Chasing Lilacs

by Carla Stewart

  His face lit up when he saw us. “I’m glad you two came. Staring at these four walls has got me as keyed up as a caged tiger.” He winked at Mrs. Gray, who adjusted the pillow under his head and then cranked the head of the bed up a little higher. Clear tubing ran from a tank beside the bed up to his nose.

  “Hey, man, we’ve been missing you.” Cly lifted Slim’s knobby hand in his. “Graham Camp’s a bust without you.”

  On the other side of the bed, I held Slim’s other hand, wrinkly and soft like my hands after doing the dishes. “We brought you something.” I handed him a new copy of The Old Farmer’s Almanac. “We thought you might need something to keep you busy.”

  He took it, his eyes clouding over with tears. “You kids is something, all right. Before you know it, it’ll be time to get those ’maters planted.”

  We promised we’d help him with the garden and told him to behave himself. Talking drained all his energy, and after a few minutes, Daddy nodded toward the door. “Slim’s still got to rest. Can’t have you tiring him out.”

  I kissed Slim on the cheek and looked over at Cly. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and his eyes had a wet look. “We’ll come back,” we both said at the same time. Then we followed Daddy out into the hall.

  Mrs. Gray came with us. “Thanks, Joe, for bringing them. These kids mean the world to him. Alice is bringing the girls up later. Slim’s been fretting about seeing his granddaughters.”

  Daddy draped his arm around Mrs. Gray’s shoulders. “You take care. I’ll be back to spend the night when I get off at eleven. You look like you could use some sleep.”

  She nodded, her hair spilling out from the rhinestone sticks on top of her head.

  On the way home, Cly and I decided we’d get Slim’s garden ready and surprise him. Daddy thought it was a great idea. Neither of us knew beans about how to do it, but we worked all afternoon taking turns behind the hand plow, raking out the dead weeds and grass. We stopped every so often to throw dirt clods at each other and take long drinks of cold water from the garden hose. George Kuykendall stopped by in the late afternoon with warm brownies wrapped in tinfoil.

  “A treat from Goldie. I seen you two out here slaving away, and wouldn’t you know? Goldie had just pulled these out of the oven. You kids take care now.” He got in the Buick and waved as he puttered down the street.

  Sitting with our backs against the apricot tree beside the garden, we gobbled the brownies.

  “What should we plant?” The smell of chocolate hung in the air, swirled together with the scent of fresh-turned soil.

  “You’re asking me?” Cly’s face was turned up toward the sky, which had turned gray, hiding the sun. “I ain’t never planted a garden.”

  “Don’t use double negatives.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ain’t never. You talk like a hick.”

  “Reckon that’s what I are, now that I’m a Texan.”

  I threw my balled-up tinfoil at him.

  “You’d better watch it, cat. I can swing a mean hoe.”

  “I am soooo scared.” We laughed until our bellies hurt. “Seriously, what shall we plant?”

  “All’s I know is Slim reads that almanac like it was the bible of daily living. He told me the only two books worth reading were The Old Farmer’s Bible and the Holy Almanac.”

  “You goon. I think we’d be safe with green beans, tomatoes, squash, and cucumbers. Maybe onions. The question is, when do we plant them?”

  “Guess we shoulda bought two almanacs. I think we’ve done all we can today. Besides, I promised Norm I’d trim some bushes out back.”

  I gathered up the tools while Cly wheeled the plow over to Slim’s garage. Then we went back and washed the dirt off our hands in the garden hose. Cly shut off the water. “Say, Doobie says there’s a recital or something starting at the church tomorrow. You going?”

  “Revival, not recital. And sure, I’m going. Brother Henry’s hoping a lot of kids will come since the visiting preacher used to play pro basketball. It ought to be interesting.”

  “Doob says he’s about eight feet tall.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I wiped my hands on my jeans to finish drying them. “Since when did you get interested in church?”

  “Since never. But Slim’s been telling me I oughta check it out. And after seeing Slim and all today… well, I thought… shoot, I don’t know. Maybe I should go and say a prayer for him or something. Is that what you do there?”

  “Sometimes. We also sing, and Brother Henry preaches. Most of the time I listen. You don’t have to go to church, though, to say a prayer for Slim. I pray for him all the time.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then. In church.”

  “Deal.” We shook on it and went our separate ways.

  Since all I had to look forward to was a long evening with Aunt Vadine, I took the long way home, past the playground. A bank of clouds had come up in the west, and I wished Slim were home so he could give us the latest weather prediction. The cedar trees that held Mama’s pearls near their roots swayed in the breeze. Mama. Maybe Aunt Vadine didn’t think I was moving on, but I was. I could tell. When I thought of her, I got a warm spot inside, not a stab like a knife. Well, most of the time anyway.

  A shiver of excitement danced up my spine when I thought of the way Daddy put his arm around Mrs. Gray. Yes, we were definitely moving on. Can’t say as I thought much about Aunt Vadine’s idea of sending for her furniture, but she had been in one of her agreeable moods ever since she brought it up. Maybe Brother Henry had it right. If I trusted God, he would take care of the details.

  When I got to my street, I remembered Mama’s hatbox in the garage. Why not? Just because I wanted to look at Mama’s things didn’t mean I wasn’t moving on. I lifted the latch and creaked the garage door open. I shut my eyes for a bit and then opened them to let them get used to the dark before going over to the metal shelves. Daddy’s Coleman lantern sat at eye level next to his tackle box. The hatbox was where I’d left it. I scooped it up and took it to the front of the garage where the light was better.

  Spiderwebs and a fine layer of dust covered the top of the box. I blew them off and noticed the faded paper on the box had lilacs on it. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid, hoping for a whiff of Mama’s favorite scent. Knowing the box had been in the dingy garage all winter didn’t stop me from wishing. The tiny green scrap of Mama’s dress lay on top of the crocheted bonnet. Under that, two bundles of letters. I swooped them up and held them out to the light. The top bundle looked familiar. My handwriting on the outside. The letters I sent Mama in the hospital? I let the other set drop into the box. I would look at them later. All of a sudden I wanted to read what I had written Mama. I put the lid back on and returned the box to the shelf to keep Aunt Vadine from giving me one of her looks. Or asking a bunch of questions.

  When I went inside, some Western flickered on the television, Aunt Vadine’s eyes glued to the screen. I said hello and walked past her and into my room.

  A tingle went through me. Mama had kept my letters. I wondered how they would sound now that Mama had died. Did I even want to know? Still, she had kept them.

  The rubber band snapped when I took it off, stinging me on the wrist. I took the top envelope and turned it over to open the flap. Weird. It was sealed shut. My heart hammered in my chest as I turned over each of the envelopes. Sealed. Sealed. Sealed. Why would she do that?

  Slowly, it hit me. Mama had not read my letters. All the hours I spent writing to her about my summer, the brownies I made, Cly coming to visit, baby Penelope. She had never read one word. Not one.

  My fingers went numb. Then cold. Inside it felt like an ice pick went through my heart, lodged there so that every time my heart beat, it reminded me over and over—Mama had not read my letters. Not the funny jokes I poured out on the pages. None of the newsy things I wrote trying to cheer her up while she got shock treatments. Not one word.

  Something else simmered, bubbling up.
I couldn’t explain it, but everything I’d done to protect Mama, to make her laugh and love me, flashed before my eyes. My insides felt electric, little pulses of energy that hummed along stinging me here and there, making my breathing short and huffy. My jaw ached from clamping my teeth together. Some fat good I’d been to Mama. She didn’t even care enough to read what I wrote her.

  I turned the envelopes over and over in my hands. I traced the letters of Mama’s name on the front of each one. Every time I traced her name again, another stab of the ice pick went through me. I clenched my fist around the letters. How could I move on when my own mother did this? Pretended all those times she knew what I was talking about last summer like she had read them.

  Not. One. Word.

  I clutched the unopened letters, went into Mama’s closet, and gathered up all her clothes piled on the floor. I marched past Aunt Vadine and out the back door, staggering under the weight of Mama’s things. I stumbled toward the incinerator, dropped everything on the ground, and let out a long breath. One by one, I pitched every last stitch of Mama’s wardrobe into the eternal fire.

  A breeze caught one of the letters. I chased after it and then another one. My heart pounded in my ears. I scooped the last one up and threw them all on top of the smoking clothes. My knees had turned watery, and my eyes stung from the smoke billowing up. My muscles twitched with exhaustion. I slumped down and sat with my back against the warm cement blocks of the incinerator. Crackles and hissing filled my ears, and I imagined every single word I’d written in those letters being licked by flames. A fire burned inside me too. I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them, waiting for something. Anything. What now? One thing for sure. I wouldn’t cry any more tears for Mama. Not now. Not ever. I had moved on.

  More pops and cracks came from the incinerator, creaking sounds like an old campfire nearly burned out. I stared off into the distance and then looked toward the house. There, Aunt Vadine stood on the back porch, her arms crossed, her face shaded by the house. She didn’t move, just stood there under the eaves. I blinked trying to read her face, but nothing came. The only thing I could tell for certain, and this sent a chill clear to my toes—her eyes had the same look as in my dreams.

  Blank.

  Hollow.

  [ THIRTY-NINE ]

  I JUMPED TO MY FEET and ran toward her. “What are you staring at?”

  “You. Are you all right?” Her eyes had returned to their usual muddy look.

  “Of course. Moving on, like you said. No more crying for Mama.” As soon as I said it, tears sprang to the surface, fuzzing everything. I blinked and swallowed to keep from letting them fall.

  “You don’t sound all right.” She took my arm and led me into the front room. “I’m here to listen; you know that. Something has upset you, I can tell.” She gathered me in her arms, guiding my head to rest on her shoulder.

  I pushed her away. “Nobody listens to me. Why should you?”

  “I’ve had my share of regrets. Not being more sensitive to you. We’ve not given each other much of a chance, have we? Me and my being so bossy. It’s no wonder you don’t trust me. And it’s something I would like to change, if you will let me. I’m listening to you now.” She smiled at me, not in her normal sarcastic way, but like she meant it.

  “Well, try this out then. I just found out Mama didn’t love me. How would you like it if you found out after thirteen years your mother never loved you?” I scooted away from Aunt Vadine on the couch.

  “Of course your mother loved you. How on earth did you come up with the idea she didn’t?”

  “The letters, for one thing. She never read them.”

  “Letters? What letters?”

  “Nothing I want to talk about.”

  “Sammie, I know it’s hard to talk about our hurts. Keeping them bottled up, though, will only make it harder for you in the long run. If she wrote you a letter, maybe it would help to tell someone about it.”

  She called me Sammie, not Samantha. Maybe she is trying to change. No, she won’t ever change. She’s just trying to trick me so she can bring it up later.

  “She didn’t write me. It’s the ones I wrote her.” The sound of Mama’s letters crackling in the fire filled my head. “Nothing that concerns you.”

  She smoothed a wrinkle in her dress. “I know it’s hard being a teenager. I had my share of traumas during those years. Nothing like what you’ve been through, but I know how emotional this time can be. You think a certain way one day, another way the next. That’s one reason I’ve stayed at Graham Camp as long as I have. For you. To get you the help you need for your irrational behavior.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Counseling. A juvenile program. I understand they have one in Amarillo.”

  The hair on my arms stood up. “You think I’m a juvenile delinquent? I haven’t broken any laws or stolen hubcaps.”

  “Of course you haven’t. It’s a program for those with emotional struggles. A place where you can talk out your problems. I’ve tried to provide the stability you need, but I’m just so inept.” A sigh escaped her lips. “Still, I’m willing to stay until you get back on track.”

  “I thought you were waiting for Daddy. To become his new wife.”

  Her arms twitched ever so slightly, but her face looked pleasant. Calm. “Oh, in the beginning I suppose I entertained those ideas, seeing him so needy and all, but I know now that’s not going to happen.”

  “You said you believed in second chances.”

  “Funny you should say that. I didn’t see it at first, but in the last few weeks I’ve come to realize my second chance is with you.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “The thing is, I had a baby once.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. Sad, like I’d seen sometimes in Mama.

  “What happened?”

  “He was stillborn. My marriage didn’t work out, and then I never married again. I was thrilled when you came along. A niece I could love on.”

  “You said I was a nuisance.”

  “You were.” She wrinkled her nose and patted my knee. “All children are. That doesn’t mean we don’t love them. I didn’t have the opportunity to raise my baby boy, so I have no real experience. Being here at Graham Camp has been good for me, seeing how young people act and talk. I’m willing to make a go at being the aunty you never had. If we work together, you might not even need professional help. I know I can’t replace your mother, but maybe we could be friends, confide in one another.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that.” After all she’d done, why should I trust her now?

  “I understand. I have a lot to learn, some old habits to get rid of. Your daddy told me about Alice and her change of heart about Slim. Now that was something, you know.”

  The muscles I’d kept bunched up relaxed a little. Maybe I should give her another try. It was either that or get shipped off. I looked at her and shrugged. “You’re right. Mrs. Johnson is like a whole different person.”

  Aunt Vadine made a little O with her mouth, and her eyes widened. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, I wanted it to be a surprise. After hearing you tell your daddy how much you wanted to be on the paper, I called Mr. Howard yesterday. Told him I thought you were ready to come back.”

  “Really? You did that?” No way. Not after all the stink she made. Still…

  “Sure did. Now, I’m still not crazy about all that pounding you do on the typewriter, but maybe it’s something I’ll get used to.”

  She sounded sincere. Maybe it was me who had a problem with trusting people. When I looked at Aunt Vadine, her eyes sparkled. She had made the first step. Now I had to decide. I told her thanks and let out my breath.

  She held out her arms, and I let her hug me. A nice soft hug that had a familiar smell when I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose. Not Juicy Fruit, something faint and sweet.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like some supper? You’ve had a long day.”

&
nbsp; “I’m starved.”

  “Filthy too. Look at all that dirt on your clothes. Why don’t you go take a bath while I cook us something?” Her voice had a teasing ring to it. Besides, she was right—I was a mess.

  I hurried off and took a bubble bath, washed my hair, and put on clean clothes. Aunt Vadine had potato soup ready when I came out of the bathroom. She asked about Slim, and I told her about Cly and me working on his garden.

  “That’s lovely, dear.”

  Lightning started flashing through the window while we watched television. I thought about Slim and wondered if the almanac predicted rain for mid-April. Once in a while Aunt Vadine tilted her head toward me and smiled, and not once did she pick up her crochet hook. Personally, I couldn’t get used to this new Aunt Vadine and thought any minute the bubble would break and we’d be flying off the handle at each other again. I yawned and stretched.

  “I swan, I bet you’re plumb worn out. Working outside all day. I’m a little tired myself. What say I make us both a cup of hot chocolate before we turn in?”

  She whisked into the kitchen and rattled a pan. After a few minutes, she called out, “You know, tomorrow we should bake some peanut butter cookies. Would you like that?”

  It was a start. Maybe she was trying.

  We sipped our chocolate and listened to the rain hammering the roof. When my cup was empty, I took it and Aunt Vadine’s to the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink. I yawned again and said good night.

  When I slipped under the covers, Mama’s robe rubbed against me. How had I forgotten her robe? Repulsed, I wadded it up and threw it off the bed, then curled onto my side. The ice pick feeling came back inside. Mama didn’t read my letters. I gritted my teeth and forced it out of my mind. A streak of lightning lit up my room, and I saw Aunt Vadine standing in the doorway, her lips tilted into a smile. Lilac. That was the smell I couldn’t identify earlier. When had she started using Mama’s lilac water? A fuzzy-headedness came over me. Another yawn.