Ginger took my pillow and fluffed it before putting it back behind my head.
“Really, guys, the doctor said I’m perfectly fine. When he said you needed to watch me, I don’t think he intended for you to hover.”
“Hey, remember to wake her up every two to three hours if she goes to sleep.” Ginger gave Tiffany the penciled-in eyebrow of doom.
“Ginger, I’m right here, and I can hear you.”
She ignored me. “And don’t let her do anything strenuous. Oh, and call Bill and tell him she needs a night or two off.”
“Miss Ginger, you should really let me go instead.” If Tiffany kept wringing her hands like that, she was going to end up with nubs, which would be rather problematic when it came time to change a diaper.
“Nonsense,” Ginger said as she put on a rain bonnet to face the drizzle that pattered outside. “Luke and I need to run an errand or two. He’ll be here any minute, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Chill out, you two. I’m sitting right here. I can get up when I need an Advil or two.”
She turned on me, and I got the eyebrow. “No Advil, no aspirin, nothing in the aspirin family. You can have Tylenol and nothing else unless you want to have some kind of brain hemorrhage.”
I couldn’t sink myself into the recliner any more. “Sorry.”
She pointed a bony finger at me. “And that’s why you need people to look after you. Never been one to look after yourself, but you’re going to have to fix that before—”
“Don’t.”
She scowled, shook her finger at me, then picked up her beige Aigner pocketbook, circa 1978, and headed for the door. “You watch that stubborn heifer, Tiffany.”
Tiffany’s eyes bugged out, but I managed not to snicker until the door closed with force. Not slammed, Ginger would say, just closed with force.
“She called you a heifer.” Tiffany put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe Miss Ginger called you a heifer.”
“Yes, yes, she did.” I couldn’t help but grin. In my first few weeks with Ginger she’d called me a heifer so many times it would’ve made a great drinking game. I’d gladly take the comparison to a stubborn maiden cow if it meant Ginger was feeling better than usual.
Tiffany took a seat on the sofa then popped up and looked to make sure Ginger was really gone before slumping back down. “I hate cows. Jesse Crawford’s cows get out every other day and make an unholy mess of the garden in our backyard. Once they even knocked the clothes down from the line and trampled them so bad I couldn’t get the stains out.”
Tiffany’s story twisted my gut. I had known she was poor in an abstract sort of way. I knew Carl got by on disability and wasted most of the money on booze and cigarettes. I knew they lived in the dingiest trailer park on the other side of Harlowe Bottom, but I hadn’t thought about what that meant. Tiffany grew her own vegetables—probably out of necessity. She also had no dryer, at least not a dryer that worked.
“I know. I’m poor white trash.”
I snapped my head toward her so fast I got dizzy and felt a stabbing pain behind my left eye. “People can be poor and any number of colors, but not having money doesn’t mean you’re trash. No person is trash.”
Tiffany looked down at her nails, pushing each cuticle back with one of her other fingernails. “That’s not what Daddy says.”
“Your daddy is far closer to trash than you’ll ever be,” I muttered.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I wondered if I’d said too much yet again. I’d read enough subtitles on daytime TV to know all the experts talked about how you can’t insult an abuser to the abusee. Montel once spent an hour on something like a milder form of Stockholm syndrome. Apparently, you had to remember Carl was still Tiffany’s daddy even if he was a class-A jerk for hitting his own daughter.
“Tiffany, I’m sorry I said that—”
“Don’t be. I think I want a sandwich.” She hopped to her feet but stopped and turned at the doorway. “Are you ready to eat anything?”
“No, but you’re not feeling sick?”
She thought about it for a moment. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling as she did an interior check for nausea. She looked back at me with an ear-to-ear grin. “No, I’m not sick. I’m not sick!”
“There’s a twenty in the desk drawer if you want to order something,” I said with a yawn.
Her eyes lit up. “In fact, I think I want a pizza. Do you want a pizza? No, wait, maybe I’ll order Chinese. I’ve never had Chinese before. Do you think you would be okay if I ran over to Burger Paradise? Or maybe . . .”
I chuckled while she thought. Maybe Ginger and I had created a monster by introducing the poor child to the glory of takeout. We certainly weren’t setting the best fiscal example.
“Tiffany,” I said. “Let’s stick with the pizza for now. If your nausea isn’t completely gone then it has to be on the way out. You can make a list of what you want to eat while we wait for the pizza, then we’ll check off each item one by one.”
“Great idea! I’ll order a pizza and go look for a pen.”
She left with rosy cheeks, and I smiled after her before I realized what I was doing. Obviously, the hit to the head had damaged the common sense area of my brain. I couldn’t afford this swell of pride because she had made it past morning sickness. I couldn’t allow myself to get excited about Tiffany’s baby. After all, I had said good-bye to morning sickness and then made a list of things to eat before diligently checking off each item. I had done everything the doctor said to do—even made those nasty applesauce cookies instead of eating the Oreos I wanted—but I still lost Hunter.
But what good would it do to tell Tiffany that? What good would it do to make her miserable and paranoid for the rest of her pregnancy? I closed my eyes. Please help her not to do whatever it was that I did wrong. Please—
Tiffany shook my shoulders.
“Beulah, are you awake?”
My face blanched. I had prayed. No, wait. I hadn’t prayed. I addressed no one. It was just sending good vibes out into the universe. Then why did I feel like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar? “I am now.”
“Good. The pizza’s going to be here in thirty minutes, and I’m ready to start on my list.”
That girl talked about barbecue, steaks, Chinese food, burgers, and catfish from over at Lacy’s. I was so, so happy to hear Ginger and Luke arrive. I couldn’t hear what Luke said as they came in the front door—it was a low rumble that matched the distant thunder. My pulse raced and I had a hard time getting enough oxygen to my injured brain. I hadn’t seen him since he’d kissed me. Was I stupid to want something more? Would he act like nothing had happened?
For the next few minutes, he moved things around while Ginger and Tiffany directed traffic and I battled the urge to get out of the chair and demand to know his intentions. Just when I reached for the lever that would put the footrest down he appeared at the arm of my chair.
“How’s the patient?”
Significantly better now that you’re here and smiling at me instead of looking at me as if I’m a creature from outer space.
“Fine. I still don’t know what all of the fuss is about,” I said.
“The fuss is that you got yourself injured and, while you seem to think of yourself as either invincible or disposable, you are neither. We kinda like having you around.” He reached to push back a strand of my hair, remembered we had an audience, and settled for a chaste pat on the hand.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her all day. Maybe she’ll listen to you.” Ginger threw her hands up in the air then hobbled off to the kitchen.
But I wasn’t listening to what Ginger was saying. Luke liked having me around?
“Since when?” My voice came out way huskier than I had intended, and I felt the hot crimson flood my cheeks.
“I don’t know. You tend to grow on people. An acquired taste, I guess.” Those blue eyes twinkled.
“Like caviar?” I grinned at
him like an idiot.
“I was thinking something sweeter.”
Tiffany dropped a glass, and it shattered on the floor just inside the kitchen. “I wondered what you wanted to drink,” she mumbled as she bent to pick up the broken glass.
“Let me help you with that.” Luke jumped up from the chair arm and bent over to gather the shards. I wasn’t above admiring the view. It was nice to have someone around to help pick up the pieces.
And I wasn’t the only one to notice.
After our pizza, Luke went home and Ginger went to bed. Tiffany decided to stay up with me for a while. I wasn’t sleepy for a couple of reasons. First, I was used to staying up until the wee hours of the morning, thanks to working at The Fountain. Second, I’d slept too much during the day and was suffering from that hazy over-rested yet under-rested feeling.
“Beulah, do you like Reverend Daniels?”
I thought of his lips pressed against my forehead and then against my lips, his callused hand in mine. Like didn’t begin to tell the half of it.
I looked over to where Tiffany leaned against the armrest, her chin in her hand as she watched an infomercial for some kind of miracle dicer. She was trying hard not to betray any sort of emotion, a surefire indicator she was feeling strong emotions and lots of them. I needed to tread with more care than I had during the discussion about her father.
“Of course I like him.”
“No, I mean do you like him, like him?”
“Tiff, what is this? Fifth grade?”
She turned those big, brown Bambi eyes on me. “Do you think there’d ever be a chance someone like him would want to go out with a girl like me?”
I wanted to laugh. There was no chance a preacher would ever want to go out with a girl like either of us. Otherwise he surely would’ve said something to me before he left, wouldn’t he? Any feelings I had for Luke had to be a sad example of how opposites attract. “Well, there’s always a chance, but you’re eighteen, and he’s closer to my age.”
“Four or five years isn’t that much.” She sat up straight and crossed her arms. The action reminded me of a toddler—not exactly the maturity level she was going for.
“You’re a sweetheart, but try seven or eight.” I needed to proceed with caution. “Tiffany, you might want to look for someone your own age.”
“You’re only saying that because you do like him.”
She toyed with the edges of an afghan Ginger had finished right after I moved in. “I think I’ll wait until you’re feeling a little better. Then, maybe I’ll ask him out if he doesn’t ask me out first.”
She stared into space, oblivious to the fact I was still listening to her. “Imagine, being the preacher’s wife. I would always have a parsonage—no more musty trailers for me or my baby. The ladies in town wouldn’t be able to look down their noses at me anymore. Or we could move to a new church. I could start all over again far away from here.”
I wasn’t about to remind her that ministers typically did not date young, unwed mothers to be. Obviously, this was Tiffany’s pipe dream. After my run-in with Carl, I couldn’t fault her for having dreams that involved a kind and handsome husband with a secure job and a nice home. And didn’t we all want to start over?
Normally, I was one of the first people to pop someone’s bubble, to point out the pitfalls of any undertaking in the name of being realistic. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Tiffany she was reaching, but I could tell her she didn’t need Luke Daniels to get all of those things she wanted. She could move to another town, get a job, buy a house, settle down with a nice man who wasn’t Luke.
Then why didn’t I do all those things?
Because Ginger needs me.
And what traitorous part of me wanted to live out Tiffany’s dream, too?
The same idiotic part that can’t stop thinking about a certain vegetarian minister who shall remain nameless.
“I think I’m going to go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” Tiffany patted her belly even though she was barely showing.
“That’s fine. My sleep schedule is still off so I’ll watch TV for a while.”
Tiffany paused at the bottom of the stairs and yawned as she looked back at me with a mischievous smirk. “Wake yourself up every two to three hours, now, you hear?”
“Every three hours. I don’t see the need for this two-hour business.”
“Fine, every three hours.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Promise?”
“I promise.” I made an imaginary cross over my heart, and she grinned as she climbed the stairs.
I listened to her footsteps go up the staircase and down the hall to her room. I should have told her she didn’t need a man to change her life. I should have told her she could move out and start over on her own. But those were all things I could tell her later.
Her footsteps disappeared, but the door to the nursery creaked open, and my heart skipped a beat as the tip of a beam of light from the door shone at the top of the stairs. Funny how the one room I avoided was the one to draw her in. Her room full of promise was my room of tragedy.
The rings holding the curtains scraped the curtain rod, and I imagined Tiffany holding out the fabric and studying it. She didn’t know I had picked out airplanes because I wanted my little boy to be able to touch heaven.
“The sky’s the limit for this little dude,” I would tell Ginger as I patted my stomach.
“You know it,” she would say as she reached over to give my stomach her own little pat. I hadn’t seen the sadness in her eyes or the tight set of her mouth back then, but I could see it in my mind’s eye now that I knew her story.
I wondered if Tiffany was still going through her dreams of marrying Luke and moving far away. Was she, as the old saying went, picking out curtains? Maybe I didn’t know if I wanted to pick out curtains with Luke, but the thought of Tiffany picking them out disturbed me more than I cared to admit.
He’d called me an acquired taste. While there was the promise of something more in our talk of caviar and something sweeter, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made the whole thing up. In my own desperation had I invented the flirting, the protectiveness, the kiss? Or had he simply not been alone with me long enough for us to sort out the emotions that had come bubbling to the surface?
Chapter 13
By Wednesday I needed to get out of the house. Bill had called to let us know that Luke’s boxing skills were now the stuff of legend all around town. After coming home to a cleaned-out trailer, Carl went to The Fountain and created such a scene that he became only the second person to incur a lifelong ban. It had only been a couple of days, but I still hadn’t heard from Luke, which meant I still didn’t know how he really felt about me.
Did he regret the kiss? Hell, did he regret the hospital bill?
Either way, I wanted to know, I needed to know, and I was pissed at Ginger for having Tiffany take her to the church to get Luke’s sermon for me to read.
“Ginger, I’m fine. I need to get out of this house before I lose my mind!” I huffed.
“Enough to get the groceries?”
I whistled low. Ginger knew how I felt about going to the store. I might even run into my mother at the store. She and I would choose opposite ends of the store like we always did, but my heart would still race and my stomach pitch. I always forgot something on the days I ran into her because I was in such a hurry to get away.
But the cabin fever would be the end of me if I didn’t get out of the house.
“Yes, I will get the groceries.” And possibly drive by the parsonage even though it’s several miles out of the way.
“Beulah, I can go do that,” Tiffany said as she reached into the pantry for the Cheerios. She wore a red paisley bandana over her hair because she’d been on a dusting and vacuuming frenzy. A damp strip on her shirt over her belly suggested she’d cleaned out the tub, too.
“I’ll go. I need some fresh air.”
“This is crazy. You need rest.”
>
“Says the pregnant woman who’s been cleaning the entire house!”
“I like having an actual house to clean,” she said, pouting. “And I can grocery shop, too!”
“Let her go, Tiffany. You go on to work, now. Beulah’s a big girl.” Ginger panted as she tried to raise the footrest on the recliner. I reached down to give her a hand, and she nodded her thanks.
“If you’re sure.” Tiffany shrugged her shoulders and stuck her hand into the box of Cheerios to take out another large handful. Buy more Cheerios.
“I’m sure.” I reached for the Toyota keys where they hung on the hook inside the kitchen. “Just a little stir-crazy, I think.”
Tiffany closed the cereal box and put it on the counter. She shuffled to the fridge and took out the strainer of grapes she had washed earlier that morning. She two-fisted the grapes, eating one from the left hand then one from the right. Buy Cheerios . . . and grapes.
“Take the Caddy, Beulah Lou. I know how you are when you start buying groceries, acting like there’s going to be some blizzard and you’ll never be able to get home.” Ginger’s eyes fluttered but remained closed as she leaned back into the recliner.
I looked down at the Toyota keys incredulously. “I thought old ladies couldn’t hear.”
“I’d know your keys anywhere with all that crap jangling around,” she mumbled. “They’re going to tear the hook off the wall one of these days.”
I looked down at my key ring complete with house key, tavern key, two sets of car keys—even though one of the cars was long gone—a metal B, a whistle, and an old Opryland key chain. I put them back on the hook and took down the keys to the Caddy with their sedate leather patch of a key chain. “Thanks, Ginger.”
She mumbled something that sounded a lot like “You’re welcome,” and opened her eyes long enough to watch the ladies on The View gesticulate wildly.
I leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
The Happy Hour Choir Page 11
