She ran, in her heeled pumps, all the way, four and a half blocks, to her house. A number of people saw her, recognized Charlotte Nation, the really tall girl who worked at the Voice, running and wondered what might be the matter downtown. A few people called around. The telephone down at the Voice rang, but Sandy, still alone, was uncertain about answering. He had never answered the phone at the office before. Hardly anyone did, except Charlotte. Charlotte got a little mad if anyone else answered the phone, and especially if they didn’t do it exactly right.
He stood there, with the phone ringing, trying to figure out what to do, wondering if he should go after Charlotte or let her have the time alone. He sure didn’t want to press her so hard that she threw him completely out of her life.
At home, where she had thrown herself across her bed, Charlotte cried until she felt herself go almost into a faint. She had not slept but three hours the night before, and she had not had anything to eat since a small supper that hadn’t set well; however, she struggled up from her state and got the telephone to call Marilee and tell her she was taking the day off. She felt terribly irresponsible taking time off and would not have been able to stand being so irresponsible as not to alert someone who could take over.
Ten
Her mother’s little girl…
Miss Charlotte had a broken heart. Corrine heard Aunt Marilee on the phone to her, and saw her aunt pacing with her long strides, like she did whenever she was upset. “Honey…oh, honey,” Aunt Marilee said, and when she finally hung up and saw Corrine, who never liked for her aunt Marilee to get upset, looking at her, she breathed deeply and said, “Miss Charlotte is okay. No one dies from a heartbreak.” Then, as she headed for her bedroom, she added, “They just feel like they will.”
It wasn’t good that Miss Charlotte had called before Aunt Marilee had finished a whole cup of coffee. She never did get to finish her coffee, though, because she needed to get down to the newspaper office early to take Miss Charlotte’s place, and as usual she was running about fifteen minutes late. Aunt Vella said that when it was time for Aunt Marilee to be born, they made her mama wait for the doctor, who was not yet at the hospital, for fifteen minutes, so ever since then, Aunt Marilee stayed the same course. You could set a watch by her lateness.
Aunt Marilee rushed around, telling them to hurry up. Corrine, who was always ready early, didn’t need to hurry; she focused on helping Willie Lee, who was incapable of hurrying. Aunt Marilee had forgotten that she had thrown away his skunkified shoes. Corrine dug his good Sunday shoes out of the closet.
The telephone rang. Corrine jammed the shoes at Willie Lee and called out, “I’ll get it,” and Aunt Marilee called back, “Bless you, honey,” in the way that made Corrine know that she was a big help to her aunt.
She raced into the living room, then came to a dead stop and stared at the phone on her aunt’s desk. She knew suddenly that it was her mother calling. Whenever Aunt Marilee left a message on her mother’s answering machine, it was always two or three days until her mother would call. Corrine was fairly certain her mother did this on purpose. She could not have explained her reasoning, just that this was her mother’s manner.
Willie Lee, who had come in the room, walked past Corrine and went to pick up the phone. “Hello?” He listened. “Yes, this is Wil-lie Lee. Hel-lo, Aunt A-ni-ta.”
Corrine breathed deeply.
He giggled. “Yes, this is Wil-lie Lee, but I am grow-ing.”
She realized her mother had said something funny to Willie Lee. Her mother always made an effort to make Willie Lee smile. Her mother was beautiful when she made an effort to make someone smile.
“Cor-rine is right here.”
She took the receiver he held out to her. “Hello, Mama.”
“Corrine? Corrine, is that my baby?” At the sound of her mother’s high-pitched tone, she pictured her mother on the other end of the line, as she was when she was in a energetic mood, walking around as she spoke, puffing on a cigarette, every part of her in motion.
“Yes.”
“Well, what is it you have to tell me, honey? Your Aunt Marilee sounded like there was a surprise.”
She didn’t want to say it aloud. She checked and saw that Willie Lee was over on the couch, trying to get his shoes on. She cupped the receiver with her hand. “I started my period.”
“What, honey? I didn’t hear you.”
Corrine repeated it.
Her mother let out a squeal that stabbed Corrine’s ears. “You started your period? Oh my goodness!”
Corrine wished to drop through the floor. “Yes,” she croaked. She wondered if her mother’s boyfriend, Louis, was right there with her mother.
“I cannot believe you have started so young. Surely I am not old enough to be your mother.”
Corrine experienced a stab of guilt at doing something wrong.
“Well, honey, I’m sending you a present. I’m puttin’ it in the mail today.”
“You are?” Sometimes her mother sent presents, but except for a jewelry box with a wind-up ballerina that she had sent at Christmas, the things were all for younger girls: pop-beads, several stuffed toys, books for young readers. Corrine had found out that it had been her mother’s boyfriend, Louis, who had chosen the jewelry box.
“Don’t ask me what it is. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Okay.” Corrine wondered if she should want to ask.
“Oh, honey, I wish I could be there with you,” her mother was saying. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too, Mama.”
Then there was silence, and Corrine had a small panic in trying to think of something more to say.
Thankfully her mother spoke. “We’re thinkin’ of comin’ up there next month. Grama says Aunt Marilee and Tate have set the date for their weddin’.”
“Yes, they have.”
“Well…honey, let me talk to your aunt just a minute.”
“Okay. She’s gettin’ dressed.” She put her hand over the receiver and called out for Aunt Marilee, who was just then coming into the room. “It’s Mama.”
Aunt Marilee took the phone. “Hey, Anita.” Then she bit her lip. “Yes she sure is growin’ up,” she said after a moment.
Corrine went to the couch to help Willie Lee tie his shoes. He told her to let him do it, so she just sat there on her knees, one ear tuned to her aunt’s conversation. Aunt Marilee had turned her back and was mostly listening. When she spoke, it was with that clipped tone that meant something her mother was saying annoyed her, but she would not let on.
Then Aunt Marilee was holding the receiver out to her. “She wants to say goodbye.”
Corrine took the phone and bid goodbye to her mother, who said, “Love you, honey,” and made a smooching sound.
In answer, Corrine said, “You, too.” She could not make the smooching sound, and she felt guilty for this lapse that seemed mean.
Corrine could not tell her mother that she loved her; she could not say the words. One time on the phone her mother had pressed her.
“Don’t you love your mother, sugar?”
“Yes, I do, Mama.”
Thankfully her mother had let it drop, and Corrine had never had to actually say the words.
She felt guilty for not being able to say the words. She knew she loved her mother, but what confused her was how much she sometimes hated her, too. It was a secret that lay like a stain on her heart. She always felt that she needed to tell her mother she was sorry—sorry for being so mean, sorry for being a nuisance, sorry for ever being born.
Corrine knew she loved Aunt Marilee, but she never could have told her aunt with the words, either. This seemed okay, maybe because Aunt Marilee didn’t say the words. Still, Corrine felt her aunt loved her. Aunt Marilee would smile at her in a way that made her feel warm and full, and sometimes Aunt Marilee would hug her right out of the blue, or would say that Corrine was sweet, or neat, or smart, or pretty as a picture. Maybe what was best was that Aunt Marilee see
med to like her to be around. Sometimes Corrine felt so grateful to her aunt Marilee, but she couldn’t say that, either. She would lay her head against Aunt Marilee, hoping her aunt could feel how she felt.
Corrine was mostly grateful to Aunt Marilee for sharing Willie Lee, who was the one person Corrine knew for certain she loved totally, completely. With Willie Lee, Corrine shared two important life factors: the lack, at least until now, of a flesh and blood father, and the sense of being different from everyone in the world.
The details Corrine’s mother had told her about her father were few. At the times her mother spoke of her father, her mother would cry, sending mascara running down her cheeks, and tell her all about a man named Scott Pendley, a sweet ranch boy from some burg over near Odessa, who had been a roustabout on the oil rigs, then fallen off one and died three short weeks after they had married. But if her Scotty had only lived, he would have taken good care of her and Corrine, and they would have had everything in the world.
Her mother had described her Scotty as having blue eyes and curly blond hair, and her mother had light brown hair and green eyes. But Corrine’s own eyes were the color of crude oil and her hair all but black. And why was there no picture of this man? Why were there no grandparents from her father?
Once, piecing together rumors, speculation about her parentage, she had told her mother that she did not believe her mother had ever been married. Her mother had produced a marriage certificate. “I was married. You are not a bastard child. I made sure of that.”
The event that brought Corrine to live with Aunt Marilee and Willie Lee was her mother being beaten up by her latest boyfriend. Corrine did not see this violence, although it might have been better to see it than what her vivid imagination drew up when she arrived home, a small, skinny girl bearing a bag of items from the 7-Eleven at the corner, stepping through the door to find two enormous policemen questioning her mother in a living room where the television was kicked out and lamps broken, and her mother’s face all cut and bruised.
Her mother went into the bathroom and had Corrine help her put little butterfly bandages on the worst of the broken skin. Later, lying awake and worrying that the violent man might return, or that something else equally horrible was about to happen at any minute, she overheard her mother on the telephone to Aunt Marilee, crying, “They’ll take her away from me, Marilee.”
Aunt Marilee came flying down the highway and arrived early the next morning, coming into the house with the firm strides that she employed when she meant business. She took one look at Corrine’s mother draped dramatically on the couch, her face all black and blue, another at Corrine, who was frantically cleaning the house instead of in school, then looked in the refrigerator, staring for a long minute at the basic contents of a half a quart of milk, a six-pack of beer, jars of grape jelly and mayonnaise, and a package of bologna. Slamming closed the refrigerator, Aunt Marilee strode out back and looked in the trash can, and then slammed that closed, too. With each slam, Corrine’s mother winced.
Aunt Marilee came marching back inside, got Corrine and took her out to the back step, pulled a Hershey chocolate bar from her purse and gave it to Corrine, saying, “Sit here.” Corrine sat; no one in their right mind crossed Aunt Marilee when she meant business.
While Corrine broke off squares of the Hershey bar and put them into her mouth and looked up at the blue, blue sky and wished she were a bird that could fly away, the two women inside went at each other. Corrine wondered vaguely if some neighbor would again call the police.
Aunt Marilee screamed at Corrine’s mother for being so stupid as to waste her life with booze and men. “Anita, didn’t you have enough of that with Daddy and Mama? What do you want to do? Kill yourself with it, like Daddy did?”
And her mother alternately sobbed and screamed back that it was her life to do with as she pleased. “Get off your high horse, Marilee. You tried a man, and it didn’t work out any better. Now you’re afraid to have a life.”
Gradually the women’s voices subsided, and eventually Corrine was summoned back inside. Both women’s eyes were red and swollen.
Her mother got down on her knees, her swollen face level with Corrine’s. “I want you to go stay with your aunt Marilee for a while, honey. Just till I get a good job and can save up for a good place to live, okay? It will only be for a few months. Aunt Marilee can take care of you real well.”
The few months had turned into almost two years. Her mother had visited a total of four times; the telephone calls and cards were coming more infrequently.
On the last visit, her mother had been beautiful and as happy as Corrine had ever seen her. She had brought a new boyfriend—Louis, who looked like a movie star and drove a fancy car. Corrine thought he was the nicest boyfriend her mother had ever had. That afternoon her mother had made her feel special, and Louis had actually seemed to like her. She had begun to think maybe it would be okay to go with her mother, that maybe now she would have a real mother and father and home.
But her mother and Louis had gone off to live in New Orleans, her mother promising, “I’ll get us a wonderful place in New Orleans, honey, and then you can come live with me.” That had been last fall.
Corrine no longer believed her mother would ever have a place for her. And she felt terribly guilty, because she no longer wanted to go live with her mother.
She had arrived at her aunt Marilee’s house with all her stuff in a large plaid suitcase and four liquor boxes. Since then, Aunt Marilee had bought her a brand-new mattress and box spring, and a violet sprigged comforter and matching sheets. She had gotten Corrine all new clothes and toys, and three shelves of books. When Aunt Marilee and Mr. Tate were married, and they all moved over to Mr. Tate’s house, Aunt Marilee said Corrine would have her own room, the one with an east window.
All in all, Corrine had begun to feel that her life might be okay after all. Until Willie Lee’s father had shown up.
The first worry she had was that Willie Lee’s father had come to take him away. That had happened to a kid—Frankie Ramundo—who had lived next door to her in Fort Worth; his father had shown up one day in a suit and shiny car and taken Frankie off with him, while Frankie’s mother screamed and pulled her hair out in the driveway.
With further consideration, however, Corrine sincerely doubted anyone could take Willie Lee from Aunt Marilee, not even a police squad breaking in with machine guns, like on television.
On Friday night Mr. Tate and Aunt Marilee and Miss Franny, who had explained, “After a certain age, dear, we women turn back to Miss again,” were visiting in the kitchen, while Mr. Tate made supper. Corrine was happily reading one of her books, and Willie Lee was on the floor, observing his ant farm, all of them just like it was supposed to be, when the doorbell rang. It was Mr. James, coming in and ruining it all.
“Hello, Corrine…may I come in?”
She reluctantly stepped back. “They’re in the kitchen. We’re about to eat supper.”
“I’m just in time, then. I brought pie and ice cream.” He had bags in his hand. One was from the dairy store. Apparently he had figured out quick to bring food. She said, “We have chocolate cake.”
“Well, the ice cream is vanilla and will go with that.” He held out a bag for her. “And here is something for you…and something for Willie Lee.”
Slowly she took the bag he offered. To not take it would be too rude. “Thank you,” she remembered to add.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes lingered on her briefly, flitting over her face like a searchlight. She looked away to the bag she now held.
When he stepped away toward Willie Lee, she lifted her eyes and watched him. He gave Willie Lee his bag, and Willie Lee showed him the ant farm. Mr. James gave it a glance and made a comment, then strode on into the kitchen with his long legs.
Corrine sat in the big chair and peered carefully into the shopping bag, one of the fancy kind, with twine handles. She really wished Mr. James hadn’t bought her anything. She f
elt obligated to him now. But it wasn’t like a real present, not like Miss Franny’s gifts.
Mr. James’s present was like what her mother’s boyfriends used to bring her mother, to get her to go out with them, or make up after a fight. The boyfriends brought her mother flowers and candy and jewelry, and even a microwave oven and a television. One time one of the boyfriends gave her mother a pair of diamond earrings, and the next week, when they got in a fight, he jerked them out of her ears and left. Another time, after the boyfriend was gone and they needed money, her mother pawned the microwave he had given her. “This was my investment,” her mother told her as they walked along the hot sidewalk to the pawnshop. “You make sure a man gives you a decent gift, so you can get some money from it when he leaves you.”
Mr. James’s gift was a really fancy doll. The sort you don’t play with but set up somewhere to look at. A blond girl doll, with a beautiful china face. Cost bucks, she thought, examining it.
She put it back in the bag and moved to see Willie Lee’s gift. It was a truck that ran on batteries.
Willie Lee, chin in his hand and eyes intently on the ant farm, said, “I can-not play with it now. I am watch-ing this ant…ev-ery-where he goes.”
She went to the kitchen and through it to the laundry room, where she folded towels clean from the dryer. Aunt Marilee had begun giving her five dollars a week for allowance, and Corrine liked to be of help, plus at that minute she could listen and watch the adults in the kitchen, without them noticing her. She had learned long ago how to be invisible.
She continued watching the adults throughout the evening. She saw how Mr. James kept looking at Aunt Marilee. Saw how whenever he spoke, like when answering Miss Franny’s questions about Scotland, he kept looking at Aunt Marilee. And when he took Willie Lee on his lap and observed the ant farm with him, he kept lifting his head to look at Aunt Marilee. It was sort of a sad look. But that did not make Corrine feel soft toward him.
Corrine had an uneasy feeling about the entire situation. In her experience, sooner or later bad was bound to happen, and it sure seemed that the arrival of Mr. James meant trouble.
At the Corner of Love and Heartache Page 10
