Prayers and Lies (26 page)

“My daddy had a problem.”

She looked at me expectantly, as if I might catch on. But I didn’t. I had never even heard Mother mention her father. Of course, I knew she must have had one. Everyone did, after all. But I had never thought about him.

“My father had a problem … with alcohol,” she said finally. “Just like Jolene does. He drank … too much.”

She shifted in her seat, turning to stare out the window.

“He drank until he was wicked, really. I don’t think he could help himself. It was the bad blood maybe. But he drank a lot.”

I could see her face reflected in the dark window. Her eyes were huge, unfocused.

“And then he would come home,” she said softly. “And he would hit my mother, and my little brother … and me, too, sometimes.”

I stared at her openmouthed. My mother had a brother?

And her father … what about that?

My friend Cindy lived with her grandmother because her daddy had beaten her up once while he was drunk. I knew things like that happened in the world.

I just couldn’t imagine it happening to my mother—my quiet, ladylike, oh-so-proper, God-fearing mother. How could anyone dare?

It was unthinkable.

“He was an alcoholic, Bethany.” Mother’s voice was dull, flat. “When he didn’t drink, he was so smart, so handsome. He was …” Her voice trailed off.

“But he did drink,” she continued finally. “And then he was … awful. Mama … my mother … she tried to keep it from us … tried to keep him away from us.”

Mother sighed deeply, her shoulders rising almost imperceptibly.

“But she couldn’t, of course. She couldn’t keep us from knowing about him. She couldn’t keep him away all the time.”

She sighed again and looked at me, her eyes clear and dry now.

“And I have tried hard … I’ve tried so hard to keep you girls from knowing just how mean life can be. I wanted you to grow up away from all that. I just wanted you all to grow up happy.”

She said it so quietly I had to lean forward to hear her.

She touched my cheek. “But I can’t, Bethy. I can’t do it any more than my mama could keep it from me.

“Damn it!”

Her voice cracked as she said it, so it came out in a staccato burst.

I drew back, as far away from her in the seat as I could get. Her face was unfamiliar again, pinched and hard and angry.

Then, almost immediately, she seemed to deflate like a balloon, to soften, to relax into my own mother’s body again.

“We shouldn’t have taken you girls down there,” she said finally.

“I told him, I told your daddy,” she whispered. “We got out, after all. We should’ve stayed clean away.”

She looked old, then … older than I could even imagine. As old as Grandmother Araminta, almost. I tried to picture her as a girl. My mother, a little girl, with an alcoholic father who sometimes hit her. Mother, living in a house like the ones on the Coal River, worrying about her father the way Reana Mae worried about Jolene.

Thinking of Reana made me sit up straight.

“But, Mother,” I said, touching her arm. “If we didn’t go to the river, who would take care of Reana Mae?”

She turned toward me again, her face lit by the traffic lights outside. She stared for a minute and then seemed to gather herself up, until she sat straight-backed on the bus seat, calm and regal.

“You’re right, Bethany,” she said, her voice steady again. “And Reana Mae certainly does need us now.”

She leaned over to kiss the top of my head.

“You’re a good girl, Bethy. You can help Reana Mae more than anyone else. And you will, won’t you, honey? You’ll help her just like she was your sister.”

I nodded proudly. Of course I would help Reana. She was my sister, after all. The only sister I ever really had.

21
Coming Home

O
n Friday afternoon, I paced the living room, around and around the coffee table, watching out the front window for the station wagon. I had run straight home from school, arriving just in time to see the Sears delivery truck pull away. Mother and I made up Reana Mae’s bed next to mine in the attic, while Tracy packed her own things into boxes to move downstairs to Nancy’s room.

Tracy still wasn’t happy about Reana Mae moving in with us. But she was happy to move into a room of her own, even if it was in the basement. Of course, she wouldn’t actually move downstairs until after Christmas, when Nancy went back to college. But she was packing up now, she told me outside of Mother’s hearing, “So that hillbilly won’t touch any of my things.”

Mother had bought Tracy a new bedspread and throw rug. Tracy’s old crazy quilt was now on the bed we’d bought for Reana Mae.

I hoped Reana would like the bed, the room, our house. But I wasn’t sure she would.

I had not talked to Reana Mae, or written to her even, since we’d come home from West Virginia in July. She had written to me once, in November, to tell me about Loreen’s funeral. How Jolene had shown up drunk and cried and wailed and thrown handfuls of dirt down onto the coffin until Uncle Ray had to pull her away. And about how much Reana hated sixth grade. And how she was working in Ray’s store most days after school, now that Loreen was gone. And how Caleb was in charge at the store most days, because Ray was staying home a lot. But I hadn’t written back. I didn’t know what to write to my cousin anymore.

I was in the seventh grade now, and I loved school more all the time. I was on the student council and I helped with the school newspaper. I had discovered Jane Austen, and was working my way steadily through her novels—
Mansfield Park
was my favorite. I had helped with makeup for the school play, and I thought I might try out for a part myself in the spring production of
Our Town.

But I didn’t think Reana Mae would be interested in any of that.

She had moved beyond middle school, after all, into the world of adults. Every time I sat down to write to her, I ended up throwing away a page of stationery, knowing that everything I wrote would seem childish to Reana Mae.

Now I wished I had written.

Just before five o’clock, I heard the car crunch into the gravel driveway.

“They’re here!” I yelled.

Mother and Melinda came into the living room as I opened the front door. Then I stopped, rooted to the front porch, suddenly feeling shy.

Mother’s arm on my shoulder felt warm and safe. I looked up at her, waiting for her to tell me what to do next.

“Hey, Bethany!”

Reana Mae’s voice rang across the snowy yard, familiar, loud. Just like always.

I ran down the steps and grabbed her in a tight hug.

“Hey, yourself,” I said, grinning. Then she stepped back and I saw her face. She had a nasty-looking black eye, and her upper lip was an ugly, swollen mass of dark purple.

“I know, I’m a mess,” she said, her smile faltering. “But I looked a hell of a lot worse a couple days back.”

Mother came up behind me and enveloped Reana Mae in a warm, tight embrace.

“Helen?” Daddy’s voice was soft. He sounded uncertain.

Mother turned to him, smiling brightly.

But before he could say anything else, Reana Mae had opened the back door of the car and a huge, furry beast bounded out, leaping up at Reana and then at me, then running in circles, barking furiously.

“Bo!” Reana Mae hollered. “Bo, damn it! Stop! Come here, you stupid dog!”

She grabbed the huge hound by the collar, holding tight as he dragged her along behind him.

“Bo, damn it! Stay still!”

Swearing again, she struggled to attach a leash to the dog with one hand. Her other hand was in a cast—Jolene’s awful handiwork.

But Bo was having none of it. He bayed and ran and squatted, then ran some more.

Mother stared openmouthed for a minute, then turned to my father.

“I had to bring him.” He smiled sheepishly. “She wouldn’t come without him.”

“Oh, Aunt Helen,” Reana Mae called over her shoulder, still struggling with the dog. “He won’t be no trouble at all, I promise … Bo, damn you! Sit! Sit! Damn it, I said
sit
!”

The dog squatted again, peeing furiously as Reana Mae finally attached the leash to his collar.

“Well,” Mother said weakly, looking from Reana Mae to the dog to Daddy.

“Well,” she repeated, her voice faltering.

“Oh, Aunt Helen.” Reana dragged poor Bo along behind her as she struggled toward Mother. “I couldn’t leave him behind. I just couldn’t.”

She gripped Bo’s leash so tight her knuckles whitened.

“Granpa wouldn’t take him, ’cause of Granma’s stupid cats.” She hissed out this last, obviously incensed. “You know, Granma had all them cats, and Granpa won’t get rid of ’em since Granma died.” She shook her head fiercely.

“And Mama don’t even feed Bo no more,” she continued, nodding anxiously. “So I had to bring him, Aunt Helen. He needs me.”

She looked straight up into Mother’s face, her own face wide-eyed and sincere. A tear rolled down her swollen cheek.

“Poor ole Bo, he ain’t got nobody but me,” Reana continued. “Mama don’t even like him. And Daddy … well, he ain’t been home since Granma’s funeral. I reckon Bo wouldn’t even know Daddy no more.”

Reana Mae dropped onto her knees in the snow and wrapped her good arm around the dog’s thick neck, even as Bo pulled away from her, his nose snuffling madly at some scent carried on the cold winter air.

Mother looked at Daddy again. But he only shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” she said finally, trying hard to smile, managing a small grimace. “I guess we could build him a doghouse out back.”

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Helen! He’ll be real good, I promise,” Reana Mae said. She smiled up at Mother, revealing a jaggedly chipped front tooth.

“I promise,” she repeated, nodding firmly. “He’ll be real good. Won’t you, Bo? Won’t you, boy?”

The dog stopped struggling against the leash long enough to sniff her face, then gave her a sloppy lick.

Daddy had opened the car’s tailgate, so we all grabbed armfuls of brown paper bags and carried them into the house. It seemed like a very small load for such a permanent move. But then, I guessed, Reana Mae didn’t have many things of her own to move, besides Bobby Lee’s old hunting dog.

Nancy met us at the door, staring doubtfully at Bo as she said, “Hey, Reana Mae, how are you?”

“I’m okay, Nancy,” Reana Mae said, holding tight to the dog’s leash.

She didn’t look up at Nancy as she spoke.

“I’m okay,” she repeated.

Just then, Bo lurched forward into the house, wrenching the leash from Reana’s hand.

Skipper was scratching furiously at the back door, whimpering frantically.

Snorting loudly, Bo ran through the house toward the back door, until his nose was separated from Skipper’s only by a thin pane of glass.

“Melinda,” Daddy yelled. “Go on out back and calm that dog down.”

Melinda opened the back door a crack—just wide enough for Skipper to shove his way into the house, barking loudly. Bo bayed back, circling the smaller dog, his nose in the air, coat ruffled ominously.

“Melinda!” Daddy shouted above the barking. “Take Skipper out back!”

Melinda grabbed Skipper by the collar and dragged him unceremoniously out to the back porch again.

As soon as Skipper had gone, Bo turned his nose to the rest of us, sniffing each of us up and down, then burying his snout in the carpet and running furiously through the house, stopping here and there to bay piteously.

“Bo, damn it! Shut up!” Reana Mae called after him.

But Bo’s nose was on the move, and all Reana could do was follow him from room to room, grabbing at his collar and yelling.

When he got back into the living room, the old coonhound stood quietly for an instant … just long enough for all of us to catch our breath … before heading directly for the Christmas tree, his nose snuffling loudly.

And then, as we all stood lamely by, poor old Bo hiked his leg against the one natural element in the room and peed onto the brightly colored gifts beneath the tree.

“Bo!” Reana Mae screamed, lunging forward. “No!”

But it was too late. The presents dripped with warm, yellow liquid. Christmas had been peed upon, thoroughly and completely.

Reana Mae grabbed the dog by his collar and hauled him away from the tree while Daddy hollered and Tracy shrieked.

Mother stood completely still for a moment, then said quietly, “Pick those packages up, girls, and unwrap them.”

Then, as we stood dumbly, her voice rose. “Don’t just stand there. Unwrap those packages now!”

So, five days before Christmas, we unwrapped every single package underneath the Christmas tree. Wrinkling our noses at the wet and the smell, we tore away the beautiful bows and gift wrap, shoving the wet mess into the garbage bags Mother brought from the kitchen.

We piled the packages on the couch.

“Oh, Mother!” Melinda squealed, scooping up a hardbound book. “
Bleak House
! Thank you so much!”

Nancy’s voice echoed Melinda’s as she lifted the lid from a box and pulled out a turquoise sweater.

“It’s just the one I wanted, Mother! Thank you!”

Tracy said nothing. She just stared wide-eyed and furious at the mess that was Christmas.

I stood uncertainly for a minute, watching Reana Mae yank at Bo’s collar. Then I grabbed his collar, too, and helped her drag the hound toward the back door.

Together, we shoved Bo onto the back porch, where he and Skipper engaged in a thorough sniff fest, each circling the other’s backside.

“Bethany, why don’t you take Reana Mae upstairs and get her settled in?” Mother said. “Then we’ll have some supper. Girls, leave those packages alone. We’ll open them after supper.”

Reana followed me upstairs.

“Lord God above, Bethany,” she breathed, standing at the top of the steps. “Is all this yours?”

“Mine and yours, too,” I said, dropping two grocery bags onto her new bed.

“This room is almost as big as our whole house, back home,” she said.

I helped her put her clothes away in the new chest of drawers. At the bottom of one bag, carefully wrapped in a dish towel, lay Essie, Reana Mae’s old doll. I smiled when I saw her. Maybe Reana hadn’t completely crossed over to the grown-up world yet.