by Lisa De Jong
I pound on the steering wheel. I never dreamed she’d leave. After finally feeling like we were going to survive, she’d given up. Searching all over Memphis, hours of driving through the streets surrounding the motel—I even went back in the restaurant and demanded to know if she’d been back in there. They threw me out and threatened to call the police, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to find her.
The note is crumpled and smoothed back out. It sits on the seat next to me. I stare at it with contempt and try to be mad at Caroline. But I can’t. I know what she did was out of love. After all, I did the same thing to her not too long ago. But I will pay for that mistake for the rest of my life.
I have to find her and make her see that we can’t fight it any more. We deserve a chance like anyone else.
When I pull into my driveway, Mama runs out and without a word, she hugs me and helps me inside. It feels like I’m sleepwalking into the house. She prepares hot milk with butter and honey, but I can’t touch it. I know she wants to hear what happened, but I can’t get the words out just yet. Too exhausted. I lean over and kiss her cheek and head to my bedroom. I crawl into my bed and try to figure out what to do next. Where do I even start to look for her?
****
Over the next several months, I make multiple attempts, driving to places we’d talked about together. I go to Memphis four times. I hide outside her house, hoping she’ll sneak back. Look in her mailbox to see if there’s a message for me. Stalk her grandparents, her mother, even Thomas…nothing. Ashamed of my behavior, I still can’t seem to stop myself.
My uncles threaten to fire me if I don’t get my head on straight. The thought of Caroline coming back one day and me not having anything to offer her scares me into holding onto my job.
“Son, you’re gonna have to let her go,” Mama says one afternoon when she catches me staring into space yet again.
“I can’t, Mama-” I give up trying to explain my feelings and put my head in my hands.
“She’s gonna have to come back on her own, Isaiah, and I don’t really see her ever doing that. Unless you hear from her, which for your sake now, I hope you do. I just don’t see how you’re gonna find her.”
I know she’s right, but I don’t want to hear it. Without Caroline, my life feels worthless.
There has never been any doubt in my mind that I’m in love with Caroline Carson. I was sure as a boy, and when I made love to her, I was even more sure as a man.
Finally, I do something I should have done as soon as I realized she’d left. I go back to Memphis and begin the search for her father. Caroline told me all about seeing her dad and what bad shape he’d been in. I don’t know if she’ll be with him or not. I kinda doubt it, but I have to try. Looking through the phone book to see if I can remember the name of the apartments, I pray that if I do ever find it, Mr. Carson will still be there.
Amsterdam Villas…that jogs a memory. It’s worth a try. It’s a little off the beaten path, but I find it. The mailboxes have the last names matched with the right box. There he is. I run to the right building and pound on the door. No one answers, so I sit out there, hoping to catch Mr. Carson coming in. I have to wait quite a while.
****
Mr. Carson walks by, weaving and smelling strong of liquor. He doesn’t notice me sitting there in his hall and jumps a mile high when I speak.
“Mr. Carson!”
“Oh, goodness sakes, son,” he slurs. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
“We’ll see. For now, no,” I joke back, then quickly hold my hand out and introduce myself, so he knows I’m really not trying to mess with him.
“Whatcha doin’ all the way from Tulma?” he asks.
“Lookin’ for Caroline.”
That gets his attention. He stands up tall and gets serious. Mentioning Caroline was like an instant cup of coffee dousing his system.
He leads me to his apartment and I cringe when I walk inside. Caroline would be mortified at the shape his place is in. Seeing the mess, I know for sure she’s not here. I step over the bottles and dishes. It smells to high heaven. It’s sad to see what he’s done to himself. I hope I can get some answers from him, but as soon as we sit down to talk, he’s opening another bottle.
Chapter 19
This Changes Everything
Another month drags by. At first, I’m looking over my shoulder, halfway expecting Isaiah to miraculously find me again, but he doesn’t. Things are going fairly well, until I get sick. For weeks, I can’t keep any food down. Dark shadows circle my eyes. I think about sleep a lot and even when I get plenty, it doesn’t feel like enough.
Brenda invites me over for Sunday dinner right before Thanksgiving. Her mom has gone to visit her sister, so it will just be the two of us. Brenda goes to church and I enjoy a leisurely morning off of work. As I walk to her place, my stomach lets out a huge growl. I think I might be able to eat this time without losing it. I’m feeling a little better. Until she opens the door and I catch a whiff of the turnip greens. I barely make it through the door and I’m running to the bathroom. Maybe all my wishes of dying are coming true, I think with some optimism.
“Caroline? You all right?”
I rinse out my mouth and open the door. Brenda stands there looking so concerned, I try to give her a reassuring smile.
The smell wafts through again and I close my eyes, willing myself to not throw up again.
“Do you mind if we eat outside?” I ask, leaning against the wall.
“Sure, we can eat at the picnic table. Are you up to eating?”
“Oh yeah, I’m starving.”
Brenda studies me as we dish up our plates. I don’t make any apologies for passing on the turnip greens. It’s my fervent hope that I never have to see or smell them ever again.
The weather is stubbornly warm; the fall leaves haven’t even fully come out yet.
Brenda says the blessing and we eat. Conversation between us has become so comfortable that usually there is never a lull in topics. She’s quieter than usual today, though. When two minutes go by without her saying anything, which is highly unlike her, I set down my fork.
“You sure are quiet today. Everything all right?” I ask.
She finishes her bite of mashed potatoes, licks her lips, and takes a sip of sweet tea. When she sets her glass down, she looks at me, so serious it scares me.
“Caroline, I’ve just been thinking about you and how sick you’ve been. Have you thought that maybe you might be—pregnant?”
I choke on my tea and dab my mouth before it drips onto my skirt. No. No, I hadn’t thought of that. At all.
“I-no. It never crossed my mind even once that I could be. I don’t know why. My-my monthly is never regular, never has been.” I lean my head into my hands and think about how long I’ve felt off. Somehow, I just know that it’s true. “Oh, Lord have mercy. Why didn’t I think of this? Good grief, how dumb am I? What am I gonna do?” My voice becomes higher pitched with each question.
This time I don’t think it’s the greens that makes me lose my lunch.
****
I live in the land of denial for the next few weeks. It isn’t like I’m not aware of what’s happening every day with morning sickness. Or when my clothes suddenly become too tight, even when I’m still getting sick at least a few times a week.
Brenda and I haven’t talked about it. She just seems to know I haven’t been able to yet. But when we get together on one of our Saturdays off and I ask if she’d like to go clothes shopping, her eyes do a sweep over my body. She clears her throat and I know it’s coming.
“We need to get you to a doctor, Caroline. See how far along you might be-”
“I’m afraid once people find out, I’ll have to leave. I might lose my job at Shelby’s.”
I take a deep breath.
“We’ll figure it out. What if we tell everyone your husband is in the service? I know—he’s in Vietnam…”
I cringe. “That’s an awful thing to do, but…it act
ually might work. I stay to myself pretty much. I can’t talk about it because I’m sad he’s not here, and I’m not wearing a ring because he wanted to buy me a nice one, so we’re waiting till we can afford it,” I say, getting more into the story now.
This really might work.
“At least until the baby is born. And then I’ll have more to explain.”
“So you’ve accepted that you are?” she asks.
I think about it a moment. The tears I haven’t allowed myself come then. “Yeah, I’m certain I am.”
We sit on the couch, her arm around me.
“It’s gonna be okay, Caroline.”
“Brenda, I told you about what happened with Leroy and Les, but I didn’t tell you that after that…after I left Tulma, when Isaiah found me…we-we were intimate then.”
“You think it could be his?” she asks, shocked.
“It’s the only way I can get through each day, thinking there’s a possibility that it is.”
“Are you gonna tell him?”
I think about that long and hard and never answer her.
****
My thoughts are tormented. The reality that I’m not married and expecting, is horrifying in itself. I’ve let go of some of the worries about what everyone back in Tulma would think, but the fact is, it’s going to be a problem anywhere. It’s a good thing I’ve been by myself, because people sure won’t want to stay with me now.
I’m fortunate to look older. But what’s really making me crazy is wondering who the father of this baby is. I want it to be Isaiah’s so badly, but I know that’s probably too much to wish for. It makes me pray to the God I’m not sure about…I plead for him to give me this one thing.
In my new swing shirts and high-waisted clothes, I look pregnant. One morning, I go in early and talk to Shelby before the customers start arriving. I tell her the tale that I rehearsed with Brenda. I feel terrible lying to her, but I just don’t want to risk getting run out of town. Chances are, once they see this baby, I will be anyway, but I need to keep a job for as long as possible.
She believes every word I tell her, which makes me feel even worse, even though I’m also very much relieved. My husband was sent to Vietnam just a few weeks ago, out of Fort Knox. I visited him every chance I got before he left and have been quiet about it because I just miss him so much. She wipes a tear from her eyes and reaches over to give me a hug.
“You just say the word, sweetheart, whatever you need. I’ll do whatever I can. Where is your family, dear? Are you sure you don’t need to go be by them until the baby comes?”
“It’s just me,” I tell her sadly, leaving her to assume the worst. And she does. It’s the most honest thing I tell her.
“Bless your heart, what a hard time this must be. And you’re such a good worker, too. You just tell me what you need, okay?”
“Thank you, Miss Shelby. It helps me to keep busy—working here helps.”
She gives me another pat on the shoulder. “Well, I certainly love having you here, and the customers sure appreciate your cookin’. Why, I get compliments on your pies every single day!”
I give her a big smile and get to work.
****
At night, I put my hands on my growing stomach. The little bitty ball is firm and beginning to absorb my thoughts. A fierce feeling comes over me. This baby is mine.
I whisper, “You’re my baby and I’m going to love you and take care of you. We’re going to love each other most. I’ll never leave you. I’ll protect you from everyone and everything that comes against us. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you ever, I promise.”
I love the way my body is filling out. I’ve always felt so gangly; everything on me is long and skinny. The curves are softening all my features and I feel like I fit in my body so much better.
The more my feelings grow for the baby, the more I miss Isaiah. I feel an urgency to see him again. Maybe I should tell him. Even if the baby isn’t his, which I don’t even want to consider as an option, I just want him to know.
The thought nags me for days. On a whim, I go to Shelby and ask her if I can have an extra couple of days off around Christmas time. She reminds me that she’d said to let her know whatever I needed. I thank her, and then I go tell Brenda my plan. The relief on her face is almost comical.
“Oh, Caroline. I’ve been hoping you’d do this. I’m so glad.” She clasps her hands together and helps me get my things packed.
I’m able to afford a bus ticket to Tulma. At the crack of dawn on the Sunday morning after Christmas, I board the bus. Hours go by with me staring out the window, dreaming of seeing Isaiah, what I’ll say to him, what he’ll say. The excitement and nervousness builds with each mile. We stop a few times, and I freshen up in one of the restrooms. As we get closer, I nearly lose my nerve and turn around to go back. But the thought of being with Isaiah drives me forward.
When we finally arrive in Tulma, I’m the only one to get off at the stop. I walk through the bus station quickly, hoping I won’t see anyone I know. Taking the back way, I walk to Isaiah’s church. He should be getting out of church soon. Hopefully I can see him right away.
The breeze from the river picks up. It feels good to be home. I wish I could see everyone, but my bulging stomach kinda ruins that plan. I wrap my sweater tighter around me. Finally I wind around the corner and lean against the tree by the church. It’s large enough that I can stand behind it without anyone seeing me.
I hear the organ playing and know they’re almost done. About ten minutes later, people begin filing out. Almost everyone leaves and then there’s a lull where no one else comes out. Then Sadie comes out and I feel like a little kid playing hide and seek. All of a sudden, I wish I could find a restroom.
Just when I start thinking he might have stayed home, there he is! My heart thumps in triple time. He looks so handsome in his church clothes. I can’t take my eyes off of him. Except…I realize he’s not alone. He looks back and a beautiful girl in a pale green dress steps forward. Her skin matches his, and for the first time I know jealousy in its truest, vilest form. She has everything I want.
They look so perfect—like they belong together. It knocks the wind right out of me.
They walk to a car I don’t recognize. She says something and Isaiah’s head rears back and he lets out the laugh that I love. The one I haven’t heard in so long. He opens the door for her and it’s then that I see the look on his face. Looking at her. The way he used to look at me only a few short months ago.
I double over, the pain staggering. It sends me to my knees. Grateful for my hiding spot, I stay there until everyone is gone, my sobs becoming more forceful. Eventually, I make my way back to the bus station, my plan crushed back in the dirt by the tree.
****
I get back on the bus and ride back to Bardstown, no one in Tulma the wiser.
Chapter 20
Swollen, Puffy Mess
I hide out in my room. Everyone thinks I’m gone, so I don’t bother letting them know otherwise. After becoming a huge, swollen puffy mess from tears and feeling every possible emotion toward Isaiah Washington, I feel the finality of losing him. Every hope I’d been hoarding the past few weeks, months, years…it’s completely gone.
I never thought of Isaiah as fickle, so the thought that he could have feelings for someone else this quickly is a shock. I did tell him to go find someone else, after all. I just didn’t expect it to be practically overnight. I can’t wrap my head around it. Hours and hours of contemplation lead me to the conclusion that he never loved me the way I love him.
Which seems to be a recurring theme in my life.
What seemed like a beautiful memory in Memphis—our time together in that motel room, just the two of us in our hideaway—now has an ugly tarnish to it. It’s just like staring through Nellie’s dresser mirror, everything is blurry and the edges are completely worn away. Nothing is clear anymore. Now I don’t believe that I was meaningful to Isaiah at all. Or maybe being
with him in that way opened up something in him that he can’t be without.
Mama always did say boys were pigs when it came to s-e-x and to never give one the upper hand by letting him take that part of me. The phrase ‘damaged goods’ was thrown around. I never did fully understand what she meant until now. Except the difference is I’ve managed to become triply damaged, all before the age of sixteen. The reality of this unhinges me. I just want to disappear. Please, God. Put me out of this hell.
The days drag in despair. I have to force myself to eat. It feels really strange when I go too long without eating, only further proving that I’m growing someone. At some point—I think when I’ve eaten all that’s left in the cupboard—I start chanting vows to the baby. Like a crazy person. Ranting.
I will never make you wear pink foam curlers.
I will never lie to you.
I will teach you responsibility.
I will spoil you with affection.
I will iron my own clothes.
I will love you even if you’re ugly.
I will love you even if I hate your father.
I will never leave you.
You will be my person, my blood, the one I know best, the one I admire most, my baby.
My purpose in life will be to make you shine.
I will be your mama. A real one.
And again from the top. Again and again. Until I’m pacing and crying and blubbering and falling back on the bed and snotting on the pillow. The words rush out of me like a waterfall, promises plunging into the deep. One hope is dying and another is rising in its place.
****
When I wake up the next morning, the sun is shining. It’s a new year. My baby will be born in 1972. Feels so strange to say—all of it. I get out of bed and devise a story to tell Shelby soon, about my dead husband.
I pat my stomach. “It’s just you and me, baby.”
