The Heavenly Heart (14 page)

There’s baked oysters on the half shell and stuffed mushrooms for appetizers, along with Onetta’s sausage strudel that’s made with filo dough and cream cheese and melts on your tongue. There’s shrimp cocktail with slices of fresh lemon, and blue cheese slaw, brown potatoes and smoked wild duck for the main course and Onetta’s prized pineapple torte instead of birthday cake for dessert. Paige and Annalise are here as well, so we have many generations of women enjoying this wonderful meal.

Holly’s dripping in happy tears. She’s finding that life can be joyful despite all the sorrow. She has blonde hair cut in a pixie with lots of highlights and wispy spikes on top. She maybe wears size two, but has very large breasts. And she’s met someone!

“You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?” she asks.

Ben, her husband, has been gone for fourteen months. They never did find his body.

“Certainly not,” Beatrice says. “We can’t mourn forever.”

 “The respectable time-frame’s one year,” Madeline offers. “Of course it’s not too soon.

“Good,” Holly says brightly. “I never thought my heart would skip again, but this guy—wow! He’s just, well, just—dreamy. Looks like Brad Pitt. But he’s thirty-two and never married, so he may be hard to catch.”

“Sit back and wait motionless,” Beatrice says, “works every time.”

“That’s right,” Madeline says and reaches for another slice of pineapple torte. “That’s how the spider catches the fly,” she adds.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” my mother says with conviction.

“Anybody who believes
that
flunked anatomy!” Beatrice quipped.

Laugher gobbles up the table. My mother clears her throat.

“Tender ears on the corn,” she says nodding at Paige and Annalise and myself.

“Oh we know all about sex,” Paige says. “They have it on the soap operas all the time.”

My mother swallows hard and nearly chokes on her tongue.

When the parties over, I go off to find Onetta. She’s finishing up the dishes and cleaning the marble counter tops with some type of polish.

I’m not sure what to say. I want to know about my mother’s pregnancy and abortion of long ago. I decide to just jump in and see what happens.

“I have a baby brother, but don’t ask how I know, because I can’t explain, but I know for certain, so what happened that my mother got rid of him before he was even born?

Onetta grabs hold of her bosoms like they’re far too heavy to remain on her body.

“Goodness, chile, where you comes up with stuff?” she says.

“I need to know. Will you tell me?  On my heart, I will keep it between us. I promise.”

I take her hand and hold it to my face.

Onetta sighs and plops down on her wooden chair she uses when she peels the vegetables.

“Lordy, Lordy, what comes over you?”

I don’t answer. It’s more like a statement she’s making than a question she’s asking.

I sit on the floor next to her and place my head in her lap.

“Miss Lorelei, your mama would skin my ears if she knew I be talking ‘bout this. You wants I lose my job?”

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll never say a word to my mother,” I say to Onetta with the most grown-up face I can muster.

“My father said my mother had an affair with his business partner, and then she got pregnant, and then she got rid of it!”

Onetta looks like she’s been slapped.

“When your father be telling you that? When he in the hospital before he goes yonder?”

I don’t answer because he didn’t actually
tell
me. I know these things from the Porthole of Truth, but I can hardly explain that to her.

“Your father need his head be ‘xamined when they ‘xamine his heart.”

“Please, Onetta, tell me what happened. I’m trying to understand—”

“Miss Lorelei, your mama get herself a baby, but not by her be having no business with that man be your daddy’s partner. No, child. That man force your mama and then lies to your daddy. Your daddy takes it to the grave what he thinks ‘bouts your mama and it’s a sorrowful lie, is what it is.”

“My mother was—was—raped?”

“Yes’m. That be the truth, shore ‘nuf be the truth.”

Onetta gets up to finish her kitchen duties. I sit down in her chair.

“They made a really pretty baby boy,” I say.

“What you be talking ‘bout, Chile? You keeps that up and we haves to have your head ‘xamined.”

“No, they made a pretty baby boy—”

“This whole thing be sorrowful. Don’t be thinking on it.”

“It’s sorrowful alright. He’s the cutest little boy that never had a chance to be born,” I say, but decide not to tell her that there’s something wrong with him.

Onetta puts her hand on my forehead.

“I think you be coming down with something, chile. Bes’ we gits you in the bed.”

THE PORTHOLE OF TRUTH

ONETTA

The good Lord gonna smack me good for tellin’ that white lie to Ms. Lorelei. Why they calls them white lies for nohow? They’s lies all the same. Ms. Goodroe looks to be having a very fine time with that man be her husband’s partner. Then she see’s  I’s see’s’em. Yes’m, she start hollerin’ then.

FORTY

The Nursery of Loss Kisses and Hugs

My little brother’s adorable. He’s got big brown eyes that slant upward and silky blonde hair. And he has little ears that fold over at the top. That’s because he has Down syndrome.  Even so, he can crawl and babble, just like all the other babies. Pete said it just takes him a little longer to learn everything, is all. Carla and I spend a lot of time here and the babies are growing enough that we notice it.

“That’s because of all the hugs and attention you are showering on them,” Pete says. “When they first arrive, they are stagnant.”

“Stagnant?” Carla says.

“Sluggish, not moving,” he explains. “But they grow and thrive when given love and lots of attention. Just like babies down on earth.” He smiles broadly.

“Keep up the good work!” he adds and departs.

But it is not work at all. And if it were it would be a true labor of love. Many of the little ones are toddling about and jabbering when just a few short weeks ago they were only crawling and cooing. If only their parents could see them now! They are each and every one of them so beautiful and full of life.

Christopher tries very hard to keep up with those his size, but his little brain is slower to catch on. It’s considered a tragedy, this Down syndrome, but it doesn’t take away from his being absolutely and positively a perfectly precious and loving little boy. Pete says this syndrome is more common in women giving birth who are in their mid forties or older. That might explain Christopher. My mother was thirty-eight when she had me, and I was ten years old the year Christopher should have been born. The math adds up. But it’s not the only time this syndrome shows up. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I love Christopher just the way he is. In fact he’s far more affectionate than many of the other children.

He runs into my arms the moment he spots me and tries so hard to say my name.

“Lo-ho,” he says. His tongue’s a little too big for his mouth, so I’m impressed that he can say my name at all.

Today Carla and I are teaching the babies to finger-paint and we’ve made one big mess. Actually, there’s more paint smeared on the babies than there is on the paper, but we’re having a great time. And clean-up isn’t a problem. I flip a silver knob and instantly this little shower rains down. Cool! The babies are washed clean of all the colors splashed onto their skin. They look like little rainbows. It’s a heavenly sight, the babies laughing and splashing in the colorful watery mist. They’re more precious than gold.

We tuck them into their feather beds and sing a slew of lullabies. Soon, they’re off to dream land. And I’m off to check on Mona.

FORTY-ONE

The Silver Lining

Mona’s husband’s called a priest and they’re giving her last rites! Her kidney’s showing signs of total rejection and nothing the doctors tried is working. What’s worse, there’s no other kidney available, but she’s too weak to survive the surgery even if there was one. I’m full up with grief—no, with anger. Why should one kidney work and another not? Since this is the case, it means if I’d lived, Mona would be here with Pete instead of me. And it
would
make a big difference. To start with, Andy wouldn’t have been saved from drowning in the pool. And Bobby, Jr., and Allison and Bradley would grow up without their mother.

So it’s good that I’m seeing Mona from the Silver Lining. All these events aren’t real. Mona’s safe at home with her children. Andy’s alive and as rambunctious as ever. This should make me quite happy, but part of me is sad. I want to stay here by Mona and will her to get well. Because I love her, sure, but also, because I still wish I were here on earth for real, but want Mona to be here, too—perfectly recovered with the motorcycle man’s kidney. It’s so frustrating, this wishing and hoping. Pete’s right. It’s not such a good idea, this silver lining window. It’s become too complicated for me to enjoy it. Acceptance is the key.

So, do I go back to the Golden Window and forget all about the Silver Lining nonsense? Think again—I go check on Garrett and my mother, and Paige and Annalise and
then
back to Mona. I’m stubborn. I’m
not
convinced this is the final outcome for her in the Silver Lining. I’m staying with her until I am.

*     *     *

Garrett has a girlfriend! Her name is Amy Jo Foster. I don’t like her. Don’t think it’s because I wouldn’t like any girl that he’d choose. It’s because I don’t trust her. She’s one of the most popular girls in his class. She’s always gone with jocks. So why would she choose Garrett? Exactly! And Garrett is totally oblivious to the situation. He’s goo-goo eyed over this Amy Jo-I’m-a-total-brat-Foster.

It all starts with her in a huddle with her girlfriends in the lunch room. They’re eyeballing Garrett and whispering behind their hands, and giggling. Amy Jo walks over to Garrett and asks if she can join him at his lunch table. Garrett sits with every other geek that has lunch break at this period. The boys at this table are as far away from being jocks as China is from the Arctic Circle. They have dorky haircuts, pimples, noses the size of elephant trunks, and clothes that are totally not put together properly, except for maybe Garrett. He’s coming along nicely. Now granted, they may all have personalities that are far worthier than any jock’s, but Amy Jo is hardly the type of girl who looks beyond skin-deep. I’m very suspicious. She flutters her eyes at Garrett. Spare me. I’m sure that Garrett, being the intelligent creature he is, will ask her what’s wrong with her eyes.

“You got something in your eye?” he says.

Amy Jo sighs deeply, leans in and says, “Yes! Help me get it out, please.”

She’s a southern magnolia, born and bred. She says “please” with two syllables.

Garrett tilts her head back and looks into her eyes. That’s it. He’s a goner. He falls completely, totally and thoroughly under her spell.

“Oh Garrett,” Amy Jo gushes. “How can I
ever
thank you?”

She says “ever” without an “r” at the end. She’s back to batting her eyelashes.

Gag me with a spoon.

THE PORTHOLE OF TRUTH

Amy Jo Foster

Garrett makes winning easy! I’ll get the Magnolia trophy this year and
no one’s
ever won this quickly. The minute he whispers, “I love you, Amy Jo,” the crown’s mine. I’ve got my palm pilot ready to record every word. God—I’m nearly a goddess.

FORTY-TWO

The Stairs to the Hereafter

These are the steps to eternity: DENIAL, ACCEPTANCE, ATTRITION, DEVOTION and DISCOVERY. I show Carla the staircase that leads to them and now she’s totally preoccupied with them. Ugh! But Pete’s very pleased with me, because Carla’s certainly no longer obsessed with her attacker.

“This is good, Lorelei,” he says, and pats my back, “Very good.”

I’m not a happy camper. If Carla begins her journey on the Stairs to the Hereafter, I won’t see her.

Sure you will,” Pete explains. “It’s only when she takes the final step of Discovery that her eternal joy begins. She’s free to come and go till then.”

So, it’s not as bad as I thought—which is a relief—since Carla’s determined to begin her journey.

“Without Joey,” she says, “Why not?”

“Well, what about us?” I ask. “Aren’t we having a good time?”

I was thinking of ordering another round of Pizza and lobster. My appetite’s back.

“I’ll see you
up there
,” she says, and points to the purple and gold mist.

She whispers the words
up there
like someone’s listening on high, and she wants to surprise them. I’m not at all ready to make the journey Carla all set to. I hug her tightly.

“I’ll be back,” she says. “I’m just going to checkout Denial. Maybe it will help me let Joey go. I
really
miss him.” A tear runs down her cheek. She brushes it aside with the back of one hand.

“Bye,” she calls softly.

I nod my head and am about to let her go, when I realize what Pete said will allow me to go with her. We can go back and forth until the final step.

“Wait up!”

Carla turns and grins.

“Come on,” Carla says. “This’ll be fun.”

“Right, denial’s one of my favorite subjects,” I say, and grab her arm. “Right up there next to geometry.”

“Aren’t you curious?” she says.

Matter of
factly
, I am.

THE PORTHOLE OF TRUTH

Garrett Jennings

My dad’s letting me take the car. I told him about my date. Not just any date—a date with Amy Jo Foster—the most popular girl in school! She’s crazy about me. Maybe it’s the pimple cream, maybe the new haircut. Who cares? All I know is she’s putty in my hands. Too bad my dad’s car’s a stupid Chevy Nova.  Amy Jo’s used to corvettes. We’re going to see a movie. She says, “Let’s go to the drive-in. So nobody will see us.” What she means is so we’ll be alone. There’s only one drive-in around here. It’s for married people with kids, but that’s where Amy Jo wants to go, so that’s where I’m taking her. If it all works out, I’m going to ask her to marry me. Sure, there’s college to consider, but hey, there’s all kinds of student loans available. They advertise them on TV all the time. I’m sure they have some for married kids, too. I can’t believe my luck. First a new liver, then a pimple cream that works, then this girl down at Super Cuts who knows how to cut hair, and now Amy Jo. Toby and Dixie will love her. I’ve already given them a hanky of hers to sniff.