Have No Shame (41 page)

“We’ve got this, Mama,” Maggie said, zipping up my dress.

I stood in the middle of the room in Mama’s wedding dress, which was less like a frilly wedding dress and more like a long, white ball gown. She’d hemmed it, and it fit like a sleeve, though noticeably tighter than it had when I’d first tried it on.

“Is it too tight?” I worried.

Mama ran her hand down my side, trailing the silky gown’s seam. “You’re just carryin’ five pounds of happy,” she said. “Brides gain or lose weight right before their weddin’, because they’re happy. They’ve caught their man and they relax a little bit.” She patted my cheek. “Glory be, you are a sight, Alison. Jimmy Lee is one lucky man.”

Why the statement saddened me, I wasn’t sure. I thought I had moved past my indecision—or maybe I just hoped that I had.

“Yes, he is, and he’d better remember that every day of your long life,” Maggie smirked.

Mama embraced me. “My little girls are all grown up. Why, I’ll have no one left ‘round here.”

“We’re only movin’ into town, Mama. It’s not like you’ll never see me. Besides, you have Jake here, remember?”

A shadow crossed over Mama’s face, and I wondered what she was thinking just then. She kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll go make sure your Daddy is ready. He’s all thumbs when it comes to tyin’ his tie.”

There are times in our lives when everything comes together and we know we are exactly where we are supposed to be. My wedding day was not one of those days. I stood at the altar, facing Jimmy Lee, handsome in his black suit and crisp, white shirt. My stomach quivered as I looked into his eyes, reciting my vows. “I promise to love, honor, and cherish…”
Love, honor, cherish.
I could love him, yes, I knew I could. I had before, and once he stopped chasing down innocent boys, I’d surely love him again.
Honor
. I respected Jimmy Lee, well, at least most of the time I did. We’d had a long talk last week about how I felt that day at the river, when he was too rough, and he apologized and I could tell he meant it. It was easy to forgive him, we’d been together for so long that he knew just how to say all the right words to make me feel better, even if he didn’t do that unsolicited anymore. Did anyone after two years? Yes, I could honor him.
Cherish
was a more difficult concept for me to wrap my heart around. The pulse of my heart fought me on
cherish
. When I thought of the curved edges of that word, they were Jackson’s arms I felt around me. When I said the word out loud, I’m reminded of Jackson’s soft lips on mine, the way his body felt against me, the way he moved in slow, careful movements, looking at me, not through me.
Cherish
was not a word my heart embraced with Jimmy Lee, but I said it all the same. It was my place, after all, as his wife.

Jimmy Lee slipped the ring on my finger and my marriage became real. I was no longer Daddy’s little girl or Maggie’s little sister. I was Mrs. James Carlisle, and when Jimmy Lee kissed me to seal our union, I prayed to feel the same rush of love I felt for Jackson. I prayed for the heat to rush from the center of my stomach up to my chest and down my thighs. I hoped the kiss might rekindle the spark I once felt for him. I came away from that kiss, that start of our marriage, wondering how I would ever find what I was hoping for.

We didn’t take a honeymoon because his uncle said Jimmy Lee needed to begin training for his position with the furniture store. Jimmy Lee hoped to plan a trip to Niagara Falls once we had enough money saved. I didn’t mind waiting. I knew it would be forever before we could afford it, even if his uncle was fixing to pay for half of the trip.

We fell into our married life like two kids playing house. Every morning Jimmy Lee went to work and I cleaned, baked bread, planned dinners, and quickly grew bored. I wondered how Mama did it for all those years. After a few weeks, Mama suggested that I think about getting a job in town, where I could walk to work, something part-time.

“I make enough money,” Jimmy Lee argued. “You don’t need to work.”

We were eating dinner at our small kitchen table. I had spent the entire day inside, and I wasn’t used to being so confined. I was tired all the time and hardly ever felt like eating. I was sure that it was because I missed the activity of daily life.  I stared at the same white walls of our apartment day in and day out. I tried taking walks, but it wasn’t enough. I needed something more to pull me out of the funk I’d fallen into. Some days, it was hard for me to climb out of bed and when I finally made it to the kitchen to fix Jimmy Lee’s breakfast, the smell of his eggs cooking made me sick to my stomach.

“I know you do. I just need a little somethin’ to do, Jimmy Lee. I’m in this apartment all day and night.”

“Mama doesn’t work. Your mother doesn’t work.” He took a bite of the biscuits I’d made the evening before, which weren’t nearly as flakey as Mama’s, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I know yours doesn’t, but mine does, on the farm, and besides, they had us to take care of. It’s just me here, all day, by myself.”

“We’re not havin’ no baby, Alison. Not yet, at least.”

I sighed. Why didn’t he ever listen to me? “I don’t want a baby, Jimmy Lee, I just want a part-time job where I can talk to people and get out of the apartment for a few hours each day.” Nausea rose in my throat. I swallowed against it.
Nerves
.

He wiped his mouth and stood to leave. “Do what you want to, but just make sure you’re home every night early enough to make dinner. I work hard. A man needs to eat.”

Already planning my outfit for my day of applying for jobs, I agreed. Even his chauvinistic comment couldn’t damper the renewed energy the idea brought with it.

Each store held the promise of something new and exciting. My legs were tired as lead, but as I looked in the windows of each shop, new energy filtered in. I looked back toward our apartment and wondered what Daddy would think of my working part time. I asked myself,
What would Maggie do?
Maggie wouldn’t have thought about Daddy in the first place
. I checked my blouse and hair in my reflection in the window of the diner, thinking about the little boy and the ice cream cone he wasn’t allowed to accept. I took a deep breath to quell my nerves, and walked through the door, and nearly bumped right into Mrs. Tempe, who was holding an orange and black Help Wanted sign.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Alison! Why that’s okay, darlin’, I was just headin’ up front to hang this old sign. Marla left on account of her movin’ outta town next week.” Her yellow and white waitress uniform fit snug against her thick curves. Her short, brown hair curled so perfectly in tiny rings around her face it was like she had invisible rollers holding them in place.

“I didn’t mean to run you over like that,” I said.

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t run me over if you tried, you’re such a tiny, little thing.” She waved her hand up and down. “I guess I oughta call you
Mrs
. Carlisle now, huh, sugar?”

“It’s strange, havin’ a new last name. I’m not really used to it yet.”

“By the time you get used to it you’ll be over it. That’s how fast it happens. One day you wake up and you realize that you didn’t notice the switch, when you went from Alison Tillman to Alison Carlisle. Those few days you have to think before you sign your name pass faster than castor oil through a baby.” She patted my arm. “What are you here for today? A nice cake for that handsome husband of yours?”

“A job.” The words slipped out before I could form a proper response.

“A job?” She leaned in close and whispered. “Are you havin’ money troubles already?”

“Oh, no.” Worry soared through me. Is that what people would think? I couldn’t embarrass Jimmy Lee like that. “I’m just bored, really. Jimmy Lee is at work all day and I’ve got nothin’ to do in that tiny little apartment.”

She drew her eyebrows together. “Yes, that does happen, doesn’t it?” She looked around the diner. “With Marla gone, I am in need of a capable set of hands, and yours’ll do just fine. It’s only a few hours here and there.”

“That would suit my needs perfectly. Thank you!” I bit back my enthusiasm and asked tentatively, “Do you think people will really think we’re havin’ money trouble? I don’t want people talkin’ like that.”

She waved her hand in the air. “What do you care what others think? A young, pretty girl like you?” She put her arm around my neck and said, “Better to have a little sanity break every now and again than to lose your mind worryin’ about small town gossip, right?”

There was a knock at the back door and I waited as Mrs. Tempe gathered the wrapped food that was spread across the counter, placed it in a paper bag, and headed for the door. I sat down next to a heavyset man on one of the orange stools at the counter. The stools spun if you pushed them hard enough. I had driven Mama crazy on those stools more times than I could count.

I watched Mrs. Tempe at the back door. A small colored boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old, dug deep into his pockets. His spindly arms were all elbows and wrists. He handed her a fistful of money and stood on his tippy toes, peering around her. His eyes caught mine, and I couldn’t read what they held—embarrassment? Curiosity? He looked away quickly, leaving me feeling embarrassed for being
inside
the diner. Jackson sailed into my mind. The thought of him standing at the back door of any diner bothered me. I’d been pushing away the thoughts of him so effectively that the memory took me by surprise.

The door thumped shut, jolting me out of my own mind and back to the present. Mrs. Tempe’s hips swayed from side to side with her hurried gait as she picked up dirty dishes from the booth where two women sat. They whispered among themselves, and Mrs. Tempe’s lips pressed into a firm line. She slapped a check down on the table, spun around with determination, and carried their dishes behind the counter, where she passed them wordlessly to Joe, the cook, who masterfully slid them out of sight.

She punched numbers into the cash register, mumbling about
hoity toity
women and the nerve of them. “Those people have to eat, too,” she whispered to me with a speck of frustration.

The coloreds in our town had always gone to the back door of the drugstore and the restaurants. I had known that my whole life, but until that moment, I hadn’t felt suffocated by the knowledge. I blinked several times, trying to make my thoughts of Jackson go away, but they remained as present as the floor I stood upon. There was no denying my growing discomfort. My eyes were opened to the segregation around me and I knew I had to do something to help those who where treated differently.
Maggie would be proud
.

Mrs. Tempe must not have noticed my momentary lapse of focus. She gave my wrist a sweet squeeze and said, “Can you start tomorrow? Ten a.m.?”

All dolled up in my prettiest dress, with Jimmy Lee’s favorite meal in the oven, I was ready to break the news of my being employed.
Employed
. A thrill rushed through me. I’d never held a job before, besides helping out on our farm. Dinner was perfectly timed. At exactly five forty-five the table was set just so, candles were lit, and my speech was practiced. I tapped my foot as I watched the minutes tick by.
I’ll save every penny towards our honeymoon,
I rehearsed. Anticipation made me jumpy, and I paced our small kitchen.

By six fifteen my back ached and I knew the biscuits were gonna be too soggy for Jimmy Lee to enjoy, so I quickly piled his meal into a bowl and set new biscuits in a separate dish. I’d lather the chicken, vegetables, and gravy on top when he walked through the door.

By six thirty my frustration had stolen my pleasant mood and I felt too sick to eat. I blew out the candles, and wrapped Jimmy Lee’s dinner.

The sun dropped from the sky and I closed the curtains against the darkness. I thought about walking down to the furniture store, but I knew Jimmy Lee would worry if he came home and I wasn’t here. I curled up on the couch and read, until my eyes became too heavy to remain open.

The key jiggling in the lock woke me from where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I stood too fast and my head spun. I grabbed the side of the couch as Jimmy Lee stumbled in through the door and toward the living room. The stench of alcohol was so thick I turned away.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

Jimmy Lee staggered backward and sat down at the kitchen table. “Where’s dinner?” he slurred.

I looked at the clock; it was one thirty in the morning. I could not tame my spiteful snark. “I put it away.”

“I told you a man gets hungry.” He took his jacket off and tried to place it on the back of his chair. It missed, landing on the floor.

I folded my arms across my chest, breathing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were goin’ out?”

“Why should I?”

Why should you?
“Maybe because we’re married, and I made your favorite dinner.”
Damned tears
. I swiped at them with my hand. “I lit candles and everything.”

“So light them again,” he slurred.

I stomped into the kitchen and pulled his dinner from the oven, removed the foil wrap, and dropped it before him with a
clank
. He flinched.

“Where were you?” I asked again.

Jimmy Lee shoveled the food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Jimmy Lee?”

He stopped his hand in mid air and lifted his eyes, still hunched over his food like a protective animal.

“I got a job,” I spat.

He shoved the food into his mouth, his eyes locked on mine. He chewed slow and solid. I sat in a chair to stop my legs from trembling.

“At the diner, part-time.”

He dropped his eyes to his plate and ignored me.

I stewed, too tired to argue. “I start tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder as I went to the bedroom. Tears streamed down my cheeks. It seemed that’s all I did lately. Cried. I paced the bedroom floor, wondering why I ever wanted to get married in the first place.

It wasn’t until the next morning, after Jimmy Lee had gone to work and I was separating the laundry, that I noticed the bloodstains on his shirtsleeves and the thighs of his pants. Fear gripped me by the throat.
Which colored boy paid the price of his drinkin’ this time?