Asked For (27 page)

Chapter 37

James 1957

James’ gut felt steely and cold, his insides heavy, as he bussed tables, carried food to Mr. Morgan’s customers, and did dishes in between. His world had shrunk to a tiny orb, drawn so tight no one could get in.

“That your excuse?”
Pop’s voice rang in his mind.
“No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to…”
Then the slap. The red stain of Mama’s hand on his father’s face.

Ida dumped more dishes into the sink. James’ back ached from bending over the deep basin all day. Water splashed upward. Suds clung to the hair of his forearms. James didn’t look at her. Ida wouldn’t say anything even if he did. He just shoved her stack aside and kept scouring the silverware and plates they needed for the unusual lunch crowd they had today.

It was only supposed to happen at death, your life flashing before your eyes, but James’ sixteen years played over and over in his head, visions of things that had been said and done suddenly taking root, showing themselves for what they were, looking different in the daylight of being older.
Step back, gain perspective.

The tepid gray water swirled, the rag became soggy, and James wrenched his arms from the sink and walked, then ran for the back door of the restaurant. He pushed through, doubled over, and heaved. Heaved in the dirt behind the building, years of scream coming out in putrid bile. He leaned over the foul puddle and braced himself with his hands on his knees.
Baseball’s not in your blood.
The scream came up again, more yellow fluid, soaking into the dirt.

He spit. White foam floated on the mess he’d made. Looking at it made him retch again, but nothing came up. He was empty. No more scream, no more illusions about who he was, no more heart. Mama’s heart. He didn’t even know if that was in there.

He straightened. Every muscle ached. He leaned back against the restaurant, happy voices coming from the other side of the wall. People whose lives were intact. Who knew what to expect, knew what they were made of, had no surprises springing up like little warnings their whole lives.

The hum of the restaurant made him angry. He envied those people. He’d never been a part of them, and now he knew why. Even Ida’s coldness made sense. He looked down the narrow alley between the backs of the buildings that faced the main street and the backs of the buildings that faced the other way, the ones side by side with Pop’s business. It was as if he’d been in this spot his whole life, between Pop and the others, thinking he belonged with one when maybe he never did.

He brushed his hands on the apron. It was wet from doing dishes, cool in the shaded air. He undid the back tie and slid the apron over his head. Restaurants didn’t suit him either. It wasn’t in his blood. He wasn’t sure what was, but he needed to find out. Finally, and for sure.

James turned to go back inside. He’d at least let Mr. Morgan know. The door swung open before he touched the handle. Mr. Morgan stood there, their eyes meeting. The noise behind Mr. Morgan was loud now that the door was open. He stepped outside, pulling it closed behind him.

James wished he’d kicked dirt over his vomit. The sour stench was strong, and he was ashamed it was there. Mr. Morgan surely was aware of it, but he said nothing as the door latched and the two of them were alone in the alleyway.

Mr. Morgan was never silent. Even when his mouth said nothing, his eyes always did, those dark eyes that said so much, called in such a familiar tone. James wanted to fall into them and run from them at the same time. They were too familiar, too painful when they drilled so deep.

“You’re thinking about going.” Mr. Morgan dropped his gaze to the apron dangling in James’ hand. James looked down and nodded. He lifted the apron and extended it to Mr. Morgan. To his surprise, Mr. Morgan took it. “Don’t expect you’ll need that apron where you’re going,” he said.

Mr. Morgan couldn’t possibly know where he was going. James didn’t even know. James frowned as he wondered what Mr. Morgan saw that he couldn’t.

“Everything else I gave you, you can keep, though.”

James frowned more. Mr. Morgan had only given him an ice cream sundae and some tokens. James shook his head.

“Well, like the advice I gave you when I told you to choke up on a bat. If what you’re handling is too big, choke up. Place your grip where you can manage it even if the hit isn’t as strong as you want.”

James’ gut began to swirl. This time it wasn’t bile, it wasn’t a scream, it was something childlike, the yearning of a boy who’d always wanted something but never got it.

“Or like when I told you to step back off the plate so you can gain perspective. Step away, look things over. Find out what you didn’t see because you were too close.”

Tears pooled somewhere deep in James’ chest. He thought Mr. Morgan had been teaching him to play baseball all those years, but he wasn’t. He was teaching James about life. James looked down, stared at the toes of his shoes.

Mr. Morgan moved close, his head near James’. “And I said don’t believe everything you hear. I know I said it about in this restaurant, but it’s true everywhere. Don’t.”

James swallowed.
No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to…
A too-large wad of saliva lodged in his throat. He gulped. The tears came up against it, creating a lump that was huge and painful.

Mr. Morgan put a hand on the door’s handle. He turned sideways, ready to go back inside. “One more thing.”

James looked up. He knew his eyes were red, but he wasn’t ashamed. Not in front of Mr. Morgan. His place was safe. It always had been. That’s what he’d seen in this man’s eyes his whole life.

“What’s that?” James tried to clear the lump from his throat.

Mr. Morgan put a hand on James’ shoulder. “I told you once your mama’s got heart, and that heart’s in you.” He looked hard into James’ eyes. “And she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. She is. I meant it. And that you can believe, wherever you hear it. She gives you value. Hold onto that.”

James stared at the man as his chest heaved outward, then in, with breaths as hard as if he’d just run up and down the street. “Thank you for the work, sir.” James nodded as he said it, then looked away. The alley stretched before him, Pop on one side, Mr. Morgan on the other. James passed between them. Left them behind. He had to find what was in the blood pumping through Mama’s heart.

Chapter 38

James 1957

James felt odd stepping onto a porch, knowing it was Magdalena’s. Max’s, but now hers, too. He’d never thought of her really having a house, a nice house like this one. She and Earl had lived with Earl’s brother. And Joe Deeter, that hardly lasted. This little house was neat and simple, nice. It just didn’t remind James of his sister. She would have to change to fit this house, or she would be changing it to suit her.

He brushed his hands on his pants, then raised his fist and knocked. Not loud, but sharp, his knuckles stinging against the door. Max’s car was parked alongside the house. That alone said Magdalena was home. She loved cars, she loved to drive, and when he’d been working at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant he saw her going up and down the street all the time, her window down and an elbow hanging out, sometimes her whole arm with a lit cigarette being fanned to ashes in the wind.

The door opened. Magdalena stood there. James was glad it wasn’t Max. He still hadn’t warmed up to him. Max had no business saying James would need a trade, even though he was right. Magdalena’s face lit up. James thought she looked relieved. “Hold on,” she said, and whisked away. She was back in a moment, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Let’s go,” she said, heading off the porch.

James frowned. “Go? Go where?”

“I don’t know. Go talk. Isn’t that why you’re here?” Magdalena was off the porch and at the driver’s side of the car. “Get in. Let’s go.”

James shrugged and followed her. He was barely in his seat when the car roared to life and Magdalena was backing toward the street.

“Slow down a little,” he said, fighting the door closed.

Magdalena managed to light a cigarette while she edged into the street. She shifted to a forward gear, the cigarette dangling from her lips. She grabbed the steering wheel with her right hand while she lowered her window with the left. The car cruised forward, and she took the cigarette in her left fingers, blew out smoke in a big sigh, and settled back, a smile on her face.

James frowned at his sister. “You happy I came by, or what?”

Magdalena took another draw on her cigarette and turned toward downtown. She smiled more. “I’m so happy you came by!”

“Why? You that glad to see me?”

“Of course, little brother,” she said, grinning his way. “But more glad to see life! I was going insane in there. Max is asleep
again
! I swear, that man takes naps to recover from naps. It’s like living in a coma with him.”

James settled into his seat and looked straight ahead. He didn’t know what to say. He was right, that house didn’t suit his sister. He wondered if Max slept to escape Magdalena’s energy.

“He doesn’t like it when I smoke in his house, but I can’t help it. He doesn’t like it when I pace, either, but there’s nothing to do, so I smoke and pace. Back and forth, back and forth. Thank God for cars!” She leaned out the window and waved her cigarette in the air, she smiled, she inhaled the fresh air. Her freedom.

She headed down the main street. James slid low in his seat. He’d just come from here, from Mr. Morgan’s restaurant, and he wasn’t ready to see it or anyone just yet. Magdalena yelled from the window, shouting and waving cheery hellos at almost everyone she saw. James sank lower. He hadn’t come to find her for this. He’d come to get some things straight before he reappeared in town. If he ever did.

“What if Max wakes up and finds you’re gone?” he asked, hoping she’d feel guilty enough to turn around, even though Magdalena never felt guilty about anything.

She snorted. “Won’t matter. He’ll probably be happy I’m not there smoking on his furniture or wearing a path on his rugs.”

They reached the end of businesses along the main street and headed into the residential area. James hoped she’d keep going, drive out of town into the country where no one would see them.

“So what’s going on, little brother?” she asked.

James repositioned in his seat. He looked out the side window at house after house flowing by. “I need to know something,” he said without looking at her.

The car slowed, Magdalena quieted, and James could feel her attentiveness. “I figured,” she said.

He glanced her way, and she turned to him, her face serious, the joviality set aside. She looked straight ahead then, both hands on the steering wheel, the cigarette gone. James looked ahead with her. The houses were thinning, country taking over the scenery, the privacy he needed to ask what he had to know. “What Pop said about Mama the other night when she slapped him... The thing I told you about...”

Magdalena didn’t say anything. James had never seen an expression like the one she had on her face. It was years older than she ever behaved; it was full of everything he didn’t know about her, things she probably didn’t want to know herself. “You talk to anyone else about this?”

He shook his head. “No.”

In Magdalena’s silence he thought he heard the answers to what he wanted to know. Voices that sounded like Pop and her shouted in his head—
that boy
…you’re different from Pop…you’re not stuck like I am…baseball isn’t in your blood. He thought he was going to be sick again. He reached for the door’s handle.

“I told you Pop made his own mess,” Magdalena said.

“Who was Jim?” He gripped the door’s handle. It was slippery from the sweat on his palm.

Magdalena tucked her head forward, her brows knit into a frown. She pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped, killed the engine. She twisted in her seat so she looked James square on. She frowned for a long time, and he let her. He wanted to know. Harold had said there was a Jim, but he’d said little more. Finally Magdalena drew in a long breath, then let it out. “Jim was Mama’s friend,” she said. “He used to visit when I was little. Pop never trusted him. I told you, Pop made his own trouble.”

James shook his head. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

Magdalena settled deeper into the seat. She gazed out the front window, stared up toward the sky, then looked back at James. “Mama grew up with Jim. They were always friends, good friends. Probably would have been better if…if Pop hadn’t asked for her.” She paused and shrugged. “You never knew Mama’s grandma. She came around now and then when I was growing up. She finally died, but not before she tried to make up for sending Mama off to marry the way she did. I heard Mama’s grandma say once, ‘There’s lots of girls with no man in their lives, too many girls with a bad man in their life, and one girl with a good one.’ She wished Mama had been that girl, that one girl, but she wasn’t. Grandma thought sending Mama with Pop would be good for her. Jim would have been better.”

“But Jim never was?” James asked, not sure he wanted to know any more. “He never was good for her? Not even once?” He felt his insides grow cold. He ran his fingers along the door’s handle, just in case.

Magdalena shook her head. “He married some woman named Claire. Jim never came after they got married, except to bring Mama back home when she went there once. It was an especially bad time. She said she had to go see her grandma. She was gone a little bit, then she came back, pretty sick. Jim brought her, but he didn’t stay.”

James didn’t ask when Mama went there, he didn’t ask why he bore Jim’s name.

“It ain’t what you’re thinking,” Magdalena said.

Choke up so you have more control, step back for better perspective, don’t believe everything you hear, and your Mama’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.
“I’m ready to go back,” James said, and he looked forward. Even with Magdalena staring at him he refused to look her way. Maybe he should walk back to town, spend some time thinking. No, he wanted to ride. He wanted to do like his sister did, ride and think. Maybe he’d ask for a cigarette and smoke while she drove.