by KD McCrite
Daddy was mad, but as you know, Mama didn’t let him scold or punish me or Myra Sue. He sent me to my room, and I went, right quick. I reckoned he did not want to look at me anymore for a long time.
Myra Sue was lying flat on the bed, her arms crossed on her chest like she was a corpse in a coffin. I woulda thought she was dead, but she drew in a deep, shuddering breath about the time I shut the bedroom door. She stared up at the ceiling and didn’t blink once. Her radio played some dumb song by Madonna, a singer that I’m purely bored with, by the way. If my sister ever turned off that stupid radio, the world would probably stop spinning on its axis, and we’d all fly off into outer space.
I stood next to her bed and stared down at her remains until she finally looked at me.
“So?” I asked.
“So?” she replied.
“What do you think about all that mess downstairs? I mean, I feel awful that I feel awful, because Mama has been so sick, and we were so worried she was dying, but now that she isn’t, is it okay to feel . . . Oh, I don’t know! Myra Sue, I don’t know how I feel.”
She took in a deep breath and hauled herself up into the land of the living by sitting up. “Well, I know how I feel.”
Good. Maybe she could help me. “How do you feel, Myra?”
“Like a doofus,” she said flatly. I could hardly believe she admitted to such a thing, her being so high and mighty all the time.
“You are a doofus,” I said, “but what does that have to do with Mama having a baby? You didn’t have anything to do with that.”
To tell you the honest truth, I don’t know why Mama and Daddy ever wanted to have a second child once they got a load of ole Myra Sue. I would think she’d be more than enough for any parents, even if she’d been an only child.
“I know I did not have anything to do with it,” she said, “but I’m old enough and sophisticated enough to have known about Mother’s condition all this time. I mean, the signs were there. And why do you have that hideous look of disbelief on your face? I am sophisticated.”
“Whatever you say, Myra. I don’t want to argue about something that dumb. But if you know so much, tell me the signs that you, in your amazing sophistication, failed to see.”
She moved around on the bed until she was sitting Indian-style, facing me. I did the same, facing her. “Remember when Mother first started being . . . well, a little grumpy this summer, not nice like she usually is?” she asked. “She has never acted all touchy and grouchy before. I mean, you and me give Daddy and her a pretty hard time once in a while, you know. But Mama never acted like it bothered her very much.”
“Get real, Myra. Mama has always scolded us when we don’t behave. But kindly remember that we never had them two St. Jameses living with us before. Them being here was major stress on everyone, especially Mama.”
She rolled her eyes, then said, “All right, then, but let me remind you that more recently, Mother has been sitting down in the kitchen instead of bustling around and never taking a break.”
Yep. Sure ’nough, my sister had a point. I had been thinking it was strange that Mama had sat at the table and had coffee with Grandma a lot more than usual, even when there was work to be done.
“And then Mother started putting on weight,” Myra added. “Even Isabel noticed.”
“Oh brother!” I hollered, even though I had noticed Mama’s puffiness, too. “Isabel thinks crowbars are fat.”
“Don’t talk mean about Isabel. She had to lie in the hospital, all pitiful and alone without us.”
Sometimes I just wanted to smack that girl. “Isabel St. James and all her bangs and bumps will heal just fine,” I said.
“And in a few months, Mother will have a crying little baby, and she’ll be just fine!”
We glared at each other.
“Isabel St. James would never allow such a low-class thing to happen to her,” Myra Sue said after a minute. “Besides, she doesn’t want to ruin her figure.”
“Is having a baby low-class?”
“Of course.”
My sister obviously had not thought about this dumb idea for any length of time.
“Then I reckon everyone on the face of the earth is low-class ’cause everyone’s mamas and daddies had babies once. And having a baby would not ruin Isabel’s figure. She exercises so much, she’d just go back to looking like she always does.”
Myra Sue narrowed her eyes at me. She was trying hard to think, I suppose. I hoped she didn’t give her brain a hernia.
“Then I will tell you something else you have not considered,” Myra Sue said after a bit. Her voice was all stiff and snooty.
“Pray tell,” I replied, snootier than her, if that was even possible.
“Once that baby gets here, Mother will not have time for us.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” This was an Exaggeration, because my sister has said more dumb things than can be contained in one book, but I needed to make a point. “What do you mean?”
“Babies take a lot of time and attention,” she said, “and Mother will not be our mother anymore.”
“Good gravy, Myra Sue! You have totally lost what’s left of your senses.”
“Oh yeah? Then you just think about it. A cute, soft, cuddly, helpless little baby who will get its own way every time it whimpers or moves, because that’s what always happens. It will need to have its diapers changed umpteen times a day, and Mother will feed it every time she turns around, and if it cries, she will rock it to sleep, and when it sleeps, she’ll just stand by its bed, looking at it. She will totally forget about you and me and Daddy and Grandma and everyone else. And that, April Grace, is the facts of life.”
I just stared at that silly girl. Then, in spite of my resistance to her questionable brand of wisdom, Myra Sue’s words started to sink into my brain, little by little. I could not see how Mama would neglect the rest of her family. She wasn’t like that.
“You’re wrong,” I said, finally.
“Oh? Am I? Am I really?” She said all this with all the Extreme Drama you can imagine, as if she’d heard it from Isabel a million and twelve times. “Then let me tell you what happened to Alice Ann Reed. Her mother had a baby last year, and Alice Ann said her mom did nothing but talk about the baby before it was born. She pampered herself like a princess while she was pregnant, and when that kid finally got here, Mrs. Reed moved a bed into the baby’s room and stayed in there. Poor Alice Ann had to do all the cooking for herself and her father and brother, and she had to clean the whole house every week! And her mother never did a thing but take care of that wretched little baby.”
I frowned. “Myra Sue, for one thing, our mother is not like Mrs. Reed. And for another, I’m not sure, but I think calling a little baby wretched might be a sin.”
Myra Sue’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! You think it might be?” Her eyes were wide.
I shrugged. “Well, probably not a sin,” I amended. “I’m no preacher, but I don’t think you ought to say mean things about tiny little babies, anyway.”
Neither one of us said anything while I thought about what she said about Alice Ann Reed.
“Did Mama do all them things when I was a baby?” I asked. “Rocking me to sleep and looking at me in my crib all the time?”
Myra Sue rolled her eyes. “How would I know? I was only two, but she probably did. You know how Mama is.”
“But even if she did, I bet she did not neglect you and Daddy. Mama isn’t like that.”
“April Grace Reilly, sometimes you are the dumbest child alive. Mother is old. She is not going to want to cook meals or do the cleaning or drive us to any school stuff or church parties or anything anymore. She will want to put her feet up and cuddle that baby. That’s what old women do!”
She clamped her mouth shut like she might bust out crying or something.
Now, here’s the thing. I generally do not pay much attention to anything my silly sister might say because what she says usually has nothing to do with the
real world. But that time she had a point. Mama was old—nearly thirty-eight. Expecting that baby had already been hard on her, and it hadn’t even been born yet. Taking care of it was gonna be a nightmare.
I swallowed hard, realizing what all this meant. That baby was probably gonna cause more trouble than ole Ian and Isabel put together.
“I will never, ever tell Jennifer and Jessica about this,” my sister moaned. “It will be just too, too utterly humiliating.”
That seemed dumb to me. What are best friends for, anyway? I could hardly wait for school the next morning because I wanted to talk to Melissa face-to-face.
TEN
Dirty Details of a Rotten, Horrendous Day
When the bus pulled up to the unloading curb at the junior high building that Monday morning, I saw Melissa inside the big window by the front door. Her bus always gets to the school before mine, so she waits for me. It gave me some comfort that morning, I tell you, to see my best friend. After all that had transpired, I needed someone besides Myra Sue to spill all my troubles to.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked the minute I walked into the building. “Are you sick?”
Three eighth-grade boys shoved past us. They heard her and turned to look at me as if I had some horrid disease that was oozing out of my pores.
I scowled at them and shooed them away by flipping my hands. They sneered but kept walking. Boys! I’ll never understand them, and to tell you the honest truth, I don’t see what’s so special about them, even though every girl in my class seemed to have a crush on one guy or another. Goofy girls.
I grabbed Melissa’s hand and pulled her over to the wall, away from the crowd of the busy hallway, nearly spilling her books right out of her arms.
“I feel sick!” I said. “The most awfullest thing you can imagine has happened.”
“Isabel St. James wants to adopt you?” she guessed, her eyes all big and gawky.
It was such a crazy, unexpected statement that I just stared at that girl for a minute.
“What?
”
“Well, after all you’ve told me about her, wouldn’t that be the most awfullest terrible thing you could imagine?”
She had a point, but Isabel St. James would rather adopt Daisy than me, I’m pretty sure.
“Listen to me,” I said. “My mama is gonna have a baby.”
Melissa’s hazel eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Nuh-uh!”
“Uh-huh!”
She grinned really big and shrieked so loud, the ear wax nearly dribbled out of my ears.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Wow! A new baby in your house. What fun, A.G.!”
I gawked at her. “Are you kiddin’? Mama is too old to be having babies.”
“No, she isn’t.” She moved her books from one arm to the other. “She’s old, but she’s not that old. And your mama is so nice and she’ll love this baby so much that I bet she’ll want to have a bunch more.”
I do believe if she’d had both hands free, that silly girl would have clapped after she said this. And here I was, hoping for a little sympathy and support. Was that too much to ask from a best friend?
The early bell rang, giving us warning that classes started in five minutes. The busy hallway nearly leaped right out of the building with so many kids breaking the rules by yelling and running and throwing pencils or books back and forth as they all rushed to their classrooms. I did not move because the reaction of my best friend stunned me stiff.
“You are out of your ever-lovin’ mind, Melissa Kay Carlyle. Our family is perfect just as it is. We do not need a baby coming along messing up everything.”
Some part of my mind told me I was falling into the thinking of my sister and all the silly things she said yesterday, but having had the night to sleep on it, I now realized that I tended to agree with her. That does not happen very often.
“Listen, Melissa. You don’t know diddly about what a royal pain in the backside it is to have a sibling. Also, you weren’t there for the Extreme Upheaval brought about by having Ian and Isabel St. James cluttering up our home and needing things and getting in the way of everyone, so you cannot possibly begin to imagine what having another intruder in the house will be like. And this one will poop its diapers and demand everyone’s attention. Them St. Jameses, especially ole Isabel, like to have worn Mama down to a nub, having her run around doing things all the time. With a new baby, my mother most likely will fall apart, and our entire family with her. I don’t want Mama to fall apart.”
“I never thought about that,” she replied slowly, after a bit. “I’ve never seen a baby that does all the rotten things you just said.”
I huffed. “That’s because the only babies you’ve ever seen are the ones in those goo-goo cute commercials on television, or the ones in the church nursery who are usually all dolled up and seem to sleep whenever they aren’t playing or eating.”
“But . . . but aren’t those the only babies you’ve been around?”
She had a good point. However, I knew something she didn’t. I knew about Myra Sue’s friend Alice Ann Reed and what happened to her family. So I told Melissa all about the nightmare at Alice Ann’s house when her mother had a baby last year.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. Then, a moment later, with more conviction: “But your mother is not like Alice Ann’s mother. Not in the least! Mrs. Reed is kinda . . . well, self-centered.”
Like Isabel St. James, I thought.
“Well, anyway,” I said, “this baby is the reason Mama hasn’t been herself lately.”
“And she is old,” Melissa reminded me. “This is bound to be weird for her, April Grace.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry you’re all upset about it.”
“Thanks.”
“And please don’t feel bad. It’ll be a good thing. You’ll see.”
I heaved a sigh. I’ll tell you something. I tried talking Mama and Daddy into giving away ole Myra Sue once, and they wouldn’t do it. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t give this one away, either.
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
She smiled. “Me, too.” She glanced around at the quickly emptying hallway. “We better get to class before we’re tardy. Principal Farber has a real thing about tardiness, you know.”
“So I heard,” I said as we trudged toward our classroom.
“Don’t you need to get your books from your locker?” Melissa asked.
That’s when I realized all my books were still on the table at home. Oh brother.
Well, let me tell you something: some teachers have no heart.
Miss Jane-Nell Dickson, who teaches history and social studies and health, is one of them.
When Melissa and I got to class about two and a half seconds before the bell rang, she was already taking roll. I wanted to tell her that was about as unfair a thing as she could do, but looking at her broad face—which was the color and size of a round slice of watermelon—I decided not to utter a peep. She glared at my friend and me as we sat down in our seats.
“Open your books to page 24,” she said without first saying very nicely, “Good morning, students.” Not that she’s done that yet, and I don’t expect her to start.
Everyone opened their books. I sat there like a stump because I did not want her to notice me.
Oh well. She did.
“April Grace Reilly,” she said, giving me a Teacher Stare.
“Open your book.”
“I can’t, ma’am.” Who would’ve thought my voice would’ve ever come out as squeaky as Betty Boop’s? Everyone in that class laughed until ole Miss Dickson rapped her ruler on her desk. It sounded as loud and sharp and sudden as a firecracker.
“CLASS!” she roared, like we were all tearing the walls down or something.
Everybody shut up like you can’t believe. I’m pretty sure no one breathed. I think our blood just sat unmoving in our veins, waiting for Miss Dickson to give our h
earts permission to pump again.
“April Grace Reilly, why can’t you open your book? Did you break your fingers?”
“No, ma’am,” I squeaked like a squeegee on a clean window. “I left it at home.”
Boy, oh boy, I thought that teacher’s eyes were gonna pop right out of her head and roll across the floor to glare at me up close.
“Why did you leave your book at home?”
I swallowed hard. “I forgot it, ma’am.”
“Forgot your history book? Forgot your history book? How could you do that?”
“Maybe she was too overcome with the barnyard smell,” Lottie Fuhrman said.
Miss Dickson is known to be hard of hearing at times, and I reckon that was one time when she was because she did not blink or glare or say a word to ole Lottie.
“April Grace Reilly!” the teacher hollered. “You will write an essay on the importance of bringing books to class.” She glared at everyone else. “In fact, you may all write an essay on the importance of bringing books to class. You will take out paper and you will do it now.”
Oh good gravy. Now everyone was gonna hate me for the rest of the day.
And they did.
When Myra Sue and I got off the school bus, Daisy sauntered down the driveway to meet us. She sniffed Myra Sue, who reared back as if she was going to get dirty from Daisy’s breath. Ole Daisy’s tail never stopped wagging, though, and she came to me, sniffed all the school smells, of which there were plenty, believe me, then butted her head into my hip. I squatted down and gave her the biggest hug you can give a dog who is almost as big as a baby elephant.
As that stinky, noisy ole Bluebird school bus left us behind, I stood up and watched as it went on its way down Rough Creek Road. I was purely glad to see it go.
Then I looked all around at the scenery surrounding me.
Boy howdy, after a hard day, it’s good to be greeted by someone like Daisy. And here’s something else: it is always good to be home, even if you’re just standing in the driveway, looking around. I have to say, when I hear the mockingbird and the cardinal and the meadowlark, or the soft, low moos from our cows, I don’t want to hear the television or the radio or a car engine or any other man-made sound.
