Authors: Sherri Wood Emmons
Prayers and Lies (16 page)
Daddy’s face was red as he tried again. “But, DarlaJean,” he said, his teeth clenched now, too.
Mother touched his arm gently and leaned forward. “What about pain, DarlaJean? Is she in much pain?”
Aunt DJ sat back, relaxing at Mother’s gentle tone. “Well, now, sometimes the pain gets pretty bad, Helen. Not always, of course. She has some good days, some bad. But when it gets too bad, why, I just pour her some peach schnapps, and that seems to help her a lot.” She smiled, looking back at my father. “She’s always liked her schnapps.”
Daddy rose abruptly and said he was going to walk outside for a few minutes. When he’d gone, Aunt DJ talked to us about the Florida weather, the price of groceries, and the alligators that sometimes came to stay in the lake. She seemed painfully anxious to please us, and kept glancing at Mother for approval.
“I do take real good care of her, Helen,” I heard her whisper once.
Mother reached over to pat her hand and said, “Yes, DarlaJean. I know you do. And Jimmy knows it, too. He’s just anxious, that’s all.”
DarlaJean nodded and smiled, then began pouring yet another glass of lemonade for Melinda.
“Have a cookie, sweetheart,” she cooed, handing the pink plate to Tracy. “I made them myself, just for you all.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Tracy smiled up at her aunt in the heart-breakingly beautiful way she sometimes had.
“What an angel,” Aunt DJ crooned in delight. “Helen, you have such angels.”
D
addy came back from his walk smelling of pipe tobacco and looking calmer. I knew he would hear from Mother later about the tobacco. Just now, however, he was drinking lemonade and listening to Aunt DJ talk about her Saturday night bingo game. Apparently she and Grandma Araminta were masters of bingo.
Suddenly, Aunt DJ grew silent, holding up a finger to shush us all. Then she rose, setting aside her knitting. “I do believe Mama is awake,” she said, disappearing down the hall.
Daddy looked at Mother and began mopping his forehead again. Mother looked sternly at the four of us squeezed together on the couch and said quietly, “All right, girls. Best behavior now, you hear?”
We all nodded miserably.
Aunt DJ returned with the tiniest, whitest-haired lady I had ever seen. You could hardly believe she was Aunt Belle’s sister, she looked so small and fragile, holding her daughter’s arm, walking unsteadily to the upholstered rocking chair that had sat empty the entire morning. We all stood quietly, waiting for something, I suppose. Daddy leaned forward and kissed his mother on her pale, creased cheek, then Mother did the same. Finally, Aunt DJ helped the old lady sit down, and we all sat, too.
I stared in wonder at my grandmother’s tiny frame and snow-white hair. She didn’t look a thing like Belle, or like anybody else I knew. Then she turned her head to look me square in the face, her eyes catching mine and holding them as though she were sizing me up. And I could see that her eyes were Belle’s eyes and Melinda’s, too—sharp, clear, and bright blue. And when she smiled at me, those eyes crinkled at the corners just like Belle’s.
“So, Jimmy, here are your girls.”
Daddy smiled, pointing at each of us in turn. “Here’s Nancy, she’s seventeen. And Melinda, she’s fifteen now.”
Araminta peered closely at my sisters, then smiled. “Why, this one,” she said, pointing to Melinda, “looks just like DarlaJean did when she was younger. Ain’t that so, DarlaJean?”
DarlaJean blushed. “Well, Mother, I don’t think I was ever that pretty.”
“And here is Bethany. She’s eleven.”
The blue eyes settled on me briefly. “You look just like your mama, little one.” She smiled at Mother.
“And this is Tracy.”
Araminta gazed at Tracy in silence for a long minute, her eyes filling with tears.
“Mother?” DarlaJean leaned down to touch the old lady’s hand.
“Why, it’s like looking in a mirror,” Araminta whispered, smiling at Tracy. “A very old mirror … She looks just like me.”
Tracy smiled as the old lady reached out her hand. She walked to Araminta’s chair and kneeled before it. Araminta laid her hand on Tracy’s cheek, then pulled her close and buried her face in Tracy’s hair. Her thin shoulders shook.
When she finally looked up, her eyes shone. She held Tracy’s hands in her own. “Jimmy, it’s like she’s my own granddaughter.”
“Well, of course she’s your granddaughter.” Daddy smiled. “They’re all your granddaughters.”
Araminta didn’t answer. She simply stroked Tracy’s hair and held her hand tightly. Tracy smiled at her, glancing back toward the rest of us triumphantly.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Mother,” Daddy said.
My father seemed unlike himself in this pink and green room. He talked like he did when the preacher came calling, polite and formal.
“Well, Jimmy, I tell you now, some days is good and some bad. But I still got life, and I got DarlaJean here to care for me. That’s more than some folks got, I guess.” She winked at my mother. “Specially the dead ones.”
“DarlaJean says you’re not taking treatments anymore,” my mother said. “What do your doctors say about it all?”
“Well, they fuss at me, you know.” She smiled down at Tracy, stroking her hair. “Tell me I need to take this treatment and that one.”
She sighed heavily. “I’m too old, Helen. When it’s my time, I’m ready. I reckon Arathena will be waiting for me on the other side … and my Winston. He’s been gone such a long time. It will be a blessing to see him again.”
She paused, staring into space, then smiled.
“When it’s my time to go, I want to die right here in my own home. I want to meet my Maker in my navy blue dress and pumps with my makeup and hair done up real nice. DarlaJean knows how; she’ll take care of me. I don’t want to go in the hospital.”
“Now, then.” DarlaJean was on her feet, gesturing toward the door. “Mama and I are taking you all out for lunch … no, don’t you argue with me, Jimmy. We are taking you to lunch. We know just the place. The girls will love it.”
We piled back into the car and followed DarlaJean’s Chevy down a busy street toward the ocean, to have lunch at a small restaurant by the beach. Nancy, Melinda, and I gazed longingly toward the water, counting the moments until we could go back to the hotel, change into our swimsuits, and play in the waves. But Tracy seemed perfectly content sitting quietly by our grandmother, offering her tartar sauce for her fish, retrieving Araminta’s napkin when it fell to the floor. She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.
In the next few days, we visited with Araminta and DarlaJean every morning, sitting dutifully on the couch, paging through photo albums stuffed with pictures of our family. It seemed Araminta had a copy of every photo ever taken of each of us, and hundreds more of Mother and Daddy from before we were born.
“There must be a million pictures here.” Tracy smiled at our grandmother.
“Well, I don’t know about a million, Tracy. But we’ve got a lot.” DarlaJean grinned. “Mama and I like to know what’s going on with you girls. Your daddy sends us lots of pictures.”
Tracy grinned back at her. “It’s sort of like we’re movie stars,” she said.
DarlaJean beamed.
“Now, these here are of your mother and daddy’s wedding day,” she said, pulling out yet another album. “Wasn’t Helen a beautiful bride? Everyone said she was just the prettiest bride Charleston ever did see. They got married up in Charleston, you know. Everyone drove up there for the wedding. Even Mama and I came all the way from Florida on a Greyhound bus. We stayed at the Holiday Inn. It was just lovely.” She smiled, remembering the adventure.
“Mother did look beautiful, didn’t she?” Tracy whispered.
I nodded, staring at the two people in the photographs. Daddy looked like Daddy, even then. Younger, of course, but tall and freckled and handsome. Mother looked like a beauty queen in her long white gown. She even wore a small tiara on her head, just like a princess. Her smile was brilliant. I’d never seen her smile like that.
Araminta leaned in to look at the album.
“Belle put on a fine show, all right.” She sighed. “Big church, lots of flowers, even a singer in the balcony. I’ll say that for her; she gave my boy a fine wedding. Even paid for me and DarlaJean to come up and stay at a hotel. Course, what else could she do? He is my son, after all.”
The old lady grew silent. She sipped her coffee and stared at the wall behind Tracy and me, as if she could see her boy there.
With each visit, it became clearer that Tracy was in love. It wasn’t just the longing for adult attention she displayed with most people. Tracy was fascinated by Araminta. Each time we visited, Tracy sat close by our grandmother, fetching her pillow, pouring her coffee, asking for stories about her life in Florida.
Araminta seemed to enjoy the attention. On our last visit, she rested her hand on Tracy’s soft hair and smiled. “You really do favor me, young lady.”
“I hope so, ma’am.” Tracy smiled back at her.
Araminta kissed Tracy’s forehead and smiled up at my father. “Jimmy, it’s like she’s my own granddaughter,” she said again.
“Well, of course she is, Mother!” Daddy said, laughing. “She and Bethany and Melinda and Nancy—they’re all four your granddaughters.”
Araminta shook her head and smiled at Tracy. “No,” she said softly. “This one is mine.”
Tracy’s face fairly radiated pride.
Later that day, as we bickered over a blanket in the back end of the station wagon, Tracy thrust her angry face toward me and hissed, “I wish someone would come take you away like Belle took Daddy. I wish I never had any sisters at all.”
Relinquishing the blanket, I wished fervently that Aunt Belle would take me, too. But I didn’t think it would make Tracy any happier.
I
started sixth grade that fall, moving from the elementary wing of the school into junior high. I felt I had arrived. I was almost grown up now. Even Tracy’s taunting on the playground after lunch couldn’t dampen my spirits—although she certainly tried. Tracy resented my presence in her domain. Tracy was in eighth grade that year and captain of the cheerleading squad. She had a boyfriend—a tall, blond boy named Paul who was on the freshman basketball team at the high school. All of that didn’t make her any nicer to us at home, of course, but she seemed to enjoy herself at school.
Still, the junior high was mine now, too. I had my own friends, my own place on the blacktop, my own secrets and stories. And even if I was never going to be a cheerleader like Nancy or Tracy, I had my own measures of social success. I signed up to help with the yearbook. I sang in the sixth-grade choir. And I had my own ad-mirer—not a high school big shot like Tracy’s beau, but Mark McGinty was nothing to sneeze at. He was easily the smartest kid in the sixth grade, he rode a brand-new ten-speed bike, and he was very cute, even if he was a little bit shorter than me. All in all, I was satisfied with my position in life.
I wrote about all of this to Reana Mae in early September. I sent another letter mid-month, and yet another at the start of October. But I didn’t hear from my cousin until nearly Halloween.
October 26, 1970
Dear Bethany,
I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I have been real busy sense school started. I don’t like 5th grade!!! I don’t like my teacher and the other kids are flat out stupid. I don’t know how they ever were my friends. I wish I coud just quit school and work like Caleb does. He is working at granpa’s store all the time now since he does not have to go to school any more. Granpa says he don’t know what he ever did before Caleb came. He even lets Caleb run the store by hisself sometimes.
Daddy is gone away a lot. I thout he was going to stay home more like he promised. But he is not. Caleb says its cause he can’t stand being around mama and I think maybe he is right. Mama is still fat from the baby. And she is smoking lots and drinking a lot of beers. But at least she is keeping her promise. She don’t hit me any more. And she don’t yell at Caleb much at all. Mostly she just sits on the sofa and watches the TV and drinks beers. She likes the soap operas, Days of Our Lives is her favorit. She don’t even cook no more. I been doing all the cooking since summer. And me and Caleb even do the washing up. I think she wood get better if daddy came home more.
Write to me soon. Tell aunt Helen I said hi!
Love,
Reana Mae
The letter worried me, especially the part about Bobby Lee being gone so much. I wanted to talk with Mother about it, but I didn’t want to worry her. And I didn’t think Reana Mae would want me sharing her letters with anyone. Instead, I wrote to her every week and prayed for her every night.
Mother always said prayer was the most powerful force there is. And our Sunday school teacher that year told us if you prayed hard enough, God would answer your prayer. She allowed that the answer you got might not be the one you wanted, but she promised He would answer. So every night, after I knew Tracy was asleep, I knelt by my bed and prayed as hard as I could. I prayed for Reana Mae, so she would be happier at school. And for Jolene, so she would stop drinking beer and become a good mother. And for Bobby Lee, so he would come home more. And for the baby who died.
