The Seventh Mother (17 page)

“Y
ou look like hell.” Resa tilted her head to look at me. “Are you okay?”

“The morning sickness has finally kicked in,” I said. “I’m okay, just really tired.”

“Kind of late, isn’t it? You’re almost three months now, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I guess I’m a late bloomer.”

“Well, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked, shaking her head at me. “Why aren’t you at home on the couch with your feet up watching soaps?”

“We need the money,” I said, staring down at my belly, which was just beginning to pooch out. “I’m going to need some maternity clothes pretty soon. Plus, I think I’ll feel better if I keep busy. It seems like just when I lay down to rest, that’s when it gets worse.”

“You need some vitamin B6,” she said. “And some real ginger ale. Not the stuff you get at the store, though. That stuff doesn’t have any ginger in it at all. You need ginger ale made with real ginger. My mother-in-law made it by the gallon for me when I was pregnant.”

“I didn’t know you could make ginger ale,” I said.

“I’ll make you some,” she said firmly. “Nothing settles your stomach like ginger. In the meantime, drink lots of peppermint tea. Peppermint’s good for your stomach, too.”

I nodded and began filling the saltshakers on the tables.

“I bet you’re having a girl,” Resa continued. “Morning sickness is always worse with girls. Lord, when I was pregnant with Becky I ended up in the hospital with an IV, I got so dehydrated. But with Sam, I was hardly sick at all.”

“Really?” I stood and put my hand on my stomach. Was I really carrying a little girl?

“Everyone knows girls cause more morning sickness than boys. Ask your doctor, he’ll tell you.” She nodded firmly. “Ya’ll better start thinking on girls’ names.”

“Jenny would love a little sister,” I said, smiling.

“You think she’ll be jealous?”

“No,” I said. “She’s really excited about the baby.”

“Well, kids are always excited about the baby before it comes. Once it’s here, taking up all the attention, sometimes they’re not so thrilled after all. And Jenny, she’s had her daddy’s full attention her whole life. She might have a hard time at first.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t think so. I think she’s old enough to become like a second mother to this little one. She’ll be twelve by the time the baby is born.”

Harlan emerged from the kitchen carrying a mug of steaming tea.

“Peppermint,” he grumbled, shoving the mug at me.

“Thanks, Harlan.” I took the tea and sniffed. It smelled surprisingly good.

“You-all have been so good to me,” I said.

“You just remember the rule,” Harlan said as he walked back to the kitchen. “You get tired, you sit down.”

Resa grinned at me. “He likes to think of himself as a lone wolf, but he’s just a big old softie.”

A slight tapping at the door made us both turn. It was still ten minutes before opening time.

Shirley Rigby smiled at us and waved, so Resa unlocked the door.

“Hey, Shirley. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Resa. I’m just fine. In fact, I start my new job today!”

“Yay!” I said. “Where are you working?”

“At the flower shop.” She beamed first at me, then at Resa. “I never would have thought to ask Rosie for a job. Thank you!”

She threw her arms around Resa and squeezed, then turned and hugged me.

“I feel like a whole new person!”

“Good for you, Shirley.” Resa patted her shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

“And that’s not all,” Shirley said, grinning widely. “Della is coming to visit next week. She’s even bringing her kids!”

She looked like she might just cry from sheer happiness.

“Well, you’d best get on to work, ma’am!” Resa shooed her out of the store. “You can’t be late on your very first day.”

She locked the door again and turned to grin at me.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Good for Shirley!”

“I hope she likes the job,” I said.

“She will. Now that Damon’s gone, it’s like she’s got a whole life again.”

She picked up her broom and walked toward the kitchen.

“If someone really did run Damon off the road, they did Shirley a favor. Hell, they did this whole town a favor.”

“No gossip!” Harlan’s voice boomed from the back.

Resa laughed and turned to wink at me. I tried to smile back. But it chilled me even to think that someone could have run Damon Rigby off the road.

I sighed and took a sip of tea. Wiley had said it was an accident. Just like Mrs. Figg’s death was an accident. He surely must be right. He was the sheriff, after all. He knew about things like that.

“Nine o’clock!” Harlan called. “Let’s open up.”

I unlocked the front door and carried my tea to the back, ready to start a new day.

Just before three I hung my apron on its hook, pulled on my coat, and walked to my car. The cold air felt good on my face, waking me up just a bit. I didn’t remember being so tired when I was pregnant with Andrew as I was now.

“That’s because you’re carrying a girl,” Resa kept saying all day.

I wondered if she could be right. A girl, a daughter . . . a child of my own.

“Girl or boy is fine,” I said out loud to myself. “As long as it’s healthy.”

I drove to the middle school and parked, waiting for Jenny to emerge from the building. After a few minutes, she came running down the walkway toward me, hand in hand with Lashaundra.

“Hey!” she said as she climbed into the car. “Can Lashaundra come to our house?”

“It’s okay with me,” I said. “But she’ll need to call her mom.”

“She already did,” Jenny said. “We used the phone in the office.”

I laughed, unsure whether to be put out that they hadn’t asked me first or pleased that Jenny felt comfortable enough with me to ask her friend over.

The girls giggled and whispered in the backseat, while I concentrated on the roads, still slippery from snow and ice. When we reached the house, Jenny jumped out of the car almost as soon as it stopped.

“I’m going to show Lashaundra the attic,” she said. “Will you pull down the ladder?”

I followed them into the house and shrugged off my coat.

“I don’t know if your dad would want you guys playing up there,” I said. “Why don’t you just play in your room?”

“Please, Emma! I just want to show it to her. We’ll be careful, and we won’t touch any of Daddy’s stuff.”

I sighed, picturing my bed, the covers pulled down, beckoning my aching body.

“Oh, all right.”

I pulled the cord to release the ladder and watched them climb up and disappear into the attic.

“I’m going to take a little nap,” I called. “If I’m not up by four, will you please get me up?”

“Okay.” Jenny’s head appeared in the opening. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just really tired.”

She smiled at me and disappeared. I trudged down the hall and dropped onto the bed, not even taking the time to pull off my shoes. Before I could pull the blankets up over me, I was fast asleep.

I woke with a start to Brannon’s voice, loud and angry.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?”

I sat up, feeling dizzy, and looked at the clock. Five forty-five. Damn! Jenny had forgotten to wake me up.

“We were just playing.” I heard Jenny’s voice now, soft and pleading. “We weren’t touching any of your stuff.”

“Get on down here right now. Where’s Emma?”

“I’m here.” I stumbled into the hallway, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“Did you tell them they could play up there?” He stared hard at me, his mouth an unyielding line.

I nodded.

“Jenny likes to read up there,” I said. “It’s okay. I had her sweep up the dust first.”

Behind him, I saw Jenny climb down the ladder, followed by Lashaundra, who was staring at Brannon with wide eyes.

Brannon stared at me for a long time, not saying anything. Then he turned abruptly and barked at Lashaundra, “You’d better call your mother and have her come pick you up now.”

He stalked past me into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to the girls. “Lashaundra, why don’t you call your mom? Jenny, bring your things down from the attic. I’ll talk to your dad.”

“I’m sorry.” Jenny’s voice was barely audible. Her blue eyes were wide in her pale face.

“It’s all right,” I repeated.

I took a deep breath, turned, and walked to the bedroom. Brannon was sitting on our bed with his back to me, breathing hard. He didn’t turn to look at me, so I closed the door behind me and walked to the bed to sit beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

His nostrils flared slightly, but he said nothing.

“Jenny likes taking a blanket and pillow up there to read. She says it’s like having her own fort right inside the house.”

He finally turned to look at me.

“I told Jenny and I told you that I didn’t want either of you going through my boxes.” His voice was hard and clipped.

“She’s not going through your boxes,” I said. “She’s just been reading her books up there.”

I reached to touch his shoulder and he jerked away.

“I told you,” he repeated. “Why can’t you ever just do what I ask you to? Why can’t you just take care of Jenny like you’re supposed to? What the hell have you been doing, while she’s taking her friends up there and getting into my stuff?”

I rose and put my hands on my hips.

“I was asleep,” I said firmly. “I was exhausted after work, and I needed a nap. Jenny is eleven years old. She’s old enough to entertain herself for an hour or two without me hovering over her.”

“She’s a child!” His voice exploded into the room. “She’s a child, and you’re supposed to take care of her!”

I stared at him and took a step back away from him.

“I do take care of her,” I said, my voice pleading now. “I was right here if she needed me. But, honey, I have to take care of this baby, too.” I put my hands across my belly protectively, as if to shield our child from his anger.

He took a deep, ragged breath and ran his hand through his hair. And as I watched, I could see the anger drain from him. His shoulders dropped, the muscles in his neck loosened, his breathing slowed. When he looked up at me again, he looked like my dear Brannon.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gentle now. “You need to take care of yourself and the baby. I know that. But I’m not comfortable with Jenny and her friends being alone, unsupervised. And I really do not want her messing with my stuff.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling my own anxiety ease. “I won’t let her go into the attic anymore.”

He opened his arms and I walked into them, relieved like I always was when his anger passed.

He kissed my forehead and stroked my cheek. Then he said softly, “Tomorrow I want you to quit that damned job.”

“But . . .” I began, but he simply held me closer and repeated, “Tomorrow, you are going to quit that job, Emma. It makes you too tired. You need to take better care of yourself and the baby. We can manage on my salary. I can pick up some extra hours and we’ll be fine. But you are done working.”

I leaned my head against his chest and squeezed my eyes closed against the tears.

“Okay,” I whispered after a long minute. “I’ll call Harlan tomorrow and tell him.”

He leaned in to kiss me, his arms tight and warm around my back.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

I
sat down to dinner that night as nervous as a cat at the dog pound. I didn’t want to see Daddy’s anger at Emma, didn’t want to hear the cutting remarks I knew would come about her cooking or her bad housekeeping skills or her stupid ideas. I’d heard them all before. I knew they were the start of a bad time that would end up with Emma leaving. I chewed my lip and prayed silently, waiting for Daddy to come to the table.

But when he sat down, Daddy seemed okay, just like . . . normal. He smiled and touched my shoulder.

“Sorry I lost my temper.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sorry I was playing in the attic.”

Emma walked into the kitchen then and smiled at me. I could see her eyes were a little bit red, but otherwise she seemed fine.

“How about leftover spaghetti and meatballs?” she said.

“Sounds good.” Daddy smiled at her and patted her butt as she walked past him.

I stared at them for an instant in disbelief, then rose and walked quickly to the fridge.

“I’ll get it,” I said.

Emma smiled again and walked from the room.

“I wonder what it is that she smells in there?” Daddy asked, peering into the refrigerator.

“I don’t know,” I said, pulling out the spaghetti, butter, and parmesan cheese. “But it makes her puke every time she smells it.”

I put the spaghetti and sauce in the microwave and fanned the air in the kitchen.

“Okay,” I called. “You can come back.”

Emma walked back in and kissed my forehead.

“Thanks, honey.”

Daddy beamed at the two of us.

I set the table while Emma pulled dinner from the microwave. When we sat down, Daddy reached for our hands and said, “I know it’s not Thanksgiving or anything, but let’s take a minute to just say what we’re grateful for.”

I stared at him openmouthed and he laughed.

“Okay, I’ll start,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I am so grateful for you two and for the baby coming.”

“I’m grateful for my life,” Emma said softly. “For you guys and for this baby and for good friends.”

She turned to smile at me.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. A giant lump filled my throat. I couldn’t put into words what I was grateful for just then—that Daddy wasn’t being angry and mean, that Emma was still here, that we were still a family.

“It’s okay,” Emma said, squeezing my hand. “Let’s eat.”

I watched Daddy laughing with Emma as she tried to explain the smell in the fridge. He held her hand across the table, stroking her wrist with his finger. He buttered a second slice of bread for her, and urged her to eat it.

The phone rang, and Emma rose to answer it.

“Hi, Angel.” She turned her back to the table slightly.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Everything is fine,” she said. I saw Daddy watching her back as she talked.

“No, no. He’s not mad at Lashaundra or Jenny or me or anybody. He was just surprised when he came home and I was out like a light and the girls were in the attic.... Yes, I know. It’s okay. He just worried about them being up there. It’s dusty and there’s a bunch of old junk up there.... Okay, thanks, Angel. Tell Lashaundra it’s okay. ’Bye.”

She turned and smiled at Daddy.

“You made quite an impression on Lashaundra,” she said.

“I’ll apologize to Michael tomorrow,” he said.

She kissed his forehead.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

That night I lay awake on my futon for a long time, wondering and worrying and praying.

Maybe Emma really was magic. She’d been with us for over eight months. That was longer than anyone I could remember. And even though Daddy had gotten mad today, she was still here and they seemed okay. Maybe she was the one who would stay and be my mom forever. Maybe when the baby came, we could finally just be like a normal family.

The next morning, Emma was up and dressed by the time I woke up, just like always. But she was wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt and tennis shoes.

“Aren’t you going to work?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“I’m not going to work for a while,” she said. “Your dad and I think it’s a good time for me to stay home and just take care of things here.”

“But I thought you really liked your job.”

“I do. I mean, I did. But it’s not good for me to be on my feet so much and be so tired all the time. Maybe once the baby is born, I’ll go back to work.”

“So what are you going to do all day?” I asked, watching her carefully.

“Well, today I think I’ll sew some new curtains for the baby’s room. And maybe I’ll learn how to bake bread. Wouldn’t that be good, homemade bread?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“But for right now, you need to get ready for school or you’ll be late.”

By the time I had gotten myself dressed and walked into the kitchen, she was standing at the stove, stirring a big pot of oatmeal.

“I was going to make eggs,” she said. “But I didn’t want to open the fridge.”

“Oatmeal’s okay.”

We ate in silence and I wondered if she really had wanted to quit her job, or if she was doing it just to please Daddy.

“Is your dad still mad?” Lashaundra asked at lunch.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He got over it pretty fast.”

“I never saw him look like that before. I mean, I’ve seen my dad get mad, but never like that. He was kind of . . . scary.” Her eyes were round.

“He doesn’t get mad very often,” I said. “But when he does, it’s pretty bad.”

“Is he mad at Emma?”

“No. By the time we had dinner, he was just like normal.”

“Good,” she said, smiling at me. “I’m glad he’s not mad anymore.”

Behind me I heard something drop to the floor. I turned to see Jasper Rigby, staring at me. When he saw me looking back, he gave a small, awkward wave and looked away. I turned back to Lashaundra, who was staring at his back.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe he thought I would pick up his fork for him.”

“As if,” she said, laughing. “Like you would do anything for him.”

I laughed, too.

“I liked your reading nest,” she said. “I’m sorry we got in trouble. Does that mean you can’t go up there anymore?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

It seemed a small price to pay for peace in the house and Emma staying with us. If that was what it took to keep Daddy happy, then that was exactly what I would do.

Just like Emma quitting her job,
I thought.
We’re both just trying to keep Daddy happy.

The thought made my stomach ache. What if someday Emma got tired of doing things to make Daddy happy? What if she wanted to go back to work after the baby was born?

Please, God,
I began my silent and constant mantra.
Please let Emma stay. Please
.

“Are you okay?” Lashaundra was looking at me, her head tilted.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“Do you want to come to my house after school? Mama’s making corn casserole. She said you could come for dinner, if you want.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I better go home.”

She tilted her head to look at me again.

“I want to make sure Daddy’s really not mad,” I said.

“But you said he was okay at dinner.”

“I know.” I paused, trying to think of the right words. “But I just need to make sure he’s not mad at Emma. You know . . .”

She nodded. “Like with Jackie?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And all of them.”

I was waiting in front of the school for Emma. Lashaundra had already gone with Mrs. Johnson. They’d offered me a ride, but I told them Emma was coming to pick me up. Now she was late.

“Hey.”

I turned to see Jasper Rigby standing beside me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Are you waiting for your mom?”

I nodded.

We stood in silence. I wondered why he was standing there with me. He hadn’t said a word to me or to Lashaundra since his father died. Frankly, it had been a welcome silence.

“My mom got a job,” he said finally. “At the flower shop with Mrs. O’Hearn. She said your mom and Resa helped her get it.”

“Oh.”

“And she likes it, I guess.”

I stood still, wondering what he wanted me to say.

“Anyway, thanks, I guess.” He didn’t meet my eyes. “I mean, thanks to your mom and Resa.”

“Okay,” I said.

I stared up the street, willing Emma to arrive in her Chevy Tahoe and get me away from Jasper. Just standing next to him felt weird, like maybe I was being disloyal to Lashaundra.

“Um, so . . .” He paused, staring hard at the ground. “So . . . I heard you talking to your friend at lunch.”

“Lashaundra?” I asked, waiting, just waiting for him to call her a jungle monkey or a nigger or something else hateful. My fists were clenched, and so were my teeth.

“Yeah, Lashaundra,” he said. “And I thought . . . I mean, what she said about your dad.”

He raised his eyes to mine and then dropped them again.

“Does your dad hit you?”

He blurted it out quickly, never looking up from the ground.

“What?” I stared at him.

“It just sounded, I mean from what Lashaundra was saying, it sounded like maybe he . . . did. Hit you, I mean.”

“No!” I yelled it at him, my face flushed. “My dad doesn’t hit me!”

“Okay,” he said quickly, stepping away from me. “Geez, I just thought . . . never mind.”

He turned and stalked away and I stared at his back. He seemed to get taller as he walked.

I sat down on the step and leaned my face into my hands, feeling tired and antsy and afraid. After what seemed like a very long time, Emma pulled up in front of the school and honked. I ran to the car and climbed in.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I fell asleep in the rocker.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I’m making smoked sausage and scalloped potatoes for dinner tonight. Does that sound good?”

I nodded, still thinking about Jasper Rigby and what he’d said, what he’d asked me. Why would he ask me that?

“Hey, Jenny?” Emma’s voice was low. I turned and looked into her wide green eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can we not tell your dad I was late picking you up? I mean, I don’t want him to worry and . . .”

“Sure,” I said. I knew exactly what she meant. “There’s no point telling him. It’s okay.”

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. She looked relieved.

I thought about Jasper Rigby’s question again. I’d answered it honestly. My father had never hit me, not even once.

“I love you, Emma.”

She turned and looked at me in surprise.

“Thank you, Jenny. I love you, too.”

She squeezed my hand and her shoulders seemed to relax.

“Can we make some biscuits to go with the sausage and potatoes?” I asked.

Daddy loved biscuits.

“Sure,” she said. “That’s a good idea.”

She smiled again.

“I love you, too, Jenny,” she said again. “I love you, too.”