April Shadows (20 page)

"How proud your parents would be if they were here," they said. It made it seem as if they were just away and couldn't avoid missing their own funerals.

It was probably true that Brenda's control kept me from falling apart. When she had told me I had to grow up overnight, she was right. No little-girl antics were to be permitted, no ranting and sobbing and sulking. Then, of course. I thought about Daddy and how he hated to show his emotions or his problems in public.

"That's why we have houses," he said once. "That's why we have our own homes, so we can close the doors and cry, and laugh, shout or rage without anyone else witnessing it. The walls are falling down all around us, but not mine, not ours."

Mama's funeral was ironically larger than Daddy's. I understood that there were people who simply couldn't forgive him for leaving us under any circumstances. It was more comfortable for the mourners to attend the funeral of a woman whom they all saw as a victim. The church was nearly filled, in fact, and a surprising number attended the internment as well. I could see Brenda regretted not having something at the house afterward. It would have shown Mama more respect. but Brenda was too hung up on our moving on. In her head. I suppose she actually heard a referee's whistle.

Matter of fact, she went right to the packing when we returned from the cemetery. Uncle Palaver and I worked on making something to eat. Celia had been packing the kitchen utensils, dishes, and silverware all along, and we had to dip into some of the cartons to get things we needed.

"Couldn't this have waited a day at least?" I wandered aloud.
Uncle Palaver didn't answer. I had spent most of my attention on Brenda, clung to Brenda. and I really didn't see how devastated Uncle Palaver was, He looked so lost and alone, dumbfounded and confused at times.
"I wish Destiny could have come with you,"
I
said, and he looked up from the sandwich he was eating mechanically.
"Yes," he said. "I do, too."
"Why couldn't she?" I pursued.
"I didn't want to say anything. There's enough to deal with here, but she's ill."
"Ill? How ill?"
"She has lupus," he said. "What is that. exactly?"
"It's an autoimmune system disease in which a person's own immune system attacks organs and cells, causing dysfunction. It flares up from time to time," he said. "and it just happened to her the day before... before Nora passed on."
"Will she be all right?"
"I don't know," he said. He looked away and squeezed his temples.
"I'm sorry. Uncle Palaver. I didn't mean to make you think about it.''
He didn't answer. After a moment. I left him sitting there and went to my room to begin to pack my clothes and my possessions. Celia stopped in to say good-bye.
"I'm the point man." she declared. "You know, the one who goes ahead and makes sure things are all right for the others following."
I was sitting on the floor next to a carton I was filling with old letters, pictures, souvenirs from trips, each item attached to a memory that replayed before me. I hadn't realized it, but tears were streaming down my cheeks, zigzagging across my jaw bone.
"Oh. April." Celia said, kneeling down beside me to hug me. "You poor dear. Ifs all so much harder for the younger child. I know. Psychologists talk about the length of time between the cutting of the umbilical chord and the present. Brenda's already one through something of a separation by attending college away from home, not that she's any less devastated. I just don't want you to feel like you're alone in the world, okay? I know how terrible that could be."
I wiped away the tears.
"We'll be there for each other now." she added, kissing me on the cheek. "We'll be like the Three Musketeers, okay?"
I nodded. Was she really this excited about it, or was she pretending for my sake?
"Don't expect me to be a good cook. I was never a good cook," she kidded. "Is there anything you need me to do for you'?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No, thank you."
"Okay, then. I'll see you soon. You'll like this new neighborhood, and I'm sure the school is fine. 'Bye for now," she added, and left.
I sat there looking after her and then looking at the carton. It seemed
I
needed to continually reinforce reality, continually convince myself all this was really and truly happening. I returned to packing, and a little while later. Brenda looked in on me,
"How is it going?" she asked.
I shrugged. "All right, I guess, I don't really have all that much that I want to take."
"No, neither do I. We're leaving a lot here. Everything in the garage, all the lawn equipment... someone will get a very good deal. I'm sure. Uncle Palaver is thinking of leaving tonight," she added. and I looked up sharply.
"So soon?"
"There's really no point in his lingering around. April, I nave him some of Mama's things, their mother's cameo and an ivory jewelry case that had belonged to her. He's on the phone making his arrangements."
"I thought he'd stay until we left," I said. Letting him go was such a final and definitive thing. Maybe I would never see him again.
"There's no point in that, and anyone can see how painful it is for him to just sit around here watching us pack up to leave. We'll call him when we're established in Memphis and give him our phone number and address."
"How will we find him?"
"I have his itinerary, the one Mama had out on Daddy's desk." she said. "He told me he's sticking to it, and it's nearly a year's scheduled performances, places, addresses, even phone numbers of the theaters."
I dropped an old diary into the carton and stood up. "Maybe I should spend some time with him. then."
"It would be better for us if you get done what you have to get done." Brenda replied. "He's not running right out."
"I hate doing this."
"I know, but this isn't going to be the last time you or I do things we hate to do. It's a part of life we can't escape. April."
"What doesn't destroy me makes me stronger." I muttered, and she smiled.
"You remember that."
"I should. I've heard you say it a thousand times when you're nearly exhausted or in some sort of pain exercising and running."
"It's worth remembering," she said, and left to finish her packing, too.
Actually. Uncle Palaver's arrangements called for him to leave for the airport before dinner, which was another disappointment. I thought we'd at least have that time together. He was packing his bag in the guest room when I went looking for him.
"I'm sorry
^,
I'm leaving so quickly." he said. "but
I
think I should get back."
I understood what he meant and nodded, imagining he was worried about Destiny.
"You guys are going to be fine." he told me. "I wouldn't go if I didn't believe that."
"I know, Don't worry about us," I said. "I just wish we had more time together."
"We will," he promised, and he put his arm around my shoulders and held me against him for a moment. He wasn't looking at me. however. He was staring at the wall and smiling. "I remember when I was a little boy, only about seven. I think. I performed this trick for Nora. Our mother had bought me a magician's game. and I was able to make a coin disappear in a trick box. She was such a good actress, your mother, even at that young age. She put on a great show of amazement and made me feel like I had matched Houdini or something. No matter what I tried to do afterward. I always worked on my magic act. Something inside me told me that would be who I would be. Of course, everyone blew me up, raved about my acting and singing talents until I made a fool of myself on the stage. Sometimes, you have to go in a circle to get where you belong." he said. "Don't be afraid of it."
He kissed me on the forehead and completed his packing. We started out together. I called to Brenda.
"Uncle Palaver's ready to go!" I cried, and she appeared.
He paused at the door and turned to us. "I hate leaving you two," he said.
"We'll be fine. Uncle Palaver. I'll call with our new information as I promised," Brenda told him.
He nodded, and she stepped forward to hug him. My lips were trembling so much I just buried my face against his chest for a moment.
"Sometimes." he said when I stepped back. "I think death is like some manic trick God performs. It's just another illusion." He shrugged. "Who knows? Remember, good magicians, real magicians, never tell their secrets."
He opened the door, stepped out, smiled at us, and closed the door.
Brenda and I were silent for a moment, staring at the closed door.
"I think I'm a little hungry," she said. "Mrs. Maxwell left a roast turkey and some salad in the refrigerator. I'm going to heat up the turkey. How about you?"
"I'll have a little. I guess," I said.
I followed her to the kitchen, found some dishware and silverware for us to use, and set it up in the dining room. I brought out a jug of water, too. She brought out the food, and we sat across from each other. both Mama's and Daddy's chairs now empty.
"My coach called yesterday ," she said after we had begun to eat. "He told me I've been chosen for the regional all-star basketball game. I have to go to practice day after tomorrow. Mama would have wanted me to do that," she added before I could even suggest it was too soon.
I nodded.
I couldn't blame her I wouldn't blame her. She had something to turn to, something to fill her days and give her a reason to go on.
What did I have?
"I'm going to depend on you to help us get through this. April. Celia is very intelligent, but setting up a home is not exactly her forte. Despite her sad stories, she was always spoiled by someone. I need you to be there." she emphasized.
"Okay," I said. I loved the sound of it: I need you. 'Okay," I repeated, and I ate like someone with a ravenous appetite.
It made her laugh, and then
I
did.
Uncle Palaver's right, I thought. So much of it all is merely an illusion.
It was the hardest of all nights to sleep. Not only did the realization of Mama's being gone forever set in, but along with it was this terrible sense of drifting. The future was so unclear for me now, not that it had ever been in any way definite. At least. I used to think in terms of Mama being there, being at my graduation, helping me plan a college life and professional life, guiding me, being my best friend. I hated this sense of loneliness. No matter what Brenda or Celia told me. I knew in my heart they would have their own busy lives occupying them. It wouldn't be long before I was just a burden they would not have had.
On the other hand. I thought. I'd been a loner most of my life. anyway. This all just meant I'd be one somewhere else. I never had that easy of a time making friends or holding on to the few I had made. None of my classmates appeared at the church for Mama's funeral, in fact, even though some of their parents attended. What did I really have to lose by moving away? Except for Mama, of course, this room was all that had mattered to me, and after all, it was just a room, just four walls I dressed with some of my identity. I could do that anywhere.
I hugged Mr. Panda to me, closed my eyes, and pushed myself into a pool of sleep.
Brenda was up before me in the morning. She went to get a U-Haul trailer for us to attach to the car, because the cartons we had filled would be too much for the car trunk. Later that day, the real estate agent, Camellia Dawson Davis, appeared to review the house with Brenda. She looked as if she had been formed out of plastic from a mold. Not a strand of her hair rebelled. Her makeup was thick and perfect, and she wore a brilliant blue suit with high heels and enough jewelry to sink the Titanic again.
"I swear, darlin'," she cried as she marched about the house, "this is gain' to be one of my cheery pick sales. Here today, one tomorrah. Don't you go worrying a minute about it all. I'll get us a top price. Sure. you're goin
^r
to leave all these pieces of art, the vases, lamps, all of it?"
"Yes," Brenda said so firmly it would have taken a Marine to ask again.
Camellia Dawson Davis just nodded and walked on, her eyes widening with every room.
"Well," she concluded. "we're going to figure at least another ten thousand for the furnishings and all. I'll start showing the house tomorrah, if that's all right with you."
"We're out of here late this afternoon," Brenda said. "It's fine."
"Well, don't you worry about it." she emphasized. She glanced at me, smiled, and then turned away quickly when I just glared back at her. "I'll be in touch with your attorney. He'll have your address and your number?"
"By tomorrah," Brenda replied, unable to prevent herself from imitating Camellia.
I had to hide a smile. After Camellia left. Brenda and I returned to packing. By lunch, we were loading the U-Haul. Celia called to tell us she had already set up the utilities, including the phone. so Brenda had a telephone number to leave with our attorney.
"Don't we have to call the school to let them know I'm moving away?" I asked.
"We'll have the new school contact them. By now. I'm sure the gossip phone's been ringing off the hook, anyway, and most everyone who matters knows. April."
After lunch, we swept through the house slowly, checking to be sure we had taken what was really important to us. I went outside and circled it for absolutely no good reason. I guess I was trying to commit it to memory forever. Brenda went through the garage shelves and boxes. I met her inside the house. She stood there with her hands on her hips, looking about for a moment.
"What do you say we leave after I take a shower?" I shrugged. "I guess so." I said.
"We'll have dinner with Celia in Memphis that way," she said. "There's just no point in our hanging about any longer,"
"Okay." I said in a voice smaller than I wanted.
I returned to my room to gather what was left to put in the car while she showered. Ms. Panda was on the bed staring at me. It was true that when I was little. I did speak to the stuffed animal as if it could hear and understand all that I said. Now I felt as though I had been thrown back through time and was standing in front of it as a five-year-old again.
"We've got to go. Mr. Panda," I said. "You're going to Eve in a new home and sleep in a new bed. Don't look so sad. You're making me feel worse. This isn't the greatest place of all to live, is it? This isn't some kind of paradise. Why should I care so much? People move all the time. I would have moved away from here someday. anyway. I don't care about this room. It's just a room. Stop looking Eke it's the end of the world!" I shouted without realizing it.
I heard Brenda behind me. She was in her robe and stared incredulously.
"I thought someone had come to the house," she said. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
She stared another moment. "Let's get the hell out of here," she declared, and returned to her room to dress.
I scooped up Mr. Panda, put on my coat, grabbed my carry-on bag which held my final personal items, and marched out of the house. I threw Mr. Panda into a carton in the trunk
and
squeezed my carry-on bag between two cartons. Then I got into the car and sat with my arms folded. waiting.
A very slight drizzle began. The drops were as small as of sand and barely made a sound against the windshield. The sky wasn't all that dark. either. Maybe it was only raining over our house and driveway. I thought. Maybe these were the tears of the dead.
I turned when I heard Brenda come out. She put down her last bag, locked the door, picked up the bag, and hurried to the car. She put the bag on the rear seat and got in quickly.
It
started to rain a little harder. She didn't even look at me. She started the engine and backed us out of the driveway. Then she put the car in drive and accelerated.
"Don't look back." she warned. "Just look ahead." I did what she said.
And we were on our way.
Celia had given her good directions, so that in a little less than two hours, we were pulling into the driveway of our new home.
It was much smaller than I had anticipated from listening to Celia talk about it. To me, it looked no bigger than a bungalow, and it didn't have a garage. It had a carport just big enough for one car. There was a screened-in front porch with a patch of front lawn about one-tenth the size of our lawn. Scattered in front of the porch and around the lawn were a half dozen evergreen English boxwood shrubs. A wooden landing that looked like an afterthought was spread at the front door.