Ordinary Beauty (17 page)

AFTER THE BABY ANNOUNCEMENT TIME SEEMED
to fly, and I don’t know whether that was because my mother was pregnant and the focus in the farmhouse shifted to getting ready for the baby, or if it was because Christmas was zooming toward us and there was so much to do, or because my time of being an only child was running out.

I kept flip-flopping at the thought, excited one day about being a big sister, and sulky the next at having to share Beale and Aunt Loretta with my mother, who had become the center of attention and was milking it for all it was worth. Whenever she spoke, someone listened. Whenever her stomach gurgled, there were offers of food or Pepto-Bismol or belly rubs. When she watched TV, she got to snuggle under my favorite afghan while I had to take the scratchy orange one. Aunt Loretta started cooking really healthy foods so the baby would be strong, and we had to have stupid fruit for dessert instead of German chocolate cake or peanut butter pie. And worst of all, my mother said my kitten made her nose itchy, so little Stormy was gently but firmly relegated to the barn, which made me really mad, but it didn’t matter because now, being pregnant, my mother came first.

It burned me that she didn’t seem to care that
I
had been here first, not her, and sometimes I would look at her sitting there, all petted and pampered, and wish she was gone. Not dead, just out of the picture so it was only me, Beale, and Aunt Loretta, happy together in the farmhouse. I wished my mother still lived with Candy or out on the back ridge with the Fees, or anywhere but here, and that fantasy was the most fulfilling when she was away at work and the rest of us were home, getting along just fine without her.

I was also mad at her for being so happy this time, for resting her hand protectively over her belly even though she wasn’t showing yet, for going to the doctors and taking vitamins and eating right, and deciding to give this baby Beale’s last name.

That part hurt the most.

The baby would belong to this family and the world would know it, while I, who not only loved them dearly but who had also brought my mother and Beale together, was stuck with a last name that kept me separate, unattached and unclaimed.

It wasn’t fair, and if I thought about it too much it would make my stomach hurt so I tried not to, instead getting all caught up in the excitement of the holidays, and relishing the hours when my mother was at work and it was just the three of us again.

One cold, gray Saturday morning before Christmas when the air was heavy with the promise of snow and my mother was sleeping after working the night shift, Aunt Loretta went into town for groceries and I went outside to help Beale refill the bird feeders and bring in wood for the stove.

“So, Miss Sayre Bellavia,” he said, capping the last feeder and leading me over to the woodpile. “What do you think about this whole new baby thing?”

“I wish it was me,” I said without thinking, hefting a piece of split wood that must have weighed ten pounds and staggering over to dump it in the wagon behind the quad. It fell with a hearty thud and when I turned to get another one, I found Beale looking at me in alarm.

“Uh, don’t you think it’s too soon to be thinking about having a baby?” he said, tilting up the brim of his cap and rubbing his forehead. “You’re not even eleven yet and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You want to go to high school and have fun, graduate and maybe even go to college, get out there and see the world, meet a good guy who’ll do right by you and fall in love with him, get married, and
then
maybe think about starting a family. Not now. Jesus.” And then he looked even more alarmed. “Wait a minute. You haven’t . . . those boys in school better not have messed with you because if they have, I swear to God I’ll—”

He was talking too fast and his voice was getting louder and I didn’t want him to wake up my mother, and so even though it was mortifying, I had to tell him what I’d really meant. “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t wish I was
having
a baby. Ew. I wish . . .” Face flaming, I bent down for another piece of wood so I wouldn’t have to look at him and said in a rush, “I wish
I
was being born now. I mean, that this baby was me instead of . . .” My throat tightened and it was all I could do to speak. “If I was born now then you would be my real father instead of . . . nobody and I would be your real kid.” I dropped the chunk of wood in the wagon and grabbed another. “That’s what I meant.”

I stood there for what felt like a thousand years, embarrassed by admitting my deepest desire and kind of scared that he would tell my mother what I’d said, and so all I could do was stare down at the piece of wood, my face hot and huge, my fingers picking at a piece of bark stuck to the otherwise smooth log.

“Whew. You had me scared there for a minute,” Beale said finally, and came over and gave me one of his quick, solid, one-armed hugs. “I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet, Bellavia. Maybe in another twenty years.” He gazed down at me and his smile grew thoughtful. “You know what’s so great about tomorrow, Sayre? There’s not a mark on it. You can get out there and be anyone, go anywhere, do anything. The sky’s the limit. The only thing that ever really holds you back is yourself, and what you’re afraid of. . . .” He paused, staring out toward the frozen field. “I don’t think I ever told you this but when I graduated high school I figured I’d just work on the farm with my father, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Really?” I said, glancing up at him.

“Really.” His mouth curved into a reminiscent smile. “God, he was stubborn. He told me he’d been setting aside money for me ever since I was born so I could go to college and learn about something I was interested in, get out of Dug County and live on my own for a while, meet different kinds of people and see other parts of the country and then, after all of that, if I still wanted to come back and work the farm at least I’d be doing it of my own free will, instead of just doing it because I didn’t know any better or didn’t think I had any other options.”

“So did you do it?” I asked. “Go away, I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding and smiling slightly, still lost in the past. “My father didn’t give me a lot of money, just enough to get going, so I had to go to school and work at the same time, but yeah, it was great. A real eye-opener. I did more and learned more than I ever thought I could. And I met a lot of great people, too.” He refocused on me. “The point is that my father wanted more for me than he’d had, a better life, and I want that for you, too. That’s what all parents want for their kids.”

“But I’m not really your kid,” I said, staring up at him.

“Well, maybe not in the normal way, but I couldn’t be prouder than if you were my own daughter.” And when I didn’t answer, just lowered my head and let my hair swing forward around my face, he teased, “Oh, c’mon, you don’t think you’re like a daughter to me? Who else sits next to me at breakfast every morning, hogging the maple syrup, and gets to help me load all this backbreaking wood—”

“Big deal,” I mumbled, trying not to smile.

“And who sneaks her cat in from the barn to sleep with her at night—”

I shot him a surprised look.

“Oh yeah, your old man knows more than you think,” he said, giving me a stern look and then ruining it by waggling his eyebrows. “Who else in this family gets nothing but As and Bs and gets to pick her own dessert every marking period, hmm? Not me, that’s for sure. Who else is getting a big surprise for Christmas—”

“Who?” I demanded, breaking into excited giggles at his guilty look. “Me, Beale? Me? I’m getting a surprise? What is it?”

“Time to zip the lip,” he said, making the motion.

“Tell me,” I said, tugging on his arm. “Please? I promise I’ll act surprised.”

“No, you’ll
be
surprised because that’s all I’m saying. Now come on, let’s get this wood done so we can get out of this cold. Brr.” He glanced up at the silvery-gray sky, and launched into a hearty “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”

I didn’t know all the words but I chimed in when I could, and by the time we finished moving wood Aunt Loretta was home, it was snowing, and the warmth from the fiery woodstove was second to the warmth glowing inside me.

That security and newfound confidence must have come through somehow because before Christmas, Trey, one of the boys in my class, invited me to his birthday party out at the bowling alley and so I went, eaten up with shivery anticipation, wearing new jeans and a new red shirt, with my hair French-braided by Aunt Loretta, and despite my mother’s snide comment that I would look trashy, my newly pierced ears decorated with tiny little gold hoop earrings, compliments of Beale.

Beale drove me into town and dropped me off at the bowling alley. Before I got out of the car he gave me ten dollars and said, “I’ll be back for you at five, right here out front. If you want to come home earlier, call, okay?”

“Okay, ’bye,” I said absently, scrambling out of the truck and watching some of the other kids in my class go inside. I didn’t have any real friends in school, but yesterday Jillian Jergenmeier had offered me a piece of gum and said she’d see me at the party, and that had sounded almost like a promise.

It was hard to go in alone but I did it. I didn’t even know how to bowl but to my delight neither did Jillian and another girl, so we grouped together and decided to go eat French fries at the snack bar instead.

“So you live with the Galens up on Sunrise Road,” Jillian said when the other girl got up and went to the bathroom. “My mother said she was in the same class as your mother. She said your mom was really pretty but a total bitch and then she got pregnant, dropped out, and turned all skanky from drugs.” She leaned over, dipped one of her fries in my ketchup and ate it, watching me. “She said she saw your mom in the grocery store two weeks ago and she looked really good again. She said if your mom was still a drug addict, though, I couldn’t be friends with you. So,” she cocked her head, “is she?”

I sat there silent and staring down at my full plate of fries, humiliated.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel bad,” she said, salting the last fry on her plate and eating it. “I’m just telling you what my mom said. She didn’t really tell me to ask you that. She was just talking to her best friend, Monique, on the phone—they gossip
all
the time, that’s why they’re so fat, because they don’t do anything but eat and drink wine and gossip, at least that’s what my dad says and my mom gets
so mad
—and I heard her say it, so I figured I’d ask.” She plucked a fry off my plate. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. We could be friends anyway. I don’t care what your mom does.”

“She doesn’t do that anymore,” I said after a moment, and pushed the plate of fries closer to her. “Actually, her and Beale are gonna have a baby.” I shouldn’t have said that and I knew it, but nobody had come right out and said it was a secret, only that they wanted to hold off announcing it until after the holidays, and besides, I was proud to have good news. “In July. We don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl yet.”

“Cool,” she said, and went on talking about how her little brothers annoyed her while she polished off all of my fries and half of the other girl’s, whose name I don’t even remember, only that she got mad and stalked off and Jillian just looked at me and shrugged. We both started laughing and then I ate some of those fries, too, and they were cold but still tasted really good.

I’M LYING HERE NEXT TO MY
mother, warm, drowsy, exhausted, whispering the story of our past, confessing, finally without fear of punishment or rejection, the way I remember our time up on Sunrise Road with Ellie, Aunt Loretta, and Beale. It feels good to resurrect them, the people I loved so much, to say their names aloud over and over, to gather them close again instead of burying and banishing them every time those memories begin to rise.

The more I say, the easier it becomes, and the longer I lie there beside her, tucked close, the more natural it seems, and so I’m drifting along on memories of the coming of Ellie and how good she felt in my arms, slow tears dampening my half of the pillow, when my mother makes a noise that is more than a moan, but less than a word.

“Mom?” I quick push myself up onto my elbow and peer at her. “Are you awake?”

Her eyes dart and roll under the lids.

“Mom, it’s Sayre,” I say again, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

Her eye cracks open, only a sliver of half-moon white showing beneath her lid, but her arms start moving and she gives a slight, feeble rock backward, toward me.

“Do you want to turn over? Okay, here.” I slide farther over in the bed, my heart pounding with sudden hope. “Come on, I’ll help you.” I put my hand on her bony shoulder and ease her onto her back. “Is that good? Is that what you wanted?” I wait, anxious, but she just lies there twitching, hands and feet in continuous shaky spasms, eyes closed, and once again gone somewhere out of reach.

But it’s all right because I’m not done talking to her yet.

I’D NEVER HAD A CHRISTMAS LIKE
the one up on Sunrise Road before and the laughter and hugs, presents and cookies, sparkling lights and carols were so overwhelming that I cried three times that day.

The first was when I opened my surprise gift from Beale, my mother, and Aunt Loretta, which was a laptop of my very own.

I took one look at it and burst into tears.

“Uh-oh,” Beale said, glancing at his mother.

“No, I’m just happy,” I blubbered and it sounded so funny that I started laughing through my tears. Someone handed me a tissue and when I could breathe again I fumbled the box open and slid out the beautiful, brand-new laptop. “
Wow.
”

“Look at the stars in her eyes,” Aunt Loretta said to Beale, nudging him and smiling in my direction. “Do you like it, Sayre?”

“I
love
it,” I said, running a light hand across its sleek top. I’d never had a computer of my own before, I’d always had to use the ones at the library and at school. “And it’s silver, my favorite color!”

My mother glanced at Beale. “You were right,” she said, and then to me, “So what do you say, Sayre?”

I knew what to say, I always did, because manners had been really important to Grandma Lucy, and my mother’s premature nudge annoyed me, but the laptop was so cool that I just said, “I know,” and scrambled up to hug and kiss Beale and Aunt Loretta, and called, “Thanks, Mom,” because she had gotten up and gone to the bathroom before I could get to her.

The second crying jag happened when my mother opened Aunt Loretta’s gift to her, which was the rich, plush, embroidered ruby velvet blazer.

“Well,” my mother said, lifting it slowly up out of the box and watching it unfold. “This is amazing, Loretta. Feel how soft. And look at these flowers stitched onto the lapel. I never saw anything like this.”

“And you won’t, because I did the embroidery myself,” Aunt Loretta said, leaning over around Beale and patting my mother’s hand. “I hope you won’t think it’s silly, but in the language of flowers, Queen Anne’s lace represents sanctuary, and that’s what I hope you and Beale and Sayre always find in each other, Dianne. This is a one-of-a-kind piece now, and when Sayre grows up you can hand it down to her, and then she can wear it, too. That’s how family heirlooms begin.”

Family heirlooms.

My
family.

We finally had something beautiful worth passing down.

The thought made me tear up all over again, and I quick grabbed my stocking and rummaged back through it like I was searching for something, but really, I just wanted to keep the feeling to myself because I knew I could never explain it.

The third time I cried there was no way I could hide it and I didn’t even try.

“This is a gift from Santa to all of us,” Aunt Loretta said near the end, picking up a thin, rectangular box wrapped in silver paper and pausing a moment, as if wondering who to hand it to. Her gaze fell on me and she smiled. “Let’s let Sayre open it.”

“Okay,” I said eagerly, pulling off the bow and sticking it on the front of my shirt with all the others. I pried up the tape on each end—I was a slow unwrapper, always wanting to make things last—and opened the paper. “Oh, how pretty!” It was a piece of needlepoint in a wooden frame, like a little poem, with all kinds of holly leaves and berries embroidered around it. “Did you make this, Aunt Loretta?”

“
Santa
brought it,” she said, lips twitching. “What does it say? Read it aloud.”

“Okay,” I said, and taking a deep breath, read:

“‘The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree:

the presence of a happy family

all wrapped up in each other.

—Burton Hillis

Our First Family Christmas

Loretta Galen, Beale Galen, Dianne Huff, Sayre Bellavia

And our beloved Baby-in-Waiting.’”

By the time I got to the end my voice was wobbling and my nose running and I couldn’t see the needlepoint anymore, so I thrust it at Beale, threw my arms around Aunt Loretta and, hugging her, whispered, “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, honey,” she whispered back and held and rocked me while my mother opened Beale’s surprise gift to her, which was a pretty amethyst promise ring that had been passed down in his family for ages. Beale slid it on her finger, and when she stared at it, dazed, he told her it was a Galen family tradition that this amethyst ring stood in the place of a real engagement ring until the diamond was picked out.

They were going to be married.