“I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me,” Caroline said. “I would have agreed to the abortion. You shouldn’t have had to do all this alone.”
“I’m sorry, Caroline. About so very much,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter now, Mother.”
“It’s always mattered,” Janelle said. “I can’t explain why things have been so difficult for us or why I didn’t do more to change that. You must know I’ve always loved you.”
“I’m going to leave now and be there late tonight.” Caroline seemed to struggle to keep her voice from shaking. “We’ll figure everything out when we’re all together again.”
“Why don’t you give me and Cissy one last evening together? If you leave first thing in the morning, we’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Will you tell Jessie and Lily that I love them?”
“You can tell them in person,” Caroline said, crying freely now.
“Shhh,” Janelle whispered. “No tears. Tell Ruth not to cry either. I can hear her bawling in the kitchen.”
“I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, too.” Janelle hung up the phone and turned on her side. She would just close her eyes for a few minutes before resuming packing. Perhaps Cissy could help after the movie.
Chapter 31
Cissy couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to leave the comfort of the motel and diner behind. It was her home, and Rita was now part of her family. Until she could get a handle on her emotions, Cissy didn’t want to talk to Rita. She moved to the other side of the table so she could stare out at the parking lot instead of back at the counter, where Rita finished up the breakfast shift.
“You snubbing me?” Rita smacked the back of Cissy’s head with a menu, but was smiling when she plopped in the chair in front of her.
“No, silly,” she said. “I’m just feeling sad. Grandmother said we have to leave tomorrow.”
Rita’s smile faded and Cissy would have done anything to get it back. She reached across the table to grab her hand, but Rita withdrew it and ran from the diner into the parking lot.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Cissy said, catching up to her. “I don’t want to leave, but it’s not my decision.”
Rita bit her glossy lower lip to stop its trembling, but gave into what Martha used to call ugly crying. Back at the hospital, she’d explained that actors on television shows and in movies were fake criers because their faces remained too pretty. When people were truly hurting, they contorted their features and grimaced until they were as ugly as the feelings trying to escape them. Rita was not fake crying.
“Can I hug you?” Cissy asked.
“Of course,” Rita blubbered. “And you don’t ask if you can hug someone. You just do it.” She continued to cry, but at least a bit of laughter pierced through it and her lovely face began to emerge again.
“I wish we could be friends forever,” Cissy said.
Rita grabbed a wad of paper napkins from her apron pocket and wiped her face with both hands. She blew out her breath in short puffs as if calming herself.
“Why can’t we be friends forever?” Rita asked. “You ever hear of writing letters or making phone calls? Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean you have to forget me.”
“I never said I’d forget you. I said I had to go because of Grandmother. Forgetting you would be impossible.”
She asked Cissy not to say anything else so nice because she couldn’t afford to cry anymore during her shift; that customers were already staring through the window at them.
“Look at my splotchy face! What will the assistant manager say?” Rita waved her hands in front of her face to cool off the heat in her cheeks. “Whew. I have to get a grip.”
“Do you think Daryl would mind if you and I went to the movies this afternoon? Grandmother gave me money for the matinee.”
“I’ll ask,” she said. “I can’t make promises, though.”
“I wish you’d never met Daryl.”
“You and me both, sugar. You and me both. But let’s go to the five o’clock feature. We need plenty of time to get you ready.”
* * *
Cissy didn’t even recognize herself after Rita had painted every inch of her face with an artist’s palette of cosmetics. Rita scolded her for touching her eyelids, saying she didn’t want Cissy to mess up her masterpiece. Cissy had no experience with makeup because her mama didn’t allow it, but she knew Grandmother would have a conniption fit if she saw Rita’s handiwork. Grandmother had described girls with less makeup as harlots, and Cissy feared she’d crossed some line of Southern lady decorum.
“You worry too much,” Rita had said when they left for the movies. They’d taken Rita’s rusty VW even though Grandmother had offered up the Cadillac. “You look pretty with makeup on and much older. It’ll be easier to get you into an R-rated movie.”
Turned out the movie house didn’t have any R-rated movies playing so they ended up watching Bugsy Malone. Rita griped so much about the story line that Cissy had to tell her to hush up so they could enjoy the show.
“What kind of crime movie has kids playing the role of gangsters? This is ridiculous,” she’d muttered. “And they’re not even using their own voices for the singing. You can tell they’ve dubbed in adult voices.”
Halfway through the movie Rita left to sit in the lobby. If she thought Cissy was going to miss the rest of the movie, she had another thing coming. Only three other people were in the theater and Cissy relished the time alone in the dark, with a large buttered popcorn and Coke. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jodie Foster and wanted to be Tallulah so badly, shooting bad guys with cream pies instead of bullets. They had about the same amount of makeup on and that thought made Cissy laugh out loud, making the few other moviegoers turn around and glare.
When the movie ended, Cissy found Rita in the lobby, a cloud of cigarette smoke obscuring her face. Her slinky halter top and tight knit pants seemed out of place in the daytime, and Cissy was a little embarrassed for her. At least Cissy had insisted on wearing her own clothes when Rita offered to loan her an outfit earlier.
“I thought we were supposed to be doing something together today. You sitting in a theater alone isn’t exactly spending time with me.” Rita pouted in a way Cissy sensed she’d done a million times to make people feel sorry for her.
“You’re the one who left,” Cissy reminded her, but tried not to sound defensive. She feared their last hours together were not going well, so Cissy suggested Rita pick something for them to do the remainder of the evening. Cissy was sure Grandmother wouldn’t mind. Rita perked right up at the suggestion, but the mischievousness in her eyes made Cissy regret her offer immediately.
“I know what we should do,” she squealed, and grabbed Cissy’s hand. Rita dragged her, half running, to the VW and they took off like lightning.
Within minutes they pulled up to a brick building painted bright purple, and Cissy doubted it could mean anything but trouble.
“Not if you don’t tell anyone.” Rita winked and then laughed at the worry she must have seen in Cissy’s brow. “Don’t fret. You’ll have fun.”
She’d taken them to a honky-tonk called Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge. Rita’s friend, Al, worked the bar a few nights a week and used to slip her a free drink or two whenever she went there. Before Daryl turned mean on her, she said they’d gone to Tootsie’s together. They hadn’t been in weeks because he wouldn’t allow her to go to bars or concerts anymore. He said she flirted too much with other men.
“I’m worried what will happen to you if Daryl finds out,” Cissy said.
“How will he find out? We’re at the movies and dinner, right? We won’t stay long anyway.”
Despite Cissy’s objections, Rita helped her apply a new coat of lipstick because it’d worn off when she ate the popcorn earlier. Rita said it’d make her look older so she could get in. Her friend needn’t have worried. The old man at the entrance hugged Rita and shook Cissy’s hand until her elbow ached, saying any
friend of Rita’s was welcome at Tootsie’s. His accent revealed he wasn’t from Nashville, but its cadence was just as sweet as a Mississippi or Alabama twang. When she questioned him, he said he hailed from the great state of Minnesota, which made Cissy laugh.
It took more than a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dark, smoky interior. At 7 p.m., only a dozen or so people sat with drinks in hand, listening to a man play guitar on a dimly lit stage. Sometimes the music sounded like country, sometimes like gospel or rockabilly, but the musician blended it so expertly you couldn’t help but want more. He kept his eyes closed most of the time and swayed just enough to make Cissy fear he’d topple from his stool.
“Why are people staring at me, Rita? Do you think they’ve guessed I’m underage and shouldn’t be here?” Cissy shielded her face and turned toward the bar and away from the audience to avoid the stares she’d gotten on her way to the restroom earlier.
“Sugar, they’re staring because you’re beautiful,” Rita said, slapping her back. “Good Lord, you’re tall and thin like a model with the best hair I’ve seen on any living soul. And I did a damn fine job with your makeup tonight. You could have any man in here if you wanted.”
Her compliment made Cissy feel self-conscious as if she uttered something shameful that shouldn’t be said out loud. When Rita turned to talk to her bartender friend, Cissy wrapped her napkin around the condensation on her glass and then used it to wipe off the rouge and lipstick. At least the darkness of the bar would mask the betrayal of Rita’s handiwork until they were back at the motel room in decent lighting.
As the evening progressed, the bartender slipped Rita more than just a couple of free cocktails, all the while teasing Cissy that she hadn’t touched hers. He didn’t seem inclined to give her something non-alcoholic, so whenever she got thirsty, she just went to the ladies room and cupped her hands beneath the faucet.
“I’m driving, sir,” she lied. “I better not drink.”
He let out a hoot and slapped the wooden bar top. “Sir? I ain’t no sir, baby doll. And drinking don’t stop any of these folks from driving.”
“May I just have a Coke, please?”
When he set the drink on the bar, she could already smell that more than Coke filled the icy glass. His greasy wink confirmed her suspicion. And while Cissy enjoyed the music and being treated like a grown-up, the night dragged on, and she longed to return to the motel and Grandmother. Rita was so busy catching up with folks she hadn’t seen in a while that she almost ignored Cissy. By 9 p.m., she’d had so much to drink that Cissy didn’t recognize her friend anymore. Her slurred words and lazy eyes upset Cissy’s stomach, which was raw from skipping dinner. She shouted above the music that she had enough money for a cab and they could say their goodbyes in the morning before she and Grandmother checked out. Rita nodded in agreement, but Cissy thought she could’ve said there was a pink spotted elephant in the parking lot and the response would have been the same.
After ten minutes of Cissy’s nonstop begging, Al, the bartender, agreed to call a cab. She wondered if he would have continued his flirting and racy talk if he knew she was just sixteen years old. She half thought about telling him she killed a man so he’d shut up. Using her daddy’s death in that way seemed wrong, so Cissy just hummed to drown out Al’s observations on her appearance.
Once in the cab, Cissy could breathe easy. She leaned her head up against the window and let the neon lights of downtown Nashville flash across her face on the short ride back to the Howard Johnson. She soaked it all in, knowing that within twelve hours, she and Grandmother would be on their way to the next town. Nashville will have been just a two-week pit stop.
Cissy gave the cab driver more money than she should have, but she had no idea how much to tip and didn’t want to seem inexperienced or a cheapskate. He smiled his thanks at the extra cash and told her to have a nice evening.
The scolding she thought she deserved surely loomed just beyond the motel room door. Her shaking hand rested on the doorknob while she summoned the courage to enter and face Grandmother’s disappointment. She had promised to be back by 9 p.m. and now it was closer to 10:30. She was angry at Rita for taking her someplace knowing full well Cissy would miss her curfew. Still, Cissy had herself to blame for not calling for a cab sooner. She’d learned some valuable lessons and would be sure to tell Grandmother, hoping to earn some mercy. Surely she’d be impressed that something good came of the irresponsibility.
The creaking door did nothing for Cissy’s nerves as she peeked in. The room’s air conditioner had been turned off and the air smelled heavy and musty. She called out for Grandmother, hoping she was using the restroom and not out with the police looking for her. Hearing nothing, she walked in and tapped on the closed bathroom door. Her heartbeat grew louder at the silence.
“I’m here,” God said, appearing at her side.
Cissy’s hand hovered above the doorknob. She resisted touching it as if a raging fire on the other side had heated it up to a thousand degrees.
“I don’t want to open the door, do I?” Cissy wished her heart would slow its pace long enough for her to take in a full breath.
“You have to open the door,” God said.
“I can’t. I need Rita.”
If Cissy had eaten dinner, it would have come up by now. Instead, she fought a nausea that caused her ears to ring and the floor to shift. Dry heaves folded her body in half and she rested her forehead against the door.
“You’re not alone, Cissy. You’re never alone.”
Chapter 32
The ambulance men let Cissy ride with her grandmother to the hospital when she explained she couldn’t drive herself. Peter, the more talkative of the two EMTs, said scalp lacerations bled like a river, making an injury seem a lot scarier than it actually was. He said Grandmother probably fell and hit her head on the bathtub edge, causing a severe concussion. Cissy asked why she wasn’t talking, and he explained she’d knocked herself plum out and her body was sleeping to mend itself.
Cissy stared him straight in the eye. “You’ll go to hell if you’re lying.”
When he smiled, she said there wasn’t a goddamn thing to smile about.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “You’re right. No need for cursing. I apologize.”
She regretted using God’s name like that and wished she could add the offending curse word to her List of Banned Words, sealing it off from ever being used again. She’d have to remember to apologize to God in person when they spoke next. More than anything, Cissy hoped She’d be waiting for them at the hospital.
Cissy imagined the wheels of the ambulance would squeal as they rounded the corner and pulled up to the emergency room doors, sirens blaring, and that nurses would rush out to meet them like they did in TV dramas. Instead, they pulled up nice and gentle, and the EMTs took their time unloading the gurney holding her sleeping grandmother.
“Why won’t you hurry up?” Cissy shouted in their calm faces. “She needs a doctor.”
This time, they ignored her and went about their job of handing off the care of Grandmother to two ER nurses who stood ready. They, too, seemed to move in slow motion, walking alongside the gurney and through mysterious doors that were closed to Cissy despite her pleas to be allowed to enter. Another nurse who sat at the ER admissions desk instructed her to stay put in the waiting room. Waiting seemed the absolute hardest thing to do.
“Do you have someone you should call?” the nurse asked.
“No, ma’am. It’s just me and my grandmother,” Cissy lied. It got easier and easier to create her own version of the truth to protect their time together. But there she was, almost skillful at deceit. Her heart sank at the many ways she’d changed in three months.
The large white clock on the far wall of the waiting room had pitch-black hands and huge numbers that made it easy to count seconds, then minutes, then hours. Cissy stared until her eyelids became sandpaper. At 2 a.m., a doctor finally emerged from the swinging doors her grandmo
ther had entered almost three hours earlier.
“Are you family?” he asked, and sat down across from Cissy.
“Yes, I’m Cissy Pickering. I’m Mrs. Clayton’s granddaughter.” She’d decided Grandmother’s health was important enough to put their aliases aside and face this crisis as their true selves. Telling lies was like digging a hole while someone stood by throwing the dirt back in. There was no way to keep up with them.
His voice, an even but boring baritone, was enough to put a person to sleep and required extra concentration to decipher the seriousness of his message. Grandmother had suffered a stroke and they operated to relieve bleeding in her brain. She lay unconscious in the intensive care unit, and the doctor said they were watching her closely to make sure the swelling subsided.
“Miss, I’m sorry to say that her prognosis isn’t good. The nurse said you don’t have any other family alive and that you and your grandmother were on vacation when she fell ill. Do you have a family friend to call?”
Cissy said she did. He laid a hand on her knee, yet it seemed as detached and impersonal as his words.
“But may I see her first?” she asked.
He nodded and called over a nurse to lead Cissy to the elevators and up to the fifth floor of the hospital. The ward seemed unusually dark. The strongest light shone on the nurses’ station and the lone nurse keeping watch over the loved ones of family members like herself. Her mind went back to her school’s catechism books and the many pictures of God’s heavenly goodness streaming through dark clouds onto Jesus or a saint or other special person. She sure hoped God looked down on the ICU nurse right now as she looked after Grandmother.
The rooms were situated around the circular station like spokes to a wheel. The faint beeps and buzzes coming from the perimeter assured Cissy the life-giving machines were hard at work while patients slept. She wondered if keeping the temperature so cold helped in the healing as well. She had to rub her arms just to keep her teeth from chattering.
Forgiveness Road Page 27
