“By and by, when the morning comes…” She has sung hymns all her life, and for most of her life she has believed them. They are written on her memory and can’t be erased, even though she’d like to do that today and has wanted to for some time.
“We’ll tell the story how we’ve overcome, for we’ll understand it better by and by.” What, exactly, must she overcome? Financial stress? Her husband’s depression? Both are chronic and apparently beyond her ability to help. She listens to Mavis and Danny, and the old words sound like a foreign language.
Kenzie appeared ten minutes ago, helped set the table, and is upstairs now. But Young Taylor is missing. Jodie doesn’t know when it’s appropriate to worry about her seventeen-year-old disappearing, but he knows better than to be a no-show tonight. At times such as this, she wishes she had relented and let him buy a cell phone; at least she could have tracked him better. She will call the two or three homes where he often lands, but beyond that she can only hope that he shows up.
This evening needs to be special. Both the children must be here. And she, Jodie, must be glad for her husband to be home again. All of this feels so big to manage, so impossible to bring to fruition. So Mack will arrive home after being away from them—the first time he has ever been away from them—and she’ll say that she’s made his favorite dessert but that, by the way, Young Taylor isn’t here.
“Mom, does this skirt ride up my butt?” Kenzie stands in the doorway looking marvelous in the way only a fourteen-year-old can. With hardly any makeup, her face is full of natural blushes. She wears a silky, fitted brown shirt that reminds Jodie of the living room curtains she loved a decade ago. Kenzie twists at the waist of her cream-colored straight skirt, which hits the lower part of her thighs, to show Jodie her behind. The child is beginning to develop slight, young curves, but she is essentially slender and straight up and down. Her arms and legs just keep going.
“Uh, no. No riding. Looks just right.”
“Bekka’s skirts climb up all the time, and I tell her it looks strange, but she won’t listen to me.”
Jodie bends to turn on the oven light so she can check on the pies. “Maybe she wants her skirts to ride up.”
“I don’t think so—not around the boys in our class.”
“Well, your skirt is fine. I love that blouse—it’s the exact same color as your hair.”
“I want to put a rinse on my hair—make it darker now that summer’s over.”
“Not too dark—it’ll wash out your complexion.”
Jodie feels a hand on her shoulder, and a little pat. Ever since Mack was admitted, Kenzie has done this often—small, connecting touches throughout the day. A child’s offering of comfort. Young Taylor’s teen years have been a war, but their little girl stepped into puberty and Jesus’s arms on practically the same day. She is always busy and trying to take care of people, a trait she has inherited from Rita evidently. This child is the unexpected blessing, a daily grace.
Jodie flips off the oven light but stays bent at the little window, no longer looking inside at the pies but at the glass itself and her reflection in it.
“Mom, you look fine.” Another little pat.
They hear the Dodge then, and Young Taylor comes in the door without acknowledging them and makes a beeline for the stairs, even as Jodie reminds him that supper will be ready soon. Jodie is suddenly overwhelmed with anger at her son. This happens more all the time, anger flushing her veins without warning, like a flood through gulleys. Sometimes it’s anger at people and sometimes at inanimate objects, the time, or a situation. But it roars from deep down, and it makes her feel out of control, which is the last thing she needs to be. She marches up the stairs and down to the end of the hall and Young Taylor’s bedroom door, which is, of course, closed.
She raps hard. “Taylor!” She hears movements and a throat clearing. The door opens, and the lanky, black-haired kid stands there like a rock star, in a fog of sweet smoke. She keeps telling herself that she should be glad the boy doesn’t chew tobacco, but she can’t bring herself to appreciate his clove cigarettes.
She tries not to notice the silver bone earring dangling at the bottom of an ear rimmed by a series of smaller studs. Maybe she’ll say something if he jams some decorative item through both cheeks, but anything smaller can’t take up space in her mind right now.
“It’s almost time for dinner—Dad’ll be here soon.”
“I won’t eat ham.”
“There’s plenty else. Why don’t you wear the shirt Grandma got you for your birthday.”
The shoulders slump, but he rubs an eye and says, “Okay.”
When Jodie hits the ground floor, Rita is in the kitchen. The oven door is open, and she is placing the second pie on the cabinet, making pleased sounds.
“They didn’t burn, did they?”
“Oh, no. Perfect as usual.”
“Kenzie—ice in the glasses, please.”
“Hey, look at that feast.”
Mack’s quiet comment trips across all other sounds in the kitchen and brings Jodie to attention. He stands in the doorway, Ed and Lacy Timmons just behind him. They have come in the front door, as if they are guests.
Her husband’s smile warms his thin face. Gray highlights in the straight brown hair make his features look older than they really are. It occurs to Jodie that he’s had that haircut since high school, semi-long but clipped away from his ears and neck. He stands in the center of the arched doorway, fists in the pockets of his denim jacket. Jodie watches the hands come out as Mack raises his arms and Kenzie nestles into him. Rita comes up close enough for Mack to kiss her cheek.
This is too fast. I’m not ready. Nothing’s ready. Jodie watches Mack, and she is stuck to the floor. Mack looks at her, the gleam in his eyes deepening.
She sees, or her memory sees, a cake pan flying past Mack’s head. Did she really throw it at him? Did he anger or frustrate her that much? Was it some private comedy that they couldn’t fully appreciate at the time? Or did the family put the wrong person in the hospital? Jodie feels a wave of shame at the person she has become during these hurtful times. She should have been better at understanding Mack’s struggles. She shouldn’t have grown angry, sarcastic, vindictive. Shouldn’t have thrown things.
“Hey, Dad.” Jodie hears Young Taylor’s soft voice behind her. She moves to the side and watches him, dressed in the birthday shirt, go over and hug his father.
Rita addresses the Timmonses. “Good to see you two.”
Jodie is finally able to speak. “Thanks for picking him up, Ed. Glad you could come over tonight.” She raises her face to accept Ed’s customary peck on the cheek. Lacy has already pulled Kenzie into a hug. The presence of these friends allows Jodie to feel more safety in her own home. Rita starts directing everyone to the dining room.
The others move toward the table, and Jodie sees Mack’s eyes fix upon her as he crosses the room to where she stands. The distance falls away and she knows that in a short moment her husband’s arms will wrap around her. Never mind her former words and flying objects; Mack will always be a gentle soul who doesn’t know the meaning of a grudge. She hugged him not long ago, on her last visit to the hospital, but this is different, with him back in the house. She tries to think of how it should feel to be embraced by him, but there is no time to think or prepare.
“Hi, sweet.” His voice in her ear is like a tide lapping into a cavern.
She brings her arms up to feel the jacket as his hair presses into her cheek and against her neck. For a moment she is nearly overcome by the textures of his skin and clothing. It is impossible to do this—to be wrapped into Mack when around them everything is so public and calm. Jodie feels a dark habit take over: something within her turns hard and passive. She eases out of Mack’s embrace and holds his hand as they walk to the table.
Dinner is pleasant. Ed and Lacy’s latest news has to do with their daughter Alison being away at college for the first year. Lacy’s telling of any story is fill
ed with drama and hyperbole. It’s good to laugh and not talk too much.
Jodie watches the evening’s scenes slip by and keeps trying to hold some thought about them. What she really wants is for everything to stop long enough for her to think, to recognize something, to form a plan. But all of it keeps coming and coming and leaving her wordless.
Eventually the meal winds down; they clear the table and have pie and coffee in the living room. Then Ed and Lacy stretch and say their good-byes. Jodie and Mack walk them out to their car.
“He’s looking good,” Lacy says, close to Jodie’s ear. She gives Jodie’s hand a squeeze before getting into the car.
Jodie nods. “Thanks for everything.” Mack comes up beside her as they watch the Timmonses leave.
The air is just crisp enough that their breath appears faintly in the glow of the yard light. Jodie turns to face her husband in their first moments alone.
“Hi, babe.” She touches his cheek, and he kisses the palm of her hand.
“Hi.” His eyes peer right into her. “Thanks for the party.”
“I didn’t know if it would be too much for the first night.”
“It was just right.” He leans toward her, and they kiss. Jodie allows that toughness within her to soften a little. She hasn’t allowed herself to miss the kisses and hugs. She’s been so afraid of losing it all forever. But now their lips meet gently, like old friends. Jodie and Mack wrap arms around one another, ignoring the night chill. They hug and sway in a small, quiet dance and pull away only when Rita’s voice hovers near the kitchen window behind them.
“Kenzie, does your mom still have those big freezer bags?”
Mack’s mouth twitches. “Better make sure Mom gets her leftovers.” He guides Jodie up the steps, a hand resting on the small of her back.
Once they load the front seat of Rita’s Ford with a little mountain of clear bags full of food, the car won’t start. Rita tries, and then Mack does, but the engine won’t turn over.
“I’ll drive you home, Mom. I can take the car in tomorrow.”
“Don’t you work tomorrow?”
“I’ll call Tom and have him tow it in.”
“Don’t let him haul it to the junkyard.”
They transfer Rita and her leftovers to the cab of the pickup. Jodie watches Mack climb into the driver’s seat. His movements are slower than she remembers.
When Mack returns, Jodie and the kids are in the family room, the TV on.
“That was a good dinner,” says Mack.
“Sure was.” Kenzie looks up at her father brightly. He takes a seat next to her on the sofa and brings his arm around her.
Jodie sits on the footstool in front of Young Taylor, who is in the easy chair nearest the TV. He appears to be watching it.
Jodie taps her son on the foot. “Your dad needs the car back, you know.”
“Sure.” Young Taylor has taken command of the second vehicle. It’s given him the freedom to get away from home, which Jodie sees as good for all of them these days. When her son isn’t around looking like Count Dracula, she can imagine that he’s off doing normal things with other kids his age.
“Sorry I have to take away your wheels.” Mack makes half a grin. Young Taylor doesn’t look in his direction.
“It’s your car. No big deal.”
The room becomes silent, and familiar tensions begin to creep back in. Young Taylor gets up abruptly. “G’night.”
“Good night, son.” Mack looks as if he wants to do something, but he holds on to Kenzie and follows Young Taylor’s exit with sorrowful eyes.
“Good night.” The two words slam upon Jodie’s mind with more finality than they really mean. She shifts to let Young Taylor walk around her and to the hall and stairway. She despises her lack of faith even as the thought forms: Our happy evening is over.
Half an hour later, both kids are in their rooms and Jodie lies beside Mack under the midnight blue comforter. The warmth that glowed between them out under the yard light is gone now. They are in old, difficult territory. They are not merely in this bed in this moment but also reliving all the moments before this: the relentless whispered arguments in the dark as they lay stiffly side by side; the awful silences that took up residence as their lovemaking wore thin and finally wore out; the timid hoping they managed during calmer moments. Jodie wonders what Mack expects now, in this bed, with her. She wonders what he thinks she expects. She doesn’t know what she expects. Hope for anything tangible just hurts too much.
After a few moments, Jodie turns to Mack, resting a hand on his chest. He wears a fresh T-shirt and boxers.
“I bet you’re tired.”
He doesn’t answer. She can’t quite read his features. The clouds have swallowed the moon, and their room is dark except for a streak on the far wall cast by the yard light.
She leans closer and kisses his cheek. “I’m glad you’re home, babe.”
He sighs. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“I want everything to get better, sweet.”
“I know. I’m just glad you’re home. Let’s take our time.”
He leans closer, shyly, and kisses her. She kisses in return, but it is a good-night kiss rather than a pre-love one. They hold each other, and she is surprised at how comforting that is. Mack has been the source of so much anxiety and hurt that it is strange to feel any ease in his closeness. Maybe Mack is a different man now. He looks much the same. He feels the same. She imagines that something in his eyes is calmer, but she can’t be sure. She will have to wait through the coming days and see who emerges from her husband’s body. She will have to wait and see what person emerges from her own. She looks in the mirror now and doesn’t recognize anything she loves.
When Mack turns his back to her, his usual posture for sleep, she rubs his neck until his muscles relax. The last thing she remembers is his hand coming across his shoulder to touch her fingers.
2
TAKING CARE
Savior, like a shepherd lead us,
much we need thy tender care;
In thy pleasant pastures feed us,
for our use thy folds prepare:
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
thou hast bought us, thine we are;
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
thou hast bought us, thine we are.
—“Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us”
Mack
Mack comes home from the hospital on a Thursday evening. Friday at midmorning he goes to Hendrikson’s Tractor & Implement Company, where he has worked as a mechanic for two years or so. Harold Hendrikson is happy to see him, and by noon Mack is elbow deep in work and chatting with Cheryl, Harold’s daughter, who comes in once a week to do the books. Mack continues to feel as if he’s moving in slow motion, but he is surprised at how this day seems like any other, as if he’s not been off somewhere else and fighting for his life. Engines work the same as they always have, thank God. He’s grateful that his tasks are physical and for the most part uncomplicated. He tastes the autumn air that sweeps across the oily garage floor. And on his way home he drives slowly, startled by how the corn tassels in the Merkles’ seed plot form a cream-colored fringe that rides atop the rows of drying stalks. He’s watched the progress of corn for years, but today is the first time it’s made him think like this.
He’s home by six, and Jodie has set out leftovers from last night’s dinner. Kenzie eats supper with them, but Young Taylor is at his friend Dale’s. This too is normal, and a comfort. Evidently his nearly grown son considers Mack well enough that it’s not necessary to stay close to home. Mack imagines that his wife and daughter watch him closely, but there’s no fear in their attention. He remembers their fear. Even when they didn’t speak it, their motions and tone of voice made it clear that they were uneasy around him. Well, that doesn’t seem to be the case now. Maybe this will work out after all. He will go to work every day, family life will carry on, and the past few weeks will have just been a glit
ch in his life.
On Sunday they attend church as a family. Mack is self-conscious as he takes Jodie’s elbow and follows her to their usual pew. She wears a sage green jacket over tan pants and turtleneck. Mack has always liked the way she can look comfortable no matter what she wears. Nothing fancy, no starched lace or tough-looking suits. Even her colors are soothing to be near. She wears no perfume, but the heat of her body pulses out jasmine scent from the soap she used early this morning. Mack knows that while the rest of them slept Jodie rose and showered and dressed in the quiet. She put herself together with care, just so she could stand beside him now steady and sweet.
Folks greet them, smiling pleasantly at Mack. They welcome him back but make their greetings short, as if they understand how much he does not want to be put on the spot. It is the same way they greet someone who has lost a loved one or begun chemotherapy. The suffering is clear enough to everybody; what is necessary is saying hello, giving a bit of acknowledgment, that nod or handshake that lets a person know he is still one of them. He will always receive a handshake as long as he walks in the door. At the same time, his battles are his own, and no one pretends that they can do the fighting for him. They are here, just the same, and they won’t forget his name or his pain.
Kenzie tucks herself into the pew on Mack’s other side, and he enjoys the curl of his daughter’s arm around the crook in his own and the brush of her cheek against his shoulder. Young Taylor has come today, which is uncharacteristic. He looks almost normal in jeans and a regular shirt rather than the all-black stuff. Jodie says that Young Taylor has begun wearing makeup, white face and black lips, but Mack has yet to see this. He’s disappointed that, in his absence, Young Taylor didn’t settle down and give his mother nothing else to worry about. The boy walks in behind his grandma Rita, who turns to talk with him several times, as if he always accompanies her. Young Taylor sits on the back pew, while Rita slides in beside Kenzie and pats her leg.
Vinita Hampton Wright Page 3
