Cly sprinted across the street to his house while I ran toward Slim’s truck. The sky opened up, spitting rain that blew sideways, stinging my face like bits of glass. Slim helped me in, then let the engine warm up a minute before hunching over the steering wheel to drive me home, muttering about the blasted weather in the Texas Panhandle. Him and Daddy… always talking about cold fronts and high-pressure systems like they held the secrets of the universe.
“Thanks, Slim. Be careful driving back.”
“You bet. Hurry on into the house now.”
I wanted to go to the garage to get the box I’d found earlier, but the wind about knocked me down when I started up the sidewalk. When I made it to the porch, I turned around, waved at Slim, and opened the door. Scarlett appeared out of nowhere and whooshed past me into the house.
“I’m home!” Stomping the wet off my feet, I slipped out of my soggy jacket. Scarlett ran into the kitchen and shook her wet fur, spraying water all over the cabinets.
“Good heavens, throw that thing out. Nothing worse than the smell of a wet dog.” Aunt Vadine came from the bedroom tugging a sweater on over her dress. Scarlett raced at her, barking and pouncing on her front paws, doing the hokeypokey in and out and around her legs. This time I saw the fire come out of Aunt Vadine’s eyes, and I moved fast.
I grabbed Scarlett by the collar and whisked a towel from the cabinet to dry her off. “Poor baby. You’re so cold and wet.” Pulling her to me, I whispered into her ear, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to go back out. I’ll fix you a spot in here.”
“Nothing doing. The dog stays out.” Aunt Vadine wouldn’t budge when I suggested making a spot for her under the kitchen table.
“I’ll watch her. I’ll even sleep out here with her. It’s inhuman to make a dog sleep in the cold and wind. What if it snows?”
“It’s not going to snow… how you get these ideas astounds me, but since you won’t let me hear the end of it, you and the dog can sleep under the table.”
Grabbing the feather topper and my pillow from the army cot, I fixed a spot. When Scarlett curled right up and went to sleep, I got up and went into the front room. Aunt Vadine sat in Daddy’s rocker poking a crochet needle in and out of her latest project.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” I got out a pan and the milk.
“That would be nice.”
We sipped the chocolate while rain hammered the roof. The windowpanes rattled like bones in the wind, and I wondered if Daddy would make it home from his evening shift. Looking out the front window, I couldn’t even see the elm trees at the edge of our sidewalk, just a blur like the television warming up. If the rain did turn to snow, we could have a blizzard. My baby sister, Sylvia, died during a blizzard. Immediately I pushed the thought out of my head. I picked up one of Aunt Vadine’s Crochet World magazines and flipped through it. Baby bonnets, baby bibs, baby everything-you-could-think-of.
“Hmm, I was wondering….” I closed the magazine. “Is this what it was like the night Sylvia died?”
In and out. Poke. Poke. Poke. No answer.
“Mama said she couldn’t get Sylvia to a doctor because of the blizzard. It doesn’t matter, I guess, but all this wind and blinding rain scares the bejeebies out of me.”
“What kind of talk is that? Bejeebies?”
“Better than saying pee-waddings, I guess.”
“Samantha, you’ve got a filthy mouth. As for your question, I wasn’t there when Sylvia died. We did have a snow flurry or two, but your mother kept herself in such a state, she probably didn’t know a blizzard from a hole in the ground.”
“What state? Like she was scared or nervous or something?”
“Something. Never was right after birthing Sylvia. Cried for weeks on end. Brought the baby over to your grandma Grace and me to watch, said she just couldn’t take any more.”
“Mama cried or Sylvia cried?” This had turned out more confusing than I thought.
“Who knows? Sylvia had the colic and you were such a meddlesome child, always running off to the neighbors, getting into things, just being a general nuisance. More than once I told Rita she should take a switch to you—after all you were five years old, big enough to at least behave yourself. Handling two of you made her berserk.”
Me? She was saying I was a brat. Was she saying it was my fault Mama had problems?
“Didn’t Daddy help?”
“Your daddy provided a living, a car, a place to live. The oil field paid well, but only when there were jobs. Men need to know they’re appreciated. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but your mama never showed an ounce of appreciation for your daddy. If she had, she wouldn’t have done what she did and be in hell today.”
Her words hit me like a slap in the face. Mama in hell? How could she, Mama’s own sister, say such a thing? I knew, though I don’t know how, Mama had done what she did to go to Sylvia, to escape the hell in her mind. Seek and ye shall find.
Aunt Vadine poked her crochet hook in and out, studying the web of loops and chains, her face hard like it was made of stone. Her saying those things about Mama made my blood boil. Not to mention the way she treated me. So I’m not an angel all the time. One thing I knew, Aunt Vadine must not have helped Mama back then, so why did she think she could help us now?
I put on my flannel nightgown and crawled into my feather bed with Scarlett under the table. In the dark I reached for my purse and felt inside for the leather jewelry case. Holding the pearls in both hands, I counted. One, two, three… all the way around to eighty-four. I went around again, counting in twos this time. Sylvia cried all the time, and Mama couldn’t take it. Is that how she felt when Penelope screamed that day in Alice’s front room? Like a failure? Was I really a horrible child? I counted the pearls again. Sylvia died before Mama could prove she was a good mother. Is that what depression does?
Scarlett whimpered in her sleep, and I pulled her close.
Please, dear God, say hello to Mama, and in your spare time, maybe you could look down and see things aren’t going too well here. I’d like to feel normal again. Just plain old Sammie. I’ve tried choosing happy thoughts. Instead here I am, sleeping under the kitchen table. That’s odd, don’t you think? Do you think you could give me and Daddy some answers? I don’t think Aunt Vadine’s the answer we need. Maybe we could try something else.
Oh, and bless all the children in the Congo. Amen.
I returned the pearls to their case, and after a while Aunt Vadine shuffled off to bed. Outside the wind howled. A window screen had come loose, banging like a bass drum. Bum-bum-bum. I dreamed of dancing to Sonny and the Spinners, twirling in Cly’s arms with Mama’s pearls—all eighty-four of them—shining and perfect.
[ TWENTY-SEVEN ]
NOVEMBER 1. The day of the dance finally arrived. It took thirty minutes to do my hair, and I’d borrowed some mascara from Tuwana, who said it would define my eyes—my best feature according to Miss Fashion Expert of the state of Texas. Through the stiff mascara, I blinked at my image in the mirror. No zits. That’s good. I slipped into my ruby sweater with the matching straight skirt. Holding my breath, I lifted the pearls from the case and fastened them. My heart pounded as I took another look at my reflection.
Mama, I wish you could see me now.
Aunt Vadine knocked sharply on the door. “Your friend is here.” She said friend like it was a disease.
Daddy and Cly chatted about basketball while I grabbed my purse and my coat.
Cly’s eyes widened a bit when he first looked at me, and his smile told me he approved of how I looked. He had on a dark suit and a slim tie with circles printed on it. My heart fluttered.
“Aunt Eva said you’d like this.” He handed me a box.
“Wow…” I lifted out a miniature white mum with a glittery net and ribbons. “Thank you. Was I supposed to get you something?”
“Beats me.” He shrugged and stood with his arms at his sides, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Did
you see what Cly brought?” When I turned to show Aunt Vadine the mum, she had the oddest expression on her face, her eyes locked at a place near my neck.
“Those…” She started to raise her hand to point at something. She straightened her whole body and inhaled through her nose. “Your necklace. How lovely.”
“Those are Mama’s pearls, aren’t they?” Daddy said.
I smiled and nodded.
Aunt Vadine mumbled something, then fixed her lips in a tight, wrinkled prune pose.
Daddy helped with my coat and Cly held open the door. We hurried out to Mr. Johnson’s Edsel with its scooped-out sides glowing in the moonlight. For a second I felt like Cinderella.
Black and gold streamers decorated the VFW with balloon bouquets tied along the sides between pictures of uniformed veterans from the two world wars and Korea. Four guys with pompadour hair tuned their guitars on the stage directly under the American flag. Their tight pants rode low on their hips, their white satin shirts unbuttoned halfway down their chests. Sonny and the Spinners. As soon as we got there, Cly headed for the guys bunched on one side, and I saw Gina in a circle of girls on the other. She pinned on my mum and said, “Nice outfit.”
When the music started, a few couples danced—the ones you’d expect. Tuwana and Mike hopped by while Pug and Mitzi, the homecoming king and queen, twirled and spun. Most of us just anchored the sides of the VFW, looking nonchalant, tapping our feet to the music. My first dance, and I had no idea what to expect.
“They’re all a buncha goons.” Gina cocked her head toward the boys. “Not that it matters all that much. I’m four inches taller than Spunky, even in my flats. We’d look like Mutt and Jeff out there if he ever asked me to dance.”
The band played two slow songs next, and the same three or four couples snuggled and shuffled around in time to the music. On our side Linda Kay Howard kept things lively with her hee-haw laugh.
After the band ended “That’ll Be the Day” in a ragged, off-key bum-bum-bump, Mrs. Alexander, Mike’s mother, took the microphone and gushed about how great the band was and urged us to give them a hand.
“The next song will be ladies’ choice. Come on, y’all, don’t be shy. We want everyone to have fun.”
A flurry of activity, like a VFW game of Fruit Basket Upset, started as the band began playing “Party Doll.” I looked around to see what Gina was going to do and bumped into Linda Kay, dragging Cly out onto the floor. My heart sank, and I stood during the whole song wishing I could be swallowed up by the streamers and balloons. I had the urge to go to the bathroom, and I considered running downstairs. Instead I chewed on a hangnail and watched Linda Kay tilt her head up and smile at Cly, who danced stiff-legged, like a windup toy. I heard a cackle above the slow music. Linda Kay?
Okay, Sammie, you’ve got two choices. You can stand on the WW II side of the VFW all night, or you can go up and rescue Cly from Howdy Doody’s daughter. What’ll it be? I’d gnawed my index fingernail down to the quick, rolling the choices around in my head. At the last strands of the song, I squared my shoulders and looked around for Cly. Ladies’ choice or not, I’d come to my first dance, and Mama’s pearls were not going home without me dancing. Craning my neck, I looked around the room.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” Tuwana appeared at my side, a glow on her face like a neon sign flashing I’m in love.
“I am, if I can ever find Cly….”
“Over there…” Tuwana pointed across the room. Linda Kay had both of Cly’s hands in hers, claiming him for another dance.
My face flared, and I thought if I let out a breath, fire would come out. I ran for the refreshment arrow aimed at the basement. A drink of water, that’s what I need.
The cold water from the fountain tasted good. I looked around the basement. Cookies and punch at one end. A Ping-Pong table at the other, where Doobie and PJ slammed the ball back and forth.
“Having fun?” Mr. Johnson came from the refreshment table eating a chocolate chip cookie. My sick smile must’ve given him the answer.
“Me neither. Tuwana said she’d throw herself across the street in front of the school bus if I embarrassed her by dancing. I’m banished to the basement.” He laughed and nodded toward the Ping-Pong table. “Tell you what. Let’s get Doob and PJ to play us a set of doubles.”
That’s where Cly found me when the band took a break and everyone stampeded to the basement for lemon sherbet fluff and homemade cookies.
“Here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Mr. Johnson handed his paddle to Cly and went off to chaperone the punch bowl. PJ and Doobie played a couple sets with us before PJ dragged Doobie off to dance with her. “Or else,” she threatened, and bugged out her eyes behind her glasses.
Cly and I played singles with the drumbeat of the band coming through the ceiling. We didn’t even bother to keep score, just slammed the ball back and forth.
Finally Cly stopped, loosened his tie, and said, “Punch?”
The chaperones had already cleaned up the refreshment table, so we filled paper cups with water from the fountain.
“Wanna play some more Ping-Pong?” Cly asked.
Doing my best imitation of Tuwana—hands on my hips and slitty eyes—I said, “You know, I didn’t put on Mama’s pearls so I could beat you at Ping-Pong. Before the night is over, I’d like to at least have one dance with Eva MacLemore’s nephew.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Climbing the stairs, Cly kept his hand on the small of my back as if guiding me on a snipe hunt. Chills zinged up my spine. The lights had been lowered on the dance floor when we arrived, and the band member named Sonny whispered in a husky voice in the microphone, “For all y’all lovers out there, one last dance—‘Love Me Tender.’ ”
Beads of perspiration broke out on my forehead. An Elvis song. Cly’s arm tightened around my waist while he took my right hand in his left, and we danced, heads close together. Cly’s suit, no longer stiff, melted into my ruby outfit as we dipped ever so slightly to the right, sliding to the left.
“You smell nice,” he whispered in my ear, and he squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“It’s just lilac water.” The music carried us like dandelion puffs across the floor. At the end of the song, Cly pulled my hand in close to our bodies. His moist breath flickered on my neck. Then, right there under the pictures of a dozen veterans, he lifted my chin and kissed me. If I lived to be a hundred and six, I’d never forget that kiss—like velvet and marshmallows, and tasting of cherry Life Savers.
All the way home in the backseat of the Edsel, Cly held my hand. My face got hot every time I thought about him kissing me. If that was what juvenile delinquents did, I liked it. When Benny Ray dropped me off, Cly gave my hand an extra squeeze, and my heart skipped a beat. I took a deep breath and went in the house.
Daddy asked the usual questions about if I had a good time while Aunt Vadine stared at the crochet in her hands. I chattered away about the punch and cookies and how well the band played. I floated into my room. Slipping out of my skirt and sweater, I ran my tongue over my lips. The taste of cherry Life Savers lingered. I undid the clasp on Mama’s pearls, ran them across my cheek, and set them carefully on the chest of drawers before sinking into my feather bed.
In my dreams Sonny and the Spinners played all night as Cly and I swirled and danced past the VFW soldiers, who smiled and winked from their frames on the wall. The pearls around my neck blinked off and on, becoming cherry Life Savers in one flash and Mama’s pearls the next. When the first rays of sun streamed through my window the next morning, I swung my bare feet to the pine floor and stood to take the real pearls in my hand and hold them. I blinked once. Twice. A light-headedness came, making me so woozy I thought I might faint.
Mama’s pearls were gone.
[ TWENTY-EIGHT ]
I TURNED MY ROOM INSIDE OUT and upside down looking for the pearls, playing the tape in my head of when I’d returned home from the dance�
�kissing Daddy good night, undressing, undoing the clasp, and running the pearls across my cheek. They didn’t just up and walk off my dresser by themselves.
During church the next morning, I shot a desperate SOS toward heaven when Ernie Greenwood prayed. Ask and ye shall receive; seek and ye shall find hadn’t produced any results. Of course not, dummy. God’s not interested in your selfishness. My stomach twisted until I was sure my insides were tied in knots.
It didn’t take a Madame Curie to figure out what had happened. Aunt Vadine took them. I hated myself for thinking it, but deep down I knew she had. The look on her face when Cly had picked me up. The chipper way she said, “Your necklace. How lovely.” Her tight lips. But why? What had I done?
After church she fixed oyster soup for lunch, just the two of us, since Daddy was back on daylights. I thought perhaps she’d decided to play a cruel trick on me by having me find the real pearls swimming among the canned oysters. No such luck.
“I’m going to clean my room.” I put my empty bowl into the sink.
“I should think so, the way you sling everything around in there. Didn’t even hang up your clothes last night after the dance.”
I bit my tongue and smiled, then rinsed out my glass.
An hour later I’d been through all of Aunt Vadine’s drawers, all of mine, pulled out the dresser, and looked under the beds. I found dust bunnies, but no pearls. My last resort was to retrace my steps from the car and then go over to Tuwana’s and search the Edsel.
“I think I left something in Tuwana’s car.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Uh… just something. I’ll be back later.”
To Tuwana I confessed my suspicions about how the pearls had disappeared, but to be on the safe side, I wanted to check the Edsel.
“No problem. Besides, we can talk better without all the little ears here in the house.” She gave Tara and Tommie Sue a this-means-you look, and we went out to the car.
Chasing Lilacs Page 16
