The Happy Hour Choir

by Sally Kilpatrick

  “So, they say I need to try to nurse her,” Tiffany said. She couldn’t take her eyes off her baby, but a blush crept up her cheeks nonetheless.

  I snapped back to reality. “It’s just me. I have boobs.” I looked around at a room full of women. “Hey, we all have boobs in here. Get to nursing or I’ll start singing the Ruth Wallis song.”

  She stared through me, so I sang, “You need boobs to hold out a sweater. . . .”

  “That’s enough.”

  I helped her pull the gown to the side and to get the baby situated. The baby girl struggled at her mother’s breast, her little arms flailing. Her mouth rooted around, but she couldn’t quite get the concept.

  “Why won’t—”

  “Like all things, it takes time,” I said. I forced my eyes to hold hers. I wouldn’t think of the irony that was having sore, engorged breasts at Hunter’s funeral. He had finally started to nurse well when—

  No, I would not think of death at a time like this.

  Earth Mother said nothing. She had been taking care of the afterbirth and the stitches. Tiffany didn’t really want to know how many, best I could tell. “You can try again in a little while,” she said, and, for the first time that night, I was grateful for her calm, soothing nature.

  Tiffany nodded and looked down at her baby and back up at me. “Wanna hold her?”

  My arms ached to hold her. “Sure.”

  A nurse darted around the side and took the baby, smiling down at her, before handing her to me. Tiffany shuffled to get her gown straight.

  “What are you going to name your beautiful baby girl?” Earth Mother asked.

  I looked at the bright, alert, surreal blue eyes of the beautiful baby with Tiffany’s pointed chin. It didn’t matter what her name was because she was beautiful. Lord, please take care of this one. I don’t care what else you do to me, but please, please take care of this little one.

  She got one tiny arm free from the blanket and waved it around with grunts and a yawn.

  “I’m going to call her Beulah Ginger,” Tiffany said with a voice that dared me to argue with her.

  “Oh, that’s . . . an unusual name,” Earth Mother said. I snorted because I’d already envisioned Earth Mother’s children as Timberline, Moonbeam, and Ragweed.

  “Well, congratulations, Miss Davis, you did well,” Earth Mother said before floating from the room.

  I turned to the window to hide my tears as I lightly bounced the baby. “I can’t tell you how touched I am you want to name her after me, but don’t saddle her with the name Beulah.”

  Tiffany sat up as though she was going to reclaim her baby. “That’s going to be her name, and that’s—”

  “You know how Ginger always called me Beulah Lou? How about Ginger Louise?”

  Tiffany’s eyes misted over. “My grandmother’s name was Louise. Ginger Louise. I like that.”

  I didn’t tell Tiffany that Louise wasn’t my real middle name; it was my middle name as far as Ginger was concerned and that was enough for me.

  Tiffany half laughed and half cried as I handed the baby back to her. “I think she looks like a Ginger Lou.”

  “Oh, let’s hope for your sake she doesn’t act like one.”

  Tiffany extended her other arm to give me a hug. “If she turns out anything like you and Miss Ginger, she’s going to be A-OK. Especially with her aunt Beulah to keep her straight.”

  It was my turn to wipe away a few tears.

  She grasped my hand. “Now would you please go home and read that letter?”

  “I don’t know.” I squeezed her hand. “Maybe.”

  “I need you to get my overnight bag, anyway. I forgot it.”

  “I will definitely get your bag. How about that?”

  “It’s in the nursery,” she said with an apologetic smile.

  I gritted my teeth. “I will get your bag out of the nursery.”

  “Thanks—the keys to the Caddy are in my jacket over there. Will you go tell Sam I’m ready to see him now?”

  “As soon as you try to go to the bathroom,” said the only nurse left in the room as she took little Ginger Lou and put her in the clear bassinet under the heat lamp. I resisted the urge to snatch the baby and yell, “She’s not an order of fries!”

  “So, tell him to give me a few minutes then,” said Tiffany as she heaved herself to sitting and let the nurse help her to the bathroom. “That’ll give him enough time to get me a hamburger.”

  I grinned at her retreating back and turned to little Ginger. My heart melted for the blond, red-faced little girl with her mother’s determined chin. “You’re one lucky little girl, Ginger Lou, did you know that?”

  Sam had resumed his pacing routine, but Luke was gone. My heart pitched at the thought that I’d scared him off.

  “Ginger Louise is here. She weighs seven pounds, five ounces, and her mother would like to see you just as soon as you go get her a hamburger.”

  He collapsed into a chair with a goofy grin. “A girl, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yep, another troublemaking girl.”

  He grabbed me into a bear hug before I could protest. “Thank you, Beulah. Thank you so much for being with her. I know she was scared. She didn’t want anyone to know, but she was scared.”

  I wriggled free. “I know, but she’s fine now, and you’d better scoot and get that hamburger or she’ll have both of our hides.”

  He jumped to his feet. “I’ll get her two hamburgers. And fries! And a sweet tea!”

  I watched the lanky guy with the bounce in his step and felt the letter burning a hole in my back pocket. I don’t know why I had put it in my back pocket to go to the hospital, but I had been keeping it close because it was the last thing I had of Ginger’s. Maybe that’s why I was so hesitant to read it, too. Once I read her letter, there would be nothing left of her.

  But there would be another Ginger. She wouldn’t take the place of my Ginger, but she would grow up with an aunt Beulah. I would see to it. As long as Tiffany would still have me, once the exhausted euphoria of giving birth had worn off.

  Maybe I felt ready to conquer the world now that I’d seen Ginger Lou, now that I had seen she was healthy and hearty and going to be fine. A darker part of me whispered I didn’t know for sure she was going to be fine, but I tamped that part down. If I allowed myself to think of the worst possibilities, I’d certainly finish going crazy.

  Better to open the letter and read it than to think about Ginger Lou in a little pink coffin. I took the letter from my pocket and sat down in the waiting room to read.

  Chapter 37

  Dear Beulah,

  How long did it take you to get around to reading this letter? A couple of days? A couple of months? I’m hoping sooner rather than later because you have been known to fly off the handle and do some spectacularly stupid things.

  First, I want you to know I’m fine. I promise you I have gone to be with my Lord and Maker. I can’t explain to you how I know these things, but a peace has come over me, and I just know that’s how it’s going to be.

  We’ve never been so good at expressing our emotions with each other. We’ve joked, we’ve yelled, but usually we putter around and hope for the best. I’ve always regretted I couldn’t do a better job of taking care of you after Hunter died because it didn’t take long before I was in no condition to take care of myself. But that beautiful baby boy got me through more chemo treatments than you will ever know. I thought of him on many, many scared and lonely nights.

  I kept telling myself that, if I did die, at least I would get to see Hunter again. Knowing I would be with the baby I’ve missed so much has helped me find my peace. I could never bear to tell you because I knew it would hurt you. You’ve been hurt too much already in this lifetime, and I’ve always wanted to spare you any extra.

  Beulah, another reason why I had to write this letter is because you would argue with me if I tried to tell you what I’m about to write. So, I want you to behave for once and read the next
few lines.

  Shit happens.

  I don’t mean it in a glib way, I mean no matter what we believe, there is evil in this world. Some bad things come from evil. Some bad things come from chance. Some we bring on ourselves through bad decisions. But you know what else?

  Good happens.

  I’ve been on this earth longer than you, and I still believe the good outweighs the bad. I still believe there are more good people than bad people—it’s just the bad people get all the press. And you? You’re a good person. Don’t let a few bitter old biddies make you think less of yourself when I’ve watched you help others the way you do.

  This old lady would like for you to think on something: Everything happens for a reason. I can’t tell you exactly why or how I know, but when you’ve lived as long as I have you have a whole life to dissect and think about. Maybe there’s a whole pattern there that we mere mortals can’t decipher.

  Here’s what I think. You can take it or leave it, but I hope you’ll take it. God sent you to me because you needed someone to take care of you, and I needed someone to keep me from becoming a bitter old drunk. God sent Tiffany to you because you wouldn’t judge her, and she could teach you not to be scared anymore. God sent Luke to all of us to straighten us up even as we taught him to let loose.

  But he mainly sent Luke to you so you would finally see how lovable you are and so he would see it’s okay to be the man he wants to be. Don’t do something stupid to mess that up because he makes you so very happy. You should see his eyes when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world.

  Now, Beulah Lou, you’re going to have to let go of your pain. You can look to God as I always have or you can become a Buddhist monk, but pain and anger will eat you up inside. You’re still young, baby doll. I don’t care if you listen to your heart, the Holy Spirit, or the rain as long as you keep loving and start living.

  Now to do that, you are going to have to set foot into that nursery. You’re going to have to step in there and make peace with God. If not for me, then do it for Tiffany. You remember how hard it is to have a little one. She’s going to need your help with diaper changes and nighttime feedings. She’s going to need you to pace the floors with her those nights the baby’s crying and she can’t figure out why. You can’t help her if you won’t walk into the nursery.

  Remember how we always fought over It’s a Wonderful Life? Well, life is wonderful. I wouldn’t trade one second I had with you or Tiffany. And you, like George Bailey, have touched a bunch of lives for the better. Think of all the other folks you can still touch! I’m only sorry I held you back as long as I did. You’re free now to work in Nashville and sing your songs. You’re free to get married and go make beautiful babies with Luke.

  To tell you the truth, sometimes I think I have to die just to give you the proper shove out of the nest. Otherwise, you would’ve stayed with me out of loyalty, and I would’ve let you because I’m too lonely and weak to let you go.

  Baby girl, I love you. You go out there and be the best Beulah Land you can be. I’ll be cheering you on from heaven. And you can bet your bottom dollar, I’ll be holding baby Hunter if that’s at all the way they do things up there.

  Love always,

  Ginger

  P.S. I meant it when I said I would send rain when you misbehaved. I’ve got to do something to get your attention. Well, that and I’ll get my jollies from watching you fuss over your hair.

  Swiping at the silent tears that refused to stop, I folded the letter and put it back in my pocket. In death, Ginger could still chastise me with far more accurate precision than my mother ever had in life.

  But pigs will fly before I set foot in that nursery.

  Chapter 38

  When I pulled into the driveway, the sun should’ve been up, but dark clouds blocked it out, bathing the world in gray. Not a light shone from the house, but Luke’s roadster was parked to the left of the driveway behind my unresponsive Toyota. Thunder rumbled overhead.

  I had parked too close to Luke’s car, so I had to shimmy out of the Caddy to keep from hitting his car with the door. In the process I bumped my funny bone on something, and my keys went flying.

  Letting out a stream of curse words that would have impressed any sailor, I set about finding my keys. No sun, and then the security light clicked off for the day, so I cursed some more.

  The upstairs light came on, and a beam shone down to the ground in front of me. There, at the edge of darkness, sat my keys, just under the front fender of Luke’s car.

  I frowned at the light but snatched up the keys.

  Luke had to be up there. Well, anyone could have been up there thanks to the broken panes of glass in the front door, but it had to be Luke. Ever since the Gates brothers had literally scared the pee out of two teenagers who’d tried to TP our yard, I’d seen no one loitering on our street.

  I opened the front door with the key. The cardboard I’d thrown up over the missing panes was intact, so Luke must have used the spare key Ginger had given him. I dropped my purse and keys, gently closing the door behind me.

  “Luke? Is that you?”

  “Up here.”

  Obviously.

  If he cared anything at all for me, he’d leave me alone and let me try to get over him.

  Don’t do something stupid to mess that up because he makes you so very happy.

  Shut up, Ginger.

  I climbed the stairs, but I froze when I saw that he had to be in the nursery. I raced to the doorway.

  “Get out!” I didn’t know I could make such primitive growling noises.

  “I’m picking up Tiffany’s bag,” he said. “She sent me to get it.”

  You should see his eyes when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world.

  Dammit, he was.

  “But she sent me, too. . . .” Something behind him caught my eye, and I choked back a sob. Frilly curtains and new-to-us furniture rounded out the fully transformed nursery. There, on the border that ran around the center of the room, were pigs. Cartoon pigs dressed as angels flew around the room in a happy parade.

  Pigs will fly before I set foot in that nursery.

  Luke, handsome Luke, stood in the middle of that frou-frou nursery looking manlier than ever with his dress shirtsleeves rolled up. He took up most of the tiny room with his height and shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable in the bright room with animated characters and an abundance of frilly flounces.

  “Beulah, are you okay?”

  I grabbed the door facing. I couldn’t move my head to tell him one thing or another. “I can’t make this shit up.”

  The spot under my breastbone grew warm. Somewhere under there lay hope and faith, two muscles I hadn’t exercised in quite some time, possibly ever. Those feelings swelled, and I could see clearly for the first time ever that chain of events Ginger had been trying to describe.

  I couldn’t explain why Roy, Sr., had done what he did, but if I hadn’t gotten pregnant then I wouldn’t have come to live with Ginger. Not only did Ginger help me, but who would have taken her to cancer treatments if I hadn’t been there? And how would we have paid the bills the insurance didn’t cover without the money from Roy, Sr.?

  If I hadn’t been playing at The Fountain, I wouldn’t have met Tiffany. And she wouldn’t have had anywhere to go when she got pregnant. Without Tiffany, I wouldn’t have had anyone to help me take care of Ginger, and she wouldn’t have had the perfect excuse to set me up on the date with Luke. We might never have given ourselves a second chance without the opportunity to do both Ginger and Tiffany a favor.

  And if Ginger hadn’t died and if Luke hadn’t started his Bible study that half ran The Fountain out of business, I would still be playing piano in a bar instead of looking at the possibility of making a living through music. Ginger was right; I would have clung to her and she would have clung to me. One day I would have looked up to see my whole life had passed me by. It wouldn’t have bee
n unhappy, but it wouldn’t have satisfied a different ache that lay next to hope and faith, the ache I had for love.

  Lightning flashed through the room. The lights flickered and went out. Thunder boomed loud enough to shake the house, and I jumped out of my skin.

  There were still painful questions, though. Why did my baby have to die? Why did Tiffany have to suffer and get pregnant? Couldn’t I have found a better way to grow up other than to lose Ginger to cancer?

  “Beulah, say something so I’ll know you’re okay.” Luke’s ragged voice broke me out of my reverie. “Ginger warned me you would need time, but it’s killing me to wait for you to come back to me.” He dropped Tiffany’s bag and opened his arms to me.

  And he still hasn’t given up on me? Not after all of the nasty things I said?

  He swallowed hard. I could barely see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the gray light of the nursery. The fine muscles of his jaw flexed as he prepared what he would say next. “I want to love you, Beulah. If you’ll let me.”

  I blinked back tears.

  I can’t do it. They’re all asking too much.

  I ran down the stairs and out the door, crunching over the glass that still lay on the floor. I gasped for air as I reached my car, great gulping sobs because I had been holding my breath the whole time I ran through the house.

  I couldn’t do it. What if I got hurt? What if something happened to Luke? What if we got married and tried to have babies but couldn’t? What if we had a baby but lost him as I’d lost Hunter? It was far better to live in practically painless solitude than to risk the deeper pain of giving myself to someone else.

  A bolt of lightning hit the tree in the front yard, splitting the branches. Before I could recover from the shock of the maimed tree, thunder crashed and the heavens opened, dumping fat, cold drops that slapped my skin and pinged off the hoods of the cars.

  I laughed out loud, a rich, throaty laugh that cleaned out my insides until they ached.