"Not a one. But he sounded up."
As Jury was talking, he was moving toward the bathroom. I think he thought I was going to race him for the shower. He could have saved his energy; I was still sleepy. He went in the bathroom and I leaned back on my pillow. I wasn't hungry; it was definitely one of those rare days I'd choose sleep over food.
I looked at the bedroom paint job we did last summer. I could see one or two spots where the paint was uneven, but for the most part, I was proud of it. My mother decided she wanted the whole house painted. She was going to call my uncles, Daddy's brothers, but we talked her into paying us to do it. My uncle Jerry did come over and show us how to tape up the wood trimming and brought us some tarps to protect the carpet. It turned out to be easy and kind of fun. Even Jury had to admit it was easy.
"We're setting a dangerous precedent," he kept saying. "Precedent" was one of our fifth-grade spelling words. Our teacher used the phrase "dangerous precedent" in one of the sentences she said during the test, and Jury had been using the phrase ever since.
"Why do you keep saying that?" I finally asked.
"If we let her know we can do this, she's going to expect more out of us."
"So?"
"This year she pays us, next year we do it because we should be 'committed to our house looking good.'" The 'committed to the house looking good' phrase was one my mother always used when she told us to clean up. I knew Jury was right, but what could we do about it? Actually, I agreed with her; I do want the house to look good.
She paid us three hundred dollars. We were able to spend fifty dollars apiece on whatever we wanted, but we had to put the rest in the bank for our Disney World trip this summer.
Jury can take some of the fastest showers—my mother always asks me if I've used soap, but she asks Jury if he ever uses water.
"I betcha Daddy's getting ready to move back up here."
"I doubt it," I said.
"What do you think this is about?"
"I don't know, but isn't it supposed to be my job to worry about stuff?"
"I'm not worried; I just don't like surprises."
I waited to see what he was taking out of the closet to wear before I went in to take my shower. I hate it when I decide to wear something and it turns out to be the same thing Jury is wearing—surprisingly, it happens pretty often. I was safe; he was wearing his signature outfit, a black T-shirt and black overalls. He wears it so often it's a wonder there's any dye left in that combination.
My father was already at our house by the time I got out of the shower. Nobody knocked on the door or came to get me, so I guess waiting was no big deal. I was surprised when I came downstairs and found his girfriend sitting next to him on the sofa. They were drinking coffee with my mother and all of them were laughing about something Jury had said.
I tried my hardest to remember the girlfriend's name. Didn't it have something to do with a flower? Rose, Iris, Lilac—is that a name? Maybe it wasn't a flower, maybe it was a fruit ... no; banana wasn't a name!
"Here he is. Judge, you remember Lilly, don't you?"
I tried to answer like Jury would. "Yes, I remember Lilly." I walked toward her with my hand out. I noticed the raised eyebrow my mother gave my father. Jury laughed.
Chapter 10
Breakfast out wasn't a unique idea this Saturday. The lines were out the door at the first two places we tried, so we ended up at the Smorgasbord at the mall. It's actually one of my favorite places to eat because you can get what you want, but most people don't think about it unless they're already in the mall. There was even a line there, but only about fifteen people were ahead of us.
My father and Lilly were beginning to make me sick. It was bad enough that she sat so close to him in the car that, from behind, he looked like a two-headed man. But she held his hand in line and kept looking at him like he was saying something fascinating, something that would save the world. Most of the time he wasn't even talking. Dad wasn't making matters any better; at one point I saw him kiss her on the neck and then, when it was time for us to move up a little, he kind of "pushed" her forward by patting her on the behind. I know he didn't know I saw it, but I did and I wanted to scream, "Now cut that out!" I know she just turned thirty, but doesn't he know how old he is? As usual, Jury seemed to be completely self-absorbed. He seemed to be more interested in what I was putting on my plate than the fact that Lilly and our dad waited until the last possible moment, when they reached the trays and stuff, to let go of each other's hands.
At least he waited until we were all sitting before he made his big announcement. Jury put his tray down and then said he was going to get some milk.
"I'll wait until you get back to say what I'm going to say," Daddy said, as a way to get Jury to hurry.
"Duh."
Lilly thought that was hilarious.
"Don't laugh at him. I told him to stop saying that last time I was up." But our dad had that grin on his face as he said it. Once again Jury was getting away with something.
He came back, put his milk down, and then sat. "Okay, let's hear it."
"Thank you for your permission." Dad reached over and took Lilly's hand again.
Jeez.
"As you both know, Lilly and I have been seeing each other for ... what?" He looked at her.
"Over a year," she said.
"That's right, over a year. A couple of days ago, I asked Lilly to be my wife and she agreed."
I looked at Jury and he looked at me like he was confused or maybe he missed some of what Daddy was saying. Maybe he was still thinking Daddy had come to make an announcement about moving back up here.
"It's not ... I mean you two don't..." He looked at me. "Help me, Judge."
I would have helped Jury, but I didn't know what he was trying to say. We all just stared at him.
"Okay, I'll just say it."
But he didn't just say anything. He took a drink of milk. He made it look good like in a commercial. I was tempted to go get some too, but I wanted to hear what he was going to say, exactly how deep he planned to put his foot in his mouth.
"Should we expect an addition to our family soon?" he finally blurted out.
Our father looked at me like he wanted me to explain. I shrugged.
"Jury, son, that's what marriage is, the addition of a wife or husband to one's family." Lilly giggled.
"Daddy, I'm asking is she expecting?"
I could almost see the little wheels turning in my father's head, rolling around over the word "expecting." Expecting, now what does that mean?
"You're asking me if Lilly is pregnant?"
At first he looked pleased with himself for figuring out his number-one-son's riddle, but almost immediately behind that came an angry expression. Jury didn't make matters any better by saying what he said next.
"Duh. I mean yes. That is what I was asking."
This time Lilly's giggle was a little nervous-sounding.
"Well, just for future reference, that's not the proper question to ask when somebody announces his or her engagement. You tell the man congratulations and you wish the woman a happy life or you tell her she'll be a beautiful bride or something like that."
I would have pointed out that his thinking could possibly be politically incorrect. Our mother is trying to raise us not to be chauvinistic, which my father calls a bunch of garbage, but it didn't seem like the time to bring it up.
"And no, Lilly is not pregnant. We're getting married because we want to spend the rest of our lives together."
If love could make a person fly, Lilly would have flown out the restaurant when my daddy said that.
I couldn't cope. I forced myself to think about the Einstein Rally. What was I going to wear next weekend?
"Well, say something, Judge," Daddy said.
"Okay. Congratulations, Daddy, and Lilly, you're going to be a beautiful bride."
She'd have to be a beautiful bride—she looked like a younger, slimmer version of my mother. I've heard my
grandmother Jenkins talking on the telephone to her friends and she'll describe somebody as, "a pretty brown-skinned girl like my daughter-in-law Ilean." Skin shades are a big deal in my father's family, but I haven't figured out why yet. I wonder if Grandma will still call my mother her daughter-in-law after Daddy remarries?
Jury excused himself to go to the restroom.
When Jury finally came back, my father made a few lame attempts to get us to say something about how we felt about them getting married, but neither of us were biting. Finally Lilly kicked him under the table and he stopped trying to get us to talk about it.
All things considered, breakfast was pleasant enough. It's hard to mess up breakfast food for me. It's just the opposite for Jury; he hates breakfast. After he came back from the restroom he didn't eat any more, and he'd only eaten a few mouthfuls before he left. I was pretty sure he threw up while he was in there. I know his sick-to-the-stomach look.
After the announcement, things were a little strained. Daddy promised to call us later in the evening so just the three of us could get together to go bowling. He used to ask our mother along for stuff like that, but I guess those days are over. I love to watch them compete; they both play hard.
Jury and I stood outside and waved good-bye to Daddy and Lilly. "Are you okay?" I asked Jury as we walked up the porch steps.
"Except for my insides being twisted in knots, I guess so. Did that come out of the blue for you too? Or was it just me?"
"I suspected it was something like that—marriage, living together, engaged. It's all the same." I sat down on the top step and he sat next to me.
"He and Mama will never get back together."
"I never expected that."
"But didn't you hope it?"
"No. I like them better apart. Have you forgotten how it was just before they separated?"
"No, I remember. But I figure they've grown up a lot since then. It seems to me that if you just wait these things out they get better. Look at Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins; they don't even talk much to each other anymore, but they seem happy."
I didn't have anything to say to make him feel better. I would have sat longer, but it occurred to me that our mother hadn't come to the door. Usually, when we go somewhere with our dad, she's right there with a lot of questions when we get home. She always pretends that she's just showing her motherly interest, but it's more than that. She still cares about everything Daddy does.
I decided to go see how she was taking it. There was no doubt in my mind that she knew, either by instinct or because my father had told her already.
What I saw when I opened the door made me laugh so hard Jury came in from where he was sitting. Our mother had brought her stationary bike down from her bedroom and she was pumping away while watching a cooking show on television. She was wearing a silver sweatsuit-type thing I'd never seen before and there was a green avocado mask on her face.
"Come on, it's not that funny," she said between puffs.
When I got closer I could see her eyes were red, and I wondered if she'd been crying.
"I decided if I moved it down here, I could use it while I'm wasting so much time watching television every night with you guys."
"I beg your pardon; that's the quality time everybody talks about."
She threw a towel at Jury and he seemed all right again. She climbed off her bike.
"If either of you want to talk I'm here."
So she knew.
"I've got a headache; do you have anything?" Jury asked.
That was probably the third time in my life that he's said anything about having a headache.
"Go get my purse, Brother."
I looked in the usual places for her purse and found it on the kitchen table. She dug around until she found a tin of tablets and gave Jury two.
"Why don't you go lie down."
I didn't like the sound of that; it would mean all of the Saturday chores would fall on me.
"Do you want me to take your books back to the library for you?" I asked Jury. Our books weren't due for another couple of weeks, but better the library than cleaning.
Luckily, I caught Mama off guard. She actually thought it was nice of me to offer to take Jury's books back with mine.
"Maybe I'll read up on something I can use next weekend while I'm there."
"Okay, baby." She kissed me at the door. I felt terrible; I do have a conscience.
The library is about six blocks from our house, so I rode my bike. I'm not part of the Saturday crowd, but I saw a few people I knew and each of them felt the need to tell me that Faye and Angela had just left. I guess that's the trouble with being part of a group; everybody expects you to always be together. I went over to the magazines and grabbed a handful of good ones, then I settled down in one of the big comfortable chairs.
A couple of hours later when I got home, our father called to say he wasn't going to be able to take us bowling. One of my uncles was having a little get-together for some of my father's old friends to meet Lilly. He invited us, but I think he was relieved when Jury said he didn't want to party with a bunch of old people. We would have been the only kids there. When he hung up, Jury mumbled something about his head still hurting.
Sunday we all went to church—we go about once or twice a month. My mother told us early in the week that we were going this Sunday because we hadn't been all month. Lilly and my father were there, sitting right next to my Grandparents Jenkins, which is on the same pew that my Grandparents Reynolds, my mother's parents, sit on. Usually we sit with them or right behind them. My mother sat on the opposite side of the church. It was my first time ever sitting over there.
My mother wore the dress she bought for her company's Christmas party. Also, she wore a little more makeup than usual. She looked really pretty. After church almost everybody told her how nice she looked. I think it started to have the opposite effect before long. I think she heard, 'You're not as young, pretty, or slim as Lilly, but you look nice, too.'
"Let's get out of here," she whispered to us at some point. It's a really friendly church—after service they have coffee and doughnuts in the basement. It's the only part I look forward to, but I was with her about leaving. I knew it was just a matter of time before one of the grands asked us how we felt about Daddy's announcement.
We ended up eating big ice cream sundaes at a place that advertises the "best ice cream this side of the Mississippi." When we got home our mother asked me to move the stationary bike back to her room.
Chapter 11
The week before the rally was probably my most intense week ever. Jury summed it up pretty well on Friday when he said, "The one week I needed a pom-pom tackle game every day, twice a day, and I've only had time to play once."
After school on Friday we had a going-away party for Miss Bailey. Her student teacher's term was up and she was going back to teacher's college. She kept apologizing about not being able to be with us on Saturday, but we understood. She'd made reservations to fly back to Michigan during her term break before she knew anything about being our Einstein Rally adviser.
"I'm glad your mother is doing better," I heard Miss Bailey say to Ms. Hennessey as she was gathering up her junk to leave.
"Thanks. I hope I wasn't too hard to be around. Her condition has really been on my mind a lot."
That explained things. It explained why Miss Hoffer was offering to pray for Ms. Hennessey and it explained why her mind always seemed to be elsewhere and her attitude wasn't the best. If my mother was really sick, I wouldn't be the nicest guy to be around either. I made a mental note to tell the posse.
Our grandparents Jenkins took us out to dinner on Friday night. We went to a steak house that my grandpa likes. It was okay, but I'm not really a steak person; I'll take a hamburger over it any day. It seemed like my grandmother was gushing over Mama a lot. I guess my mother saw it too because at some point in the evening Mama reached across the table and took Grandma's hand.
"Ma, I loved you before y
ou were my mother-in-law; I'll always love you. I'm happy for Rus and Lilly. Do you know what I'm saying?"
Grandma nodded. I kind of wish she hadn't known what my mother was saying because I needed further explanation.
The grands didn't come in after dinner. We went in and got in our usual positions for television. Within what seemed like seconds after sitting down, my mother was fast asleep.
"I don't know why she even bothers to sit there," Jury commented when she started snoring.
"I guess it's not that unusual; Angela and Faye both said their parents fall asleep as soon as they sit down, too."
"You'll talk to people about anything, won't you?"
I didn't answer him. Just because he wants to play the strong silent type doesn't mean I shouldn't talk to my friends. I left him in front of the set at eleven when the news came on. Watching television and denying that we had a big day ahead of us wasn't going to make it any easier.
The next day started off like any school day, which wouldn't be unusual except it was Saturday. Our mother called us at 6:30, only today she didn't leave soon after her wake-up call. And this morning we didn't ignore her call to wait for the alarm. We showered, dressed, ate breakfast, and were ready to go without mentioning the rally and without anybody asking anybody else if they were excited or nervous. I do know when not to talk.
I was glad the whole posse decided to ride over to the campus with us. My mother was complaining in a playful way about the gas it took to pick up Tommy, Faye, and Angela.
"Next time we'll just have them meet us at our house," I suggested.
"No. By the time they walk over here, they might as well walk to the campus," she said.
The entrance of Southwest Kentucky Teachers College is only about three blocks from our house, but the campus is huge. It's built across two different rolling hills.
"So what you're saying is you should go pick them up?"
She swatted at Jury, but he ducked out of her way before she could make contact.
We picked up everybody and they were all going through a quiet thing, too. After everybody said their good mornings, we all just stared out the windows and rode. We weren't sure if we were supposed to go over to the school first or not, so we did, since we had time to spare. Ms. Hennessey and a couple of parents were there with the kids who needed rides. They followed us over in a caravan.
Egg-Drop Blues Page 6
