by Lisa Patton
A vision of my daughter springs into my mind. I picture her in a long hallway filled with doors. She’s opening and closing each one, desperately seeking answers. About me, about her father, and why she was given away. As if she knows exactly what I’ll say next she takes my chin in her hand and turns it toward her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m gonna say it again. You did the right thing.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Listen here. You gave your baby a chance at a better life. It was exactly the right thing to do. You hear me?”
I shrug, reflect back twenty-six years. In this very house. “It was selfish.”
“Selfish? You had a choice and you kept that baby in your womb. You tell me what’s selfish about that?”
I sigh, squeeze my eyes shut.
“You weren’t but eighteen years old. Had just started your first year at Ole Miss—on a full scholarship. You weren’t ready to be a mama.”
If only I could reverse that decision. I’d be a mother. “Adopted children grow up with all kinds of abandonment issues, Aunt Fee. I’ve been reading about it.”
“When that baby came out looking like she did, you done the merciful thing. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but you stuff somethin’ down long enough, it’s bound to come out, one way or another. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Every cell in my body feels like it’s on fire. There’s no way around it. I gave up my own flesh and blood. The one and only chance to have a baby of my own is gone because I was too young and too selfish to raise her. “Have you ever thought about why I’ve worked at Alpha Delt long as I have?”
“You say it’s because you love the girls.”
“I do, but that’s not the only reason. Suppose my baby had decided to come to Ole Miss?”
“Is that what kept you in this job? Thinking she could have been an Alpha Delt?”
“You never know. Things are changing. Lots of folks from Memphis come to Ole Miss. If she had decided to come here, I could have given her the money I’ve been saving for her college tuition.”
“Pearl.” She takes hold of my hand. “You go on and use that money on yourself.” Then she looks me square in the eye. “You gave your baby a good life. And she loves you for it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Just something I know. The Lord is looking after her, baby. He’s looking after you, too, but He wants you to think of yourself for a change. Your daughter would want you to do that, too.”
I start to tell her how much I long to see Autumn’s face, hold her in my arms, but she puts a finger to my lips. “Shhhh, now. Stay still. Let His peace wash over you.” Then she wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulls me into her side. I feel her hand on my head, stroking my hair. Sitting here next to her—warm arms snuggled around me—is the safest place I know. I don’t want to move. Not now, not ever.
Before I know it she’s humming. No words, just melody. With my chin nestled into her neck, I breathe in her familiar scent. The smell I’ve known and loved since I was a baby. Her harmony lulls me with calm as if she’s an angel strumming a heavenly harp. Don’t leave me, Aunt Fee, please don’t leave me, echoes inside my head over and over again till I will it away, the way I always do when something breaks my heart.
FORTY-NINE
WILDA
Walking inside our house is like coming home and finding your pet dead. Because it feels like we’re dead. The grandiose way in which I have disappointed my husband gives me an unfamiliar heaviness, like two bowling balls are tied to a rope around my neck. I can scarcely imagine looking Haynes in the eye. For the first time in our thirty-four-year marriage, I can’t stand the sound of my own feet on the floor. It would be easier to lift a car off my foot than it would be to discard the cloak of shame I’m wearing. I am miserable.
My whole life, all the insecurity—and the ways I had coped—came to a head on the drive home. Every time Mama tried to say something, I had to stop her. I couldn’t stand the sound of her voice. Or mine. For a solid hour all I did was think about the person I had become, why I had become that person, and what I was going to do to bury her. The thought of living one more minute as an insecure woman is more exhausting than actually living as one.
As much as I’d like to, there is no point in putting any blame on Mama for the deception. I did this. She kept insisting that I tell Haynes, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I still agreed to let Lilith Whitmore hire a dorm-room decorator. What kind of message did that send Ellie? Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. If I have to deliver pizzas, I am finding a job and paying Mama back every red cent. Then I’ll spend the rest of my life if I have to, begging Haynes to forgive me.
Daisy is waiting at the back door. As soon as she sees me, she hurls herself at my knees. I scoop her up and let her lick my face clean. Then I put her down and watch as she runs a victory lap at breakneck speed around the kitchen and our adjoining den, purely to celebrate my homecoming.
While watching her run, and the happiness she feels to have me home, I’m struck with a profound thought. Dogs are the purest, most authentic portraits of God’s unconditional love we’ll ever have on this earth. We humans eventually impose restrictions and let each other down, no matter the depth of our love. But God, like our beloved canines, loves and forgives us no matter what we’ve done wrong.
I head straight to the bedroom with Daisy at my heels. She runs right over to her little bed in the corner and curls herself into a ball. Haynes is not in bed yet, but I see a light under the bathroom door. So I stand outside and listen to the sound of water running. When it stops I hear him tap his toothbrush on the sink. Now I hear his footsteps padding toward the door. I step aside as he walks past. It’s dark in the room so he can’t see me. I watch him pull back the covers of our bed and slip inside.
Not wanting to startle him I tap on the wall. “Haynes,” I say softy.
He lifts his head, looks my way, then falls back down on the pillow without uttering a word.
I creep over to his side of the bed. “Can we talk? Please.”
“What is there to talk about?” His voice is monotone. Not a hint of mercy. I knew he’d be mad, but I hadn’t considered he wouldn’t want to talk about it.
Taking a big chance, I lower myself down on the edge of our bed. Then, “Do you mind if I turn on the lamp?”
“Go ahead.”
I turn the switch and a soft light washes over his face. With his head on the pillow, gravity pulling at his cheeks and forehead, his lines are softened, and I could swear he’s thirty again. He’s one of those Robert Redford types, with sandy blond hair that never bothers to gray.
We stare into each other’s eyes. There’s a lifetime there. We’ve been together since we were eighteen, long enough to teach each other how to laugh at life, how to breathe through pain. We’ve certainly been together long enough to know the importance of truth in marriage. Dear God in heaven, what have I done?
“I can’t imagine how you must feel right now,” I say softly.
“Pretty rotten.” When he touches the side of his face I catch a glimpse of his gold wedding ring, scratched and dulled with age.
“I don’t know how to begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
“And I can’t begin to tell you what this feels like. You lied to me, Wilda.”
I hang my head. “And I can’t pretend to know. You’ve never done it to me. At least not that I know of.”
He rolls his eyes. “To have your mother, of all people, be the one to let the cat out of the bag, was…” He looks off, searching for the right word. “Emasculating. I don’t know which was worse. The lie or the messenger.”
I exhale a long stream of air at the mere thought of what that must have felt like. “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to leave me. For what it’s worth, I’m deeply, deeply sorry.”
His focus is on my face. But he has no words.
“I swear to you on our children’s lives I will wo
rk every day for the next ten years if I have to and pay back Mama every red cent.”
“Wilda. It’s not about the money. It’s the lie. I want Ellie to have a dorm room she’s proud of as much as you do. Of course, I’d never have spent that much, but to think you’d go behind my back and lie about it is gut punching. Besides, I’ve never owed your mother a dime,” he says angrily.
“I’d give anything for a redo. I knew it was wrong the moment I did it, Haynes, but for some reason I couldn’t stop myself. I got wrapped up in the whole stupid dorm-room craze.”
He shakes his head, closes his eyes. Then opens them slowly. “Why?”
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. When Lilith’s dorm-room designer called me last June, I was caught completely off guard. You remember her … Rhonda Taylor?”
“That chick was a dorm-room designer? Seriously?”
I nod.
“I thought Lilith hired— I don’t know what I thought.” His nose flares. “Go on.”
“I had no idea Lilith had hired her till she called and asked me for a down payment. I know I should have stopped the whole thing right then, but it was like a force from Pluto swooped in and took over the real me. I mean, I heard myself agreeing to it, but I knew I shouldn’t. Then when Mama offered to pay for it and sounded so convincing, like it was good for Ellie to be rooming with Annie Laurie, I don’t know. I thought maybe she was right.”
“You took your mother’s advice over mine?”
“No … I guess.” With my head hung again I feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes. But I don’t want to cry because this is my fault. I don’t want Haynes to think I’m looking for sympathy. I’m not. “Of all people to have hurt. You’re the person I love most in the world. I am so ashamed.”
“It’s certainly not Rhonda Taylor’s fault,” he says. “If she can earn a living that way, God bless her. It just shouldn’t have been from us.”
“I know that now.”
“Can you please tell me what it is about Lilith Whitmore you find even remotely attractive?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I’m desperate to squeeze back the tears so I tighten my face and swallow hard.
“What’s changed? Because you certainly thought she was the bomb a few weeks ago.”
“I don’t know where to begin, but staying at her condo this week was not only an eye-opener, it changed how I feel about a lot of things.”
He folds his arms outside the covers. “Like what?”
“For starters, Lilith used me. She never wanted to be my friend. It was her master plan all along to not only have our girls room together, but to get me on the Advisory Board so she could ensure that Annie Laurie would get an Alpha Delt bid.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Evidently, Annie Laurie had no friends in high school. All the top sororities cut her a few days into Rush. The only reason the Alpha Delts kept her is because she’s a triple legacy and Lilith is the House Corp President. But after not one active member voted for her, we had no choice but to cut her after Sisterhood.”
“Wow.”
I take a chance and place my hand on top of his. He doesn’t flinch so I go on. “It gets better. Lilith used her old password to sneak into the Alpha Delt Panhellenic account and put Annie Laurie back on the schedule for Pref. That way she was guaranteed a bid. Anyone who goes to Pref gets a bid no matter what.”
“So you’re saying she deliberately manipulated the Rush ballot?”
“Yes. Right before Sallie submitted it. She distracted us with cappuccinos and gifts from Tiffany’s while she crept back to her bedroom. Then she must have signed in with her old password, and added Annie Laurie back on the Pref list. The worst part is, she removed Cali Watkins in the process.”
He narrows his eyes. “But Cali was there today.”
“She and everyone else thinks she got a snap bid. But Selma James and I went to Panhellenic. After hearing what Lilith did, the president made an exception.”
My husband’s slow-moving head, back and forth, is his signature way of expressing sheer disgust. I can tell he’s deep in thought.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“How to have her prosecuted.”
I laugh because, I don’t know, it’s funny and I’m desperate for comedic relief. “There’s no way to prove it, but we all know she did it.”
“So what else has changed?” He turns onto his side and raises up on his elbow. “You said you feel differently about a lot of things.”
“I’ve done a ton of soul-searching this week. Asking myself why I ever felt the need to keep up with her in the first place. And why I ever cared what she, or anyone else for that matter, thinks of me.” A hot flash sinks in, so I yank off my jacket. “Another thing I’ve been thinking about is why I’m always comparing myself to other people. Why do you think I do that, honey? I mean, I have my theories, but I’d love to hear what you think … as my husband.”
“I’ve said this before. I think it probably goes back to when you were a child. Not having a dad. Being raised by a whack job—sorry, a single mother who is, let’s just be kind and say obsessed with her highbrow roots.”
My eyelids fall. He’s exactly right.
“Sadly, she values proper etiquette and pedigree more than her own family. I’m surprised you’re as normal as you are.”
“The sadder thing is, I’ve never thought I was like that. Before Lilith Whitmore reentered my life, I thought I was a reasonable, down-to-earth person. And look what I did to you. To gain her favor. Ugh, I feel like a giant louse.”
He scratches his head, grimaces. “You’re not a louse.”
“I feel like one. I’d give anything if I could turn back the clock and never answer her phone call. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
“I already have.”
I stare at him in awe, and he stares back.
“What did I ever do to deserve you, Haynes Woodcock?”
“Uh, if I remember correctly, you locked those Wildebeest horns tightly around my heart, and I was a willing mate.” He smiles devilishly, the way he does when he’s in a goofy mood.
“I love you, Woodcock. I love you from the top of my horns to the tip of my tail.” That was something I used to tell him when we first fell in love. It had been years since I’d thought of it.
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “And I love you from the top of my rooster comb to the tip of my woody.”
“You—” I dive at him and he flips me over on top of our bed, wrapping his arms around me. Then he peers down at me like I am Miss dang Marilyn Monroe. “I really missed you this week.” Our lips are only centimeters apart.
“When you hear the rest of what Lilith pulled, you’ll know how much more I missed you.” I watch his lips brush mine, feeling the warmth of his minty breath.
“Right now, I’m much more interested in you showing me how much you missed me.” The stubble of his whiskers tickles as he kisses his way down my neck, slowly unbuttoning my blouse.
FIFTY
MISS PEARL
At seven thirty in the morning, when I arrive to pick her up, Aunt Fee won’t answer the door. I’ve been out here knocking and hollering ten minutes already. I’m trying to stay calm, but with each rap my stomach’s churning with fear. Why I didn’t get a key from her years ago is sitting heavy on my heart, but when I go around and find the back door open, relief settles in.
I push it open slowly, scared of what I’ll find, because the house is as quiet as a graveyard. The kitchen looks exactly the way I left it last night. With one exception: the Oxycodone bottle is gone. I head into her bedroom, right off the kitchen, and spy it on her bedside table. Fee’s underneath the covers. As still as the cold air in the room.
The floor creaks under my foot. Then I hear a frail voice. “That you, baby?”
Rushing over to her bedside, I say, “Of course it’s me. I’ve been outside knocking. Can’t you get up?”
She moves her head, but only slightly. “Having a hard time this morning.” The strong scent of urine fills the room.
“What’s your doctor’s name?”
She bites down on her lip, whispers, “Nelson.”
After rifling through my pocketbook, I yank out my phone. “You got his number around here?”
“I think you better take me on to the hospital.”
Fear streaks through me like a runaway train. She would never go to the hospital unless it was an emergency. I punch 91—
“Who you calling?”
“The ambulance.”
“No, ma’am. We ain’t gone pay for no ambulance.” She presses into the mattress with both hands, trying to rise. With lips mashed together, she grunts and strains. But after a few tries, she gives up.
“Aunt Fee, please let me call the ambulance. You’re too weak.”
She shakes her head. “Cost too much.” Then she tries to push up again. “Give me a hand, baby. I can make it.”
I take her by both arms and pull her to a sitting position, put two pillows behind her back, then let her rest. When she’s got her strength, I help her swing both legs off the side of the bed, and put her slippers on her feet. She tries to stand, but falls right back down.
“Come on, Auntie, please. Let me call the ambulance.”
“No,” she says harshly. So I cup her elbow on one side, and she uses the bedside table to finally push herself up. It’s then that I notice blood on the sheets.
“Can you walk?”
She nods. “Let’s go.”
It’s taking us a long time to get to the car because the poor thing can’t lift her feet. She just slides. The two steps down to the driveway are the worst part. I see her grit her teeth from having to bend her knees. When I finally get her in my car she lays her head back on the headrest, and never utters another sound. I have no idea if she is awake or asleep, but the fifteen-minute trip from her house to the hospital is the longest ride of my life.
The emergency entrance is the first I see, so I pull right up to the front door. Leave my car running and head straight to the desk. It doesn’t take long for someone to meet me at the car with a stretcher, and take Aunt Fee back to a room.
