Garden of Angels (6 page)

Seven

“This one, or this one?” I asked Becky Sue, holding up two pullover sweaters for her inspection.

We were in my room and she was helping me decide what to wear for the hayride on Saturday night.

“It gets awful hot around that bonfire,” Becky Sue said.

The weather didn’t turn really cold in our part of Georgia until near Thanksgiving, but I liked wearing loose-fitting sweaters because they hid my skinny body and flat chest. “Good point,” I said. “I’ll wear a long-sleeved shirt under the sweater, and if I’m burning up, I can strip.”

“That will impress the church crowd.”

“You know what I mean.” I pawed through my closet, looking for my favorite denim shirt.

“Why are you trying so hard?” Becky asked. “It’s just the hayride. It’s not like we’ve never gone before.”

That was true. But before, we’d just been kids and Jason hadn’t been on my mind morning, noon and night. I turned back to my closet. If Becky suspected for one second that I wanted to look good for Jason, I’d never live it down. “Are you saying you’re not planning what you’re going to wear?”

“Why? Russell won’t be there.”

Russell’s family attended the Second Baptist Church, so he wouldn’t be coming to our church’s activity. “You could ask him,” I suggested.

“Are you crazy? Then he’ll know I like him.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be catching on any other way.”

Becky Sue flopped backward dramatically. “Don’t you know anything about snagging a guy? I want
him
to figure out that he likes
me.
I can’t go throwing myself at him. He’ll think I’m desperate.”

“Aren’t you?” Her logic escaped me.

She threw a bed pillow at me. “You just wait until you have the hots for some boy, then we’ll see how you go about making him notice you.”

I picked up the pillow. “Well, if I ever do, what advice would you give me?”

“I’d tell you to ask your sister. If her soldier boyfriend is as good-looking as you say he is, then she sure knows more about catching boys than I do.” Becky boosted herself up on her elbows. “You sure you’ll be back in time for the hayride on Saturday?”

“Papa says we’ll be home by six.” Dropping Adel off at the army base was taking less time because Barry met us at the guard gate.

“Come straight to my house and Mom will run us up to the church together.”

I agreed readily, because I really didn’t want to show up alone. “You never did tell me which sweater you liked best on me.”

Becky Sue pursed her lips, pondering the choices. “The blue one,” she finally said. “It matches your eyes, which, by the way, are your best feature.”

I held the blue sweater under my chin and checked out my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. The color did complement my eyes. I wondered if Jason had ever noticed the color of my eyes. Suddenly I remembered that by the time he’d see me on Saturday night, it would be dark. He wouldn’t be able to
see
the color of my eyes.

The house where Mama rented a room had been built in the 1930s and was located on a quiet tree-lined street. I thought the place depressing but kept my opinion to myself. Mama’s room held a bed and a dresser, an overstuffed chair and a braided rug. There was a white-tiled bathroom across the short hallway, and Mama had free use of the living room, where the furniture lay wrapped in slipcovers and the windows were masked by heavy floral-print drapes. Pictures of people none of us knew lined the end tables. There was an old black-and-white TV set in one corner, with rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil for better reception.

When we came to visit, Papa toted in chairs from the kitchen so that we’d all have a place to sit. If the weather was pretty and Mama was feeling up to it, we’d sit out on the old porch.

I was hoping that Mama’s treatments were doing her a powerful lot of good on the inside, because they weren’t doing her any favors on the outside. She looked pale and thin, and she had taken to wearing a bandana because her once shiny auburn hair was falling out in clumps. Her arms were bruised from the IVs. Dark circles under her eyes seemed to grow deeper each week. We never asked how she was feeling, because any fool with half a brain could tell she hurt.

That Saturday of the hayride, I was alone with Mama at the house because Papa and Adel had gone to the store to buy her ice cream and some other things she needed. “The chemo gives me powerful odd cravings, when I can keep food down,” she’d told them. “And ice cream helps the sores inside my mouth feel better.”

So we were together alone for the first time since before she’d come to the hospital. She was sitting up in the bed. The room felt stuffy, but she had said she was cold, so I didn’t dare open the window.

“How have you been, Darcy?” she asked me.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “I miss you, Mama. I miss coming home from school and you being there. I miss the way things used to be.”

She took my hand and urged me onto the bed beside her. She wrapped her arms around me and let me cry. “I miss you too. I want to come home so much. But I can’t just yet. I have to get better. Licking cancer is a hard thing to do.”

I pulled away. “But you will, Mama. Please say you will.”

She smoothed my forehead. “Course I will. Don’t you worry about that. Now tell me something about school. You’re making good grades, aren’t you?”

I nodded, but my mind turned to other things. “Mama, how does someone know if she’s in love?”

“Why are you asking?”

“No reason.” I was suddenly embarrassed over my dumb question. Then inspiration struck. “I see Adel and Barry, and she’s had lots of boyfriends, but this time it seems different. Why does a person get all nervous and jittery every time she gets around the person she likes? I mean, is it normal for your stomach to get tied up in knots? Becky Sue says that’s what happens to her all the time when she likes somebody special.”

“Well, Becky Sue should know. She’s been in love—let’s see—how many times? Six? Ten?”

I smiled and laid my head on Mama’s shoulder. “A lot.”

“Love is a mystery. And there’s no denying the fireworks part—those feelings of thinking your heart’s going to bang right out of your chest whenever you see that special someone.” Mama understood just what I was talking about. “Chemistry and hormones come into play for sure,” she continued. “But love can’t be discerned by those things alone.”

“But how do you
know
?”

“I would say that a sign of true love is that it happens slowly, like a friendship. It will be respectful and kind, and it will have a short memory for hurtful times between the couple. Love is like the plants in our gardens. It has to be watered and nurtured and kept safe from frost and heat. But when it blooms—ah, my dear daughter—when it blooms, there is no fragrance sweeter.”

Love is sweet.
What I felt when I was around Jason was not sweet contentment. It was edgy and unsettling. “I’ll stick with the plants, because love sounds like a lot of bother to me,” I said.

“Love will find you one day, Darcy. And it won’t be a bother.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“If you say so, Mama.”

I stayed in my mother’s arms until she drifted off to sleep.

I arrived at Becky’s house, nervous but excited about the hayride and seeing Jason. Her mother opened the door and dropped a bomb on me. “Darcy, she’s not going.”

“What? B-but why?” Becky
had
to go. We always went to these things together.

“She’s not feeling well.”

I took the stairs two at a time and burst into Becky’s bedroom. Becky Sue lay on her bed, a hot-water bottle pressed over her lower abdomen. “You have to go without me,” she moaned. “I have the curse.”

I stared at her. Why had Mother Nature visited her today, of all days? “But you’ve got to come,” I said. “Did you take aspirin?”

“All afternoon,” Becky said. “I’m still hurting.”

Being the late bloomer I was, I had not had the problems with my period that Becky had. She’d started her monthly cycle when she was twelve. I was almost fourteen before mine decided to drop in on me. I had even lied when I was just turning thirteen, saying I had “it” when I didn’t because I felt like such a freak over not having it. Once I did get it, I wished it had not befallen me. I found “it” a terrible inconvenience. Our gym teacher made girls sit out sports when they were having their periods, which I hated because I loved sports and resented not playing when I felt perfectly fine. Yet, at the moment, I saw that Becky Sue did not feel fine and jumping on her about missing the hayride wasn’t going to change anything. If I was going to the hayride, I would have to go alone.

“This stinks,” I said.

“True,” Becky moaned. “But I’m telling you, I can’t move. You go on and have fun and tell me all about it.”

For a moment I thought about not going; then I remembered Jason and wrestled with my two options: being without my best friend all evening, or not seeing the one—and only—boy who had ever made my pulse flutter. My internal wrestling match was short-lived. “You feel better,” I said to Becky Sue. I shut the door and left her to her misery.

Becky’s mother ran me up to the church parking lot and told me to have a “good enough time for Becky too.” I got out of her car and walked over to the crowd of kids waiting to pile onto the two hay wagons once Pastor Jim gave the word. The “wagons” really were large flatbed trucks heaped with fresh straw. Trucks were used because we’d have to drive to the field for the bonfire on back country roads. The ride would take about forty minutes. Slatted sides and a tailgate kept us all fenced in safely, and because the trucks were so big, there was plenty of room.

The sixth graders were chasing each other and stuffing handfuls of straw down each other’s clothes.
Babies!
I strolled over to the other wagon, the one for the high-schoolers, and with alarm saw that I was the only ninth-grade girl who had come. The older girls looked me over.

“Where’s your shadow?” Donna McGowen asked, not very kindly.

“I thought you two were Siamese twins,” her friend Laverne added, making the group of girls giggle.

“Good one,” Donna said to Laverne.

I bit my tongue, figuring I needed to be respectful because we were on church property. “Not that you care, but Becky’s sick,” I told them.

“What a shame.” J.T. and three of his thug friends materialized from the far side of the wagon. He slung his arm over Donna’s shoulder. “Now you really are dateless.”

The whole group of them roared. Fortunately, Pastor Jim blew a whistle before I could say something I might regret.

“All aboard,” he called out.

I scrambled on quickly, knowing I didn’t want to crawl past J.T. and his friends if they boarded first. I’d hoped that Carole might go with us, but through the slats, I saw her on the other wagon. I walked to the front of the truck and sat down in the rough straw, wedging myself into the corner. With a start, I saw that Jason was directly across from me, under the window of the truck’s cab. I’d been so involved with Donna and J.T. that I’d forgotten to look for him. I realized that he’d been up there the whole time and had witnessed my being teased.

Just seeing him made my knees go weak. He was nimbly rolling a stick from finger to finger and took no notice of me. The truck filled amid squeals of “Help me up, J.T.” And “You’re so strong, J.T.” And “Move over closer, Donna, and keep the chill off.” It was enough to make a person nauseous.

I looked up. The night sky was filled with a full moon that shone as bright as a light. A lover’s moon, we called it in Georgia. It only made me feel worse. I wished I hadn’t come.

Eight

The trucks set off. Someone had brought a transistor radio, and Olivia Newton-John started singing her hit song “I Honestly Love You.” Her beautiful voice and the touching words of the song filled the night. I listened as she sang “I love you; I honestly love you,” and I felt my throat tighten as an ache filled me. I didn’t love anyone. Not in the way she was singing about.

I saw J.T. nuzzling Donna’s neck and wished Pastor Jim was riding in the back instead of inside the cab. Couldn’t he have guessed that J.T. was going to try to put the moves on his girlfriend? I snuck sidelong glances at the others. Everybody seemed paired off. Except for me.

The music kept playing. I wanted to clap my hands over my ears. Tears swam in my eyes. I was embarrassing myself over a silly song and feelings I couldn’t seem to turn off. I blinked hard to stop a tear from moving down my cheek. When I turned my head, I saw that Jason was looking straight at me. I was mortified. “Dust in my eyes,” I said, hoping he believed me. “I forgot I’m allergic to straw.”

He looked away, but I could not forget the feel of his eyes on me. It had been as if he could see inside me. I felt undressed, and I crossed my arms over my chest and hunkered down into the straw. At last the song ended and the radio played something more upbeat. I got mad at Becky Sue for getting her period and not coming. And mad at myself for coming anyway.

The ride seemed interminable, but finally the truck turned into a large open field and stopped in the center, where a huge pile of wood had already been laid for the bonfire. Logs for us to sit on had been placed around the perimeter of the pile. A table, holding stacks of hot dogs and buns and bags of marshmallows, stood to one side. Three ice chests held cold drinks. J.T. leaned over one, rummaged and came up with a bottle of orange soda. “What, no beer?” he asked, making kids laugh.

“Cool it, J.T.,” Pastor Jim admonished.

Carole came to me and asked about Mama. “She doesn’t look real good,” I said.

“Chemo is difficult,” Carole said, “but I’m sure her doctors are doing what’s best for her.” She handed me a paper plate and a raw hot dog. “Darcy, your mother has so many friends who want to do something for her.”

I shrugged. “There’s nothing anybody can do.”

“We can help her family.”

“How so?”

“Her friends can take turns bringing over suppers for as long as she’s in Atlanta. I’ll organize a list of her church family and garden club ladies, if that’s all right. I know Adel’s cooking for your family, but—”

“That would be great,” I said before she could even finish her sentence.

“Your mother’s been so good to me, and I’d love to help your family while she’s going through this.”

Carole moved off and I stared down at the plate I held. The hot dog looked unappetizing. Still, the fire had been lit and kids were roasting their dinners on sticks they’d found in the field. I went off in search of one for myself.

I’d gotten a late start in the stick search. The ones closer to the fire had already been claimed. I was glad of the moonlight as I looked over the ground, walking farther into the field. I circled around a clump of live oak trees, and a voice asked, “Who’s there?”

Startled, I jumped backward and dropped my plate.

The red glow of a cigarette preceded Jason from the other side of a tree. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.

“You scared me to death,” I whispered fiercely. My heart was pounding, and not just from fright. “What are you doing over here? And—are you smoking?”

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and offered it to me. “Want a drag?”

I’d never had such a long conversation with him, and suddenly he was inviting me to smoke with him. If I took the cigarette, would he think I was mature and sophisticated? I almost reached for it. “Uh—no thanks. I don’t smoke,” I finally said, picturing myself having a coughing fit in front of him. That was what had happened the one time Becky and I had tried smoking.

He took a long drag, dropped the butt and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Good. Girls who smoke look trashy.”

I stood feeling self-conscious as the acrid smell of the cigarette dissipated into the cool night air. I caught the subtle scent of his leather jacket and cinnamon as he popped a breath mint into his mouth. “You looking for a stick to roast a hot dog?” I asked. I had no experience talking to boys. Not to boys who made my heart beat faster and my knees wobbly.

“I came because Carole and Jim made me come,” Jason said. “As you might have figured out, I don’t like being here. And I don’t just mean at this hayride.”

I knew. “I reckon Conners is a big letdown after living in Chicago.”

“I promised Carole I’d finish high school.”

“Is that why you’re staying?”

“That’s the only reason.”

I thought of how J.T. and his jock friends had treated Jason from the minute he’d arrived. “You know, we’re not all like J.T.,” I said.

“People give him a lot of respect. Why is that?”

I remembered Mama’s philosophy: If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all. “Because he plays football. But everybody knows he’s a bully,” I said, ignoring Mama’s maxim. “And he always has been. Although I guess it’s not his fault he was born big. But his meanness has been carefully cultivated.”

Jason laughed. “You have colorful ways of putting things.”

I felt my cheeks going hot and I was glad for the darkness under the trees. “Well, not everybody thinks J.T. is as cool as he thinks he is,” I said. “I’ve known him all my life. He had a terrible crush on my older sister, Adel, but she didn’t pay him one bit of attention. I always respected Adel for that. They were two years apart anyway, so J.T. never really had a chance with her.” I realized that I was babbling about things Jason wasn’t one bit interested in and clamped my lips together before I made a bigger fool of myself.

In the silence, I heard Pastor Jim playing his guitar across the field and voices singing gospel songs. “I guess I’d better get back.”

Jason reached out and caught my arm. “Can I ask you something?”

My heart started thudding and his hand made my skin feel warm beneath the layers of clothing I wore. “Course,” I answered.

“What’s important to J.T.?”

The question caught me by surprise and for a minute stymied me. “I—um—gee—I guess football is most important to him,” I said.

“What other things?”

“Well, he drives his uncle’s old battered pickup, which is more like a battering ram than a real car, so that’s not important. And books aren’t important because reading and writing are just excuses he uses to play football.” I thought for a minute. “I reckon Donna, his girlfriend, is his current best interest. Though I surely don’t know why. Oh, she’s pretty and all, but thoughtfulness and kindness are not her strong suits, if you get my meaning. But how can you not get my meaning? I’m sorry, that’s not very charitable of me to say those things about her—”

“It’s okay. Slow down. You’re making me dizzy.”

My face felt hot again. “Sorry.” I knew I’d said too much and that I should leave, but I didn’t want to. We stood in the darkness listening to the music.

“Carole really likes your mother,” Jason said after a time.

“Mama likes Carole too,” I said.

“Your mother’s sick, isn’t she?”

“She has cancer, but she’s getting treatments, so I figure she’ll be one hundred percent real soon.” I felt odd discussing my mother with him, then remembered that they’d met when he’d first arrived.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, put one between his lips and lit up. “You better go on before you’re missed.”

I took a step, feeling like a little kid being sent out of a room. “What about you? Won’t they start looking around and see that you’re not there?”

“I’ll come after I finish this smoke.”

I started to go.

“Darcy.” The way he said my name sent a shiver up my spine. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“Anytime,” I said, meaning it with all my heart.

“Don’t let them make you cry,” he added.

I wanted him to know that he had made a wrong assumption. “It was the song,” I said. “I don’t know why it affected me, but it did.”

“It’s a pretty song,” he said. “I like it too.”

I walked off, feeling light as a feather, the memory of his voice going over me like water over dry ground.

On Sunday after Papa, Adel and I ate downtown, I went to Becky’s and told her about the hayride. I didn’t tell her everything exactly as it happened. I just said that I’d had my first bona fide talk with Jason and that he seemed lonely. I dwelled on Donna and J.T. and their rudeness and got total sympathy from Becky.

On Halloween, she came to my house and helped pass out candy to the kids who came trick-or-treating. Every little ghost and goblin made me remember all the times I’d gone in the costumes Mama made for me. Whatever I told her I longed to be, she somehow managed to create it. I’d been an Indian princess, a fairy queen and Tony the Tiger. My last year of dressing up I’d gone as Marcia Brady, complete with wig. Mama let me eat all my candy too. She didn’t parcel it out the way Becky’s mother did. No, I ate it until I got sick of it.

Early the next morning, Papa woke me from a sound sleep with a roar. “Darcy Quinlin, come down here this minute!”

I staggered downstairs, half asleep, heart pounding. He stood in the doorway, looking livid. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pushed open the front door and I went out on the porch and gasped. Our front lawn was a sea of white. Someone had toilet-papered our trees, bushes and car. Morning dampness had caused the paper to shred and sag. “I don’t know which one of your hoodlum friends did this, but you’re going to clean up every last dollop,
now.
Is that clear?”

“B-but I—I’ll be late for school.”

“Clean it up!” He slammed the screen door and retreated into the house.

Papa was boiling mad, but so was I. Whoever had done this knew I would get into trouble. And naturally, I could think of only one person who would do such a childish, stupid prank. J.T. I was as certain of it as I was of my name.

I gritted my teeth, found a plastic lawn bag and began the long, tedious task of raking up the soggy toilet paper. “I’ll get even with you someday, J.T.,” I muttered as I worked. I didn’t know how or when, but I would. I surely would.