Luke took a step backwards, stunned, as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
"Lordy, I'm glad you're home, but why didn't you let me know when you were coming? I'd have taken off work and met the bus."
She was still clinging to him, and Luke wondered what the hell was going on. She never hugged him, never touched him, and he had expected her to blow up about Sara, anyway.
He unwound her arms and mumbled he hadn't known exactly when he'd arrive. "I just need to get the car so I can go to the hospital. I'll be back to pick you up when you get off work."
He watched as she dug into the pocket of her pedal pushers for the keys. She wasn't a bad looking woman, he thought, if she'd wear a little makeup and fix herself up. Back in high school she had been a knockout, in a trashy kind of way, and she still had a nice shape.
She handed him the keys. "I went by the hospital on my way to work this morning, but she was asleep. I hate to say it, Luke, but I don't think she's going to live much longer. She's real bad off."
He felt the guilt that washed over him every time he thought about how he should have come home more often. It was worse now, knowing his mother was going down for the count. But hell, there was no life for him here and never had been, and not for her, either. But whenever he would point that out to her, she'd argue it was the only home she'd ever known and she wasn't running. So she stayed... and she drank... and it was killing her.
And Luke supposed he was going to always feel guilty about not being there to try and make things easier for her, but what could he have done except be miserable with her, which wouldn't have done either of them any good?
He scanned the parking lot and spotted the green Bel Air and turned to go. Alma caught his arm. "Tammy is really looking forward to your being here, too, Luke. I'll fix your favorite supper, fried chicken and turnip greens, and then we'll all go to the hospital together. But later, we need to have ourselves a talk."
"Yeah, sure," he said uncertainly. She was acting real strange. Maybe she had met somebody else and was being nice because she was going to ask him for a divorce. Well, that would suit him just fine. "See you later."
* * *
He found his mother asleep, bedded down in a ward with three other women. Two of them were crazy with old age, babbling and moaning. The third looked like she was already dead but nobody knew it yet. He turned on his heel and went straight to the nurses' station and told her, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted his mother moved to a private room as soon as possible.
The nurse, face as stiff as her starched white cap, explained a private room cost twenty dollars a day but ward beds were only eight. He told her it didn't matter, just to move her. Then he returned to the ward and pulled the curtain around the bed and sat down.
Staring at his mother, he thought of so many things he had always wanted to ask but never mustered the nerve—like just who was his daddy? And why hadn't she married him? Was it because he already had a wife? And did he live in Hampton? And how come he hadn't at least helped out with money so she wouldn't have had to take crap off Junior Kearney after her folks kicked her out? Junior wasn't his daddy. She had told him that much, at least.
What, exactly, burned inside her like a gnawing canker that she'd had to try and seek solace in a bottle all these years? She could have given him up at birth for adoption and gone away to start a new life, but she told him that thought never entered her mind. He was her baby, her son... the only good thing that had ever happened to her in her whole life, and she wasn't about to give him up, no matter what folks thought. So many questions, and the time for answers was running out.
Her hair, which had turned gray way before its time, hung loose and limp. As he pushed a few strands back from her face, her lashes softly fluttered at his touch, but she did not awaken."Oh, Lordy, Momma," he whispered raggedly, "just what were the demons in your life?"
Only when he finally left did Orlena open her eyes. Maybe, she thought, wishing desperately that she had a drink, the time had finally come to tell him about those demons.
Chapter 6
Every time Luke went home, the cabin seemed to get smaller. The kitchen and sitting area were all in one room. There was only one bedroom, and the bath had been added on later and took up half of what used to be the back porch. Alma and his mother shared the bedroom, and Tammy slept on the sofa. When he was there, Tammy moved in with his mother, and he and Alma took the couch—not that it mattered. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had sex.
He was sitting on the front porch with Tammy while Alma fixed supper. He tried to make small talk but didn't know what to say.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and Luke watched as a man got out and headed straight for a cabin. The door flew open before he got there, and a woman with hair the color of egg yolks and wearing only a slip eagerly waved him inside.
"That's Miss Roxie's place," Tammy said. "And that man is one of her cousins. Momma says Miss Roxie has lots of cousins that come to visit. She's real nice. She gives me candy sometimes."
He knew then that was how Alma explained the whores Junior had started keeping, and he made up his mind to get his family out of there no matter how much his mother argued about it. Junior's place had always been a dump, and now the sheriff was apparently too busy harassing negroes to care about anything illegal going on there.
His attention was drawn to a black Ford as it pulled up to the back door of the cafe. A man dressed in black peg-legged pants and a bright pink shirt got out. He walked to the trunk, started to open it, then saw Luke watching and changed his mind and continued inside. Tammy said importantly, "That's Mister Virgil. He brings bottled water to Mr. Kearney. I've seen him unload cases of it in big Mason jars. He must have a good well or something, huh?"
Luke gave an absent nod, burning to think how Junior had not only turned the motor court into a whore house but was also selling moonshine in what was, in theory, a dry county. A few minutes later the man came out, got in the car, and, with an annoyed glance at Luke, took off with a screech of tires, red dust flying.
Junior followed and headed straight for Luke. "Well, well," he sneered. "The soldier boy came home 'cause his momma is sick. Ain't that sweet?"
Luke stood, pulling Tammy with him. He gave her a gentle push and told her to go inside, then turned on Junior. "Skip the bullshit, Junior. I see what's going on here with your whores and moonshine, and I don't like it around my family."
Junior spat a wad of tobacco juice to land near Luke's feet. "So why don't you take 'em and git?"
"That's exactly what I plan to do."
"Good." Junior nodded as though it were all settled. "So how's Orlena doin'?"
"What do you care?"
"What do I care?" Junior hooted. "Ain't you forgettin' something, boy? If not for me, you'd probably been born in a back alley somewheres. I gave your momma a roof over her head, remember?"
"She worked for it in more ways than one," Luke reminded him with hooded eyes.
Junior frowned. Luke was a big fellow, and he'd heard how he'd had a lot of special training in the army to make him real mean. Instinctively, he retreated a few steps. "You just let me know when you plan to move, and the sooner the better. I can use this cabin for one of my girls."
"Luke," Alma called uncertainly from where she stood just inside the rusting screen door, "Supper's ready."
He left Junior standing there and went inside. As soon as he got to the table, he curtly declared, "Tomorrow we're going to find someplace else for you all to live. You aren't staying here any longer, and that's final. If Momma makes it out of the hospital, I'll set her straight how it's going to be. You should have written me what's been going on here. Cousins. Bottled water. Jesus, Alma." He stabbed a drumstick with his fork and put it on his plate.
Tammy watched with wide eyes, and Alma cleared her throat, sending a message to Luke to cool it. They ate in silence, except for Luke's saying how good everything was. Alma had been cooking ever since
she got home and had outdone herself, which puzzled him, because she had never gone to this trouble before.
"It started up in the last year." Alma had waited to say anything till they were on their way to the hospital after dropping Tammy off at a girlfriend's house to spend the night. "First it was the women. Just a few at first. Then every single cabin was taken by them, except for ours. Junior is sorry as they come, Luke, and I've sure never had no use for him, but he has taken care of your momma. He hasn't asked her to move."
"I wish he had."
"So do I, because things keep getting worse. There's the gambling, and sometimes there's big fights that spill into the parking lot. We don't go outside after dark, and I try to make sure Tammy sleeps at one of her friend's on the weekends when it gets real bad."
"Have you ever called the sheriff?"
"Oh, yes. One night when there was a big fight and a man got cut up. Deputies came and broke it up, but they didn't arrest anybody, and things kept right on. So I don't bother, anymore, especially when I've seen the deputies going in the cabins where the women are. And I'll let you figure out why," she added with a roll of her eyes.
"And you didn't write me about any of it."
"Orlena wouldn't let me. She said you'd come home and raise hell, and there was no need. You know how stubborn she can be. That old motor court is the only home she's ever had, and she wasn't about to move anywhere else. She said there was nowhere else in this county where she'd be welcome, anyhow."
"So she felt welcome around whores and drunks and gamblers." He slammed his palms against the steering wheel. "Well, I promise you one thing: she's spent her last night there."
* * *
At the hospital, Luke was glad to run into the doctor as he was making his rounds but not pleased over what he had to tell him.
"Orlena has cirrhosis of the liver caused by her drinking," Dr. Campbell explained. "Ordinarily, the damage can be reversed with abstinence if it's caught in time, but apparently your mother had symptoms she ignored. Now she has fever, jaundice, and she's in a lot of pain. There's also some sepsis—that's when bacteria invades the body—and I'm also seeing signs of heart failure."
Luke felt like he'd swallowed a brick and had to force his words around it. "Is there any hope she can pull out of this? I swear, I'll do whatever it takes to make her quit drinking. I'll sign for her to go to Brice's if you think it'll help." Brice's was Alabama's hospital for alcoholics.
Dr. Campbell shook his head. "I'm sorry, Luke, but I'm afraid it's too late. The damage is done."
Alma had already gone in his mother's room, and Luke followed, glad to see she was awake. Earlier, there had only been one IV bottle dripping a clear liquid into her veins, but now there was a second, flowing red. Dr. Campbell had explained a blood transfusion might make her feel better since she was so anemic.
Orlena managed a feeble smile as Luke took her hand, her voice thin as an eggshell when she spoke. "Oh, son, it's so good to see you... even if I did have to get sick to bring you home."
"You just get well, and I promise it won't be so long between visits anymore."
"I think I'd like it better if you just get out of the army before you get killed and come on back home where you belong. I love you, son, and I've missed you."
He had to speak around the brick again, only this time it had settled deeper in his chest. He found himself wishing men had the social freedom to cry like women to relieve the pressure, like Alma was doing, only she had turned away so Orlena wouldn't see.
It was hard, but he managed to keep his voice from cracking. "I love you, too, Momma. I always have. I just wish I could have made things easier for you."
"I wouldn't trade a minute of the time I've had with you, but I'd change how you was brought into the world if I could help it. I'd see to it folks didn't look down on you for being born like you was." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
He brushed it away. "None of that, you hear? If that's what it took for me to have you for a mother, it was worth it."
Alma, feeling like she was intruding, said, "I'll wait for you downstairs, Luke. Goodnight, Orlena." She kissed Orlena's cheek and hurried out.
Once they were alone, Orlena looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I want you to know I was never a whore, Luke. You have to believe that."
"God, Momma, I know that."
"I know folks said I was."
"Well, they didn't know what they were talking about. You were young. You made a mistake. You probably thought you were in love, and..."
"I never told you I loved nobody," she cut him off. "I never told you anything. And you knew better than to ask questions after that time you came home from school when you were in the third grade crying and wanting to know what a bastard was. I told you, and then you went back and beat up the kid that called you one. That's why I never told you how it happened, how you came to be. I was scared you'd kill somebody, but maybe I should have. Maybe I should've let you take the revenge I couldn't, and then I wouldn't have had to drink so much to keep from thinking about it and wouldn't be here in the shape I'm in, and..."
She began to cough, hard, husky, and then the wheezing began as she lost her breath, and her head lolled back as a terrified look came over her face.
Luke mashed the call button and within seconds a nurse swished into the room. She took one look at Orlena and ran for the oxygen tank that stood in a corner and quickly rolled it to the bed. Barking instructions to Luke, they had the plastic tent spread in no time, covering Orlena from head to waist. The nurse went to get medication, though Orlena seemed to be resting comfortably as she breathed in the oxygen.
"She'll sleep now," the nurse said as she injected Orlena with a sedative. "You might as well go. We'll call if there's any change."
But Luke made no move to leave right away, for his mind was whirling to wonder what his mother had been about to say. Never before, even in her darkest moments of despair and disappointment, had he heard her speak of retribution against his father. And now he burned to know why.
* * *
It was dark when Luke and Alma got home, and everything seemed quiet.
"It's because you're here," Alma said. "Junior is scared you'll make trouble."
Luke went straight to the refrigerator. "No beer?" He scanned the shelves.
"Afraid not."
"I'll go get some. Maybe I'll stop by the Comet and see if any of the guys are around." The Comet was a drive-in cafe on the Birmingham highway, where he could usually find some of his old high school buddies, like Matt Rumsey. Matt hated his job at the mill, didn't get along with his wife, so he hung out at the Comet.
At the front door, Alma positioned herself in front of him. "Don't go."
He lifted a brow. "You scared to stay by yourself?"
"It's not that." She took a deep breath, then slipped her arms around his neck and pressed against him. "I want you to take me to bed."
For an instant, Luke thought he hadn't heard right, but then she squeezed his crotch. "Now, Luke. Let's go to bed now."
Hell, he was only human, and she got results the way she was rubbing him. He felt himself getting hard. She felt it, too, and began trying to pump him up and down through his trousers.
He unzipped his fly. "It's easier this way."
His swollen penis leaped into her hand, and she drew back for an instant, startled. She hadn't felt a man's thing since Jimmy Tate. The few times she and Luke had had sex, she hadn't touched him, hadn't wanted to, didn't want to now, and wouldn't if not for wanting to hang on to her marriage. She pulled him into the bedroom by his erection, and he laughed and did not protest.
He took off his clothes. She took off hers. They laid down side by side, and he thought of Coquina, his Mexican girlfriend waiting back in California. She always put on a show for him when she undressed, playing music on the radio while she stripped like a pro. Maybe she was. He didn't know and hadn't asked, but it made him crazy to watch her.
"Still got
your diaphragm?" he asked, not wanting to take any chances.
She nodded and went to put it in while he waited and wondered what was going on, but it didn't take much to figure out she was worried about what would happen to their marriage if his mother died. Alma's way of thinking was just like all women of her upbringing: any man was better than no man at all. She didn't want to face being a divorcee with a kid to raise all by herself in a jerkwater town like Hampton, Alabama.
It was over quick, with Alma as lifeless as a store mannequin. Afterward, he got up to take a shower, but she padded after him, the sheet wrapped around her.
"Luke, we need to talk. I've been thinking about us and how we could really have a good life together if we tried. I mean, we have got a daughter, and..."
The sound of the water running drowned her out, but she was waiting to start in again as soon as he finished.
"I'm going to make us some hot cocoa, and we can have a nice talk about where we're going to move. I was thinking we could maybe buy a house out in the country. Tammy would like that, and your momma would, too. She's always said she wished she had a garden."
He pulled on his pants and yanked on a shirt. "She isn't going to live that long, and you know it."
"But there's still the three of us, Luke."
"You know I hate this place."
"But it's your home."
"No, it isn't. And when my mother dies, I am never coming back."
"But what about us?"
He was almost to the door but whirled around to challenge, "Yeah, what about us, Alma? Do you want to move to California? 'Cause that's where I plan to live. I'll take you and Tammy with me if you want to go, because it's my duty. But you and I both know this marriage stinks and always has."
Her eyes narrowed. "But I don't want to move, and your place is here with me and Tammy."
Final Justice Page 7
