Chocolate-Covered Baloney

by KD McCrite

  Mama just kept crying and did not reply. I have never felt more lost and guilty and scared in my life.

  When You Realize That Soft Voice Speaking in Your Heart Is Probably Jesus

  I went upstairs to Myra Sue’s room.

  I eyeballed all those things we’d pulled out from under the bed. I looked at the empty mercy kit Isabel had given her on the dresser, then stared at the bed where Myra hogged most of the room and nearly all the covers. It seemed to me that her voice echoed in that room, turning into something I could hear way down deep inside of myself.

  I remembered when we were little and sat on the floor and played Candy Land, and sometimes jacks. Then I thought about the times when we’d pull a sheet off the bed to make ourselves a tent. Sometimes Mama would let us sleep on the floor in that silly tent. We giggled half the night, pretending we were in the Grand Canyon or Africa, or in a deep, dark forest where strange animals lived. When we’d get to the scary part of our pretending, we’d cuddle up together, watching for bears or dragons. But that was when we were little girls. We weren’t little anymore, and it had been a long time since we’d played and laughed together.

  What had changed to make my sister do something so dumb, and why hadn’t I done something about it?

  A huge lump caught in my throat, and I had to breathe hard to get any air around it. That lump had nothing to do with my cold. I wanted Myra Sue back home, all uppity, snippy, messy, and dumb. I didn’t care. I just wanted her back here where she belonged, safe and sound.

  I crossed the room to look outside. From that window, I could see our side yard, the hayfield, Grandma’s little, white house, and the trees and mountains beyond, all bare and coldlooking. The sun hung low in the sky by that time, and the light was turning into a softer, weaker version of itself as it changed to early evening.

  A movement snagged my attention. I saw Mimi standing beneath an old oak tree in the side yard. She had her thin arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched and her head down. The wind bumped against her, blowing her shirtsleeves and strands of that purply-red hair. She didn’t move. It was as if she didn’t feel it. And then I saw her wipe the heels of her hands across her cheeks as if she were crying.

  I wanted to turn away. I wanted to say, “I don’t care if she’s upset! She’s that screamin’ Mimi-person who hurt my mama, and who acts like she belongs here when she doesn’t. Let her cry her eyes out.”

  That’s what I wanted to say, but somewhere deep inside, in that same place where I missed my sister, I didn’t feel that way at all. I felt Mimi’s hurt and confusion and loneliness. And knowing she was sick with no place to go, I felt her fear, too. I don’t know how I felt it, but I did, and it seemed to tear into my own heart.

  It almost seemed to me that Jesus Himself spoke to me in a soft, gentle voice and said, “No matter how ugly and smelly she is, no matter what awful thing she did years ago, I still love her.”

  I swallowed hard. Part of me wanted to stay right where I was, warm and comfy, and another part said, “She needs you.” Maybe that was the Jesus-part speaking.

  I put on shoes and socks, took off my robe, and pulled my coat on over my jammies, then added my gloves and warm hat. I got Mimi’s stinky leather jacket out of my own bedroom and went to her out there beneath that old tree.

  She looked up as I approached. Her eyes were redrimmed, and her face looked chapped. She had cried off and wiped away all her makeup. She looked really old and fragile.

  “Sunshine,” she said softly, “you shouldn’t be out here in this wind. Please go back before you have another relapse.”

  “Here, Mimi, you need your coat.”

  “Why, thank you, sugar.” She fumbled, putting on that coat with shaking hands, then had a coughing fit. She looked so cold, I felt it in my bones.

  “Come inside, Mimi.” I took one of her icy hands in mine, but she did not move. “Mimi?”

  “Wait a minute, Sunshine. I want to tell you something.”

  “But you’re shaking. You’re gonna get sick your own personal self.”

  “I’ll be fine, honey.” She coughed her crusty cough again. “I just want to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “Ma’am?”

  She started talking, and it was like she could not stop.

  “I’m sorry for everything in my life, from the mistakes I made when I was young and gullible to all the foolish choices I made as I got older. My life has been one disaster after another, and look where it has got me: alone, nearly penniless, and without love from anyone.” She looked away from me, toward the woods, as if some answer to her problems could be found among the trees. “All I wanted was to be happy. I wanted Lily to be happy, too, but I couldn’t provide for her. I had this crazy idea I could be a famous country singer, another Patsy Cline, and I chased after that dream. Little one-room apartments were all I could afford. I waited tables during the day, or went to auditions, then at night I sang in dark, rowdy, sometimes nasty places, just hoping someone would discover me. I couldn’t have a child with me in those places, but what was I supposed to do? Leave Lily in a sad, old apartment all by herself while I tried to make a living? Back then it was hard for a woman to make it on her own, especially if she had a child to look after.”

  “You gave your baby to Aunt Maxie.” I heard my accusing tone and didn’t soften it, not even a little bit.

  She drew her gaze from the woods and looked at me. “Lily’s daddy was a handsome, smooth-talking man, but he didn’t want us. Aunt Maxie was the only relative me and Lily had. She raised me. I knew she would feed and clothe Lily until I could get decent work. But every job I got paid barely enough for me to live on by myself, and nothing I ever did earned enough to support a child.”

  “But don’t you know Aunt Maxie did not take care of Mama?”

  She sorta jerked.

  “What?”

  I huffed in that cold air.

  “Aunt Maxie did not feed Mama right. She did not give her good clothes. She neglected her, Mimi. She was mean.”

  Mimi’s mouth worked, her lips quivering as if she wanted to speak and couldn’t. “Aunt Maxie raised me. She wasn’t the sweetest woman in the world, but she made sure I had food, clothes, and shelter. She sent me to school, made sure I did my studies. Surely she did the same for your mama.”

  “You could’ve called.”

  “I did! As often as I could.” She was silent for a bit, looking sick. “Maxie kept asking when I was coming to get her. I kept telling her ‘Soon,’ because I thought it would be soon. I was so sure I’d be the next big star on the Grand Ole Opry, and Maxie had agreed to take care of her for me until I could make a name for myself.”

  She scrubbed her eyes hard, then took in a deep breath.

  “I finally got what I thought was my big break, singing with a band in Nashville. It paid good, enough for me to afford a babysitter in the evenings. So I came here and got Lily. But the band broke up not long after that, and I tried to find another band, but there were so many other younger, prettier, better singers than me . . . and I just wasn’t good enough.”

  “Couldn’t you have got another job?”

  “Sunshine, I was so busy trying to be a country-music star that I didn’t bother with much schoolin’. The only kind of work I was fit for was waiting tables or scrubbing floors, and that’s what I did. When I couldn’t pay the rent, we lost the apartment and had to live in the car. That’s no life for anyone, especially a little girl. I brought her back to Maxie, then I traveled all over this country, looking for something that would give us a good life, but I never found it. I didn’t want my daughter to grow up seeing nothing but broken dreams and loss. I never came back for her and thought I was doing the right thing.”

  She gave me a pleading look. “Don’t you see? I didn’t want to shame her with my failure and poverty.” Then she kind of wilted and buried her face in her hands. “I was wrong. I was so wrong and I’m afraid she’ll never forgive me.”

  Boy, oh boy. I heard
all this stuff pouring out of Mimi’s mouth like she’d bottled it up inside for a hundred years. And I reckon she had. A lot of it made no sense at all to me, but I guess everyone can make lots of mistakes. Something inside reminded me how Isabel and I had misjudged each other last summer. I reckon me and my whole family had done the same with Mimi. Maybe it wasn’t just that Mama needed to forgive Mimi; the rest of us needed to ask Mimi to forgive us for misjudging her just because she seemed crude and obnoxious. My heart ached. It was a real, physical pain like someone had grabbed my aorta and ventricles and atriums and all that mess, then twisted it all tight.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling tears sting my eyelids.

  She kinda sniffled a little and tilted her head to one side.

  “What’re you sorry about, Sunshine?”

  Boy, oh boy, it’s hard to apologize sometimes. I cleared my throat real well and said, “Because I wasn’t very nice to you and treated you like you were not family.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, “I come on too strong, so it’s perfectly understandable that nobody welcomed me with open arms. I just thought if I came here and tried to be part of the family, act like I was family, then maybe I would be. I tried to be fun and entertaining—”

  “You sort of went about that the wrong way,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes. I failed again.”

  “But, Mimi, everyone needs to know the truth. We all thought you just didn’t want Mama, that you abandoned her to mean Aunt Maxie because you didn’t care about anything except yourself and running around. And then you showed up here, and acted like you belonged to us when you were the same thing as a stranger. You even tried to steal Grandma’s boyfriends.”

  Her red-rimmed eyes welled up with huge tears. They ran down her face so fast it was like they raced each other, but she kinda laughed a little.

  “Not really. I just wanted to shake her up a little. She and I were girls together. She stole plenty of my boyfriends back in the day.”

  “Please, Mimi. Let’s go inside and tell Mama and Grandma what you told me about everything.”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t think this is the right time, April, not with Myra Sue gone and everyone beside themselves with worry.” She broke off and had the worst spell of coughing you ever heard. It was so bad it scared me.

  I tugged on her hand, hard.

  “Come on, Mimi. I’m gonna get sick all over again if we stay outside in this cold much longer.”

  That did it. She grasped my cold hand in her even colder one. We walked back to the house, because she knew I needed her to.

  The More Things Change . . .

  Mimi and I had been so intent in our conversation outside that we had not heard anyone arrive, but suddenly, people’s voices filled the house.

  The Freebirds, the St. Jameses, and Mr. Brett were in the living room with Mama, and it seemed everyone was talking at once.

  “They’ve found her!” Mama shouted the second she saw us. “The authorities in St. Louis found her at one of the bus stations, and they’re holding her until we can get there.”

  Daddy came into the living room with their coats. Grandma followed him with Eli’s diaper bag and his baby quilt on her arm.

  “April Grace!” Mama said as she shrugged into her coat. “What on earth were you doing outside?” She looked at Mimi. “Sandra, my child has been sick. Why did you have her outside?”

  “I’m sorry—” Mimi began, but I interrupted.

  “I went out on my own and she tried to make me come in, but I refused.”

  Mama dragged her eyes from Mimi to look at me. She laid a hand against my forehead, frowning.

  “I want you to take a warm bath, put on fresh pajamas, eat a good supper, and pile into bed.”

  “I’ll see that she does,” Mimi said, putting an arm around my shoulders, but Grandma edged in there.

  “I’ll take care of her because I know how to take care of young ’uns.”

  Mimi stepped back, nodding, saying nothing. That was mean of Grandma. In fact, the way Mama had talked to Mimi hadn’t been very nice, either. Mimi had reacted the same way she always had, a little smile on her face. I’d seen that smile lots of times and had thought it was kinda smart-alecky smile, but now I knew better. It wasn’t smart-alecky. It was a hurt smile, a smile that says, “It’s okay. I’ll hang around and wait.” And she’d been waiting for us to love her. That’s what she’d been waiting for.

  Suddenly I didn’t care if the world was in chaos around us. Something had to be done, and if the grown-ups weren’t gonna do it, I would.

  “Isabel and Temple can take care of me,” I said, stepping back from the group. “I want Mimi and Grandma to go in the car with you to St. Louis.”

  Dead silence fell on our house. All those eyes stared at me like I was a three-headed goose, but I did not care.

  “That’s a long trip for you to make, and you’ll not have anything to do but ride along and talk. And listen.” I looked at Mimi. “I want you to talk, Mimi. I want you to speak up and tell them what you told me.” I looked at Mama. “I want you to listen, Mama.” I turned to Grandma and added, “I think Mimi could be a good grandma if she’s given half a chance.”

  “Oh, now, Sunshine—” said Mimi.

  “April Grace!” said Grandma.

  “Why . . . ,” said Mama.

  “I’d like that,” Mimi said, very quietly. “If you’d be willing, I’d like to explain, to apologize . . . and to start over.”

  Daddy and Mama looked at each other, then Mama turned to Mimi.

  “We’re driving straight up there and back, no stopping for the night.”

  Mimi nodded. “That’s fine.”

  “There will be no smoking around the baby.”

  “Of course.”

  Mama hesitated a moment longer. “All right. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.”

  Mimi smiled her brown smile. “Thank you, honey. Thank you.”

  “Mama Grace?” Mama said to Grandma. “All right?”

  Grandma did not look too happy, but she nodded.

  “Then let’s go,” Daddy said. “The sooner we can get her, the sooner Myra Sue will be back home where she belongs.”

  There was a flurry of hugs and kisses, best wishes, and good-byes, then my entire family was gone from the house, out into the cold evening. I watched until the taillights disappeared down Rough Creek Road.

  “Well, fellers,” said Mr. Brett, looking at Forest and Ian, “we’re getting a late start on the milking.”

  “Yep,” Forest said, “we better get on it.”

  All the men left, and the house felt mighty quiet and lonesome.

  “April dear,” Isabel said, “go take your bath and put on fresh pajamas, just as your mama said.”

  “And I’ll go brew up some fresh tea for you, and see what I can fix for you to eat,” Temple added.

  I looked at those two women, more grateful than I can say that they cared enough about me to be there.

  “I will. But I need to make a phone call first.”

  When Melissa answered the phone, I said, “Hey, whatcha doin’?”

  There was a silence, then she said, “Nothin’. What’re you doin’?”

  “Nothin’. Did you know my sister ran away?”

  “Yeah. The police were at the school, talking to lots of people.”

  “She’s in St. Louis. Mama and Daddy and Grandma and Mimi have gone to get her.”

  “All of ’em?”

  “Yep.”

  There was the tiniest silence, then I said, “Melissa, I’m sorry I’ve been mad at you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I thought you were taking sides, but I realize you were just trying to stand up for Mimi. And you know something? She isn’t so bad. In fact, I think she might become a part of the family.”

  “Really?” I could hear the smile in my friend’s voice. “What happened to change your mind?”

  I felt kinda
odd saying it, but it was the truth: “I finally listened to her.”

  The sun had been up a couple of hours the next morning when our Taurus pulled into the driveway with everyone crowded into it.

  I flung open the front door and went flying down the porch steps. Daddy and Mama pointed through the windshield at me and laughed as I stood there, prancing on the bottom step. The car stopped, and it seemed like forever before all those people piled out of it.

  Grandma and Mimi got out of the backseat from opposite sides of the car, and they were talking ninety miles an hour, looking at each other over the roof and smiling at each other like they were friends.

  When Mama got out of the car with Eli in her arms, Mimi came up beside her and started baby-talking to him.

  “Here, Mom. You want to carry him into the house while I get the diaper bag?” Mama asked, handing him over with a smile. Then Grandma and Daddy came to stand with them. Daddy rested a hand on one shoulder of each grandmother, and they all talked and made goo-goo eyes at Eli and grinned and chuckled and were so friendly and happy that I knew they’d worked things out. Being stuck in a car for a lot of hours has its good points.

  Myra Sue had been sitting between the grandmas, and when she finally got out of the car, I threw myself at her.

  “Myra!” I hollered.

  I hugged that girl so hard I nearly choked us both. She stunk to high heaven, but I guess that with riding on buses, all those smells soaked into her clothes. I’ve heard bus stations aren’t exactly scented with roses and honeysuckle. And by the way, she was wearing a red dress, those high heels, the dangly earrings, and what was left of a whole mess of makeup on her face. It was streaked and smeared. I tell you, that girl was a sight, but I did not care because I was so glad to see her.

  “April Grace,” she said after a bit, and pulled back. She wasn’t mad that I’d hugged her. In fact, she kinda smiled. She had circles under her eyes, her hair was dirty, and she looked almighty tired.