A Life of Bright Ideas Page 33

  “I know, but I wish you didn’t. When are you leaving?”

  “I told Terri I’d be back to work next Monday. I think we’ll pull out on Thursday. Evalee’s got a doctor’s appointment next week. We should get her back in time for that. And—”

  I cupped my hand over my mouth.

  “Winnalee’s going, too?” Aunt Verdella asked, her voice soaked in dread. I snapped my eyes shut, and wished I could close my ears just as easily.

  “Verdella, Winnalee’s doing her best, but she needs my support right now. She’d have to take a night job if she stayed, and you know as well as I do that night jobs are scarce in Dauber. It would have been hard for the girls as it was—Button watching Cupcake during the day while Winnalee worked, Button sewing in snatches and doing the brunt of her work at night—but now that Linda’s selling the shop, the girls will both be needing to look for jobs.”

  “Marge or Hazel aren’t taking over Jewel’s store? Button didn’t tell me.”

  “Marge told Ada she doesn’t want it, and neither does Hazel. It would be just too much for them at their age.”

  “Oh my,” Aunt Verdella said.

  “But it isn’t just about the money, Verdella. Even though Winnalee pretends it is. Since Boohoo’s run-in with the hornets, she’s been fretting over every possible awful thing that could happen to that baby. She needs her mom right now. I wasn’t there when she was little; I want to be here for her now. I guess you could say it will be my redemption. And I don’t want to miss out on Evalee’s first years.”

  “Oh my. Button will be devastated. Boohoo, too. And Reece …”

  “Reece,” Freeda said, as though she only meant to think his name.

  “Verdella,” Freeda said after a pause. “I know he’s like a son to you. And I know you loved Jewel. But for a moment, could you please forget those things and listen only as my friend?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Verdella said, in a voice as soothing and gentle as hair brushing against your bare back.

  “I’m in love with him, Verdella.”

  “I know, honey. I ain’t blind.”

  “There’ve been times when I’ve wanted to use the oldest trick in the book to win that guy over—you know, like I never learned that that doesn’t work in the end, anyway. I felt so desperate to try and force something to crack that hard shell of his. But he’s not ready to love anybody yet. Not even himself.”

  “Oh, Freeda.” There were tears in Aunt Verdella’s voice.

  “One night last week, we had a few beers at his place, and we kissed. He’d have gone to bed with me in five seconds if I hadn’t pushed him away. But I had to. Because it would have only been sex to him, and it would have been making love to me. It’s one thing to have a stranger turn away after sex, but the man you love?”

  “He cares about you, Freeda. I know he does. Thursday, when I ran some of those creamed peas and that ham over to him, he grinned when I came in the door, and I could see he had to work hard to keep that smile on his face when he realized that you weren’t coming in behind me.”

  “Sure. Because I can make him smile—outright laugh now and then. Well, I could anyway. Before I chewed his ass about what he said to Button after Boohoo got stung.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Freeda ignored her question. “You know Reece. His heart is closed as tight as Fanny Tilman’s asshole. The night before Ada’s picnic, around dusk, I talked him into going for a walk …” My dad went for a walk? “We’d been working on his kitchen for weeks and he’d never even come close to opening up. But that night, he almost did. Almost. I stopped, and I had my hand on his arm, and I looked him straight in the eye and I said, ‘What is it, Reece? What are you holding in there that keeps you locked away from me? From your kids?’ He shook my hand off and told me to mind my own business.”

  “Oh, I knew something had happened between the two of you, Freeda. You looked so sad when you got back, and you haven’t gone over there since, have you?”

  Freeda’s sigh sounded painful. “He’d have gotten past my prying if I’d backed off, but after the things I said to him the day Boohoo got stung, I’m afraid he’s cemented shut any hairline cracks he might have had on his heart by now.”

  “Oh, Freeda,” Aunt Verdella said. I waited, my hand resting on the scratchy gray siding to steady myself. The Malones had plans to leave, and Winnalee hadn’t thought to tell me? And Freeda was in love with my dad? Everything felt surreal, but for the skin between my teeth, the itching on my arms, and the ache I felt for Freeda’s anguish.

  “Verdella,” Freeda finally said, “Rudy was a widower when you met him. Was it hard for him to let you in?”

  “Well, honey, I met Rudy long after Betty passed, so I guess it was different. He was ready for someone in his life by then. I wish Rudy would talk to him, but you know Rudy. He doesn’t like to interfere. After Jewel died, he told Reece that he would always be here if he needed him, and he won’t say it again because he thinks that’s pryin’. I’ve tried talking to him about Reece, but all he says is ‘Verdie, some winters just hang on longer than others.’ ”

  They were quiet for a minute, and I heard a chair scrape the floor. Then Freeda spoke. “I don’t know, sad of a thought as it is, I’m afraid Reece is going to live out the rest of his life cut off from everybody and everything, including himself. I have to accept that I can’t change that.”

  “Oh, honey, I can see how this is breaking your heart.”

  Freeda cleared her throat. “Well, forget me for a second. Think about what he’s doing to his kids.” Freeda must have gone to refill her coffee cup, because there was a clink and the chair scraped the floor again. “Verdella, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but it can’t be a coincidence that Button’s been pining away—for what, four years?—for some guy who only saw her as a friend. Using any scrap of attention from him that she got, to convince herself—even us—that he loved her in a romantic way. I’ll bet you any money, that through the years you told Button often how much her dad loved her, and that he just wasn’t good at showing it. I’d have said the same thing. But do you see a connection here?”

  “Not really,” Aunt Verdella said in a voice too small to be hers.

  “Well, Verdella, if I learned anything from my past, I’ve learned that it’s our fathers who teach us what to expect from men. When I was little I used to tell myself that if my dad knew what Dewey was doing to me, he’d protect me. Comfort me, even.”

  “Your dad was alive then?” Aunt Verdella asked.

  “Yeah. He died when I was fifteen. It took me until therapy to admit that if I had truly believed he would’ve rescued me, I’d have told him instead. He was sitting in the living room, not even six feet away, when I told Hannah. He had to have heard her scream at me, and no doubt heard the slap. He waited until I was done cleaning up my vomit, then came into the kitchen. He stepped over me like I was a barn cat, and went to the stove for coffee. He never did buck Hannah.”

  “Oh, honey …”

  “It’s all right. I’ve dealt with it. But my point is this: Dewey may have taught me that the only value I had to any guy was for sex, but my dad taught me that no guy will ever love me enough to protect me or be there for me. And I’ve taken that attitude, that lack of trust, into every relationship I’ve ever had that could have been good.”

  “I’m so sorry …,” Aunt Verdella said.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Verdella. What does matter, though, is what’s in Evy’s present and in her future. What she’s learned from her father. Reece ignored her when she was little, and although he may have given her some attention between the time we left and Jewel’s death, he’s been ignoring her ever since. What has she learned from him, but how to quietly hope for a man’s attention, and make a meal out of any crumb she gets? How to love a man from afar? I’ll bet any money, if Jesse came home tomorrow and professed his love for her, she’d not know how to deal with it. She’d only feel awkward, and almost wish he’d
leave again so she could love him openly from a more familiar distance. Look at her with Tommy. She doesn’t know what in the hell to make of him.”

  I swallowed hard in an attempt to dislodge the lump in my throat.

  I could hear Aunt Verdella crying. “Rudy tries to give her what she needs.”

  “I know. And what he gives her is priceless. But she needs the same from her father. Verdella, think back. Wasn’t your dad the very first man you fell in love with?”

  “Well, I guess so. Ma said when I was three, I told her I was gonna marry him when I got big.”

  “And I guess you could say that’s exactly what you did. I’ll bet your dad was every bit as loving to you as Rudy. And that’s my point.”

  I assumed Aunt Verdella nodded.

  “Just listen to me,” Freeda said with a humorless laugh, “sounding like a know-it-all. No wonder Reece won’t hear me out. My kid doesn’t even have a father. Neither does my grandkid. And I cut out on Winnalee, and she tried doing the same. Who in the hell am I to talk about the damage we do to our kids when it’s taken me this long to deal with my own shit?”

  “You’re a kind heart, and a wise soul. That’s who you are, Freeda Malone,” Aunt Verdella said. “You’re somebody who suffered over her mistakes and the mistakes of others, and you don’t want to see anyone else suffer.”

  I heard the soft murmur of sniffles, and I turned and headed for home before they heard mine.

  “What’s the matter, Button?” Winnalee asked when I got in the door.

  I turned to her, my voice hoarse from the words that were still stinging me. “When were you planning on telling me you’re leaving, Winnalee? Or were you just going to slip out in the night without saying goodbye, like you did last time?”

  Winnalee sighed herself to the couch, a spit-up baby T-shirt bunched in her hand. “I was holding out hope that I wouldn’t have to tell you, period. That we’d make a mint off our dresses and I wouldn’t have to go—I didn’t know they’d take so long. But Freeda’s right. Finding old clothes and making them over might bring in a few bucks, but not enough for me to raise a kid on.”

  “Well, what will be different in Michigan?”

  “Freeda will work days, and I’ll clean the salon after hours.”

  “I could have done the same for you if you found a night job here. And there are night jobs.”

  “But you’ll need a job now, too, Button. Who’s to say we’d find jobs fast, much less in opposite shifts like we’d need to?”

  “Did everybody but me know Linda is closing Ma’s shop and that you guys are leaving?”

  “Button, I don’t even have money for Cupcake’s next case of formula. That shit’s expensive, and I’ve got five dollars and fifty-three cents left to my name. That’s it. Going with Freeda is the only option I can think of.” Winnalee tossed the dirty T-shirt into the laundry basket waiting by the door. “But I’m coming back. I promise you I am. This is the only place left that really feels like home. You guys are my family, and I want my daughter to grow up here. Where she can play in the magic tree, and have people make her bunny pancakes, and look out for her and love her just like I do.”

  “Then stay,” I begged. “I told you I’d help. So will Aunt Verdella. I don’t pay rent here, so all I’ve got are my utility bills and what little food I buy. I’ve got enough to buy her formula. Diapers, too. We could figure it out.”

  Even as I spoke, I knew I was wasting my breath, because money and a job wasn’t the sole reason she was leaving. “You just don’t want to be apart from Freeda right now,” I said. I sounded accusatory, even though I didn’t mean to. “No, don’t deny it, Winnalee. I don’t blame you. I’d be with my mother, too, if that was possible.”

  “But still, it will only be for a while,” she said. “You know, until I get the hang of being a mom. I’m coming back, though. I promise you, I am. I came back once, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, nine years later.”

  “Well what was I supposed to do? Use my step stool to get in Freeda’s truck and drive myself back here?”

  “You could have at least written, after you got older.”

  “Yeah … but it’s weird. You don’t really know if someone you knew when you were nine would even remember you.”

  She sighed, then gave me a smile I knew she hoped would be contagious. “Hey, I have to come back. We haven’t written our one hundredth idea yet.”

  I bit at my cheek and flinched at the pain. Her smile faded. “Don’t you believe me?” she asked.

  I got up and removed my box of stationery from the end table, closing the lid and slipping it into the drawer underneath. “Right now,” I said, “I’m having a hard time believing in anything. Except that people you love leave.”

  CHAPTER

  40

  BRIGHT IDEA #97: A person doesn’t need to be ugly and mean to tell a big lie. They don’t have to be a stranger, either. Sometimes the biggest lies come from pretty people who are in your own family.

  It was easier if you stayed busy. I suggested we sort through Winnalee’s things. Pack what she wouldn’t need before Thursday, and get the dirty laundry gathered to wash in the morning.

  “No, leave those,” Winnalee said, when I grabbed her buckskin dress with fringes and a couple of her granny dresses from the closet. “If I take everything, then that’s just all the more I’ll have to lug back here.” I rehung the dresses, knowing full well that Winnalee believed with all her heart that she’d be back, whether it was true or not.

  Evalee reached out to grab a fistful of my hair, but I tugged it gently out of her grasp before she could get it to her mouth. I lifted her up to my shoulder and pressed my cheek to her downy head.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Button. Yesterday Freeda took a phone call from one of those girls I pitched our dresses to at the picnic. She wants to know if she can come over with some of her friends and look at them on Sunday. I’ll be gone by then, but I’m gonna price them today. Don’t you cave when they try to talk you into taking less, either. Those dresses are one of a kind and supercool. They want them, they can pay for them.”

  I nodded, not caring.

  The flies were particularly heavy, as they always were in late summer, so we were keeping the front door closed most of the day now so they couldn’t shimmy in through the gap between the screen door and the door frame.

  I didn’t hear anybody knock. I was upstairs in the sewing room, pairing Winnalee’s albums with their covers, and Winnalee was downstairs washing bottles. “Coming!” she shouted from the kitchen, then: “Uncle Reece!”

  I slipped into the upstairs hallway to listen, trying to figure out why Dad was downstairs.

  “Hi, kiddo,” he said.

  “Did you come to say goodbye to me and Cupcake?”

  “Goodbye?”

  “Yeah. We’re pulling out on Thursday. We’re heading back to Northville. But I’m coming back. By Christmas, I decided. Man, and we didn’t have you over for supper. Not even once.”

  I heard Winnalee close the entrance door, and some quieter talk, then I thought I heard Dad say, “I came to talk to Evy, actually.”

  But that couldn’t be right.

  I waited, wondering if I’d heard wrong.

  “Button!” Winnalee bellowed.

  “Coming,” I called back, hoping the weakness of my voice would be interpreted as not wanting to wake Evalee. I smoothed my hair, then went down the stairs, trying my best to act like it was natural for Dad to be here, asking to see me.

  He was standing by the door. “Hi, Dad,” I said awkwardly. I was ashamed that the house was such a mess, the couch scattered with stiff, line-dried clothes, and folded jeans and shirts heaped in lopsided stacks on the back and arms of the chair. Paper plates with bread and potato chip crumbs were still on the coffee table, along with empty glasses and a baby bottle. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was seeing his mother’s judgmental face looking down at the mess.

  Winnalee looked at me, then
at Dad. And when nobody said anything, she asked me to keep an ear out for Evalee so she could run the last batch of dirty laundry to Aunt Verdella’s. I nodded.

  I didn’t want Winnalee to go, but I couldn’t say so with Dad standing right there.

  I went to move Winnalee’s clothes from the chair, but I didn’t know where to set them, so I just put them back down. “You want some Kool-Aid or something? Well, I guess not ‘or something,’ because that’s all we have, besides water. Oh, and coffee. I could make some of that.”

  “Sure,” Dad said, though I didn’t know which he was saying sure to, the Kool-Aid, the water, or the coffee.

  Dad followed me into the kitchen—I was glad that I’d at least put away the bologna, stuffed the chip bag back in the box, and that Evalee’s bottles were tipped upside down in the dish drainer. Dad sat down and lit a cigarette. I didn’t have an ashtray, so I brought him a glass candy dish.

  I had one hand on the handle of the cupboard, and one hand on the fridge. I turned. “Which drink do you want?” I asked nervously.

  “Anything’s fine,” he said. I never saw Dad drink water unless he was overheated, and coffee would take awkward minutes to brew, so I pulled out the Kool-Aid and filled two glasses with ice. “It’s grape,” I said as I poured. “Boohoo’s favorite.” I scratched my hairline at the top of my neck, though I wasn’t sure I’d felt an itch.

  “I guess I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

  Dad asked me to sit. I took a sip from my glass; it tasted too sweet. But that’s how Winnalee and Boohoo liked it. I hoped Dad did, too.

  “Evy, I want to apologize for snapping at you like I did on the way to the hospital. I guess I’m so used to you looking out for your brother, that you were the first one I thought to blame.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, because that’s what you say when somebody apologizes, whether it’s okay or not.