Interrupted (2 page)

She frowned, her eyes not meeting mine. “I’m fine.”

“Wow,” Sam said after a somewhat awkward silence. “What a story.”

Mama nodded. “Yes. Grandmother was quite the woman.”

Sam nodded, his eyes enthusiastic. “I love war stories. I’m going to be in the army one day too.”

“Oh.” Mama rubbed her finger along the rim of her glass. “I’m sorry … I just wish I could remember …” She frowned and looked around the table. “Allie, where’s the salt shaker?”

I lowered my voice. “Mama, it’s right in front of you.”

“Oh.” Mama rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t see it.”

Sam nodded again and pushed back from the table. “Thank you so much for the tea, Mrs. Everly. And happy birthday, Allie.”

I didn’t meet his eye. He was such a goody two-shoes. He didn’t deserve to be said good-bye to.
Not in a million years would I ever …

“Alcyone,” Mama whispered through gritted teeth.

“Good-bye” I looked down.

Sam nodded at us both and walked back toward the house.

“Have fun at your aunt’s house,” Mama called, waving at him. I sighed and went inside to practice the piano. The windows could wait a little longer.

“What did that boy give you?”

My head jolted up from my mashed potatoes. “What boy?”

Mama’s face glowed from the candlelight that lined the table. We were sitting in the garden, watching the fireflies dance in the cool evening breeze. “Sam.”

“Oh.” I played with my potatoes. “A sketchbook and chalk set.” I made a face. It was exactly what I wanted. Sam
had
been listening when I went on and on about painting on our way home from school last week.
To fill the silence, of course
. I’d already forced down the pleasure from Sam knowing what I wanted and convinced myself he just wanted to annoy me with his obnoxious
niceness
.

“That’s nice.” Mama pushed her plate away. She sighed to herself and gazed over my shoulder, a strange look on her face.

I continued to mess with my potatoes in silence a few more minutes. “I haven’t drawn anything yet,” I said finally. “But I’d like to know if you’ll pose for me tonight.”

“Of course,” Mama said. She frowned at something behind me.

I looked over my shoulder, curious as to what she was staring at. There was nothing there except a few blackbirds perched on top of the house.

“Any ideas as to how you’d like me to draw you?”

Mama continued to stare into the distance.

“Mama? Mama!”

Mama’s head jerked as she looked around, disoriented. “What—Where am I?”

I reached my arm across the table and stroked her hand. “You’re in the garden, Mama. Don’t you see?” I massaged her wrist, fighting back worry.

“Hmm?” Mama looked around groggily.

“Mama,” I whispered, pulling her up to her feet, “maybe you should go inside for the night.”

Mama trudged to the kitchen, muttering to herself, as I cleaned up the dishes in the garden.

When the last of the silverware was put away and the candles were snuffed, I grabbed my notebook and headed out to the hills to watch the sun set.

The countryside of Tennessee was a place of great beauty, one that never ceased to fill my mind. When I sat upon the highest hill, I could see for miles around me, the rolling grass engulfing me in large green pools. The Carroll’s little farmhouse, Mr. Ward’s old tractors, the Peterson’s horses … and my own little house, a quaint smudge in the distance.

I opened up my notebook and took out the new set of chalks Sam gave me.
He’ll never have to know I actually used them
.

I flipped to a new page and began to fill in the colors of the sun sinking behind the old white church. Fiery red, burnt orange, creamy yellow.

The only sounds I could hear were the scraping of my chalk over the distant neighing of the horses being led back into their stables.

I bent my head over my drawing and shaded in the vibrant reflection from the pond near the church. My eyes flickered up. The sky was beginning to turn gray.

I held back my notebook to observe the drawing.
Not bad
.

I turned the page and smoothed out the creamy white paper. In the top corner, I wrote,

I flipped the notebook shut and laid back on the grass, listening to my heart beat until everything around me was nearly dark. Then I stumbled back home and tucked myself into bed.

I
t was a scream that woke me. I jolted up in bed, my senses pulsing.
What was that?

There it was again — a bloodcurdling shriek. “Get away from me!”

Mama!
I jumped out of bed and threw open the door, running down the hall. I burst into Mama’s doorway and stood, chest heaving.

Mama was standing on her bed, her eyes wide with fright. “Get it!” she cried. “Oh, Allie, take it away!”

I looked around the room and blinked. Nothing. “Get what?” I finally asked.

“The bird!” Mama shrieked, hurling her pillow at the vanity. “The snake! Oh, Allie, it must have gotten in through the window!”

I looked at the window. It was closed.

With an eye on Mama, I inched toward the vanity. Mama’s hair stood up like a madwoman, her face as pale as her nightgown.

I picked up the pillow she had thrown and scooped up the broken shards of glass. “Oh no,” I muttered. A perfume bottle had broken. Liquid ran down the dresser, staining the pure white wood.

“Is it gone?”

“Yes, Mama.” I threw the glass shards into the wastebasket. My breath caught and I glanced down to see blood trickling down my finger. I pressed it in my pajamas and bit my lip. “It went away. Back out the window.”

“Is it coming back?”

I turned and looked at my mother. The terror and anger had left from her face, and now she stood on the bed, shaking. Her tangled hair fell across her face as she dropped the pillow she’d been clinging to. Then, without a word, she collapsed on her knees and broke into tears.

I rushed across the room and put my arm around her, rocking her back and forth. “It’s okay, Mama,” I whispered into her hair. “It’s okay.”

“Its eyes were so cold, Allie,” Mama sobbed into my lap. “They were staring right at me.”

“I know.” I stared at the empty vanity, illuminated by moonlight. “It’s gone now.”

“Allie?” Mama whimpered.

“Yes?”

She looked up at me with bloodshot eyes and gripped my hand. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

I gulped down the lump in my throat and nodded. “Of course, Mama. I’ll stay.”

I stroked Mama’s hair and sang to her softly until she fell asleep. Tears stung behind my eyes, threatening to overflow.

I buried my face in the pillow. No one else knew. No one else would ever know. I was all Mama needed.

In the morning, she’d forget all about the snake. She always did. Maybe she’d have a good day again and she’d be able to laugh and chat.

Or maybe she’d have a bad day.

No, I couldn’t think about that. There would be no more bad days. As long as I stayed with her, Mama would get better.

Help her remember
, the doctor said. Read her favorite books. Sing her favorite songs.

I’d done it. I’d read the books. I’d sung the songs. And she still wasn’t better.

I clenched my fists and stuck one in my mouth to stop the tears.

“Allie?” Mama whispered.

“Yes, ma’am?” I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“I’m thirsty.”

I kicked my feet out of bed and went downstairs to get her some milk from the icebox. By the time I got back, she was asleep again.

I crawled into bed beside her and cried until my eyes couldn’t stay open anymore.

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Allie! Happy birthday to you!”

Mama clapped while I blew out the fourteen candles on my little white cake. The living room was decorated with a few balloons I’d blown up and some old pieces of fabric tied to the staircase like streamers. Mama scooped me into a hug and left the dining room, muttering about a cake carver.

I was left alone, staring at the smoking candles. Fourteen years, come and gone. My mouth twitched in a deflated smile.

“Here it is!” Mama announced, coming back into the kitchen with a knife. She flourished it with pleasure and reached out a hand. “My lady, if you please.”

I placed a plate in her hand and watched as she carved out two thick pieces of red velvet cake. I took a big bite and closed my eyes.
Heaven
.

“To eleven years of Alcyone!” Mama smiled, holding up her plate.

“Fourteen years.” I stared at my fork. “I’m fourteen years old today.”

“Oh, right.” Mama blinked. She sighed and rubbed the bags under her eyes.

“I was thinking,” I said, swallowing my bite of cake. “Maybe I’ll play the piano for you this evening. You could rest on the couch and I could play whatever you’d like.”

“That’d be nice.” Mama’s voice had that distracted sound again.

I tried to catch her eye, determined not to lose her attention. “I drew a picture with my new chalks last night. Would you like to see it?”

Mama didn’t answer. She’d tuned out into one of her moods.

I took another bite of red velvet cake and stared at the wallpaper. It was purple with white flowers, which I’d always thought was a bit odd. But it was Mama’s house to decorate, not mine.

After we ate, I led Mama into the drawing room and let her lay down on the sofa. We read for a while, and then she asked me to play the piano.

The keys felt cold and slippery beneath my fingers. When I was little, I’d sit in that same spot for hours, practicing and practicing while Mama sat on the couch, her eyes rarely straying from my hands. Now she snored lightly, oblivious to the noise.

Within half an hour, Mama had dozed off, a wet washcloth on her forehead from the headache she complained of earlier. She had dressed herself that morning—pulling a dirty dress on over her nightgown and fastening the bursting buttons with six different brooches.

I kept playing for hours after Mama had fallen asleep. I don’t know why I did, but it just felt right. To keep on playing, no matter what.

I played Chopin first. Then Mozart. Then Liszt.

After awhile, the muscles in my hands began to ache. I shut the piano and looked down at the closed cover. I hadn’t noticed how dark the room had gotten.

“I’m back, Allie.”

I knew the voice even before I saw who it belonged to. “Hello, Sam.” I didn’t look up from the roses.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I told you I was going to my aunt Rachel’s house three weeks ago.”

“I remember.” I stood up, shook out my gloves, and flopped on my sunhat. I squinted at Sam in the afternoon sun.

His freckled face was scrubbed and his skinny little arms were stuck in his pockets. “Can I help?”

I turned and knelt by the pansies, not the slightest bit ruffled to be caught in the old, muddy overalls I was wearing. I wiped my cheek with the back of my glove. “It’s a free country.”

Sam stooped down beside me, getting dirt on his fresh blue jeans. He weeded the pansies for what felt like half an hour, without a word. It was like some kind of miracle.

I kept stealing glances over my shoulder to see if Mama had awoken from her spot on the back porch. She hadn’t.

“How was your birthday?” Sam asked.

I jumped a little, startled at his voice. Then I blushed and looked down so that my straw hat would cover my face. “Good.”

“Whadja get?”

Well, I got some chalk from you
. I pulled another weed. “Nothing. We just made some cake and sang.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “You mean your mama doesn’t get you any presents for your birthday?”

I pulled the weeds harder. “She is my present.”
At least, every day I have left with her is
.

“Oh.” Sam seemed to frown to himself. “Yeah, I didn’t get much for mine either. Daddy said that ever since the government took all our money, we’re not gonna have much to spend for a while. I guess it’s that way for everyone else too.”

I nodded, only half listening. I patted the dirt around the pansies back into place, then sat back to admire my work. Purple and yellow and burgundy splashes of color filled the little flower bed.

“Ouch,” Sam said under his breath.

I looked up to catch him grimacing at his hand. But when he saw me watching him, he quickly hid it behind his back.

“Let me see,” I ordered, holding out my hand.

He paused a moment before pulling his arm out and showing me his palm. I gasped. It was covered with red welts and cuts.
From pulling my weeds
.

I cleared my throat and dropped his hand. “You’d better come in and get some medicine for that.”

Sam followed me into the house. “Up on the counter,” I commanded. Sam climbed up and perched on the cold countertop, watching me silently.

I rinsed his wounds with cool water and rubbed some of Mama’s salve on them. Then I bent beneath the sink and pulled out some clean rags, ripping one into shreds so I could wrap it around Sam’s hand.

“You’re not like most people, are you?” Sam’s voice sounded curious.

“I don’t know. I haven’t met most people.” I bit my lower lip. “There,” I said, patting the poorly bandaged hand. “All done.” I looked over my work, feeling like a saint.