Bombshells (26 page)

Laying the pillow in the crib, I wipe my face with my hands. Out of habit, I’m careful not to smear my mascara. Like a perfect face will cover up the ugliness inside.

The glowing clock dial on Mama’s old Baby Ben shows one-thirty. I pick it up off the small end table beside the sofa bed. It’s heavy and cold in my hand. It feels like so much wasted time, just there, weighing me down.

Now. I should leave now. If I wait much longer, DC will be awake again. Suitcase in hand, I open the bedroom door.

Suddenly I see the next morning playing out in my mind. All the questions from Birdie and Norah. Questions that Clay and Melanie will have to answer with lies.

But staying won’t make things better. Facing them in the morning won’t change what happened. It won’t change what Melanie saw. If I stay, it won’t be insurance against Mellie telling her mother. And that would kill Norah and any chance she has to be happy in the future.

The clock ticks loudly, the luminescent hand jerking with every second that passes. I close the door as I leave.

Sunday, October 21, 1962

BIRDIE

I’m the first person to wake up this morning.

I like being first.

Except it’s very quiet, and that means I have to be quiet, too. I don’t like that. I want to turn on the television. The clock in the kitchen has the big hand on the six and the little hand is close to the seven. I can’t remember if that’s six-thirty or seven-thirty. We just started learning to tell time at school. Through the living room window, I see the sun isn’t very bright so I think it might be six-thirty. If that’s what time it is I have to be quiet for a long time.

Getting my crayons, I lie on the floor and color in my Huckleberry Hound coloring book. The two mouses, Pixie and Dixie, are my favorite. I think Dixie talks like Aunt Lola. He makes his words long and he talks kind of slow.

I wonder when Aunt Lola is going to wake up. Maybe she’ll make pancakes again this morning. Oh! I just remembered she’s going to take me for a ride in the convertible with the top down today, too. She promised.

The clock in the kitchen has the big hand on the nine and the little hand is still close to the seven. I have to be quiet a lot longer.

I’ve colored two pictures, staying in the lines pretty good, and using the right colors for grass and sky and mouses. Now I’m bored. I take the pink crayon and color Huckleberry Hound. He’s supposed to be blue, but dogs aren’t blue. I don’t know why he’s blue on the cover of my book. I don’t even stay in the lines for this picture. I color fast and hard, pretending I’m an artist who doesn’t have to be careful and stay in the lines. I can do whatever I want.

I hear Daddy cough, and I stand up. When he steps into the living room I jump out in front of him. He scoops me up in a hug. His face is scratchy and he doesn’t smell nice like he does when he’s going to work.

“Daddy, is it time for
Davey and Goliath
?”

“Shh. Everyone’s still sleeping.”

“We’re not. Why are they still asleep?”

Putting me down, Daddy says, “Let me get the paper and make the coffee. Then I’ll check the TV schedule and see when your show starts.”

“I can get the paper.”

“No. It’s chilly outside. You’d need your shoes and your robe. I’ll get the paper, so you won’t bother Melanie by going back in your room.”

“But Daddy, you don’t have your shoes or robe. Won’t you get cold?”

“Shh, Birdie. I’ll be right back.” He sounds kind of angry. Not really mad, but what Mama calls ’gravated. Daddy runs outside in his bare feet with no jacket or robe, just his shirt and pants. So I run right behind him. If he can go outside barefoot, then why can’t I?

“Daddy! Where’s Aunt Lola’s car?”

Daddy grabs my hand. “Be quiet, Birdie. You’re going to wake up your Mama and the whole neighborhood.”

“But where’s the convertible? Aunt Lola promised me a ride today.”

“You never listen to me. Be quiet.” His voice sounds hard, like sharp rocks hitting the ground, and his hand is tight around mine.

“But, Daddy—

“I said for you to hush up. I guess she went home.”

I want to ask why Aunt Lola left in the dark, but I’m afraid to say anything.

Daddy closes the door behind us and tosses the newspaper on the table. He goes right to the kitchen and makes the coffee.

I really ’gravated him this time. I wish I knew what was going on. I’m ’gravated myself. Aunt Lola promised she’d take me for a ride with the top down today. I wanted to put the top down yesterday, but she said no. We’d have a special ride today. But now she’s gone. Yes, I’m sure ’gravated. I want to throw a tantrum, but I’m not stupid. Daddy’s already mad.

So, I need to be extra good for the rest of today, no matter how disappointed I am. I get my coloring book and crayons and sit at the dining room table. Maybe Daddy will be happier after he has some coffee. Grown-ups always take a sip of it and say
ahh
, like it makes them feel good.

I hope it makes him feel good, because right now, Daddy has his eyebrows pushed together. I guess he’s still mad at me, but maybe it’s because of what he’s reading in the newspaper. He and Mama talk about the newspaper a lot. It takes me a long time to figure out the words in the newspaper, and if it makes them frown, I don’t want to read it.

“Daddy, since Aunt Lola’s gone home, who will make pancakes for us this morning?”

Daddy stands up. “Birdie, you can turn on the TV now. I think your show will be on soon.”

Now I don’t really want to watch
Davey and Goliath
. “I’m hungry. What about the pancakes?”

“I’ll make your pancakes.”

“I’ll help you, Daddy.” I stand by him in the kitchen and finally he smiles at me. It’s a sad smile, but he lifts me up to sit on the counter. He gets the flour and a bowl out of the cabinet.

Mama brings DC in. “Morning. Is Lola still sleeping?”

“She went home,” I tell her. “She didn’t even give me a ride in her car. She broke her promise.”

Mama looks at Daddy. “What? Lola’s gone?”

Daddy shrugs and measures out flour. “Guess she decided to get an early start.”

Melanie is up now, standing at the kitchen door. She’s staring hard at Daddy like she’s never seen him make pancakes before. Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him make pancakes either, but he seems to know what he’s doing.

“She’s gone?” Melanie asks.

Daddy doesn’t look at her. He just cracks eggs in the bowl with one hand. Mama can’t even do that.

“I guess,” Mama says. “Clay, what did you say to her last night to make her mad?”

Daddy stops stirring for a minute and just stares at the bowl. Then he says, “Norah, I didn’t say anything to make her mad.”

Melanie is shaking her head. I guess she can’t believe Aunt Lola broke her promise, either.

“Maybe somebody stole the convertible!” I jump off the counter. “I’ll see if she’s still in her bed.”

Melanie follows me to the middle bedroom. But Aunt Lola is really gone. The bed is made and her suitcase isn’t there. Under the alarm clock is a note and two dollars. Melanie picks it up and reads it to me.

“It says, ‘Sorry to leave so early, but I remembered I have a union meeting tonight. Birdie, please take a rain check on the ride, okay? Here’s two dollars for a treat. Be sweet and maybe Melanie will take you to the store.’”

“What’s a rain check?”

Mellie hands me the two dollars. “It’s just a way of saying wait until next time.”

“You mean Aunt Lola will take me for a ride with the top down while it’s raining?”

Melanie is studying the piece of paper like it’s got a secret code on it or something. “Yeah,” she says, walking toward the kitchen. She hands the note to Mama.

“Well, I never heard of such,” Mama sighs and studies the paper. “It must be a real important meeting for her to hightail it out of here so doggone early. I didn’t even hear her leave. Did you, Clay?”

“Nope. Who wants the first pancakes?”

I jump up and down. “I do. I do.”

Folkston, Georgia

LOLA

When that same, ugly cop catches me doing seventy-five miles an hour through Folkston, I figure maybe fate has decided to take care of settling the score. It’s only been about forty-five minutes since I left Norah’s, so I’m still a little drunk. I’ve had enough to drink that the cop can throw me in jail for the night.

Instead, he suggests, quite nicely, that he buy me a cup of coffee at the truck stop.
Well, okay
, I think. He follows me to the truck stop on Highway 301. The lights inside are so bright they hurt my eyes. He orders coffee and the breakfast special for both us.

“Well, Miss Carter,” he says, stirring sugar into his coffee. “I could run you in to the jail and let you sober up overnight. That might take care of your little speeding problem, too.”

I take a sip of coffee and nod. I deserve to be put in jail. Hell, I deserve to be put in front of a firing squad and shot dead. But that would be too easy. After all, dead people don’t have to think about all the evil they’ve done.

He folds he his hands on the tabletop and leans toward me. “Of course, if we make this official-like, I’ll have to write you a ticket. You don’t even want to know how much that fine will be.”

“How much do you think?” I ask, but I don’t really care. I’m broke no matter how I look at it. I’d just as soon go to jail.

“At least a hundred. And then there’s the matter of the red light you ran on the other side of town.”

“You were following me that long?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The waitress appears with two plates of eggs and grits. The smell sends me running for the bathroom.

I hear the waitress laughing as I round the corner.

“Wally, you sure do have a way with women,” she says.

When I come back to the table, the officer is sopping his plate with his biscuit. He winks at me, “Feeling better?”

I put on a big smile. “Sure.” I force myself to take a bite of eggs. My stomach is so empty, it’s about to turn inside out. After another sip of coffee, I manage to ask, “So, what’s it going to be? Jail or a ticket?”

He just smiles, then motions for the waitress to pour another cup of coffee. She tops off our mugs and leaves us alone again.

I shove my plate away. I can’t eat anything else. “If it’s just the same to you, I’d rather not have a ticket. I’m broke.”

“You’d rather go to jail?”

“I’d rather get on the road so I can get back home.” I rub my thumb over the dribble of coffee running down the side of my mug. Looking into his ugly face, I say, “But I don’t suppose you’re gonna settle for that, are you?”

“Well, Miss Carter, I don’t want to put a pretty little thing like you in jail.” He frowns. “It’s not a very nice place. Lots of the wrong kind of people in jail.”

Wrong kind of people, just like me
. “So, you’re feeding me breakfast and sending me on my way, then?”

“After our, uh, encounter on Friday night, I thought you understood how I do business.”

“I told you, I’m broke. I haven’t gotten any more cash since I gave you that twenty-five. I don’t have any money in the bank. You might as well put me in jail.”

“You don’t have anything you could, um, barter?”

Now I understand. I lower my head so he can’t see how rattled I am. How could I have been stupid enough not to see where he was going with all this discussion, and buying me breakfast, and
not wanting to put a pretty little thing like me in jail
? But I’m not going to make it any easier for him. He’s going to have to make the deal. So I bluff.

“Do you see me dripping diamonds?” I pull off the clunky costume jewelry earrings I’m wearing and throw them on the table. “Knock yourself out. Forty-nine cents at Woolworth’s.”

He just rolls the red plastic bead between his fingers and stares at me.

The sight of his stubby fingers on my earring fills me with disgust. My stomach rolls over once more, and I run for the bathroom. At this sink, I don’t look at myself in the mirror, same as I couldn’t at Norah’s house.

This time when I come out, he’s standing just outside the door. “I wouldn’t want you to try to run away or anything. After all, in your condition, you present a danger to yourself and other drivers.”

I don’t deserve any better than this. I don’t deserve any better than him. He follows me out to my car. “Here?” I choke out.

“There’s a rest area with a picnic table about a mile up the road. It’s nice and wooded. A real nice place for a picnic.”

“I’ll follow you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll follow you, and if you lose your way, I’ll be able to catch up with you real quick-like.”