All About B.A.D. (10 page)

Dear Lilly,

Loved your article. I felt as if I was right there with you in Houston—wish I had been. And now back to college! I hope Bertha is as proud of you as I am. Tell me more about this Paul. Anything brewing there? Good old Bubba. Glad he found his rightful place for his looks because he wasn’t going to make it on his smarts.

Now for my big news: two of my paintings sold to a couple who plan on opening a gallery on the island. My friend Josh and I met with them (in their beachfront mansion with its own elevator) and they’ve offered me the position of Artist in Residence in this new venture of theirs. I’d never heard of an AIR and now I’ll be one. The job comes with a rent-free apartment upstairs and a studio for painting demonstrations and lessons downstairs, plus a monthly stipend. I’ll also get a percentage of any of my artwork sold. I was skeptical about this arrangement but Josh seems to think it is legitimate. Oh, and I will get unlimited use of a telephone. The renovation project will take months to complete before opening for the public. I’m both wary and excited.

My friend Wanda continues to be supportive but I feel she’s not altogether happy about my leaving. I’ll work in the café until I move.

The baby continues to grow and is enjoying punching my insides. It is feisty – remind you of anyone?

Hope to hear from you soon.

BAD

The glass exploded into a million pieces as the car flipped over and rolled into the ditch. Shards flew into their eyes, ears, skin—every pore of their bodies. He could still hear the screams. It was the only way he knew they were still alive. “Don’t stop the screams. Please, don’t stop!”

He awoke from his own. Beads of sweat ran together to form pools on his forehead and chest. His mouth was dry. He switched on a lamp and looked at the clock. Four a.m. He had slept more than a few hours; it was an improvement. He climbed from the bed and walked to the small kitchen for a glass of water and then headed to his studio. He pulled the canvas from under the gauzy curtain and set it on the easel. Two faces beamed back at him. 

The oldest one had such a wonderful smile. Pouty lips that he remembered being pillowy soft, inviting, eager. And large luminous eyes that still seemed to know what he was thinking. Smooth, creamy skin that always felt cool next to his own scratchy cheeks when they danced. How she had loved to dance! The thick glossy hair that defied every clip, scarf or band; it had been her greatest annoyance. Delicate earlobes dressed by anniversary pearls; the matching necklace gracing the most beautiful neck he had ever kissed. 

The younger face with its impish grin looked ready to speak to him, to tell him a secret. Her eyes were laughing ones that spoke of mischief and delight in all things. Short, cropped, stylish hair that was always perfect without any fuss and eyes that radiated intelligence and trust. “I’ll always believe in you, Daddy.”

Memories ran pinpricks of pain up and down and out the ends of his body. He had become oblivious to the salty trails down his face. How long did grief last? 

He sat down in a chair and stared at the images until he saw nothing. As they disappeared, history came into focus. He thought about having a drink—just one. Instead, he sipped water. Eventually he went to the closet, pulled on some jeans, a shirt, tennis shoes and a jacket, and headed out the door. Once again B. Joshua Court would watch the island come to life while he pondered his own.

Bright streaks broke apart the darkness covering the island. The sounds and scents of life rushed through the openings created by the orange flashes—foghorns, seagulls’ cries, boats’ motors wailing over water, the smell of shrimp, crab, seaweed and salt, all boiling together, a gumbo, creating an aliveness. It was Payne’s favorite time of day. 

She rolled down the truck’s window to breathe in the morning. Riding by herself, she sorted her thoughts into the day’s actions. She would ask Gladys to stay for the afternoon shift; she would talk with Bertie and Deah about their squabbling yesterday in front of customers. The three had been a loyal crew for more than a decade, helping her to cook and serve all the folks who came to sit and eat as well as those who bundled up cartons for somewhere else. They were an odd little female cluster—a family. She felt blessed.

He was sitting on the bench outside when she pulled up. Another short night, she thought. He’ll need some coffee and conversation.

“Morning, Josh. Come in and join me in a cup.”

“Don’t think we’ll both fit, Wanda.”

“I see a lack of sleep hasn’t affected your sense of humor.”

It was a pattern that had been adopted from their first meeting. The mild attempts at humor, the meaningless flirtations, the easing into conversations. It was what they both wanted and needed and fiercely protected.

He followed her in and sat at the table in the back. She joined him, placing two cups and a small plate of warmed-up biscuits, butter and strawberry preserves on the table. He looked tired, but there was an easing of the wrinkles between his eyes. Payne waited while he sipped coffee and spread some of the gooey mixture onto the bread.

“Wanda, does Bernadette talk to you about the baby?”

“Not much. She hasn’t much complained or seemed particularly excited, either. She has managed to do what’s good for it so far. Why?”

“Sometimes I think she has everything ready for an infant except her heart. It’s strange how you recognize things in others only after you’ve had to face them in yourself. She could have a bright future, but she needs to figure out the future of the baby, too.”

“Lots of women have done it, Josh. It isn’t always easy, but lots have done it.”

“Yes, but babies need attention and love and someone to be there. Bernadette has the capacity for love, but I don’t think she’s put it much into practice. Love takes practice. Not just saying it.”

“Josh, you first have to have someone or something to love before you establish a practice of loving, and even then it takes some folks longer than others. This baby could be the beginning for Bernadette.” Wanda’s voice dropped into silence.

“Some people, Wanda, just wander around from one thing to the next, thinking they can will all outcomes just the way they want. Then one day they realize the outcomes are not anything like they thought they were going to be. If they’re lucky, they may start thinking of other possibilities—maybe learn to create something new, not by willing it but by nurturing it.” Josh reached over and lightly patted his friend’s hand. “You have taught me well, Wanda Payne. Whatever she decides, we can help her.”

His touch went all the way to Wanda’s heart, and the softest smile sprung to her face.

“I plan on us doing just that, Mr. Court.”

“Confidence comes from finding your inner strength,” Lilly repeated her new mantra. She had walked with eyes cast down the first time around the community college campus, not really seeing or being a part of what surrounded her, willing herself invisible, allowing herself to be swallowed up by limitless words in countless books. Times had changed. A scholarship, a respected job at
The Community Voice,
a new perspective; she finally felt in sync with her surroundings. She wasn’t intimidated by a lack of experience. More laughter bubbled out in everyday occurrences. She had become a human sponge. But most importantly, Lilly had mastered the art of “the defiant chin”. How often had she teased BAD about that little sign of rebellion? It proved an efficient tool for facing life, and engaging it.

Lilly flowed along, excelling, garnering attention. It was new and surprising, especially when as much of it came from her talent as it did from the male students who jockeyed for a position to be near her. She enjoyed their company without taking them too seriously. With thoughts of Paul still rattling around in her brain, she flirted without focusing on outcomes. It would have been perfect if Bernadette Ann Donahue could have been there to share it.

Lights clung to palm trees, encircling them in a dance of white. Every breeze made them wiggle and bounce to a melody just out of earshot. Colorful holiday flags, hanging from lampposts up and down the street, flapped to the same tune. 

Watching folks rush in a frenzy to be somewhere else, to buy, to eat, Bernadette thought a balmy Galveston Christmas wasn’t much different from a cold one in Lone Grove. Except here, there was more than one package with her name on it. Payne had appeared one morning with a scrawny fir in the back of her truck, declaring it needed a home. She set it up in the corner by the front window of the café daring anyone to challenge its looks. Slowly, almost magically, it was dressed in others’ yuletide hand-me-downs. It was one of the ugliest and most adored trees on The Strand. At its top, in place of a star, hung a pair of booties.

The little café family agreed to draw names and stay steadfast to their plan of buying for that one person. As days ticked closer to the twenty-fifth, the rule became bent and then broken until the skinny limbs of the overly decorated fir could barely cover its bounty. Bernadette watched the daily piling-up of blanket- and bib-sized boxes. She began to think of what she could offer in return. Feelings of goodwill exchanges were new to her. They squeezed in joy by edging out homesickness. By the third week in December, five small matted and framed paintings neatly wrapped in hand-painted paper, each reflecting a favorite island scene of the recipient, lay nestled by other gifts.

Bernadette placed two boxes under the tree for Wanda. One was a watercolor of a brilliant morning bursting over a small café with a bench out front and a sign in the window. Another held a bright purple shawl ringed in fringe. Payne had seen it in a second-hand store. Throwing it on her shoulders she had begun to swing and sway, setting delicate purple fingers into motion. After the silent dance, she folded it carefully and placed it back on its shelf. The small price had been more than she was willing to pay for an unneeded item. 

“Where would you wear something like that if you had it, Payne?”

“Anywhere I wanted to feel beautiful, my dear!”

Bernadette could hardly wait to see Payne’s face when she held it again as her own.

She soon turned her attention to Josh.

“What can I do for him, Payne? He has driven me around, helped me with the legal stuff, met with the Bertans…. How do you repay someone for all of that? Honestly, he has been better to me than my own papa ever was.”

“That’s just it, Bernadette. Sometimes a person is filled up by things no one else sees. People are always emptying out, filling up. Right now you are giving him something he needs.”

“I sure don’t know what it is. ‘Pride in my star pupil’ is what he says, but I’m not really sure. Sometimes he seems so sad when he looks at me.”

Payne nodded and turned back to the kitchen. It wasn’t her business to share another’s history without their permission. He would tell it in his own good time. Right now, she, Wanda Payne, was happy to be a part of his present. She didn’t have any desire to peek into the future…his, hers, theirs.

As Payne reached the kitchen door, she heard Bernadette give out a loud moan. Turning quickly, she saw the young woman doubled over.

“Are you okay? What is it?”

Bernadette drew herself up slowly, pain pinching her face. “That was a hard one. The baby wanted to get my attention and it sure did. But now I have an idea for putting my own kick into Christmas.”

The sidewalk was jammed with folks gawking at the whimsical portrayal, each offering an opinion for its existence. Horse-drawn carriages allowed tourists a leisurely up-close view. Their ongoing commentary was punctuated with laughter and the snapping of many photographs from varying angles. The general agreement among residents and travelers alike regarding the object of interest was upbeat and positive.

Depicted on the large window of the little café were the likenesses of all those who worked inside. A cluster of five formed a semicircle around a slender red-suited Santa, their ten adoring eyes riveted on the spot where his face should be. Anchoring one end of the group of ladies was the café’s owner wrapped in a purple fringed shawl; her arms extended, she offered a plate piled high with pie. At the other end of the half-circle stood a young pregnant woman clutching a halo in one hand and a small brush in the other. Three everyday angels filled the in-between, their mouths opened in an unheard, ongoing dialogue. A spindly tree poked up from behind Santa, dressed in a hodgepodge of ornaments, its baby shoe “star” precariously perched on its topmost branch. The glass palette offered up a bounty of brilliant hues and dusty shades congenially converged: a peek into a pocket of ordinariness filled with inexpressible joy.

Bernadette, steadily working after lunch crowds thinned out, completed the work in a few afternoons, leaving her both excited and exhausted. Discussions among the café’s patrons revolved around who would be Santa, a few trying to bribe their image onto the window with extra tips. One regular, known for his second and third helpings and good sense of humor, swore it was a caricature of him “before and after” his many meals at Wanda’s. The speculation had even given rise to a spontaneous betting pool. High spirits filled the little café to bursting at a time of year already packed with anticipation. 

The morning of Christmas Eve, cutouts covering St. Nick’s neck and face had mysteriously appeared during the night. As he was one of the only “regulars” who hadn’t tried some type of bribery, Josh was chosen to lead folks outside for the grand unveiling. He was draped with a dishtowel, crowned with a large gumbo pot, handed a wooden spoon scepter and pushed reluctantly to the front of the parade. Gladys, Bertie and Deah did their best to add to the pageantry with an off-key version of “Come All Ye Faithful” while banging on skillets, setting something of a cadence for the march outside. The eatery emptied, everyone falling into step. Once out on the sidewalk facing the diner, a halt was called. A drum-roll rising from the back of a cookie sheet followed the silence, and Josh carefully lifted the paper to end the suspense. An excited yell sprang from the wad of onlookers as Josh stared up at his own likeness peering back at the crowd. He smiled broadly.

“Thank you, Bernadette, thank you. It’s special. A great gift. The best I’ve received in a very long time.” 

Back inside, the clapping and cheering wound down slowly, replaced with good-naturedness and bad jokes. After much back slapping and holiday wishing, the crowd finally disbanded. Wanda flipped the store’s sign to “closed”. She walked over to the scrawny tree and sorted out the pile of boxes, then herded the café’s crew into their cars for the ride to her home.

Peeking in at the celebrants that Christmas Eve gathered in the House of Many Colors, no one would have guessed the little mismatched group wasn’t family. Histories, laughter and hopes blended together, forming a web of comfort and support. It was an easy net to catch a young woman—one who was about to face major changes.