Every Day After (7 page)

“I do not go around showing off. Sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“Of what? Once my mama tells Dr. Heimler about your mama, you’ll have nothing but yourself.”

I whirled around to face her. “Tell him what about my mama? You don’t know a thing about her. You just like to think you do.”

“Oh, yes, I do. I know for a fact she’s gone loopy, and once Dr. Heimler ships her off to the hospital, the sheriff’ll be shipping you off to the orphanage. Then you’ll be out of my hair for good.” Erin’s lips curled upward in an
all-too-knowing grin. “You can lie to Miss Jones all you want, but I know the truth about you. I’ve got my ways of knowing. Ways you’d never even think of.”

I didn’t say anything back. There wasn’t any point. She wasn’t gonna hush even if I wired her mouth shut. Besides, now I had a new problem to think about. A big one. I had to make sure Dr. Heimler was kept as far away from Mama as possible. One look at her and he’d deliver her straight to the hospital and I’d never get her back. The thought of her left in there alone sent shivers shooting down my spine. And if either Erin or Dr. Heimler thought I was gonna let her go, they could kiss my grits.

Beside me, Erin matched my stride step for step, but she kept quiet. I guess she figured her presence alone was enough to make me sick, and she was right.

At the fork in the road I went left and she went right. Now I didn’t have to guess. I knew exactly where she was headed—to blab to her mother about mine.

 
Seven
 

Life Is Like the Moon: Now Full, Now Dark

The sky was steadily darkening, so I sped up. I couldn’t go home until I’d given Ben his papers, and I wanted to tell him about Erin. Besides Mama, Ben was the best listener in the world. I’d tried talking to Daddy a time or two, but I’d been badgered in return. I hated badgering—being told the bad in my life was my own fault and that I needed to buck up and do something about it. Ben never badgered. He’d listen and nod and agree. He’d let me spill out all the ugly I wanted. I loved him for it.

I entered Ben’s yard and the butterfly that’d plagued me all day died. The Butlers’ place was like a warm quilt to me, comforting and cozy. Two years back, I’d helped them paint the house a fresh coat of sunny yellow. Now the house seemed to smile at me each time I came to visit. Mrs. Butler’s six Rhode Island Reds welcomed me, clucking and pecking their way across the front yard. They were allowed free range as long as they kept away from
the white azaleas planted in front of the porch. The azaleas had shed most of their blooms. I was reaching for one when Mrs. Butler came around from the back of the house.

“Oh, Lizzie, it’s you. I thought I heard someone.”

Dirt smudged her face and covered her hands. She always did her gardening at this time of day, and today was no exception. She was a woman with a strict schedule and a particular way of doing things, and you could bet your last penny she’d never change any of it. The slightest variation threw her into a loop for days. She’d been like that since I could remember, but she’d gotten worse when Mr. Butler died.

“Hi, Mrs. Butler,” I said. “Is Ben home?”

She scrubbed her hands on her apron and smiled. “Be just a minute, dear. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I need to make it quick.”

She nodded and disappeared into the house.

A few minutes later, Ben emerged. He plopped down onto the bottom step of the porch. “Looks like rain,” he muttered, though he was studying his slingshot, not the sky.

I handed him the envelope. “Miss Jones asked me to bring this by. How’d you do?”

He tore it open and unfolded the papers. He held up his test, revealing a big fat B. “Good enough for me.”

I shoved my test under his nose. I stood there waiting for the shock of it all to sink in, but he only shrugged and
pushed the sheet away. “What happened?” he asked. He might as well have been asking what happened while I was washing dishes or hanging clothes on the line.

“Well, you know how busy I’ve been at home. I thought I could pull at least a B. Guess not.”

Ben picked up a fistful of dirt and let it sift through his fingers. “I reckon you’ll live. There are worse things in the world than a bad grade.”

“Yeah, like my worst enemy having the satisfaction of seeing it.”

I could see Ben watching me out of the corner of his eye. A new fistful of dirt drifted to the ground.

“Just go on and say it,” I said.

Ben heaved a breath. “I think you should do what Erin wants. What does one stupid contest matter anyhow?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Me and Erin got into it after school, and Miss Jones told us to apologize or else we’d be out of the essay contest. I wasn’t about to say I was sorry. But Erin did just so Miss Jones would let her stay in. Made me so mad I could’ve spit.”

“Awww, Lizzie!” Ben threw a rock into the yard. “You should’ve just went on and done it. Erin did. What’s the big deal? Ain’t you got bigger problems than beating her?”

An invisible fist punched me in the stomach. “Me beating her? I think you got that backwards, ’cause it’s always her trying to beat me.”

Ben didn’t reply. He jumped up from the steps and snatched up another rock. He put it in the sling and shot it
into the air. The snap of the rubber made something snap inside me. I grabbed the slingshot from him and jabbed it into his stomach. “Would you listen to me and stop with the slingshot already? If I knew how to work this thing, I’d pop a rock right between your eyes!”

Ben jerked the slingshot away and shoved it into his back pocket. “Then it’s a good thing I never showed ya how. You know, if you weren’t so worried about your own troubles, maybe you’d have time to think about somebody else’s.”

“Are you calling me selfish? Because it seems to me I’m the one with the problems around here.”

Ben looked at me, his cheeks flushed and his usually soft green eyes hardened to a steel gray. His jaw twitched. “Sure, you’ve got your problems,” he yelled, “but maybe some of them are your own doing! Other folks got troubles they can’t do nothin’ about. Ain’t you even gonna ask me why I wasn’t at school today, or are you just too worried about
you
to care?”

That invisible fist kept right on punching. Harder and harder. Knocking the breath from me. Ben was badgering. The one person in the whole world I trusted to never do it
was
doing it. “Fine, then. Why weren’t you at school today, Ben?”

“Because I started over at Mr. Reed’s today helping him around his farm. Pays me three and a half dollars a week.”

“What? You mean creepy ol’ Mr. Reed just came up and asked you to work for him?”

“Course he didn’t ask me. I went and asked him. You know the shape his place is in, and he ain’t exactly a spring chicken. I figured he was my best shot, so I asked him. I can’t just keep sittin’ around here waitin’ for the bank to take our house. School’ll have to wait.”

I looked at Ben, struggling to understand what he meant. “You’re telling me you asked Mr. Reed for help?”

“Yeah, Lizzie, I reckon that’s what I’m telling ya.” His voice needled me. “I forgot you don’t understand what asking for help is.”

No, I didn’t understand what asking for help was. Daddy always said if you needed something, you had to get it yourself or do without. You weren’t supposed to go around begging off folks—much less old folks who don’t like company. But I wasn’t about to get into a tiff with Ben over it.

“You mean you’re not coming back to school … ever?”

“Not this year. Have to wait and see about next. School’s nearly out anyway. Helping Ma is more important right now. I’m all she’s got.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Mrs. Martin’s quilt money wasn’t enough. Payin’ the mortgage ain’t gonna happen.”

Low thunder rumbled in the distance. Words, thoughts, time disappeared. Ben’s shoulders slumped like all the life in him was being sucked out. He kicked at a patch of weeds with the toe of his boot. “I reckon you’d best be headin’ home. Gonna storm, and I got chores to do.” He forced a smile, then plodded up the steps. I thought he’d
turn and wave, but he didn’t. The screen door slammed behind him with a bang.

A light drizzle had started to fall by the time I reached the end of the drive. On any other day the cold drops would’ve forced me to pick up my pace. But this wasn’t any other day. No siree. This was a day of disappointment. A day I wanted it to rain—rain so hard and so fast it’d soak right through my hair, down through my scalp, and into my brain, where it’d wash away all my worries and fears. Then the only thing left to think about would be the rain itself. At least until I got home.

God must’ve been listening in on my thoughts, because pour it did. And think about rain is exactly what I was forced to do. Sloppy red mud splashed around me with each step. I wanted to run, but that only made the mud splatter up onto my socks and the hem of my dress. Let me tell you, there’s a world of difference between trudging through thick, goopy mud after all the extra water has drained away and sloshing through it when it’s still thin and watery. My socks were ruined.

Once I made it home, I stripped off my shoes and socks and left them on the front porch. There wasn’t any sense in traipsing through the house tracking mud all over the floor. Inside, I grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and went straight out to Mama. The rain had come up faster and heavier than I’d thought, and though the porch cover would keep her dry, I didn’t want her sitting outside in the damp. I wrapped the blanket around
her and moved her into her wingback chair in the parlor. She snuggled into it, and I went to change out of my wet clothes.

My well-worn overalls soothed me after my fuss with Ben. They felt like fishing and bare feet and good times. Somehow they made me feel that everything would be all right between Ben and me, even if I didn’t know how to get “all right” back.

Over a bowl of dumplings and a square of dry corn bread, I read to Mama from her book. I needed it to comfort me as much as I hoped it comforted her. “Graceful Proverbs” continued: “A woman without religion, a flower without perfume. A man without religion is like a horse without its bridle. Broad is the shadow of generosity.”

I read to her for over an hour, finally stopping at “Impossibilities and Absurdities in Proverbs.” I placed the book back in Mama’s lap and went to clean the kitchen and put the leftover corn bread in the cookstove warmer. It’d taste good later, crumbled into some milk.

After I’d helped Mama into her nightgown and put her to bed, I was more than ready to fall into my own bed. The day had worn on me. I didn’t know what to do about Erin—or Ben. My eyes watered and burned, needing to close, needing to rest. But, same as every other night, sleep ran from me.

I pulled my journal from the drawer, closed my eyes, and counted four pages in. I opened my eyes and began to write.

May 6, 1932

I’ve been close with Ben for a long time now. I don’t want to think about what it’d be like without him. But it seems like here lately, I just can’t figure him out. He wants me to go on and give Erin her way. Lose to her. Take a hit on my grades to make
her
feel better. That doesn’t seem fair, and that’s not what Daddy would want. The last time I gave up my grades for somebody—for Ben—it only got me into trouble
.

February was terribly cold last year. Ben’s father came down with influenza and was bedridden for close to two weeks before he passed. Dr. Heimler tried everything he knew, and Ben refused to leave his pa’s side the whole time. Mrs. Butler and me watched Ben helping Dr. Heimler
.

“You just watch, Lizzie,” she said. “My boy’s gonna be a doctor someday.”

Everybody nursed and prayed, and nursed and prayed some more, but I guess God decided He needed Mr. Butler more than Ben and his ma did
.

I’ve never seen Ben so quiet. He mostly just sat and fiddled with his slingshot, tugging at its rubber band. Mrs. Butler even let him carry it to the funeral home
.