Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen

by Susan Gregg Gilmore

  Mr. and Mrs. Tucker were standing side by side just inside the kitchen door. He was holding his arm around her waist, or as much of it as he could. They actually looked like they belonged together even though she was at least twice his size. He offered to personally deliver anything from the store that we might need. All I had to do was call. Mrs. Tucker asked if I had tried her hash potato casserole. I'd be sure to, I told her.

  Uncertain of where to be, I found myself wandering back into the living room. Martha Ann was sitting on the sofa talking to, of all people, Emma Sue Huckstep, who, I noticed, was still preening on her doughnut-shaped pillow. “Hey there, Emma Sue,” I said, trying to hide the smile that I knew was growing on my face as I watched the little princess position herself more comfortably on her specially ordered throne. “Gee, I heard about your cheerleading accident, Emma Sue. Boy, I bet that hurt.”

  “Well, it did, to tell you the truth, but Doctor Bowden said I'll be back to cheering in a couple more weeks, in time for the basketball play-offs.”

  “Yeah, I'm sure the team misses that winning spirit of yours. And, hey, be sure and tell Walter to hang on to you the next time.” And with that said, I realized I had nothing more to say to Emma Sue. I turned to Martha Ann to see if I could get a sense of how she was feeling. She actually looked as though she was enjoying her conversation, that in some way it was making this day a bit more normal for her.

  “I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Don't let me get in the way,” I said, unable to refrain from adding just a tinge of sarcasm to my voice, which Martha Ann clearly did not appreciate.

  I was headed toward the kitchen when Gloria Jean came scurrying back through the front door, her face looking like she had seen a ghost of her own. And before I could ask what was wrong, she told me to come with her. I did as I was told, but on the way to her house, Gloria Jean suddenly turned and stared right at me. She looked so serious and somehow I knew that look was all about me.

  “Honey, sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't. And sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't but the thing is so big they just don't know how to make it right. You know what I mean?”

  No, I didn't, but I nodded like I did. For once, Gloria Jean really didn't seem to be making any sense at all, and that made me more uncomfortable than anything she was saying, or trying to say.

  “Look, I know you've had a whole lot to deal with the last couple of days, more than any girl your age should have to face. But I've got some news for you that is either going to knock you flat down or is going to bring you some comfort, but only you are going to be able to decide that.”

  “Something bad has happened, Gloria Jean, I know it. It's that friend of yours, what's she done to you?”

  Gloria Jean held my shoulders in her hands. “Sweetie, she didn't hurt me, or at least she didn't mean to. Now you have to be strong,” and she paused for a moment to see if her words were making any difference, “for Martha Ann and for your daddy. Promise me?”

  “Shit, Gloria Jean, you're scaring me. And I've had enough of that today.”

  Gloria Jean grabbed my hand, squeezing it with her fingers till it almost hurt. She dragged me into the living room and in front of a woman who promptly jumped up from the blue velvet sofa. The stranger stood real still, almost seeming afraid to move any closer, like a lizard under a cat's watchful eye.

  “Catherine Grace, my friend here came to town when she heard the news about your daddy.”

  “Oh, you knew my daddy?” I asked the woman. She nodded. “Are you here for the funeral?”

  But again, the woman only nodded. Finally, Gloria Jean answered for her. “Yes, yes, she did know your daddy, many, many years ago. But, honey, it's actually you she's come to see.”

  I stared at the woman and speculated about the right thing to say to a stranger who seems to know more about you than you'd care for her to know.

  “I'm very sorry, Catherine Grace, about your daddy, I mean,” she stammered breathlessly. “I know this must be a hard time for you. It's just that, well, I've waited,” and she stopped, as if searching for the right words was exhausting her.

  “Hey, I don't mean to sound rude or nothing, but I'm feeling kind of funny here. I mean you knowing my name and all, and I don't know anything about you, not even what to call you. Gloria Jean?” I was looking for help, and yet Gloria Jean could only look at the woman as if asking for permission to make an introduction. She seemed so pale and sickly that I wondered if she was going to faint right in front of me.

  “Gloria Jean, your friend don't look so well,” I whispered to her. “And this is really creeping me out. I want to go home.”

  “Catherine Grace,” Gloria Jean said, waiting no longer for a cue, “this is—” And then the woman interrupted her.

  “No, Gloria Jean, let me do this,” she said with some unexpected strength. Then she steadied herself by holding on to the arm of the sofa, took a deep breath, and finally said what she'd come to say.

  “Catherine Grace, I'm your mother. I'm Lena Mae.” She lowered her head, afraid to look me in the eyes.

  I heard what this woman said. I mean, I heard the words, but I couldn't understand what was coming out of her mouth. “Lady, you are out of your mind, or incredibly mean, or both. I don't know who the hell you are or what kind of sick joke you're pulling. Damn it, Gloria Jean! Why did you let this nutcase in your house?” I found myself shouting, my own voice echoing in my ears.

  “Catherine Grace, I know this must be a terrible shock,” Gloria Jean said, “but listen to me. You've waited years to see your mama, and here she is. I know the timing might be bad but Lena Mae thought now she might have a chance to see you, to explain, maybe even to help.”

  “What? Help?” I still couldn't make sense of what anybody was saying to me. I just heard words, words, more words but nothing was meaning anything. I tried to run out the door, but Gloria Jean stepped in my way and held me in her arms.

  “Your daddy,” the woman started talking again, “your daddy said that if I left town, I couldn't come back. He wouldn't have it. I didn't want to leave you like that. You have to believe me,” she said, talking real fast now, like a little girl who has waited too long to tell the truth. “I just couldn't stay, Catherine Grace. But then I couldn't come back. I didn't know—”

  “You're a liar! An evil, wretched, devil liar! My daddy would never keep me from my mama,” I screamed so loudly even the crowd next door surely heard me.

  “I know. You're right. I'm sorry. All I meant was that he had a hard time letting go. . . . I mean, when Martha Ann came along . . . I just . . . I just didn't know what else to do.” She stumbled, and it looked like talking and standing might yet prove too much for her frail body.

  “What have you done to Martha Ann?” I screamed, tears streaming down my face.

  “Nothing. I haven't seen Martha Ann. I promise. I came to the church earlier thinking I might be able to see you girls, but I got scared and left. I haven't seen her. I promise. I know this is hard. I do. But the minute I heard that Marshall had passed, I knew this was my chance to finally see you. I have missed you girls so much. I guess I should have given you more time,” she said.

  “Time! More time! What about the last twelve years of my life?” I sobbed, somehow knowing and yet refusing to believe that this woman was my mama. “My mama drowned when I was six. My mama loved me.”

  “I still love you, Catherine. I have never stopped loving you.”

  “No! No, no! My mama wouldn't have run away from home like some stupid little kid.”

  “Dear God, I'm so sorry,” the woman said, her voice shaking and full of tears. “I was a stupid kid, Catherine Grace. I was so young, and I just figured you girls would forget about me after a while. Marshall said you would.”

  “Forget? You are out of your mind!” Everything she said was terrifying me. I had memorized every detail of my mama's beautiful face, her brown eyes, her delicate nose, her kind smile. The woman in th
e photograph sitting on my dresser would never believe that her babies could simply forget that they're the only ones who didn't have a mama to bake them a birthday cake, or make them clothes for their Barbie dolls, or iron their Sunday dresses.

  “I am so sorry,” the woman repeated, like this time it might have some meaning. She just kept babbling about being so young, too young to be a good mother and having dreams and I don't know what all. All I knew was that there was nothing she could say that was going to make me accept that she was my mother.

  “Get out! Just get out! ” I shouted, starting to feel light-headed.

  “I'm sorry. I'm very sorry,” the woman whispered as much to herself as to me. And without even the courage to look me in the eyes, she made one last declaration. “I have loved you every day of your life. You need to know that.”

  I turned to Gloria Jean and begged her to make this woman leave.

  But Gloria Jean just stood there, motionless.

  “Gloria Jean,” I pleaded, “please.”

  “I can't, honey.”

  “Why not?” I asked, feeling the room spinning around me.

  “Because she is your mother.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Standing at the Pearly Gates Begging for Forgiveness

  Martha Ann was pressing a cold washcloth on my forehead. A drop of water trickled down the side of my face and settled in my ear. Gloria Jean was gently slapping my hand. “Catherine Grace, wake up, honey. You need to open your eyes.”

  I found myself lying in my own bed, hoping for that first innocent moment of wakefulness that the woman claiming to be my mother had been nothing but a bad dream.

  “Gloria Jean,” I asked, “that woman, who came to see you, she's gone, right?”

  But Gloria Jean took a deep breath, her body's way of telling me that she wasn't particularly comfortable with what she had to say. So I closed my eyes again, longing to drift back into that world of never-ending darkness. Lena Mae, she said, was still in Ringgold. Apparently, after Dr. Bowden gave me some pills to make me sleep, she decided to stay the night and was now sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, talking to Miss Mabie. She was real worried about me.

  “When you fainted, you need to know that it was your mama who helped me get you into your bed, well, your mama and Flora. She just wants to make sure you're okay before she leaves town. She knows you're not ready for anything more right now.”

  I looked at Gloria Jean and couldn't help but laugh out loud. The woman who left me crying myself to sleep when I was six years old was suddenly worried about me.

  Propping myself up on my elbows, and speaking slowly and deliberately so no one would misunderstand what I was saying, I told Gloria Jean to get the woman with the long brown hair, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, worrying about the little girl she abandoned, out of my house.

  Martha Ann took the cloth off my forehead and knelt down beside me so we were staring at each other eye to eye. She hadn't said much since I had come home, but now her face was full of words.

  “Catherine Grace, Mama coming here is a gift from God, and she is not leaving,” Martha Ann announced in an abrupt, firm tone. “Yesterday, we were not much better off than two little orphans, and today we've got a mama. Maybe I should be mad. Maybe I will be mad. But right now, today, I am so happy to have a mother, even one that's left and come back.”

  And then, putting her hand over mine, Martha Ann spoke in a softer voice, “You need to hear her out, Catherine Grace, and then if you want to be mad at somebody, fine, but maybe you need to consider being mad at Daddy, too.”

  “Daddy didn't leave us!”

  “No, but maybe he didn't give Mama much of a choice. You need to talk to her.”

  I just stared at my little sister. I couldn't make sense of anything anybody was saying anymore, but somehow I knew I was going to have to come face-to-face with the woman sitting at the kitchen table. But be mad at Daddy? No. I just couldn't believe that my own daddy had known all these years that Mama was alive. What kind of daddy, what kind of man of God, would let his babies suffer like that? My head was spinning. I kept closing my eyes, hoping it would make the confusion go away. But it didn't help.

  “Listen, honey,” Gloria Jean repeated, “your mama loves you, and she has had to live with what she has done every single day since she left you girls. Your daddy was a good man, nobody's denying that, but he had a hard time accepting that somebody could love him and still want something more. I'm just not sure she really thought she had much of a choice. She just didn't have the courage that you do.”

  “What kind of monster do you think Daddy was?” I yelled, surprising myself.

  “He wasn't a monster, honey. He was human. And I just think you need to understand this about your daddy. He could see marriage working only one way. I'm not sure he could admit to himself, let alone to anybody else in this town, that his young, beautiful wife was dreaming of something even bigger than the great Reverend Cline. She had a gift, Catherine, you know that. But you know all this already. You know what it means to love somebody but still want something more. And you know your daddy.”

  “You knew,” I said, again surprising myself with the sharp tone of my voice. “You knew all these years that my mama was alive but didn't say anything. What? You just thought you'd keep this little secret to yourself? Is that it? You couldn't have any children of your own, Gloria Jean, so you kept your mouth shut so you could step right in and be our mama,” I shouted, attacking the one woman who had never abandoned me.

  Before I could even look for the hurt in her eyes, I started begging for forgiveness. “I'm sorry, Gloria Jean. I am so sorry. I didn't mean it.” I didn't mean it, but I desperately wanted somebody to hurt as much as I did.

  Gloria Jean took me into her arms like she had done so many times before. “Baby, I didn't know she was alive. I had always thought something wasn't right. I had hoped. But I didn't know, and I certainly couldn't say anything to you without knowing for sure,” she said, patting my back in a familiar rhythm. “And you're not the only one who's feeling hurt right now. She was my best friend. Oh hell, honey, she was nothing more than a child, a child with little babies of her own.”

  I sat in my bed with my eyes wide open and wondered what this woman sitting at the kitchen table could say to me that would undo all the damage that had been done. I could already smell the bacon frying on the stove, and I knew that before long Flora was going to start chirping her morning trill about me keeping up my strength. But I wasn't stepping foot in that kitchen until I made sure my daddy was dead.

  I jumped out of bed and started searching for my brown penny loafers.

  “Honey, where are you going?” Gloria Jean asked.

  “To church,” I said.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. I have to see my daddy. I have to make sure that my daddy is lying in that casket. I have to make sure he's dead, dead, dead and that nobody is playing another cruel joke on me.” I had to make sure he hadn't decided to go and make a better life for himself in Little Rock or Knoxville. Maybe he was already there waiting for Miss Raines to join him. Nope, I wasn't taking any chances, not this time.

  Gloria Jean and Martha Ann both stood by my bedroom door, unable to think of the words to stop me. Maybe, Gloria Jean suggested, it would be better if I waited until she was certain that the funeral home had delivered Daddy, and she had a chance to make sure he was properly situated and all.

  I told her I didn't care if he was situated or not. I would sit on the steps of that church and wait for him if I had to. I never saw my mama's face after she died, and I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

  After grabbing my coat from the hall closet, I stopped at the kitchen door just long enough to catch a glimpse of Lena Mae Cline. She looked up at me as I hesitated in the hallway. She had so much hope in her eyes—hope that I'd say something, anything. But I turned away, making it clear I wasn't ready to listen to her sad story.

&nb
sp; I pushed the storm door open and let it slam behind me. I jumped off the porch and headed for Cedar Grove. But before I got there, I could hear the sound of cars in the distance churning up the gravel on the road. I looked up to see a black car pull into the church parking lot with a black hearse following close behind. Hidden within the cloud of dust that was hovering above the road, I could see a group of men, all dressed in dark suits and dark overcoats, step out of the car and move toward the back of the hearse.

  One man, wearing a black hat, opened the back door and then directed the others to stand in two lines facing each other. They all bowed their heads, as if they were saying a prayer, and then the man in the hat directed the others to pull the brown, wooden casket out of the hearse. Running toward the church, I began yelling at the men in the dark suits.

  “Hey, stop right there,” I cried. “Stop! Stop right there!”

  All seven of them looked up at once, shocked, scanning the parking lot for the person they could only hear. The man with the hat yelled back, telling me that whoever I was, I needed to leave, that this was a solemn moment.

  “Don't tell me what this is or isn't,” I shouted back, now standing clearly in the parking lot next to the men holding my daddy's casket. “That is my daddy in there, and you're going to open that box right now and let me get a good look at his face,” I continued with a harsh determination. The men looked shocked and confused. I could tell they were waiting for some concerned relative to appear and carry me away. But nobody came. Finally, the man in charge cleared his throat.