by Wiess, Laura
“Stop telling her stuff like that,” my mother said, scowling and dumping milk in the Styrofoam coffee cups. “You keep filling her mind with big ideas and all you’re doing is creating false hope. This is Sullivan, Beale. Dug County. Last time I looked there weren’t any Einsteins hanging around down at the Colonial Pub.”
Beale stared at her for a long moment, which made her scowl even harder and busy herself sugaring the coffees. “Sayre, would you mind stepping outside for a couple of minutes? Your mom and I have something we need to discuss.”
“Okay,” I whispered because his face was strange, it gave nothing away, and he must have heard the tremor in my voice because he gave me a reassuring smile and it was enough to steady my knees and get me out the door.
Happily, although the curtains were drawn the window was cracked open, and so I loitered close enough to hear what they were saying.
“Why do you do that to her, Di?” Beale said. “She was happy and proud and she should have been. She’s doing really well now, and I hope she keeps it up. Grades like that will get her scholarships someday and maybe even into a decent college.”
“Not if she gets pregnant in sophomore year and fucks up her life,” my mother said.
It was silent a moment.
“Why would you even want to say that?”
“Because guess what, it happens. I was supposed to go to law school and be some big important attorney rolling in dough, you know, but I had her instead and if I had to give up everything to do it, why should she be any different? I don’t get why you think she should have more. More than what? More than me? Why can’t she just take what she gets? I had to.”
“But she’s not you, Di,” Beale said carefully. “She’s a completely different person and she gets to build her own future. You don’t want her to go through what you went through. Christ, even the little bit you told me about the drinking alone . . . nobody wants their kid to live a life like that. I mean she’s only what, ten years old? Think about what she’s already been exposed to.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” my mother said defensively. “And she was a kid, she didn’t know what was going on.”
Beale remained silent.
“Well, she didn’t,” my mother said, angry again. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It was her childhood, Di, and somehow she managed to survive it without being all messed up. You’ve got one smart, strong kid there and it’s like you don’t even get how lucky you are,” Beale said. “She could be really screwed up, out drinking or getting high or messing with boys, but she’s not. She’s got a good head on her shoulders and that’s worth something. I mean, I know you had a hard time, but so has she, and as a mom, you have to want more for her than this kind of life.”
“So you’re saying this life is good enough for me but not for her?”
“No, I’m saying she’s a smart kid—”
“Oh, wait, I thought she was a genius,” my mother said in a mocking voice.
“Stop, Dianne. You know what I mean,” he said quietly. “She works hard, trying to please you. Why don’t you ever congratulate her or hug her or something? You see the way she looks at you: She’s like a pup chained up just out of reach, hungry for affection and—”
“Excuse me, but I don’t remember asking you how to raise my daughter,” my mother said in an icy tone.
I bit my lip, anxious, scared, and almost wishing I’d never even gotten the stupid A+.
“Look,” he said finally and his voice was farther away now, so he must have gotten up and gone over to her. “I don’t want to fight and I’m not trying to tell you how to raise Sayre. I’m just saying there’s no harm in praising her when she earns it.”
“Fine, whatever,” my mother said after a moment. “Do what you want. Tell her she’s a goddamn fucking princess and the whole world is her oyster for all I care. Fill her full of bullshit fairy tales that’ll never come true. I won’t stop you.”
“Good, because I think she should have high hopes and expectations, and not just settle in life. There’s been too much of that already.” His voice was strange, like he wanted to say more but was holding back. “So . . . are we okay again?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” my mother said, and it sounded like she was sulking.
“Oh yes you do,” Beale said and then his voice dropped to a murmur. After a while I heard my mother laugh softly and then there was silence again, but this time it was a good silence, so I sat on the curb while the kids played, the ladies gossiped, and the men drank and talked trash in the parking lot, and stared up at the sky thinking about all the nice things Beale had said about me and being glad that I had a good head on my shoulders. I sat there thinking and thinking until my mother called me back in, which was only about ten minutes later but still long enough for me to find the North Star and make a fervent, heartfelt wish.
I wished Beale was my father.
Chapter 18
A NURSE WHISKS INTO MY MOTHER’S room and stops when she spots me sitting beside the bed. “Oh.”
“Hi.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’m her daughter. Is this okay?”
“Oh,” she says again, as if even more surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she had a daughter. The only one I’ve ever seen her with is that other woman . . . uh . . . ?”
“Candy,” I say, trying to keep my voice low so as not to disturb my mother, but it doesn’t seem to matter. She isn’t sleeping so much as sinking, disappearing into herself.
“That’s it,” the nurse says, nodding. “She never said Dianne had any family.”
“Yeah, well, me and Candy don’t really get along,” I say, and then, gazing down at my mother, “She’s not doing too good, is she?”
“Well, we’re keeping her comfortable and she’s not in any pain but no, her ability to function and respond to outside stimuli has rapidly decreased since last night,” the nurse says quietly. “You came just in time.”
I look up at her, my eyes filled with tears. “Do you think she knows I’m here?”
The nurse hesitates, and says, “I think we’d all be surprised by what they hear and feel and know. I’ve seen terminally ill patients in comas not respond to any stimuli, until someone they love comes in and then . . .” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’ll leave you alone with her. If you need anything, just press the button, all right?” She turns to leave, and pauses. “If that woman Candy returns, I can tell her you’d like some private time with your mother for a while.”
“Yes, thank you,” I say, watching as she pads out, and then pull my chair closer to the bed and whisper, “All right. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here, Mom. I’m back. You’re not alone.”
Her feet twitch in her sleep but that’s all and the longer I sit there, the harder it hits me that this isn’t going to get better, and that what we have right now is all there’s ever going to be. The things we never talked about will never be talked about, the wrongs will never be righted, and if there’s anything I want her to know, I had better hurry up and find a way to say it.
Another New Bus Stop
“NO,” BEALE SAID, SHAKING HIS HEAD. “It’s impossible. I’ll never be able to see you, and what about Sayre? She can’t stay alone in this crack-infested dump all night. You can’t work the night shift. Forget it. You’re just going to have to tell them you can’t do it.”
“Easy for you to say,” my mother said, giving him a look. “You’re not the one who’s living hand to mouth, here. I don’t want to work nights but I need this job, Beale. Nobody volunteered and I’ve got the least seniority, so I’m it.”
We were at the diner having supper and I was the only one eating because I was trying to act like I wasn’t listening. We were supposed to go to the laundromat after this, an activity we all hated because the place always had at least one yowling, snuffling baby
and lots of sneezing, snotty-nosed kids running berserk and at least two people shouting into their cell phones to be heard over the washers and dryers, and the whole thing just gave Beale a hideous headache, which always amused my mother and made me putter like a mother hen, patting his arm and offering him sips of my grape soda.
“But what are you going to do about Sayre?” he said, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair. “You’re not just going to leave her there alone all night?”
I stabbed up a pile of French fries and stuffed them in my mouth, because yes, she was going to leave me there. She hadn’t said it yet, but I knew it was true because she’d left me in far worse places before, even if she had been high when she did it.
“Well, actually,” she said hesitantly, peering up at him from beneath her hair, “that’s where I was kind of hoping you’d come in. I thought maybe Sayre could come and stay with you and your mom on the nights I have to work. It’s four days a week, so it wouldn’t be every night and I could give you money toward her food and all . . .” She half-shrugged and, avoiding his gaze, toyed with an empty coffee creamer. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really don’t know what else to do. I don’t know anybody down at the motel well enough to ask them to babysit—”
“Ew, I don’t want to stay with any of them,” I said, which is something I never would have done if Beale wasn’t sitting there, and it still earned me a sharp look but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to stay with them.
“All right, I have a much better solution to this problem,” Beale said, giving my mother a slight, mischievous smile and putting his hand over hers. “Come and live at the farm.”
OKAY, I said immediately, but only in my mind as I was so excited I couldn’t even speak, could only sit there, heart pounding, holding my breath and waiting for my slack-jawed mother to say yes.
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re saying,” my mother said finally, looking dazed.
“Yeah, you do,” Beale murmured, leaning over and dropping a kiss on her lips. “I love you, and I’m asking you and Sayre to come live with me. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and my mother’s all for it, too, so . . .” He smiled. “What do you think?”
Oh my God, I was quivering so hard the top of my head was about to rattle off. Say yes, Mom. YES YES YES. Say it. SAY IT.
“I would have to pay you rent,” my mother said slowly, but there was a light dawning in her eyes that didn’t match her cautious tone. “I pay two hundred and fifty dollars a month at the motor court. I could pay you a little more than that but it would have to include meals because I have to start saving for a car.”
“Sure, hell, why not, pay all the rent you want,” he said expansively, his smile broadening. “I love an independent woman.”
“And Sayre gets her own room?” she said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, giving me a grin.
Come on, Mom, say yes, I begged silently, curling my hands so tight that my fingernails dug into my palms. COME ON.
“And your mother’s all right with this?” she said, giving him a searching look. “I mean, two women in the same house . . . I don’t want to cause any hard feelings.”
“We’re willing to risk it,” he said.
“How am I going to get to work?” she said.
“I’ll drive you, or you can use the truck, and if I need to, I’ll use my mother’s car,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Come on, what else? Give me your best shot. I can take it.”
“Does the school bus pick up out there?” she said.
“Ahhh!” I clutched my throat, flung myself back in my seat, and slid down, boneless, until nothing but my head was above the table line. “Who cares about the stupid school bus!” And then, because Beale was snickering and my mother didn’t look mad, just good-naturedly peeved, added, “Say yes or I’m going down for the last time,” and when she didn’t speak, I closed my eyes and, squeaking, “Say yes and save me Mom, save me!” disappeared below the table.
“Dear God,” my mother said weakly. “Is this what I have to look forward to?”
“This and more,” Beale murmured, making it sound like a promise. “So?”
“All right,” my mother said as I scrambled back up. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but . . . okay. Yes. Oh my God.” She turned and leaned against Beale’s chest, burying her face in the front of his shirt and saying in a muffled voice, “I can’t believe you’re doing this in the middle of the diner.”
“Hey, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” he said, grinning.
“This is not a joke,” my mother said, peering up at him. “It’s huge, Beale. I’m too happy. I don’t know if I can take it. This is all new. I . . . I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“Never happen,” he said tenderly, and kissed the top of her head. He glanced over at me and with his heart in his eyes, smiled, and said, “Hey, Miss Sayre Bellavia, what do you think, huh? We’re finally going home.”
Chapter 19
“MOM,” I WHISPER, LEANING OVER THE bed rail.
She doesn’t stir.
“Mom,” I say, putting my mouth closer to her ear. “I know you can hear me.” That’s a lie because I don’t know it, can’t stop thinking about what Red said about hepatic encephalopathy and the ammonia levels getting higher and higher in her brain. . . .
Brain damage.
My mother’s brain is flooded with ammonia, her thoughts, her dreams, her memories are all drowning, and even if she does hear me, she still might not recognize my voice anymore.
“Mom?” I wait, but her breathing doesn’t change, nothing changes, and for one hot, shocking moment I just want to seize her terrible, bony arm and shake her until she wakes up, disturb her peace and force her back, make her stay to deal with me and the mess she’s leaving behind, shake her until all the hurt and rage and sadness, all the lost moments and careless cruelties and yearning fall away, until she opens her eyes and sees me, really sees me and not the ghost of my hated father.
“Just one time,” I whisper, holding tight to the bed rail and blinking back tears.
Please.
My Cup Runneth Over
MY MOTHER AND I MOVED INTO the farmhouse up on Sunrise Road with Beale and Aunt Loretta on Halloween, and less than a month later, on Thanksgiving morning, my mother got sick and threw up. She stayed in her room all day because she thought she’d gotten the stomach flu from people at work, and just the smell of all that food was making her nauseous.
Not me, though.
Maybe it sounds mean, but the day was still wonderful, even without my mother. Mostly because she wasn’t there, and I had Beale and Aunt Loretta all to myself, and there was nobody giving me censorious looks when I voiced an opinion or got giggly and food stupid from eating too much, nobody who looked at me like I was a suck-up when I helped baste the turkey or put the brown sugar and butter in the sweet potatoes or whipped the cream for the pumpkin pies. Nobody who raised an eyebrow and drawled in a low, sarcastic voice so only I would hear, as I went on humming “Stormy” and setting the table for dinner, “My, my, who knew you’d turn into such a little homemaker?” or gave me an irritated look when I filled my plate for the second time with a taste of everything, wanting to savor it all, even the cranberry sauce, or said, “God, Sayre, do you always have to have more? Aren’t you ever satisfied?”
And nobody was critical when I got all choked up as we went around the table, just the three of us and said what we were thankful for, although Aunt Loretta did give me a questioning look over her glasses when I stammered out, I’m thankful for living here with Beale and Aunt Loretta and Stormy and the other cats, and for getting all As on my homework and for my new pants and I guess even for my new sweater only it itches sometimes, and I hope I can stay here forever and . . . that’s everything. Amen.
And then I
reached for my fork and noticed Aunt Loretta’s curious look and like a bolt of lightning I realized what I’d forgotten and so I quick said, And I’m thankful that my mother and Beale are in love and happy. Amen again.
That cracked them both up and we went to work on that big, beautiful table full of food and every so often beneath the chatter I’d hear the bedroom door open upstairs and my mother lurch to the bathroom. Maybe I was a bad person to talk louder and faster when it happened so that nobody else would hear it, too, and leave the table to go up and check on her because if that happened it would change the mood of us, change the happy rhythm and the way we were together, which was kind of like it was back in the beginning when I first stayed with Miss Mo, and they just liked me for me.
I knew I was only living here because of Beale and my mother, but sometimes I could make myself forget that and Thanksgiving was one of those days.
My mother made it to work that night, though, armed with a plain turkey sandwich in her lunch bag. She came downstairs pale and a little shaky but drank some ginger ale and ate a piece of butter bread and felt better, so Beale drove her in saying that if she felt sick, to call him no matter what time it was and he’d go back and get her.
She’d been paying him rent, a hundred dollars a week for the two of us, and was very proud of never having missed a payment. Beale called her Miss Moneybags and she would swat him when he said it but her eyes would sparkle and I could tell she liked that.
She was different in other ways since we’d been out here at the farm, too. Beale kept her laughing, and Aunt Loretta was helpful but still went about her own life, and so slowly, my mother relaxed. Aunt Loretta was a really good cook, with her cinnamon rolls, peach conserves, and raspberry pastries winning ribbons at the county fair, and my mother gained enough weight to fill out her jeans. She came home from the factory with stories of her coworkers and lingered in the kitchen after supper, making coffee and telling us all the latest gossip. She knew, before we did, that Miss Mo’s little house had been sold to a young couple from York who’d been transferred up by the factory, and she knew when it went on the market again because the couple had left, homesick.
