“Sound asleep.”
I noted how carefully he turned the gun parts over in his hand, as if they were precious gems. I didn’t know how to ask what I wanted so I just stood there a few moments, watching him.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
“I was just wondering why you were so angry with me at dinner.”
“This house was in an uproar this afternoon.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“If you’d been here, you could have kept everything from getting out of hand. Running off fishing was foolhardy.”
“That’s not true. This all has to do with Grandma, not me. She’s not liking it at the home. That’s got Momma and Hazel upset. And Birdie misses her.”
“Everybody’s got to get used to it.”
“Don’t you even worry about her?” I asked.
“I got enough to worry about here.”
“Well, it’s going to be quite some time for everyone to get used to Grandma and Florabelle living somewhere else.”
He finally looked up at me, laid down the gun. “There’re other factors involved.” He sighed.
I looked at him, waited.
“Things aren’t so good down at the plant. Jobs aren’t coming in. They’re automating the manufacturing process so much, they won’t need us all. First layoffs are hitting Tuesday.”
“Aren’t you union?”
“Yeah, but that only guarantees pay rates.”
I looked at his face, his eyes lined with fatigue and worry. “Is your job in jeopardy?”
He sighed. “I’ve only got a little over three years in. There’s some guys down there with thirty years.”
“Why don’t they retire those folks?”
“There’s talk. They might put us on a rotating layoff. One week of the month, cut the hours back.”
“Without pay?”
He nodded.
“You’ll know Tuesday?”
He nodded again. “Hazel may need to pay me a little more for her share.”
“Why don’t you try selling that little house, now that Grandma has moved out of it?”
“No one is going buy a house up in these parts. I don’t know why we made that investment in the first place. It needs a lot of work anyway. Needs all new shingles.” He took a pipe out of the top drawer, packed it, put it back.
He’d quit smoking, but it had been a struggle for him.
“And it’s costing us to keep your grandmother up there at Peaceful,” he continued. “She ought to appreciate it.” On the corner of his desk was an antiquated adding machine. He turned it on, punched in some numbers. “You may have to help more, too, Fern.”
“I do more than my share here.”
“I mean with the bills. Can you ask Clem for some more hours?”
“Maybe.”
He tore a section of tape off the machine, jotted down some figures on a notepad. Then he looked at me, narrowed his eyes. “A few more dollars coming in from you would sure help.”
“I’ll see,” I said, and turned to go. I wanted to be alone, do some thinking. I knew that he was concerned about the money, but it really bothered me that he could just ignore what was going on with Grandma. He seemed so heartless.
“Fern?”
“Yeah?”
“No need to mention any of this to your Momma until we know something.”
I nodded.
“She don’t need to be worrying.”
“Okay.”
“And Fern?”
“What?”
“Don’t be getting any big ideas in your head about traipsing off to school.”
I was already halfway out the door when he said this. I stopped, frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, if you’re going to be hanging around that boy, he might try and talk you into something.”
“I just met him, and no one’s said word one about me going to school.”
“All I’m doing is warning you. We need the extra dollars around here, and besides that,” he said, “you ain’t right for it.”
“Ain’t right for what?” I asked, still annoyed.
“College.”
“I said it’s not even an issue. But why do you say it wouldn’t it be right for me? I made mostly A’s in high school.”
“You just wouldn’t fit in,” he said. “Like you do here.”
I shut the door and walked down the hall towards my bedroom. Jimmy was lying in front of Birdie’s door, whining and pawing. I wondered why she had shut him out; she usually slept with him. I bent down, scooped up his wiggly body and carried him to my room.
It was too hot and sticky to put on a nightgown, so I slipped on a cotton camisole over my underwear. I slid under the covers and situated Jimmy at my feet. In spite of the heat, it felt good to have his warm little body snuggled up against me; it softened the emptiness. Grandma should have a dog, I thought, a constant companion to fill her new void.
I listened to the darkness. With Florabelle gone, the room seemed deserted. It even smelled empty. Every night before going to sleep, she would spread Chantilly moisturizing lotion all over herself, and climb in bed naked under the window. The breeze would blow across her, and the floral scent would fill the room.
I lay listening for the familiar scratch of the creeping Charlie on the window, but the wind was still and the air was silent. I reached down and rubbed Jimmy’s belly. He raised his head, nestled it in the bend of my knees. “If I get to go fishing again, you can come,” I told him.
Today had been adventurous, daring on my part to take a few hours for myself. But to everyone else, I was thoughtless and rash. I was ashamed of the scene at dinner, and I felt even more lonely, realizing that I’d probably never see Culler again because of it. Spoons had sailed, beer cans soared, milk spattered, and profanity hurled, but my short absence from home today had been deemed the most reckless behavior of all.
I’d got a chance to play, and I’d struck out. I was more valuable on the bench, keeping it warm, than out playing in the field. Scoring, in my case, would never mean running over home plate, but running away from it.
Something else had happened, had calmed the evening storm for one brief moment. Tonight, I had been kissed for the very first time. And my family’s languishing effect had dampened the moment. My spirit, sparked for the first time, had almost instantly ceased to burn. Momma had yelled for me to come in to bathe Birdie, as Culler had been leaning towards my face a second time.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock and Jimmy raised his head, alert.
“Come in,” I called.
It was Birdie. When she opened my door, I could see her silhouette from the light in the hallway.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I can’t sleep without Jimmy,” she said. Her little voice was husky from crying.
“He’s in here with me,” I said. “You can take him.”
“Is he asleep?” she asked, still from the doorway.
I looked down at Jimmy whose ears were perked. He was more than likely curious about this late-night activity.
“He’s lying down but seems a little restless. Probably misses you,” I said.
Birdie stepped into the dark room and closed the door. She never came over for Jimmy, but I heard Florabelle’s mattress springs squeak, then Birdie’s hand patting the mattress, for Jimmy to come.
He jumped down from my bed, and a few seconds later, I heard him hop up to Florabelle’s and sigh. His oily odor was no match for Florabelle’s Chantilly lotion, but the faint snoring from the two others was a welcoming sound.
19. Gauging Age
Tuesday came and went, and Daddy survived the layoff at work. But they had cut his overtime option out completely. Birdie started back to school the same day, and that was also the day I asked Clem for some extra hours. He said he could try giving me eight more a week, but that was all he could afford.
Clem’s was a full-service station; he did basic repairs and engine
maintenance. He had a good reputation in the area, did a lot of work on plows and tractors. It seemed, though, in the past year, that there just wasn’t much of a demand for plain service stations anymore; everyone was going where they could buy gas, beer, and cigarettes all in one stop, and were taking their cars back to the dealerships for repair work.
I had been helping him out at the pumps for over three years now, and most of Clem’s customers were regulars who had been coming to him for years and felt obligated to come back. The Redimarts and Circle Ks in the nearby towns were killing Clem’s business. And that was killing Clem. He’d aged more in the past year than he had in ten, folks said.
In July, he had printed up some calendars and tried giving them out to customers as sort of a promotional thing, but it didn’t seem to bring in any more business. I kept on him to try selling a few grocery items, but it was out of the question. He was running a gas station, not a supermarket.
He had given me the keys to his truck that morning and had sent me to Winchester to stock up on radial tires. I had the windows rolled all the way down and the radio turned up loud on a pop station when I heard a horn honk in the lane next to me. It was Brother Brewer, cruising along in his convertible. He waved as he whizzed by me and I wondered if there was anything to that rumor about him and Patty Prettyman Greene. Surely a twenty-year-old married woman wouldn’t be after a crazy old guy like Brewer.
But then again, I thought, love is crazy, all by itself. From what I could ever see, love seemed to be a disguise for something else. In Momma and Daddy’s case, love’s mask was duty. For Jason and Florabelle, it was spite.
It had been almost a week since I’d heard from Culler. But I wasn’t at all surprised. He had acted upon a whim, I supposed, to want to spend a day in the country with a local girl. Curiosity is an urge, like lust, that builds up to a breaking point and busts. Culler’d met his urge. He’d lain in the tall grass of the foothills, tasted the earthiness of a real farmer’s daughter, and had left lip prints to mark his tracks.
The sign ahead read: “Them That Belief Are Saved TIRES.” I pulled into the store parking lot and went inside. Clem had an account there, and I waited as two young boys filled the back of the truck with tires. It didn’t take long; I signed for them, tipped the boys, and drove away. Heading back through Pilotview, I stopped at a trailer that was parked on the side of the road, selling candy, and bought a Mars bar.
Not too far back along the road, I again saw Brewer’s mustang zip through an intersection, and, sure enough, there was a young woman seated next to him. He was driving so fast that I couldn’t make out who it was, but it was a female all right, long blond hair blowing everywhere from underneath a scarf. I remembered seeing Patty Prettyman Greene at Florabelle’s wedding, and she did have blond hair.
I looked down at the dashboard clock; it was not even noon. Since I was so close by, I decided to stop in at the nursing home and visit Grandma. It was lunchtime at Peaceful, and I found her sitting in the dining room, still in her bathrobe, at a table by herself. I went and sat down beside her, trying to sneak up from behind and surprise her.
“What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” she asked, putting down her fork. “Clem fire you?”
“No, Grandma,” I said. “Why would I be wearing one of his uniforms if I wasn’t working for him?” I gave her a little hug, poured myself a glass of iced tea from a pitcher sitting on the table. “Besides, you know Clem would never fire me. I’m worth too much to him.”
She watched me raise the glass to my lips. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
I took a sip. “Why not?”
“Could be poison.”
“Grandma, don’t act silly. Why aren’t you eating?”
“Food’s no good here. They hardly use any salt. Everything tastes blah.”
“Salt it yourself. You’ve got to eat.” I passed her the salt shaker in the shape of rooster.
“I’d rather starve than to eat this garbage.” She pushed a plate of a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup towards the center of the table.
“Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.” I reached for the sandwich, took a bite, chewed it well, as if it tasted great, and I took another bite.
She watched me eat the rest of her sandwich, silent.
I made every mouthful seem delicious. Not until I had eaten the whole thing and had wiped the crumbs from my mouth did I ask her, “How come you’re not sitting with anyone?”
White-haired people occupied tables of four and six. Idle chat, wheezing, and clanking dishes were the sounds that filled the room at a medium buzz.
“I don’t care to talk to any of these people. Half of them can’t talk right anyway,” said Grandma.
“I hear conversations.”
“They don’t make sense.”
“I’m sure some of them do.”
“Not many. Everybody’s just here to die.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. She let it fall, staring straight ahead.
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to look right at her, so I gazed around the room. It was depressing, all the hunched-over backs, drooling mouths, occasional efforts failing to lift food from plates.
I reached over and touched her hand. “You’re really going to have to try to make do, Grandma. For your own sake, make some friends.”
She nodded, her hand trembling.
“Come on,” I said. “Cheer up; you’ll do fine here. Give it a chance.” I gave her hand a little squeeze.
“Just look at these old hands of mine,” she sobbed, “they’re so old.”
I turned both of my palms up. Grease discolored them, two or three layers deep. “Look at mine, they’re as wrinkled as yours, and I’m a quarter of your age. You can’t measure age by what’s in front of you, it’s what’s inside you. It’s how you feel. You taught me that.” I took her hand again, held it to my chest a few seconds, then did the same to her chest. “Feel that? Our hearts are ticking at the same rate. You’re only as old as your heart tells you.”
“I always told your Momma that age wrinkles the skin, but giving up wrinkles the soul,” she said.
“That’s right, you told us that too, me and Florabelle. You also used to say, ‘You’re as young as your confidence and as old as your doubt.’”
We sat there a while longer, comparing. When the servers had cleared most of the plates away and the wheelchair patients had been taken out, I saw her, out of the corner of my eye, slip her dinner knife into the pocket of her robe. She was quick about it. It made me curious, but I decided not to say anything to her.
I kissed her good-bye on the cheek, left her sitting there alone just as I had found her. I needed to get back to the station; Clem would be waiting for his truck so he could go home for lunch.
In the lobby, I passed Mossie Greene. She was parked at the front door, shredding a handful of tissues on her lap.
“Hello, there, Mossie,” I said.
“Patty?”
“No, it’s Fern, Esther’s granddaughter. How are you?”
She gathered up a few pieces of the tissue, tried to hand them to me. “I’m still trying to get this scarf done for my son, Larry,” she said. Suddenly, she starting whimpering.
I kneeled down next to her. “What scarf?” I asked.
She pointed to the pile of light-blue, shredded Kleenex. “This one,” she sobbed. “Patty took my needles away from She fondled the tissue, worked it hard between her fingers.
I reached in my pocket, pulled out my tire gauge and handed to Mossie. “Here,” I said, “use this needle. It’s already threaded. Now you can finish the scarf.”
She took the gauge, gripped it, smiled. Then she began tapping it loudly, in rapid succession, on the arm of her wheelchair. As she tapped, she banged out the rhythm of her speech. “This will do it,” she chanted, “I will finish.”
I walked away after that, but she continued with her cadence. The other patients began to yell
at her to quiet down, and one of the staff assistants came over to try to control her. But she kept her sequence flowing.
As I was leaving the building, I heard her shout and drum, “I AM NOT OLD.”
20. The Pecan Tree
I was in the middle of measuring Birdie’s chest when the phone rang. She had been giving me the silent treatment ever since the night Culler was over, so I had offered to make that dress for her, the one I had committed myself to at the wedding reception, thinking that might bring her back around. She needed clothes for school anyway, so I thought I’d start with the new dress. She wanted it to be green, and we had gone to Cloth World the night before and picked out the material.
“Hold still,” I told her.
“I want to get the phone,” she said. I had lassoed her with a tape measure, and she was trying to break free.
“Momma will pick it up,” I said.
“It might be Grandma,” said Birdie.
“She’ll let you talk to her if it is. Put your arms up over your head.”
She squirmed. Momma had picked up the phone in the kitchen, and Birdie leaned towards the door, trying to listen.
“You’re going to stick yourself with a pin if you don’t hold still,” I warned her.
Suddenly, Momma burst into the living room. I had already pinned down most of the pattern for a second dress, with the fabric rolled out on the floor, and Momma ran right across it.
“Watch it,” I said, biting a straight pin.
“Is it Grandma?” asked Birdie.
“It was Jason,” said Momma, panting. “Florabelle’s had a girl. She’s at the hospital in Stanton.”
Birdie jumped down off the ottoman, forgetting about the pins, and stabbed her underarm. “Ouch,” she said, turning to frown at me. “Can we go see her?”
“We have to wait ’til tonight, Bird, when Daddy or Hazel get home with a car,” said Momma.
“Is the baby okay?” I asked.
“Jason said she was in a fine fettle, but Florie was sickly. Something about inducing labor.”
“Jason’s there with her?” I asked.
“He was heading on back to work. Says they gave her a pill to knock her out for a while.”
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