I must admit that the house felt a bit empty without Grace, I’d grown so accustomed to her being around. It was actually sort of silly; after all, she did most of her work while I was at school, but I’d gotten used to seeing her tending to Peter when I arrived home every day. Still, I was looking forward to it just being the three of us again; me, Wanda, and Peter, a family.
I was a bit nervous that first morning I left Wanda and the baby alone again. I could tell Wanda was nervous too but trying to put on a brave face, determined to prove that she could do this without any help. Peter was still sleeping when I left, but I hoped—for his sake and Wanda’s—that things would go well while I was gone.
I worried the entire day. I was tempted to run home during my lunch break, but Wanda had told me not to. It was like she was trying to make a point, to both me and herself. I respected her request and ate lunch in the teacher’s lounge, but I kept my cell phone close by and barely resisted the urge to call and check on things. At the end of the day, I did not dawdle. I gathered my things and rushed to my car. In the warm months I often walked to work, living so close to the school, but during winter I drove the two blocks. I was home in minutes.
When I walked into the house, I immediately heard what I’d feared I’d hear…crying. I followed the sound to the bedroom and found Wanda pacing back and forth in front of the bed, bouncing the baby in her arms while he screamed and squirmed. His face was a disturbing shade of purple.
“I guess I don’t have to ask how it went,” I said.
Wanda glanced at me and her eyes were glassy, almost like the eyes of a corpse. “More of the same. The entire four months Grace was here, he was so well behaved and happy. But today it has been nonstop crying.”
I could have mentioned that after four months of Wanda avoiding the baby, he probably no longer recognized her, but I smartly held my tongue. I sat down my satchel full of papers to be graded and held out my arms. “Give him to me, let me see if I can calm him down.”
“No!” she said vehemently, swinging the baby around, away from my grasping hands. “I’ll do it.”
“Really, I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do. He’s just going to have to get used to me whether he likes it or not.”
I watched Wanda resume pacing and bouncing the baby, but the way she jiggled him up and down it looked like she was trying to get the last penny out of a piggybank. “Honey, you’re being too rough. You need to bounce him gently.”
“What, you think I don’t know how to take care of my own baby?”
“No, I’m just saying you might be scaring him bouncing him that hard.”
“Fine, then you can have him,” she said, practically thrusting Peter into my arms. “But he will get used to me. He doesn’t have to love me, but he will learn to tolerate me. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him win.”
With that, she left the room. I looked down at Peter, who had stopped crying but looked vaguely disoriented. No wonder, the way she was jerking him around, he probably felt as if he’d just come off a rollercoaster.
***
Over the next two weeks, Wanda developed a parenting style that seemed more mercenary than anything. Peter’s feedings became force-feedings, his pacifier brandished at him like a weapon; when she spoke to the baby, it was in clipped, curt tones; when she rocked him, it was as if she were shaking an Etch-a-Sketch clean. Even when I was home she insisted on being the one to care for Peter, which assured that he spent almost all his waking hours crying. I knew he was simply reacting to Wanda’s aggressiveness.
I begged her to let me hire Grace back, but she refused. I had a private conversation with Grace in which she agreed with Wanda, believing that Peter simply needed to get used to being cared for by his mother. However, after I invited Grace over one evening and she witnessed the situation firsthand, even she told Wanda she’d be happy to start lending a hand again. Wanda’s response was a chilly “No thanks.”
Finally I had to put my foot down. Wanda seemed to be terrorizing the child, and I could not allow that to continue. Wanda still refused to see a therapist, insisting it was Peter who had the problem, not her. I really started to worry that there was something seriously wrong with my wife, a chemical imbalance triggered by childbirth maybe; I thought I’d read somewhere that that could happen. As much as it pained me to admit, I feared she may hurt Peter, even if unintentionally. When I was home, I never left her alone with the baby, and I insisted that we rehire Grace.
Wanda relented, but she wasn’t happy about it. She turned cold toward me, didn’t speak to me unless she had to, acting as if I’d betrayed her somehow. Grace reported that the warm, friendly woman Wanda had once been was no more. Wanda wouldn’t let Grace do much other than warm bottles and occasionally change dirty diapers. For the most part, Wanda wanted to do it all, and Grace said that Peter cried almost nonstop.
Things went on like this for the next three weeks. I knew something had to be done, Wanda had to get help even if it was involuntary. I was thinking of contacting some therapists and seeing what courses of action may be available to me.
But before I could, I got the phone call at work.
***
It wasn’t Wanda who called me, but Grace.
“She fired me,” she said.
“What?”
“Your Mrs. She told me my services were no longer required and told me to leave the premises.”
“That’s ridiculous. What happened?”
“She was acting very strange today. I mean, stranger than usual. She kept talking softly to the baby, almost whispering, and at first I couldn’t really make out what she was saying. But then I got close enough and clearly heard her say, ‘You think you’re so clever, making everyone believe I’m crazy. Well, I wasn’t before you started your little campaign of torture, but I certainly am now. You happy? You’ve driven me completely over the brink. You’ve left me no choice; I have to do it.’”
I felt cold, even though I was sweating. “Do what? What does she have to do?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said, sounding near tears, “but it scared me when I heard her talking like that, the tone of voice she used. I went up and took the baby and told her I thought she needed to lie down and rest. I planned to call you as soon as I was out of earshot, but instead she practically wrestled Peter away from me and fired me. Trust me, I didn’t want to go, but she threatened to call the police and have me arrested for trespassing. I didn’t know what else to do. So I came out to my car and called you on my cell. I’m sitting out front of the house now. What do you want me to do?”
“Wait right there; I’ll be home in just a minute or two.”
I hung up and told Mrs. Jenkins I had to go home, not even waiting to see if they were able to find a sub. On my way to the car, I used my cell to try to call the house, but the phone just rang until the answering machine picked up. I called Wanda’s name several times, imploring her to pick up the phone, but there was no answer. That did not bode well, and I ran the two stop signs between the school and the house.
Grace’s car was parked at the curb out front, and she got out of the car as soon as I pulled up. Without even stopping to say anything, I hurried to the front door, Grace behind me. I tried the door and it was unlocked; I stepped inside and was assaulted by silence.
The silence was damning. I was so used to Peter’s incessant crying when he was alone with Wanda that the quiet of the house at this moment seemed a confirmation of my very worst fear. “Wanda?” I called out tentatively. “Where are you?”
And then I heard Peter, and my heart expanded like a balloon about to burst. But the baby wasn’t crying; he was laughing. I followed that laughter like a trail of breadcrumbs, Grace moving along behind me quicker than I thought possible for someone her age.
The laughter was coming from our bedroom, a delighted trilling giggle. The door was shut, and I pushed it open, not sure what I expected to find. But I wasn’t expecting what I found, that was for sure.
&n
bsp; At first I couldn’t process what I was seeing, couldn’t make my brain accept the reality of it. Only when I heard Grace scream behind me and sensed her turn away did the full-force of what was before me truly hit.
The chair from Wanda’s vanity, toppled over on its side. The bed unmade, the sheet tied to the light fixture. Wanda dangling, her feet not touching the ground. Her face the color of a bruise, her tongue lolling out and looking somewhat bloated. Peter sitting on the floor beneath her, laughing and clapping his hands as he looked up at his mother.
Finally freed from my paralysis, I ran to the dresser and rummaged through one of the drawers until I found the pocketknife my father gave me when I was 14. I righted the chair and quickly cut Wanda down, carrying her dead weight in my arms and laying her on the bed. I knew it was too late but I checked her pulse anyway, just confirming what I already knew. She was dead.
I could hear Grace in the hall, talking to a 911 operator on the phone. I grabbed Peter up, not wanting him to have to see his mother like this for a second more. As I hurried him from the room, he held his arms out toward the bed, giggled once more, and said his first word.
“Mama.”
THE JESUS SHOE STORE
“You should go to the Jesus Shoe Store.”
“What?” Jackson said, sure he’d misheard his sister.
“You said you needed a new pair of work boots, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should go to the Jesus Shoe Store. They have a great selection and the best bargains.”
“Okay, what’s the joke?” Tammy was four years older than Jackson, and growing up she’d often told him tall tales that he’d been gullible enough to believe. He was eight before he’d realized that tiny pygmies did not live in their lawn. He had gotten less naïve over the years, but Tammy still tried to get a good one over on him now and then.
“No joke,” Tammy said. “It’s over in Gaffney, right off the interstate.”
“And it’s called the Jesus Shoe Store?”
“Well, no, of course that’s not the real name of the store. It’s actually called the Discount Shoe Mart.”
“Then why—”
“Because the owner is really religious, and the sign on the front of the store actually reads, ‘Jesus is Lord at the Discount Shoe Mart.’ Eventually everyone just started referring to it as the Jesus Shoe Store.”
“Leave it to a hick town like Gaffney to have a place like that,” Jackson said with a laugh. “Maybe after I pick up some shoes, I can go grab a cruller at Christ’s Donuts or get a magazine at Savior Books.”
“Quirky name or no, it’s still the best place to find good shoes at a cheap price. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it. I thought everyone around here knew about the Jesus Shoe Store. Gaffney’s sort of famous for it.”
“I must have missed the memo on that one. Anyway, you really think I can find something there?”
“Guaranteed. That’s where I got the boots I’m wearing now, and at half the price I’d have paid anywhere else.”
“Okay, okay, enough with the Jesus Shoe Store commercial. I’m sold, I’ll go. How do you get there?”
“You know, I could use a new pair of sneakers myself,” Tammy said. “Why don’t we go together? A little shoe-shopping trip with your big sis, won’t that be fun?”
“I can practically feel my testicles shrinking as we speak.”
“Jackson, I’m telling Mom,” Tammy said and swatted her brother on the arm. “You may be twenty-two, but she could still wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Well, maybe my soul will get saved at this Jesus Shoe Store. When do you want to go?”
***
The next afternoon, Jackson picked his sister up and headed down the interstate toward Gaffney. Gaffney wasn’t much more than a bump in the road, a way station between Greenville and Charlotte. Jackson couldn’t imagine that people actually traveled out of their way to this nothing of a town just for some cheap shoes. Still, Tammy’s boots were stylish and if she’d paid the price she claimed, it would be well worth the trip.
The Jesus Shoe Store was just off exit 92. A long rectangular building, painted a dull gray, it looked like a giant cracker box turned on its side. As promised, at the top of the building were the words “JESUS IS LORD AT THE DISCOUNT SHOE MART.” The parking lot was nearly full, proving that the store was indeed as popular as Tammy had suggested. A Volkswagen Beetle was just pulling out of a space a few aisles from the entrance, and Jackson quickly swung in.
“You’re going to love this place,” Tammy said as they headed across the lot. “I always find just the perfect pair of shoes every time I come here, and they are always affordable."
“Calm down, sis. I haven’t seen you this excited since Bobby Lee asked you out in the tenth grade. Bargain prices or not, it’s still just a shoe store.”
“Oh, it’s so much more than that,” Tammy said with a cryptic smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see.”
When they walked into the store, Jackson thought it looked like a typical shoe store, no different than a dozen others he’d been in over the years. Aisles laid out in monotonous domino rows, men’s shoes on one side of the store, women’s on the other. Dozens of customers scurried along the aisles, seemingly caught up in a frenzy of shopping lust. Decoration was minimal, the walls mostly bare except for—
Jackson halted abruptly, Tammy colliding into his back. He blinked, blinked again, rubbed his eyes and blinked once more. What he saw did not alter. On the far side of the store, up near the ceiling, a man sat on a wooden chair that was attached to a bracket in the wall. He wore flowing white robes and had long chestnut brown hair and a beard; he looked, in fact, like every portrait of Jesus that Jackson had ever seen. Jackson at first thought it must be a mannequin, but then the man on the wall sneezed into his palm, scratched his nose, and smiled.
“What the hell is that?” Jackson whispered to his sister.
“What?” she said.
“The man on the wall, that’s what.”
“Oh,” she said casually, as if it were quite a commonplace sight, “that’s Jesus. This is his store.”
“You mean the owner dresses up like Jesus and sits up on the wall?”
“He doesn’t dress up like Jesus; he is Jesus.”
Jackson stared at his sister for a moment, sure that she must have lost her mind, but a smile blossomed on his face when he realized what was going on. This was Tammy up to her old shenanigans again. This was much more elaborate than her usual stories; she’d even managed to rope the owner of this store into helping her try to sell her tall tale.
“Oh, right, it’s Jesus,” Jackson said, deciding to play along, curious as to just how long Tammy would keep up this little game. “Right, how could I not have recognized him?”
“Well, I’m going to go find some sneakers.”
After Tammy walked off to the women’s shoes, Jackson stood there for a moment, staring up at the faux Jesus on the wall. He stared straight ahead, a Mona Lisa smile slightly curling his lips, not seeming the least bit discomfited. Jackson had to hand it to Tammy, she had some loyal friends if they’d go through all this just to play a prank on her little brother. And what of all the other customers who acted as if there was nothing unusual going on here? Either they were in on it, or the owner had convinced them to at least play along.
Jackson headed into the men’s shoes, finding the aisle with his size. He found a nice pair of black steel-toed work boots, just what he needed. He turned over the left shoe and found a price tag on the bottom. Ten bucks. That was a good deal, especially for a quality pair of work boots. Taking the box, he went to meet his sister.
Tammy already had a pair of sneakers in her arms, but she also had a pair of open-toed sandals and a pair of sparkly pumps. True to form, she could never just buy what she’d come for but had to indulge. It was a wonder she hadn’t maxed out every credit card she had.
“Yeah. I’m a man; we know what we want, we get it, we leave. We have a simplicity that you women seem to lack.”
“I’ll give you that one. If there is one word to sum up the male species, it would have to be ‘simple.’”
“Ha, ha. You’re a regular riot. Can we go now?”
“Uhm, yeah, sure,” Tammy said, but it was obviously paining her to tear herself away from all these bargain-priced shoes.
Jackson turned toward the front of the store, and that was when he noticed another anomaly of the Jesus Shoe Store. There was no checkout counter, no register. He turned to ask his sister about this, but she was already walking away from him, toward the back of the store.
Toward the man on the wall.
“Where are you going?” Jackson said, following along behind her.
Tammy did not answer him. She stopped only when she was standing beneath the man on the wall. She knelt down on the floor, heedless of the dust getting on the knees of her white pants. She set the three boxes of shoes next to her, rummaged some cash from her purse, and slid the bills across the floor.
Jackson was amazed. Tammy had never gone to this much trouble to pull his leg before. It was amusing, but it was also a little unnerving. Jackson had never been a particularly religious man, but something about this prank reeked of sacrilege. He looked around at the other customers, but none of them were even glancing in Tammy’s direction.
“Jesus, take this humble offering in exchange for these gifts you bestow on me. I thank you for blessing me with reasonably priced shoes, and I give to you my eternal devotion.”
Companions in Ruin Page 5
