The Song Reader

by Lisa Tucker

  “No. I found one of your letters and sort of accidentally read it.” I waited but he didn’t say anything. “Well, I was just curious…when you saw him, how was he?”

  He cleared his throat. “I gather Mary Beth isn’t home right now.”

  “Right.”

  “And she has no idea you’re calling me?”

  “Right,” I said again, softer.

  “Leeann, I’d like to talk about this with you.” He inhaled deeply. “I’d like to answer all your questions. Tell you whatever you want to know.”

  I slumped back in my chair, not trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. “But you’re not going to.”

  “I’m in an awkward position. Your sister made it very clear that she does not want me to do this. I feel as though I have to honor her wishes, even if I disagree with them.”

  “Which you do, right?” I was getting annoyed. “Completely and totally. To the point where you said she was ‘naive’ and ‘out of touch with reality.’”

  “That one letter you read was damn comprehensive, wasn’t it?” He let out a short laugh.

  I was surprised to realize he wasn’t mad even though it was his writing I’d snooped through. Maybe I would have been grateful, if I hadn’t felt so frustrated.

  “Okay. Don’t tell me about the visit. But can you at least tell me his address? Or his phone number? I know he lives in Little Rock now, but where? I called the operator and she said there’s no listing.”

  “He doesn’t have a phone.” Ben was silent for a while. “Have you tried asking your sister about this? Perhaps you can persuade her to—”

  “But what about the address? For chrissakes, you have to remember that, you went there.”

  He cleared his throat again. “It would be so much better if Mary Beth told you all this. Surely you can see that.”

  I could, but I wasn’t in the mood to admit it. “I have to go, but will you at least tell me one thing.” I took a breath. “Just tell me if he’s okay.”

  Since Ben was a big believer in being honest, I knew he wouldn’t say yes unless it was true. And he didn’t. He paused and when he spoke again, his voice sounded pained. “I wish I could help you with this, Leeann. I really do.”

  “So do I,” I muttered, before slamming down the phone.

  After I took a shower and got dressed, I rushed out of the apartment and straight to the library. I didn’t want to talk to my sister. I didn’t even want to lay eyes on her.

  Ben had been in the same room with my father, breathed the same air as my father, maybe even shook my father’s hand. Ben could tell me what he looked like now, what kind of clothes he wore, what he did for a living, if anything. Ben could tell me what they talked about, whether it was heavy stuff or just chitchat. And since Ben had a good memory, he might even be able to give me all the specifics—the exact words. For example, he might be able to tell me if Dad had asked any casual questions about the family: Mary Beth, maybe even me. Something like, “How long is Leeann’s hair now?” Or, “Does she have many friends at school?” Or even, “Is she happy?”

  But Ben couldn’t tell me a thing, because my sister wouldn’t let him. And she wouldn’t even tell my why.

  I spent the day in the library, hiding from the entire mess, reading hundreds of pages of a Dickens novel. When I finally put down the book, my eyes were stinging and my neck and back were cramped, but still, I didn’t want to go home. I had no choice, though. The library was closing early because of the holiday weekend and Mary Beth was expecting me. Plus, Darlene was coming over to our house for dinner. Again.

  A month or so before, Darlene had decided Mary Beth was the only grown-up who’d ever understood her. This was after Mary Beth broke her rule against reading teenagers’ charts and did Darlene’s—only to discover the real reason why Darlene had stayed so long with her creepy boyfriend Greg. Neither of them would tell me what that reason was (Darlene said it was too personal; Mary Beth said she had to treat this one as strictly confidential, since Darlene was my friend), but whatever it was, it seemed to have worked a miracle: not only had Darlene ceased all contact with Greg, but she’d also started dating a new guy she met at The Shoe Stop at the mall.

  A nice guy, Mary Beth pronounced him, when Darlene surprised us by showing up with him at dinner that Saturday night, and he helped us do dishes and sat with Tommy, building Legos afterwards. His name was Chuck; I called him Up-Chuck, but only in my mind. I couldn’t believe Mary Beth liked him. He couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, and his smile was so totally out of sync with the conversation. Joke. Blank expression. Illness story. Smile. You’re nice. Blank expression. You’re an idiot. Smile.

  After he left, Darlene was standing in the kitchen, watching Mary Beth make the brownies she’d been promising Tommy for days. And gushing about Up-Chuck. “He’s so sweet, isn’t he? He’s like no boy I’ve ever known.”

  Mary Beth laughed as she poured the batter. “He sure is, honey. And I think you deserve him after what you went through with that jerk Greg.”

  I was drinking a soda, sitting at the table, filling out an application to be a student tutor. I needed the money, and I liked the idea that I’d be helping people, too.

  Darlene went on like this for a while, her voice becoming more and more dreamy as she sang Chuck’s praises. She had on almost no makeup and her hair was straighter than I’d ever seen it. Even the clothes she was wearing were different: usually she wore a modified Jennifer Beals look, like almost every girl in school since Flashdance, but tonight, for Chuck, she’d worn regular jeans and a blouse without a single rip. She’d even ditched her leg warmers.

  The brownies were in the oven and the two of them had moved to the living room when I overheard Darlene ask Mary Beth, “What happened with that guy you were living with? I thought he was a nice boy, too.”

  My sister’s own friends never broached this topic with her, but Darlene was so thrilled to be chatting intimately with Mary Beth that she probably couldn’t resist pushing it further. Mary Beth must have known that, too, because she didn’t get mad or draw back. Instead, she shocked me completely by bitching about Ben to Darlene.

  “He was nice, but he thought he knew everything,” she said, and laughed. “Some guys are like that.”

  “He thought he knew more than you?” Darlene sputtered.

  “It happens.” Mary Beth laughed again. “Especially with men.”

  “But why? Because he was like this college graduate?”

  “No,” Mary Beth said more quietly. “It wasn’t that.”

  I was standing in the doorway now, so I could listen better. I was relieved she’d said no, because she’d told me many times that Ben wasn’t a snob about the difference in their formal education. It was one of the things she loved about him.

  “Well, I’ll bet it had something to do with it,” Darlene said. And then she blurted out that she’d heard gossip around town last year, people saying Ben dumped Mary Beth because he was such a big brain in college and his parents were rumored to have money. “But I always told them they didn’t know a thing,” Darlene concluded, smiling. “I said if anybody was too good for the other person in that relationship, it was you, Mary Beth.”

  “Thanks, honey.” Mary Beth’s voice sounded weak. She’d probably heard the gossip, too, but it couldn’t be pleasant to be reminded of it.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Darlene. “I’ll walk you home. I want to talk about the chemistry class I signed up for.”

  “What do I know about that?” Darlene said, but she stood up when I glared at her. “Okay, okay.”

  As soon as we got outside, I turned to her. “Why’d you tell Mary Beth all that stuff people were saying? How would you feel if you heard the same crap about you?”

  “Mary Beth isn’t me.” It was too dark to see her expression, but I could tell from her voice she thought I was way off. “She’s like so cool. She could never care what other people think.”

  We were walking along, bu
t I grabbed her arm. “She’s my sister. Don’t you think I know her a lot better than you do?”

  She jerked loose. “Are you jealous, Leeann?”

  “Of course not. That’s insane.”

  “No, it isn’t. Mary Beth and I are really tight right now and you’re like on your own planet.” She sucked in her breath. “You’re not even interested in boys anymore.”

  I laughed. “Well, hey, maybe I’ll be a lesbian. You look pretty good.”

  “Ha, ha,” she said. It was an old joke with us, but now her voice was horrified, as if Up-Chuck was listening.

  We walked in silence for a minute. I heard a dog barking across the street. Finally she said, “Mary Beth is worried about you, you know that, right?”

  “No way.” I tried to make my voice sound dismissive; I didn’t want Darlene to know how surprised I was. “You must have misunderstood.”

  “She told me that since what happened with Kyle, you haven’t been happy.” Darlene paused. “She even asked me last week if I could set you up with one of Chuck’s friends. She thought maybe a date would cheer you up.”

  Darlene started talking about Chuck’s friends, how nice they were, and cute, too. I wasn’t paying attention, though. Where did Mary Beth come off talking to Darlene about me? And how could she possibly worry about my dates when she herself hadn’t had a date in over a year?

  To cut Darlene off, I hissed, “If I need a guy, I can get one, okay? I don’t need you to do it for me.”

  “I was just trying to be nice, Norris. God, you’re in a lousy mood.”

  “I’m going back home now.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about your schedule.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I said, and turned around and started walking the other way.

  All the way home, I thought of arguments to justify myself. I’d almost been raped; I was too old to date high school boys now. I’d had a scary car accident, no wonder I didn’t want to go out. But mostly, I was trying to help Mary Beth—which suddenly seemed like a stupid waste of time.

  It was the beginning of September. For three months, I’d done nothing but hang around the house, helping Mary Beth write down song titles and listening to her explain the meaning of pop songs, corny country western, even some commercial jingles. Songs that were garbage, really, except to the hicks around here who were so desperate they had to rely on a stupid Michael Jackson tune to tell them their own feelings.

  I knew this was a snobby way to look at it but I didn’t care. For the first time, I was wondering why it meant so much to me anyway. My sister’s song reading—why had I always taken it so seriously? I hated palm readers, psychics, fortune-tellers; I even hated social workers and school counselors, for the most part. All of them claimed to know exactly what other people should do and most of them seemed too stupid to figure out their own lives. But Mary Beth was different, that’s what I always told myself. Hers was a real, true gift.

  I walked up to the front porch and slumped down on Agnes’s wood rocker. The night was so quiet, I could hear the next-door neighbors arguing. Their voices were sharp and angry, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “The McNallys aren’t doing so well,” Mary Beth whispered one morning, after we saw Mrs. McNally standing in the yard screaming at Mr. McNally as he got in his truck to go to work. My sister shook her head sadly. “I’m sure they have their reasons.”

  Everybody has their reasons, I thought, as I rocked back and forth, harder and harder, until the floorboards of the porch creaked and groaned under my weight. Nobody is doing so well—except my sister’s customers of course. They’re always fine, as long as they go along with her, do exactly what she says.

  I was still angry with her for talking about my life with Darlene. I know that’s why I found myself wishing, as I rocked back and forth listening to the McNallys fight, that just once she would turn out to be wrong. That Up-Chuck would turn out to be a serial killer, as long as he didn’t kill Darlene. Or that Irene Danston would end up poor, lonely, and utterly miserable without her husband Jack, who wasn’t such a bad guy, as it turned out, but just a little possessive.

  My wishing only lasted a minute, if that. Of course it didn’t cause what happened to my sister. Actually, if only wishing were that powerful, everything would have worked out fine. True, I would have messed up Mary Beth with my stupid desire to see her be wrong, but I would have fixed her, too, with all my other wishes: the hundreds of pleas to turn back time, change what happened, make her okay again.

  What I didn’t know that night sitting on the porch was that my sister was about to fail. I could say there was no warning, and it would be true. She was trying to help someone, the way she always had before. She was desperate to help, that was her only crime. On the other hand, I could say this had been coming for a very long time, and that would be true, too. Since Ben left at least, but probably long before.

  chapter

  ten

  I was listening to the radio when Juanita Alvarez called me to help plan a party for Mary Beth. The song was “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics. I can still hear it perfectly; I even remember what verse they were up to when I turned down the volume to answer the phone, but I have no idea what it means that I remember all this. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

  My sister’s birthday was coming up, and Juanita wanted to have a party at her house, the last Saturday in October. She said she thought Mary Beth needed something special, but she didn’t offer an explanation. I told Juanita I was glad to help, even though I wasn’t really in the mood for a party. My role was pretty simple: to find a babysitter for Tommy (I got Denise) and go along with Juanita’s lie about why we were going to her house.

  Juanita had told me she was inviting a huge crowd—lots of my sister’s former customers, everyone from the diner—and she wasn’t exaggerating. Her living room was so full, it was impossible to move from one end to the other without knocking into someone’s hand or elbow, threatening a spill of a snack plate or beer. Every waitress from the diner was there except the ones who had to work. At least twenty of Mary Beth’s customers were there, some I hadn’t seen in so long it took me a minute to recognize them.

  Over by the couch was Heidi Dickinson, who was engaged now, and told Mary Beth she had forgotten all about that guy Don who was causing her so much trouble when she came for a song reading four years ago. Next to her, eating a piece of sausage, was Carmen Lopez, who’d just gotten promoted at the data processing job she credited Mary Beth with giving her the guts to apply for. Standing in the kitchen doorway, talking to Juanita, were Dotty and Louellen Summerton, who’d come to my sister still grieving about their brother Alvin’s drowning in the Mississippi River thirty years before. From their songs, Mary Beth helped them realize that what they needed was a memorial, since Alvin’s body was never found. They erected a slab on the riverbank and all their friends brought flowers. The next week, they gave Mary Beth a ceramic angel with a golden halo and blue-tipped wings. Dotty was smiling. “We know Alvin’s with the angels now and that’s just that.”

  Everywhere I looked it was the same story. Over in the corner, Twyla Kingsly and Peggy Turner, whom I’d seen crying many times at our place, were now laughing and pretending to dance along with the Hank Williams playing on the stereo. Frieda Jones, the woman who thought song lyrics were literal warnings, looked perfectly relaxed even though the song playing was “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” Amy and Ken Miller, who were single and desperately lonely when they each came to my sister, were sitting by the wall on hard back chairs, cooing to their three-month-old baby boy.

  This party was like a celebration of Mary Beth’s talent. The perfect birthday gift.

  I was glad for my sister, even though I wasn’t having much fun myself. I’d only been here a half hour, and I was already tired of talking to women I barely knew. It was also hard to breathe. Juanita smoked, about half the people there smoked, and the air was so thick my eyes wouldn’t stop watering. After about an ho
ur, I decided to slip outside. It was already dark, I didn’t know anyone else was around when I unfolded a rusting lawn chair and sat down in the front yard. Then I heard voices coming from a truck parked on the street.

  “Come on. Dad said you need this.”

  “It was a mistake. I’m just not up to talking to anybody.”

  “Please, Mom. Please try.”

  “I can’t…”

  I strained my eyes and saw Holly Kramer sitting in the passenger seat with her arms folded around her knees. And Maniac Mike was leaning against the door frame.

  I’d always known Maniac Mike’s last name was Kramer, but I’d never realized he was Holly Kramer’s son.

  “Yes, you can. Just go in.”

  “But what if—”

  “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll take you back home. I promise.”

  “I don’t know, Mikey.”

  Her voice sounded as weak and unsteady as an old lady’s. I thought back to when she gave us the violet afghan with the silver star and told my sister that she’d saved her life. It felt like a long time, but it was only two summers ago.

  They were both silent for a minute; finally she got out of the truck and he shut the door behind her. As they walked up the driveway, she said, “I’m so sorry. You probably had plans for tonight.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he said, touching her elbow.

  “You’re a sweet boy,” she muttered. “I don’t deserve you.”

  They were so close now I could smell Holly’s shampoo. I wanted to just sit there, but I figured if they spotted me first, they’d be horribly embarrassed. I cleared my throat, stood up, and said hello.

  She walked over and gave me a hug. “Leeann, look at you. You’re all grown up.”

  I smiled. “Mary Beth will be so glad you came.”

  “Great,” she said, but her voice was wavering. I glanced at Mike, standing behind her. He nodded at me before he said, “Come on, Mom. Let’s go.”

  I followed them in. I only had on my sweater and I was getting cold. Plus, I had to find my sister. I had to tell her something was going on with Holly.