The trial before the judge was next month, and Iris might be going to prison, depending on the outcome. Rose felt guilty and selfish because secretly sometimes she wanted her mother to go to prison and let Rose get back to normal. But normal was gone forever because of Lily. Lily made Rose’s heart swell until she could feel love, like a heart-shaped balloon, lifting her higher than she had ever been before.
And Rose was even coming to love Iris a little because they were getting to know each other. She didn’t think of Iris as her mother, just as Ama hadn’t thought of Harriet Jane as her mother. Rose didn’t really have a mother and that was okay because she had Ama, her polestar. But a little love for her hapless mother felt good when it stirred. Iris was generous in styling everybody’s hair. She generally meant well. She asked questions and was interested. She told stories about her grandma Clara and the dollhouse. She paid more attention to Lily.
Lily was starting to put words together. She said I wub you and Good dog, Myrtle. She knew her body parts, although she confused her elbows and her eyebrows. She was ninety-five percent good on her potty training except at night. She had a youth bed now in Rose’s baby bedroom across the hall from Ama. Sometimes Lily slept there; sometimes she got into bed with Rose or Ama or Myrtle.
After Lily moved downstairs, Rose painted the ruined wall the color everybody said would be perfect. Rose. And she got a new bedspread and pillow shams that looked less babyish.
Even though she didn’t think of Iris as her mother, she was. So Rose had pinned the snapshot of big-bellied Iris on the bulletin board beside the photo of Great-grandma Harriet Jane. And she had redrawn the family tree, putting all the flower names – Tulip, Iris, Rose, and Lily – under Lotus, where they belonged.
Pictures of Rose and Peanutbutter had recently been added to the bulletin board. One of Peanutbutter and Rose looking scared but ready. A group shot of all the kids with their bottle calves. And another of Peanutbutter back in her pen with a blue ribbon on the gate.
* * *
Sometimes at night as Rose looked at the stars and the angel in the cemetery, her mind drifted into the murky what if. What if Iris went to prison? What if Iris didn’t go to prison? What if one day Iris just took Lily and left? What if, someday, something happened to Ama? What if she, Rose, grew up and really did become an artist? What if Lily slept in Rose’s bed one day?
Rose often had trouble falling asleep. It was like she could feel herself growing the same way she could hear the popping sounds of the corn growing during the hot, humid August nights. On those nights, she went to her desk and folded paper. It might be an animal for Lily or a fanciful star. It might be a box for Ama to keep paper clips in. It might be something she’d never thought of before. She loved the sturdy, forgiving paper that could be folded, unfolded, and refolded until she got it right.
Surprise Lily Page 17
