Out of Darkness (15 page)

Naomi had put on a hand-me-down sweater from Muff, hoping the long sleeves would hide her burn. The wool was rough, and she winced every time it scratched against her damaged skin. And even with the sleeve pulled down, she could not conceal the burned and blistered part of her hand.

In homeroom, Miranda made a show of averting her eyes. “Too ugly to look at,” she said loudly.

Betty Lee grinned. “That's sure to scar,” she said.

School was a blur of agony. After the bell, the twins bounded up to her in the schoolyard. “We learned silhouettes in art with Miss Bell,” Cari said.

Beto grabbed Naomi's arm for a hug. She cried out in pain.

“
Lo siento
, Omi,” he said, backing away.

Naomi exhaled slowly. “It's just a little tender.”

“If we can find Wash, can we go fishing?” Cari asked, already moving toward the superintendent's house, where a box of tools sat on the porch.

“Sure,” Naomi said. Even with the cold out, all she wanted to do was take the sweater off.

Beto started after Cari, then turned back. “What's for supper?” he asked.

Naomi groaned. “Nothing hot.”

 

WASH
Late that afternoon, Wash looked up from the river to see Naomi coming toward him and the twins. “Jesus and his fishermen! What happened?” he shouted. Even from where he stood, he could tell that her arm was a map of blistered red. He handed his fishing rod to Beto and climbed the bank.

“We didn't tell him,” Cari called.

“Tell me what?” Wash asked. “Let me see that.”

“It's just a little burn,” Naomi said. She tried to hide her arm under the sweater she was holding in the other hand.

Wash reached to pull aside the sweater just as she took a step away from him. He was left with the sweater, and her burn was out in the open. Worry clutched at him. “How did that happen?” he asked.

Color flooded her cheeks. She grabbed the sweater and covered the burn again. “Doughnuts,” she said.

“An oil burn, then?” He shook his head. “You need to be more careful.”

“What difference does it make to you?” she asked.

Her hard words took him by surprise. “I—well, what if the twins had been standing there? They could've gotten hurt bad.”

“I know,” she said, but she didn't look at him. Her fists were balled. “Come on,” she called to the twins. Beto started to take two fish from the basket in the shallows, but Naomi shook her head. “I'm not cooking tonight.”

The twins climbed up the slope and said their good-byes to Wash, but Naomi turned away without saying anything. She was angry at him; that was plain.

“Are you putting something on that?” he called after her. “Let me ask my friend Cal's ma to mix up some salve—”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Thanks for your concern.” She started up the path with the twins. She did not look back.

 

NAOMI
That night, Henry walked into the kitchen like nothing had happened. Pastor Tom's wife must have washed his clothes before they sent him home because everything was clean and pressed like he was going to church instead of coming home after half a week away. At the least, she could count on a few days of good behavior from him. Back on Redemption Road.

“Pastor said you got a burn,” Henry said.

“That's right,” she said without looking up from her sewing.

Henry went over to the bread box. He pulled out an old biscuit and looked into the sink. “I could finish those dishes,” he said with his mouth full. “Leave them if you want.”

Naomi still didn't speak.

“Good biscuit,” he said. He brushed the crumbs from his hands into the sink. “I guess the twins are up front?”

He walked toward the living room without waiting for her to answer. She noticed a slight bulge under his jacket, but she wasn't about to ask what it was.

She went back to patching Beto's pants. She didn't mind the sewing. But after that, there were the dishes, which Henry would not remember to do. She needed to prepare tomorrow's lunches. And she was behind on the cleaning and the laundry. She especially hated handling Henry's underthings, marked as they were with his sweat and smells. The thought of hot water made her arm burn. Even if the work had been harder back in San Antonio, she hadn't felt so alone doing it. And there was no Henry.

Happy cries came from the living room. She looked up and saw a calico streak fly past, tail straight back like an arrow. It skittered around the kitchen and then careened back toward the bedroom with the twins running after it.

“A cat?” Naomi said to Henry when he came back into the kitchen.

“Why not?” he said. His large hands patted at his pockets, as if a gift for her might appear there. She didn't want anything from him, but she expected an apology at least.

It did not come.

“Everything okay?” He tossed the words out casually, which only added fuel to the fire still smoldering in her. Her anger seemed to radiate from the burn itself. It hurt like hell.

Naomi stood a few feet away from him at the sink, dish towel in hand. She took up a plate, dried it, and placed it on the counter. “We ran out of food money,” she said evenly. “I didn't know what to do.”

A look of shame flashed over Henry's face, but he buried it under a grin. He picked his hat up from the counter and tossed it onto a chair. “Blew it, didn't I?” he mumbled finally.

He tugged at the skin of his neck and then fished out a damp roll of bills and peeled off several. “So you can get stocked back up on food.” He paused, as if remembering something. “You should have told me about Turner's place. I would have talked to him, worked something out. Who's been getting groceries for you?”

She hesitated. “Depends. Sometimes Muff gets me things and I pay her back.” That was true, if rare.

For a moment, she thought he was going to let the topic die. Then he frowned and squinted at her. “And other times?” he asked.

She exhaled slowly and considered her position. Short of lying, there was no way around it. And anyway, there would not be a better time to tell him; he could hardly get angry with her now, not after what he'd just done.

“Mason's,” she mumbled.

“Where?” His voice was sharp.

“Mason's!” She said it clearly this time.

“That the store over in Egypt Town?” His jaw tightened. Disgust veined his words. “You've been feeding us nigger food? Feeding it to me? Feeding it to my kids?”

“There's nothing wrong with the food, and you know it.” She wasn't going to be bullied about this, especially not after he skipped out on them with the kids still sick.

Henry cocked an eyebrow at her and tapped his chin with a finger. “That so? The way I see it, you're under my roof.” He flattened a palm against the table. “This is East Texas, and there's lines. Lines you cross, lines you don't cross. That clear? Turners won't give you no more trouble, I promise you. In fact, I'll buy the groceries from now on,” he said, snatching back the money. “You just make out a list. Don't you go back to that nigger store, hear me?”

“I have to pay the bill from this week,” Naomi said stubbornly.

“Fine, but that's the end of it. Tell that colored boy the twins are always trailing behind to pay it for you.” He tossed a handful of bills back down. “Come on, let's see about that cat.” He stalked down the hall, no doubt expecting her to follow.

 

BETO
Beto stroked the soft fur over the kitten's nose, and it nuzzled his hand. It lay curled into a ball of white and tan and gray in his lap. He turned the pages of the encyclopedia carefully so as not to disturb it.

Cari came into the kitchen and slid a finger down the length of the kitten's spine. Its ear twitched, and it opened a wary eye. Cari frowned, and Beto knew she was trying to decide what to do with the feeling of not being the favorite.

Beto nudged her. “He needs a name.”

They'd gone back and forth for almost a week; it was time for the cat to be the somebody it was going to be.

“Sugar Man,” Cari said.

“Cats don't even like sugar,” he protested. “That's a name for a horse.”

“Or a sweet cat,” she said.

“Edgar,” Beto said. The kitten started to purr. “See? He didn't purr for your name.”

“Ugh.” Cari rolled her eyes and tossed herself into one of the other kitchen chairs. She had tired almost instantly of the Poe poems they had read from Naomi's English book, but Beto adored their “gloomy splendor.” That was what Miss Bell had said when he asked her what she thought of “The Raven.”

“Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore,'” Beto said. He grinned.

“Lord deliver me,” Cari said, but Beto knew she was planning something. She twirled a strand of hair slowly around her finger. “How bad do you want it to be ‘Edgar'?”

Beto tried to seem indifferent, but he couldn't hide anything from her.

“You give me your dessert for two months, and you can name him,” she said.

“That's nuts!” Beto bit his lip.

Cari shrugged. “I bet you anything that Daddy will like Sugar Man better than Edgar.”

“He might like my name,” Beto protested.

“If you want to risk it.”

“What do you think?” Beto scratched the cat under its chin and pressed his fingers gently against the soft pad of one small foot.

A truck pulled up the driveway. Cari ran to the screen. “It's Daddy,” she said. “Last chance to get your name.”

“One month of treats,” Beto said.

The truck door opened. Henry's boots thudded down on the gravel.

“Deal,” Cari squealed. She ran over to shake Beto's hand. “Naomi and Muff are making pineapple upside-down cake,” she said with an evil grin. “I get your piece and mine, too.”

He ignored her. “Edgar,” he whispered to the kitten softly. “That's your name now.”

Cari pushed the screen door open and clattered down the porch steps to meet Henry. “Daddy, we named the cat!” She came back into the kitchen a moment later carrying Henry's hat.

“So what is it?” Henry asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“I picked the name,” Beto said, smiling up at him. “It's Edgar.”

Henry rubbed at his jaw, leaving a smear of grease. “That cat's a female.”

“But...” Beto hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Edgar jumped down from his lap and stretched. Cari raised her eyebrows at Beto.

“Trust me, it's a girl,” Henry went on. “There aren't any male calico cats. What the hell kind of name is Edgar anyhow?”

“It's the name of a famous poet. Edgar Allan Poe,” Cari said.

“Good grief,” Henry grumbled. “I should have gotten a tom. Could use another man around here.”

Beto blinked hard, suddenly deflated. It would be a disaster to cry, he knew. He glanced at Cari, but she just shrugged.

Henry picked up the percolator, sloshed around its contents, then set it back down on the stove. “Where's Naomi?” he asked.

“Next door,” Cari said.

Henry began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward the bathroom. “One of y'all go over and get her. I want some coffee after I get cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir,” Beto said to Henry's back.

When Henry was in the bathroom, Cari walked over and planted a kiss on Beto's cheek. “Sorry about the bad news,” she said, “but no take-backs on the deal.”

Beto thought about it for a second. “Okay, but the name stays.”

“But Edgar's no name for a girl. At least make it Annabelle,” she pleaded, “or Lee, like the other poem.”

“A deal's a deal,” Beto said firmly. His eyes were fixed on the bathroom door, and he hoped Henry could hear him. “Now,” he reached for his jacket, “Edgar and I are going to find Naomi.”

 

NAOMI
Naomi tilted her glass to free up the last sweet drops of lemonade at the bottom. Tommie pushed the mason jar toward her. “You finish it,” Tommie said. “We have more at home.”

“Thanks,” Naomi said. She cocked an eyebrow at Tommie, who was unusually quiet.

“About the dress,” Tommie said after a moment longer, “maybe we could go look at some styles in person, like you said might help.”

For home economics, all the senior girls had to sew themselves a proper dress. It was a big part of the class grade, and Tommie had been worrying about it since the day their teacher assigned it.

Naomi looked up from the catalog Tommie had brought with her. “Sure. When you find something you like, you look for a similar pattern. Or you can just use the dress to draw one.”

“Just!” Tommie scoffed. “You saw how my kettle cozy came out. Total disaster. And Mrs. Anderson said we have to actually wear the dress that we make.”

“You'll do fine,” Naomi said with more confidence than she felt. Tommie had trouble concentrating long enough to sew a button on straight.

“I bet my uncle Ben would drive us over to Tyler one of these Saturdays coming up before Thanksgiving. We could go to Montgomery Ward, look at the latest styles. Maybe you can help me pick a pattern.”

“All the way to Tyler? You think he'd really take us?” Naomi's enthusiasm surprised even her.

Tommie beamed at Naomi and leaned forward. “Sure he would, so long as we don't mind Katie and Jean tagging along.”

“Could the twins come, too?” Naomi asked.

“Of course. Plenty of room for everybody in the back of the truck.”

“Okay, but check first,” Naomi said. “I don't want to get their hopes up for nothing.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Tommie had just left when the screen door squeaked open and the twins shoved through the door.

“You two are home early,” Naomi said, looking up from her cutting board. There was still an hour before supper.