Asked For (20 page)

“We need to go,” Cletus said near her ear. “Kline’s up to no good.” Cletus stood, towering above her, a baseball player, welder, soldier, widower, a man who’d lost his son and was prepared to defend his business.

She scooted forward on the seat and braced her palms on the top of the table. She leaned into them, to pull herself up. Pain fired through her abdomen, and she stopped. She groaned, and tipped her head forward as a familiar darkness stole over her.
No,
she prayed.
Not again, not here, not now.

Cletus grasped her arm and pulled upward. She cried out, louder this time. She didn’t mean to, but it came, that same cry she’d heard when Alex was born. The room darkened, chairs moved, and Mr. Morgan yelled something. Cletus told her to get up, but then it all faded. It was gone. Everything.

Chapter 23

Lana 1936

Grandma was really there this time, not just a shadow, not just the imaginary her. Lana could hear her, talk to her, feel Grandma’s hands as she brushed back Lana’s hair.

“Thank you, Grandma.”

“You’re welcome.” It came out crisp.

Lana tried to open her eyes and see if Grandma was upset. She raised her hands and rubbed her eyes. It felt good. She dug her fists in and rubbed hard, clearing away the stupor.

“She waking up?”

Lana dropped her hands to the bed. She didn’t have to see to know that voice, that her doctor was here. Her fingers crept up to her belly, the mountain that had been there in grandiose proportions the past couple of months… It was gone. She was flat. Her fingers slid back down to her sides.

“Finally.” Grandma sounded impatient.

Lana heard footsteps, Grandma moving away? Someone else coming to Lana’s side? A hand touched her wrist, then her forehead. It smelled of antiseptic, soap, things she identified with her doctor.

“She’s waking up,” Grandma said, farther away, talking about Lana to someone else. A man’s voice answered. He sounded relieved. Jim? He thanked God, whoever he was. Definitely not Cletus.

Lana listened for the soft whimpering she’d heard when she went through this before, the time Alex was born. The room was still. There was no cry, no warm bundle pressed against her side. She panicked. Horror exploded in her breast. Pools of wet gathered behind her lids. She’d lost the baby, destroyed Cletus’ son. Her selfishness, her determination to please and keep her husband had cost some tiny child, a tiny boy, his life. “It wasn’t Cletus’ fault,” she whispered. “It was mine.”

The hands left her. She could feel the doctor’s thoughts, his judgment, circulating nearby. She opened her eyes, her tears breaking free and racing down the sides of her face. A wobbly image stood near. She closed her eyes, squeezed the tears out, then opened them again. Cloth touched her hand, she clutched it and raised it to her eyes. Tears soaked into the fabric, and she drew it away. She could see now. She could see the doctor.

“You scared the tar out of me!” Grandma appeared at the doctor’s side. His arm came up, his forearm raised in front of Grandma. The doctor shook his head. Grandma muffled a snort, but she grew quiet.

Lana looked up at Grandma, at the room behind her, and realized she wasn’t home in her and Cletus’ bedroom. “Where am I?”

“My office,” the doctor replied.

Lana glanced around the sterile room, the whiteness of it, the starkness. It was even barer than her bedroom, this room decorated with steel and glass, cotton, and stringent odors. “How long?” she asked.

“Long enough for me to get the word and come hightailing it up here!”

The doctor raised his arm again, warding Grandma off once more. Her lips tightened into a thin line, and her brows pinched into a similar shape. It was Grandma’s look of love. Lana hadn’t understood that, growing up, but she did now.

“Jim bring you?” Lana asked. She prayed not. She hoped it wasn’t him thanking God earlier. He couldn’t see her like this, know what she’d done.

“Of course. Couldn’t stop him. Ella’s husband came for me, and when I asked Jim to keep an eye on things while I was gone, he said he was coming too. Got someone else to watch the cow. He’s outside the door. Ain’t left it since we got here.”

“Jeanie?”

This time Grandma snorted and no one stopped her. “It’s quiet, ain’t it?”

“You got some good friends and family,” the doctor said. He looked down at her, kindness couching his frustration at what she’d done.

Lana wondered if that was how her father would have looked at her if... An ache sprang up in her heart. She thought of Magdalena. And Betsy. And the child she’d just stolen everything from—a mother, a father, a life. And what she had taken from Cletus. It hurt too much. A deep agony filled the empty place the baby had been all these months. She closed her eyes.

“Got some good friends here, too,” Grandma spouted. Lana opened her eyes. “Lots of food piling up at your house, neighbors cooking for your family. Some flowers, notes, and a few visitors stopping by.”

“Visitors? I don’t know anyone besides Ella, really.” She didn’t want to see anyone, either. Not now. Not even Ella.

“Quite a few people saw you go down at that dinner you were at. They’ve been checking on you since. A Mr. Morgan’s been here more than once.”

Lana closed her eyes again. How awful everyone must think she was. Coming to the dinner, eating like a starved animal, then losing her baby. Poor Cletus! He’d never forgive her! Tears sprang up again. She didn’t bother to hold them back; hot streams ran freely down her face. Grandma’s face and shoulder pillowed against her, and Grandma’s earthy smell pressed close as she bent near and held Lana, a cushion of needed comfort. Lana cried into Grandma’s shoulder, cried at what she’d done, cried until she could cry no more.

Grandma held her even after she stopped. Her sniffles had nearly ended when she felt someone else nearby. Grandma moved away. Lana tried to hang on to her, hold her there, hide behind Grandma so she wouldn’t have to come out and face what she’d done.

Grandma was gone. Lana opened her eyes. Long legs stood near the edge of the bed. She knew them; she knew them as well as her own.

“I’m sorry, Cletus.”

The legs shuffled and repositioned. “When you coming home?”

Lana looked up. “You want me to come home?”

“She can’t do anything.” The doctor stepped alongside Cletus. Cletus flinched and looked away. He was on Magdalena’s imaginary horse. Ignore the doctor, pretend he wasn’t there. “Bed rest until I say she can get up, and no more children. Both of you need to accept that. No more of this careless stuff.”

“I’ll be there to help. So will Ella,” Grandma chimed in from behind the two men.

“That’s good. She needs it. But even more she needs no more children. None.” The doctor turned to the side and stared at Cletus. “You can do what you need to do without having children.”

Cletus avoided the look, his eyes focused down toward Lana. He wasn’t seeing her. It was what she couldn’t give him that was there, what he had to do without having children.

“No,” Lana cried. “No, it’s okay.” She reached for Cletus’ hand, but he pulled back and tucked it behind him. “You wanted another boy…”

“And I got another mouth.” Cletus saw her this time. His gaze was hard, his eyes cold. He turned, a slow pivot, and then he left the room.

“What? Another mouth? What does he mean?” Lana looked at Grandma, then at the doctor.

“The baby,” Grandma replied. “Little girl. Guess that’s what he means.”

Chapter 24

James 1955

The sound wasn’t quite like a truck, but it roared, then slowed. James looked up from the cow’s pen, Harold coming to his side.

“What the heck is that?” Harold asked.

They watched the lane. It was council night. Pop wasn’t expected home even though the fire decision had been overturned. Pop still kept an eye on things. He didn’t want anyone discussing him, even when the meeting topics had more to do with animals, trees, or street upkeep.

“Think Pop bought a new truck?” James asked.

“Naw. He would have said something while we were at work today. Besides, it’s not loud enough for a truck. At least not loud enough for one Pop would drive.”

A car lurched into view, shot around the corner of the house with a burst of acceleration, then jerked to a stop. The engine faltered, came back to life, and the car yanked forward and stopped again.

“What the heck…” Harold muttered.

The engine roared, the car lurched, its nose swinging in a sharp arch that brought it to face the house, with the driver pitched to the side.

“Is that…”

“God help her…”

The car ground to a stop, flinging a mop of hair over the steering wheel. The engine sputtered, coughed, and finally died.

The driver’s door opened, and the head of disarrayed hair appeared over its top. Magdalena grinned and patted the roof of the car. “I drive now.”

“That’s not driving,” Harold said from beside James. “Are you done?”

“I’m parked, aren’t I?”

Harold unlatched the gate and stepped through, holding it for James. James latched it behind them, and they walked to the car. Magdalena slammed the door and met them at the rear of the vehicle. She beamed. James hadn’t seen such an enormous grin on her for far too long. He stared at his sister while Harold circled the car.

“A Fairlane,” Harold said. James heard faint admiration in his brother’s voice. “Where’d you get it?” Harold tapped on the metal, peered in its windows. James knew it wasn’t Earl’s. He was long gone. Magdalena had said she caught him with someone else, and he was no good anyway.

“It’s Joe Deeter’s. But it’ll be mine, too, if I marry him.”

Harold stood up from the tire he was bent over. His eyebrows hitched upwards.

“It’s a beauty,” James interjected. Harold would never insult Magdalena or say something mean to her face. But the look was enough, James knew Harold was frustrated, trying to scrimp enough money from his job with Pop to start his own family. James felt Harold’s resentment, or maybe it was envy, at Magdalena’s careless ease. Whatever it was, James saw it dampen her smile.

James pounded the car the way he’d seen men do at Pop’s shop. “Yes, she really is a beauty.” He grinned extra big.

“Joe lets you drive it without knowing how?” Harold’s eyebrows pinched together.

“I know how! I’m just new at it!”

“Women don’t usually drive, you know,” Harold added.

“Some do. One of Mama’s friends did.” Magdalena’s eyes sharpened. “Or at least she claimed she could. Even back then, I could have done better.”

“Who was that?” James asked.

“No one important,” Magdalena said.

“Someone from a long time ago,” Harold answered. “I was pretty little, but I remember. She came with that fellow, then drove here on her own once. She hasn’t been back since.”

“That fellow was Jim.” Magdalena stared at Harold.

Harold dropped back down below the car. “Yeah, Jim. I remember.” James heard Harold thump something, then mutter.

James waited for Magdalena to say the name of this woman friend that never came back, the one that wasn’t important. She ran her hand over the car, her lips pinched in a tight pucker.

“Will you take me for a ride?” James asked.

“You’ll be killed,” Harold yelled from somewhere below.

Magdalena guffawed. She sounded like a man. She was good at that. “No one will be killed.” She opened the driver’s door and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The back door to the house opened, and Mama stepped out. Betsy and Carla followed in a trail. They approached the car as if Magdalena had parked a flying saucer in the driveway instead of a Fairlane. Magdalena grinned and lit a cigarette.

“You have a car,” Carla said in a gush.

“Almost. It’s Joe Deeter’s. He’s my new beau. If we get married, the car will be part mine.”

“Married?” Carla asked.

Mama’s head was the only one that didn’t turn from the car to Magdalena. Mama studied the bright metal, one finger tapping a ping on the fender. Magdalena pulled a long draw on her cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“I’m happy for you.” Betsy wrapped her fingers around Magdalena’s arm. “You’ve always wanted to drive. I remember you saying so, years ago. When we were little.”

Magdalena dropped the last of her cigarette into the dirt. She watched her own foot grind it out. When it was thoroughly flattened, she glanced up. At Mama.

Mama stepped to her two oldest daughters and wrapped an arm around each. “That was a long time ago, but it feels like yesterday sometimes. Magdalena, I want you to drive because that’s what you want to do. I don’t want you driving because of anything or anyone else.”

“It’s got nothing to do with Joe.” Magdalena swiped some dust off the car. “Or anyone else.”

“Who’s teaching you?” Mama asked.

“No one!” Harold shouted from beneath the car.

“You didn’t think Pop would, did you?” Magdalena’s face tightened.

“That was a long time ago.” Mama leaned her head Magdalena’s way. “He probably doesn’t even remember.”

“Doesn’t care, you mean.” Magdalena kicked her smashed cigarette butt away.

“Will you stay and eat with us?” Mama asked, a thin gaiety in her tone. “Gail and Jackson are coming. They’re working on the house they plan to move into after their wedding. I know Gail would love to see the car.”

Magdalena looked up. “Sure, that would be good. Then I’ll take you all for a ride.”

James watched Mama and his sisters walk to the house. Harold popped up at the front end and rounded the car slowly, his fingers dragging along its metal.

“Who was Jim?” James asked. “And what the heck were Mama and Magdalena talking about?”

Harold drew a small circle with his finger on the hood. “Jim was an old friend of Mama’s,” he said. “And Jeanie was the other. An old friend who learned to drive.” Harold finished his circle and looked up. “Pop didn’t care much for Jim. And Magdalena still hates Jeanie.”

Harold walked back to the cow’s pen, kicking up dirt as he went. James watched small clouds of dust rise and fall around Harold’s boots. He should go help Harold, maybe try to say something to ward off the frustration Harold had, watching his sisters marry while he struggled so, but he didn’t. James opened the door of Joe’s car and slipped inside. He pulled the door closed and gripped the steering wheel in his hands. This was a flying saucer. He was from one world, his family from another. Another world, another time. He truly was different.