The Sometimes Daughter

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  In the early evening, a news report came on the television. Daddy turned the sound up, and we heard the reporter say there were reports of a mass suicide in Jonestown, the place where Peoples Temple had built a compound in the jungle. Some people who had escaped told the police in Guyana that people in Jonestown had drunk poisoned Kool-Aid.

  “Oh my God,” Daddy whispered.

  I started to cry, and Grandma pulled me onto her lap. “Now you listen to me, Judy,” she said firmly, stroking my hair. “Your mother is fine. I’m sure she’s fine. She probably wasn’t even down there.”

  “But why ...” I began.

  “Honey, we don’t know why or how or anything for sure. But I don’t believe your mama would kill herself. She’s got too much life in her. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “Grandma’s right,” Daddy said. “Your mama loves you too much to kill herself. I’m sure she’s all right.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure at all that Mama was all right. If she loved me too much to kill herself, then why had she left me? Why hadn’t she called on my birthday? I felt guilty again, thinking those things. But I couldn’t help it. I thought about how Mrs. Dawson had hugged Lee Ann on the porch and felt tears sting my eyes.

  “Why don’t you help me get some supper ready?”

  Grandma rose and took my hand. “Come on, we’ll make spaghetti.”

  We sat down to supper with the television blaring from the living room, listening for more news. My stomach churned, rebelling at the spaghetti and meatballs Grandma had made. After a few attempts, Grandma stopped trying to persuade me to eat.

  By ten o’clock, we knew nothing more than we’d heard on the news earlier. Daddy sent me to bed, and Grandma came upstairs with me. She sat on the edge of my bed, holding my hand and promising that everything would be okay.

  “Don’t leave, okay?” I asked. I did not feel at all sleepy, and I didn’t want to lay there all alone in my room.

  “Okay, honey,” she promised. “I’ll stay right here.”

  “And wake me up if you find out anything about Mama, okay?”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice quiet and firm.

  “Grandma?”

  “Yes, Judy?”

  “Do you think it will help if we say a prayer?”

  I don’t remember ever praying before then, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

  “Yes, honey.” She smiled at me, squeezing my hand. “I think that’s the best thing we can do right now.”

  I got out of bed and knelt on the floor, like I’d seen Susan do sometimes. Clenching my hands together, I squeezed my eyes shut and said my first prayer.

  “Dear God, please let my mama be okay. Please don’t let her be dead. She’s done some bad things, but she’s not a bad person. And she’s a Christian now,” I added, thinking that might close the deal. “So please let her be okay.”

  I sat a moment longer but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Amen,” Grandma said firmly. “Now, climb back into bed and try to sleep. You’ve done the best thing you can right now.”

  I didn’t sleep for a very long time. Downstairs I could hear the television drone on, and the phone ringing, and Daddy’s voice. When I finally dozed off, I saw in my dreams the men in the truck, shooting at people. I heard Mama’s voice cry out. Please, God, I prayed in my dream, please let her be okay.

  When I woke in the early morning, Grandma was still there, curled around me in the bed, snoring softly. I tried to climb out of bed without waking her, but I guess she was sleeping badly, too.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I have to pee,” I said.

  She smiled at me as I walked to the door. I didn’t have to pee, actually. I just wanted to get up.

  “Let’s go have some cereal,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Her clothes were wrinkled. She’d slept in them.

  When we got to the kitchen, Daddy and Grandpa were already there, drinking coffee.

  “Did she call?” I asked as soon as I saw them.

  “No, honey, not yet.” Daddy rose and hugged me. “She’s probably really upset right now, and she needs some time to calm down.”

  I saw Grandpa shake his head briefly at Grandma.

  “Okay, then,” Grandma said firmly. “We’re up, so let’s have breakfast.”

  Grandma’s solution to any crisis was food.

  She poured cereal into a bowl for me and coffee into a mug for herself. I ate my Cheerios quietly, watching them all intently, trying to figure out if they knew something they weren’t telling me.

  At eight, the phone started ringing again. Everyone, it seemed, had heard about the shooting in Guyana and wanted to talk about it. But no one had anything new to offer about Mama. Daddy decided I should stay home from school for the day. I was glad of it. I couldn’t imagine sitting in my class trying to pay attention, wondering if Mama was alive or dead. And I couldn’t bear to have my classmates watching me, whispering again about my crazy mother.

  At ten, Grandma rose, put her hands on her ample hips, and said firmly, “Judy, go get dressed. We’re going to church to say some prayers.”

  I looked from her to Daddy, startled. I’d been to church sometimes with Grandma when we lived with her, but I hadn’t been since Daddy and I had moved into our own house. I didn’t have a new dress to wear.

  Daddy smiled at Grandma and then said, “I think that’s a good idea. Get dressed, sweetie, and go to church with Grandma.”

  “But, Daddy,” I said, “what if ...”

  “If we hear anything, I will come and get you. I promise,” he added.

  Still, I hesitated.

  “Judy.” Daddy rose and took my hands in his. “Right now is exactly the time when you should be in church. The very best thing you can do for Mama right now is pray.”

  I stood a moment longer, letting this sink in. Grandma always said the answer to everything was prayer. But I’d never heard Daddy say anything like that. It scared me.

  Finally, I nodded. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll go pray.”

  If I prayed in a church, maybe that would be more helpful than praying in my room. God knew about church, after all. But he might not know about my room.

  A little while later, Grandma and I walked into the sanctuary at Irvington United Methodist Church. I hadn’t been there in a long time, and never on a Monday. The sanctuary was empty, except for Grandma and me.

  We sat down in a pew near the front and Grandma patted my hand. “Go ahead, now,” she said softly. “Say a prayer for your mama.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and leaned toward the huge cross at the front of the church. “Please, God. Please, God. Please,” I prayed over and over again. “Please let Mama be okay.”

  I didn’t pray for the dead congressman or anyone else. I prayed for only Mama. I hoped that was okay with God.

  When I opened my eyes, Grandma was leaned forward in the pew, her head resting on her hands. Her lips moved silently. I sat quietly, just watching her. Grandma went to church every Sunday. Surely, God would listen to her prayers.

  When we got home, Daddy and Grandpa were in the living room.

  “Did you hear ...” Grandma started to say, but Daddy shook his head firmly.

  He gave me a hug and told me to go upstairs and change clothes. I heard them whispering behind me as I climbed the stairs.

  “Daddy,” I said, turning back. “What’s going on?”

  He looked at me a long minute, then gestured for me to come back down. Pulling me into his lap, he said softly, “They’re saying now that a lot more people died in Guyana.”

  I stared at him, searching his eyes carefully. “Mama?”

  “No, honey, we don’t know that. We don’t even know if she was down there. So let’s keep a positive attitude, okay? Unless we hear otherwise, we’ll assume your mama didn’t go to Guyana, and that she’s okay.”

  “But why doesn’t she call?” I asked.

  “Probably she’s upset
, Judy, and scared. But she’ll call. You’ll see, it will be okay.”

  Daddy kept the television on all day, with the sound off, turning it up whenever the news came on. At first, he and Grandma tried to keep me from watching it, but after a while they gave up. And so I saw the pictures of bodies—men, women, and even some children, lying facedown on the ground, some with their arms around each other. At first, it was hard to watch, but then I began looking carefully, searching for Mama. I didn’t see anyone who looked like her.

  The news reporter said that more than four hundred bodies had been found. But several hundred people were missing. No one knew where they were. Had Mama escaped into the jungle? Was she lost somewhere, trying to get home to me? Why did she want to go to Guyana, anyway? Why did she belong to a church where people killed themselves? My head ached from so many questions.

  In the middle of the afternoon, the doorbell rang and I ran to answer it. Standing on our front porch was a tall, thin woman with short, blond hair. Behind her stood a bald, paunchy man.

  “Hello, Judy,” the woman said. “Do you remember me?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m your Grandma Pat ... your mother’s mother. We met once before, when you were a little girl.”

  “Pat.” Daddy put his hand on my shoulder and opened the door wider. “Have you heard anything?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Hello, Kirk,” said the bald man, shaking Daddy’s hand.

  “Come in,” Daddy said. “We’ve been watching the news, but so far we haven’t heard anything about Cassie.”

  In the living room, Grandma and Grandpa shook hands with Mama’s parents.

  “Can I get you anything, Pat?” Grandma said. “You must be worried sick.”

  “No, thank you, Anne. I’m fine,” the woman said. She didn’t smile or return Grandma’s quick hug. “Leave it to Cassandra to get involved in a mess like this.”

  Grandma took a step back and stared at her. “We don’t know for sure if she is involved.”

  The woman shrugged and sat down in Daddy’s chair. The bald man paced the living room floor.

  “I called Senator Lugar’s office yesterday and again today, but they don’t know if she was there,” he said.

  “You called the senator’s office on a Sunday?” Grandpa looked surprised.

  “Hell, yes, I did,” the man said. “That lunatic, Jim Jones, he started out here in Indianapolis. A lot of people followed him to California when he went. And I’m betting a lot of the ones dead are from Indiana. Lugar’s office was open, all right. They just don’t know anything yet.”

  “John knows the senator, actually,” Mama’s mother said, smiling. “They’ve played golf together.”

  Daddy just looked at her, then shook his head.

  “When’s the last time you heard from Cassie?” he asked, looking from her to the man.

  “Not since John’s stroke,” the woman said. “She hasn’t written or called since then. Of course, she wouldn’t. She’s never been concerned about our feelings. She’s never even sent a Christmas card.”

  Daddy simply stared at her.

  “We haven’t done the best job,” the bald man started to say, but his wife cut him off.

  “We’ve done everything we could for her, John. She’s just impossible. She always has been. She’s never worried about anyone but herself. She’s a spoiled, selfish brat.”

  “Get out!”

  Everyone stared at Daddy.

  “I mean it, Pat. Get out of my house! Cassie might be ... She’s in trouble, and all you can do is bitch about how selfish she is? God! No wonder she’s such a mess.” Daddy was shaking.

  The woman rose gracefully and brushed her sleeve with one manicured hand.

  “Well, I see that some things have not changed,” she said, gazing steadily at my father. “Come on, John. We’re obviously not welcome here.”

  With that, she walked out the front door and down the steps. Her husband stood a moment watching her, then reached for Daddy’s hand again.

  “I’m sorry, Kirk,” he said. “She is worried about Cassie, she just doesn’t know how to show it. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  “Thanks, John. I’ll call you if we hear anything, too.”

  Daddy closed the door behind them and turned to me. “I’m sorry, honey, that you had to hear that. She’s an awful woman.”

  I nodded. “Mama said she was mean.”

  Daddy hugged me. I could feel him still shaking. “She is mean. And I think that’s why your mama has such a hard time. She never felt safe or loved.”

  “Not even with us, Daddy?”

  He sat down and pulled me onto his lap. “Well, I think for a while she did. But your mama ... she’s always looking for something that she can’t find.”

  I nodded again, even though I didn’t really understand.

  “Come on, Judy.” Grandma held out her hand. “Let’s start dinner. Do you want to make a meat loaf?”

  Like I said, Grandma’s solution to everything was food.

  I went to bed that night with Grandma holding my hand. We still hadn’t heard anything from Mama. I prayed as I lay in bed, my eyes squeezed shut, Please, God. Please. Please let my mama be okay.

  12

  I didn’t go to school the next day, either. Daddy went into his office because he had a client who needed to see him. Before he went, he walked with me to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I held his hand tightly. As we walked down Ohmer Avenue, we heard a lot of noise, far more noise than we usually heard in our quiet neighborhood. In front of the Missions Building across the street from my grandparents’ house, several large vans were parked on the lawn. Men with cameras and microphones jostled for position in front of the building’s sign.

  “What’s that?” I asked, staring.

  “Those are news people,” Daddy said, grimacing. “They want to know if the people at the Missions Building know anything about what happened in Guyana.”

  “Do you think they do?”

  “What?” Daddy wasn’t paying attention to me. He was watching the camera crews.

  “Do you think the people in that building know what happened?”

  “I doubt it, honey,” he said. “They’re probably just as confused as the rest of us.”

  Grandma opened her front door before we even knocked. “Come in,” she said, glancing across the street at the crowd of reporters.

  She’d made pancakes for breakfast. I tried to eat one, but my stomach felt like I’d swallowed a big rock.

  “Don’t let her go over there,” Daddy said, nodding his head toward the chaos across the street.

  “As if I would.” Grandma sounded indignant. “We’re going to bake cookies today. And maybe we’ll do a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Dad kissed her cheek, then bent to kiss my head.

  “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “I should be back before noon.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s going to be okay, Judy.” He’d said that about a million times now, as if saying it would make it so.

  “I know, Daddy.”

  After he left, Grandma bustled around the kitchen, pulling bowls and spoons and baking sheets from cabinets. “How about we make chocolate chip?” she said, nodding at me.

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to make cookies. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted ... Mama. I wanted her with the sharp, painful longing I hadn’t felt in a long time. I remembered dancing in the rain with her, the way she sang while we kneaded bread dough, how she kissed my nose and called me her Sweet Judy. I wanted my mama back, even just for a little while. I wanted to know she was okay, not dead in a jungle in Guyana with a bunch of crazy people. I wanted to sit in her lap and smell her hair and be safe again.

  Instead, I helped Grandma make cookies. I stirred as she measured flour and sugar and butter into the bowl. When the first batch was in the oven, the phone rang. Grandma went to her bedroom to answer it, even though there was a ph
one in the kitchen. I knew she was afraid it might be bad news and didn’t want me to hear.

  I tiptoed down the hall and stood outside her bedroom door, listening. But apparently, it was someone who didn’t know any more than we did.

  “I don’t know,” Grandma was saying. “We’re still waiting to hear something ... anything.”

  I walked into the front room and stared at the men standing on the lawn in front of the Missions Building. Then I walked out the front door and across the street to the big glass door of the building. I pulled open the door and walked inside. If someone here knew what was going on, I would make them tell me.

  A smartly dressed black woman sat at the reception desk, her eyes trained on the herd of reporters out front.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  She started, then smiled at me.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “My mama was in that church,” I said. “And I want to know if she died.”

  The woman stared at me, wide-eyed. Then she rose and walked from behind her desk to kneel before me.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Judy Webster,” I said.

  “And your mother was in Peoples Temple?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, Judy, my name is Clara. And I wish I could tell you what you need to know. But right now, we just don’t know very much. We don’t know who was there and who wasn’t. I’m very sorry.”

  Tears stung my eyes and I tried to blink them back.

  “Do you live around here?” The woman took my hands in hers.

  “I live on University,” I said.

  “How about I walk you home?” she asked. “Your family must be worried about you.”

  She stood and took my hand, leading me out the glass door to where the news people were.

  “Judy!”

  Across the street, my grandmother stood on the porch, waving. “That’s my grandma,” I said.

  Clara walked with me across the street to Grandma.

  “Where have you been? You scared the life out of me!”

  “Judy came to ask if we knew anything about her mother,” Clara said softly. “I told her that we just don’t know anything yet.”

  Grandma stared at her, holding my hand tightly.