonia. Billy wasn’t old enough to drive then, but his mother drove him there every day possible to visit and help pass the time with card games and news from the gang. They’d walked through the double doors together, into the foyer, and had announced the patient’s name to a woman sitting behind a U-shaped desk. He figured he’d do the same today. Only this time, he’d square his shoulders and give the distinguished name of Herbert Stone.

At the notion, Billy felt even more of a businessman. And he liked that.

The parking lot and hospital were separated by a two-way street. A gleaming white sidewalk stretched before the wide glass double doors, which were accessible by about a half dozen short, narrow steps. As Billy stepped from beyond the last parked car, he turned his attention to oncoming traffic, the sidewalk, and the doors.

And that was when he saw him.

Trinity, South Carolina

For a man who’d just been told his life was about to change, her husband sure looked pleased with himself.

Patsy crossed her arms and cocked her right hip. “I hardly see the humor in this, Gilbert.” She gave him her best “I mean it this time” face. At least she hoped she did.

But if Gilbert was reading it, he was ignoring it. Instead of promising to change his schedule—not to mention taking some birth control responsibility—Gilbert knelt on the floor of their bedroom in front of her, wrapped his arms around her hips, and kissed the flat of her belly. “Hello there, Little One. I’m your daddy.”

Patsy threw her hands up in disgust. “Ugh!”

He peered up at her, all boy and all man. Dimples and a curly mop of hair and twinkling eyes. “I know, baby doll. I know you don’t want more children.” His fingertips kneaded the small of her back, sending chills up her spine and down her legs.

Why did he have to know her so well? Know her and every inch of her body? All the right places to touch, all the right words to say? And why did he have to be kneeling before her?

“Then why do
you
look so happy, I wonder.”

He stood, this time slipping his arms around her waist and drawing her close by rocking their hips together. “Because, Pats, I believe God decides when we have children. I believe they are his blessing.”

She wiggled out of his embrace, went to the bed, and sat. Crossing her legs, she said, “That’s because you get to go on the road without them. You don’t have to change their diapers, get up with them at all hours of the night, wipe up the spittle and the puke, or listen to them argue over a toy. If I hear the words ‘it’s mine’ or ‘I had it first’ one more time, I think I’ll scream.” She drew in a deep breath and spoke on the exhale. “Not to mention that you don’t have to make sure they’re fed, clothed, and that they get enough sleep.”

Gilbert sat next to her. He touched her again—he was always touching her—this time rubbing her arm with his fingertips. “They’re your children, Pats. Your
children
. Do you expect they’re going to do that on their own?” Patsy felt tears forming in the backs of her eyes as he continued. “And as for me not doing any of those things, I’m working my tail end off out there
on the road
to make sure they have food to eat, clothes to wear, and beds to sleep in.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head this way and that around the room. “You have to admit, I’ve done a pretty good job, haven’t I?”

She looked at him fully, set her jaw against the knot forming in her throat, and said, “But you’re never home, Gilbert.” The words came in a whisper, strained and angry. “So what difference does it make?”

His left hand swept around them to rub her belly. “Looks like I’m home enough, eh?”

She stood, blinked, and felt two anxious tears slip down her cheeks. “Oh, you are so funny. I’m practically rolling on the floor with laughter here.”

Gilbert’s face changed as his hands pressed the bed at both hips. She knew that look; he was no longer amused. “You need to get over yourself, Patsy. You’re a woman. I’m a man. We’re married. We sleep together and we make babies.” He stood, walked over to his chest of drawers, and picked up his watch, which he’d placed there the night before when he’d finally gotten home.

After
ten o’clock. After the kids were in bed and the food had gone cold and she was too tired to talk, much less argue about another baby coming into their lives.

“So, that’s it? I’m supposed to just accept that? I married you, I sleep with you, and I give you babies, is that it?” New tears welled up and were now burning, stinging.

He turned to look at her. His hands extended as though he were in defeat. “Look, Pats. I don’t mean to be crude. And I certainly don’t mean to be cruel. Not to you of all people. I love you like mad and you know that.”

“And I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

“But the fact of the matter is,
this
is the way of life.”

She could no longer hold back the tears. “Then why can’t I . . .” Patsy dropped her face into her hands. Her hair, which she wore down, fell as a curtain between her and her husband. “Why do I struggle so?” she asked between sobs. “Rayette is a wonderful mother to her kids. Sandra makes it look like second nature. But, I feel so inadequate.”

She felt Gilbert’s arms come awkwardly around her. She heard the shushing sound as the warmth of his breath tickled her ear. “Come on, now, Pats. Don’t you think you are being just a little hard on yourself?”

She shook her head.

“When I walk into this house, what do I see?” he asked against her temple. “A well-kept home, a beautiful woman I have the pleasure to call my wife, four perfect kids. What more is there for you to have to accomplish?”

There was no answer and she knew it. There were no real words to express how she felt. The perfection came only because she demanded it of herself. The social obligations, the family responsibilities—both in their home and at Mam and Papa’s—all came with such a sense of burden. Just two months ago, when Lloyd had come home and married his girl, she’d thrown the best shower, organized the finest reception. And all the while, she felt as though she were choking.

She just couldn’t figure on what.

She feared she never would.

She couldn’t even figure out what caused her downward spiral to start. It had been about midway through her first pregnancy. Everything was going well. She’d not had morning sickness. She’d hardly gained weight or carried any of the other maladies she’d heard her friends complain about. Other than Gilbert being gone so much—too much—her life was, truly, perfect.

So
why
?

She raised her head, looked into her husband’s eyes. “You are absolutely right, Gilbert.” Patsy took in the deepest breath her lungs could hold, slowly released it, willing every muscle, every fiber, every sinew to relax with it. She wiped her cheeks dry with her fingertips. Gilbert held her so close, her wedding rings scraped across his chest. “You know,” she said, “I’m sure this is all just hormones. Maybe that’s my one sign of being pregnant. I’m hormonal.”

He kissed the brow above both eyes, then her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips before saying, “Have you talked to your doctor about it? I’m sure you could get something to help.”

“No, but I will. I promise.”

He squeezed her even more tightly into his arms. “I love you more than words, you know that, right?”

She nodded. “And I love you too. I do.”

His eyes searched hers for a while before he said, “Tell you what. I’ll start giving more responsibility to Terry. After all, as my assistant he should be able to take on more of the workload. He’s single, so I doubt he’ll mind.” He winked in that old way he used to do that drove her crazy. “I’ll increase his salary, so I know he won’t.”

“Oh, Gilbert . . . So you’ll be home more?”

“Absolutely, Pats. With you and the kids here, why wouldn’t I want to be?”

She sighed. “And can we
please
stop at five?”

He grinned. “I’ll do everything within my power.” Then he laughed a little. “We’ll work it out, I promise.”