Pearl (24 page)

Pearl stared at her cup, a lump forming in the back of her throat. She fought back the tears at the realization she had failed at her marriage.
 

“You did the right thing, precious Pearl,” Vernie said. Pearl looked up to meet Vernie’s somber expression. “Ain’t no reason to stay around waiting for a man to kill ya.”
 

Pearl shuddered. She took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes. Vernie rested her hand on Pearl’s leg, giving it a light squeeze. “You rest now, and take my bed if you’re feeling sleepy.”
 

Pearl was asleep before Vernie got up from her chair.
 

She was back in her room in Arizona. She stood by her window, waiting for the moment her mother would make her appearance. The moon was especially bright, lighting up the field to show the raw malnourished foliage and rusty-red earth.
 

Pearl held her breath, knowing that at any moment her mother’s white outline would begin to show. Pearl always noticed the blonde hair first, youthful and light as it blew behind her mother. And then her white nightgown, silky and adorned with lace trim. Pearl couldn’t imagine her mother dressed any other way but this.
 

Seconds that felt like minutes passed, and Pearl became impatient. She leaned against the window to see what had caused her mother to stall.
 

“Sweetheart, you’re awake.”
 

Pearl jumped at the sound of the sweet voice. She turned to see her mother standing in her door way, a wide dazzling smile on her face.
 

Pearl stared at her. It was the first time in more than ten years that she had seen her mother up close. She never realized how closely she resembled her mother. It was like looking at her reflection.

She swallowed hard before glancing back at the window, confused as to what her mother was doing in her room.

“Come.” Her mother smiled encouragingly, holding out her hand.
 

Pearl looked down at her hand and saw her wrists were creamy white, not tattered and burned by twine. She lifted her fingers to her mother’s, and their hands collapsed together. Their fingers blended as one.
 

“Where are we going?” Pearl heard herself ask. Her voice, though weak, was the voice she had now, not the voice of a child she had been on this forsaken night. Her room, however, was that of a young girl’s, and Pearl took a moment to remember her childhood belongings. Her mother had helped decorate her room in a soft rose palette with pink walls and floral bedding. It reminded her of her room at Granny’s, and instantly realized why she had loved the attic room Vernie had made for her so much.
 

Her mother giggled lightly like a schoolgirl, breaking into Pearl’s thoughts. Had she always looked this young and beautiful?
 

“I’ll show you,” her mother responded.

She placed a finger to her mouth to hush their voices. Softly they crept from her room, stepping out into the hall. They passed by Billy’s room, where her mother took a moment to step in and watch him sleep. Pearl felt a pang in her chest at seeing her baby brother curled up in his warm blanket and crib. Softly her mother kissed his cheek before shutting the door behind them as they headed for the stairs.
 

They walked through the kitchen and out the living room to the front door. Pearl stopped as they reached the entrance, tugging her hand back, but her mother held her strongly in a firm grip.
 

“Don’t be scared,” her mother soothed.
 

Pearl’s eyes widened as her mother opened the door.
 

Outside, the crisp Arizona air stung Pearl’s bare legs as the wind picked up her lavender nightgown. She held on tightly to her mother’s hand as they ran from the house toward the middle of the field. Her mother squealed in delight, her white nightgown twisting in the soft breeze.
 

“Isn’t this beautiful, Pearl?” her mother cried out, stopping only to twirl her daughter as though they fell into a rhythmic dance. “I couldn’t wait to show you this night. Look at the moon, Pearl! Do you see it?”

Pearl looked up to see the round succulent moon shining so bright it blinded her eyes.

“Do you remember, darling? Do you remember how we used to sneak out here when the world was asleep and count the stars?”

Pearl caught her breath as the memory came flooding back.

“We would sing to the moon—do you remember, Pearl?”

Pearl’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “I remember, Mama.”

Her mother dropped Pearl’s hand, stopping the dance. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her face pointed at the sky.
 

“Just you and me,” she breathed.
 

Pearl closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Her iridescent skin glowed in the soft moonlight. She smiled softly. The wind picked up, swirling her hair in a wild flurry. She brushed it back away from her face, then opened her eyes to see only black. She spun around, searching for her mother in the dark. Where was the light? Where was the moon? Where was her mother?

“Mama!” she cried out.
 

Arms wrapped around her, easing her fright. “I’m right here,” her mother soothed.
 

The glow of her mother’s hair was all Pearl could see. But she felt her warm skin, and smelled the sweet honey scent that Pearl had a hard time recalling. She rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. She was a child again, needing her mother’s comfort.
 

“Where did you go?” Pearl asked.

“I’m here,” her mother responded.
 

“Why did you leave me?”
 

The screech of the front door jerked Pearl to a standing position. She looked at her mother but couldn’t see her face. Her warm comforting arms were now tight and frigid. She felt her mother pull from her grasp, but Pearl clung to her, grasping at her mother’s nightgown. Her mother slipped from her fingers as though she had turned to air.
 

“No, Mama!” Pearl cried. “Don’t leave me—please don’t leave me!”

“Shh.” Her mother’s face appeared before her again, bright as though the moon had reappeared. Her mother lifted a hand to her daughter’s face.
 

“It’s all right,” she said. She looked up at the house. Footsteps trudged along the rock. Pearl couldn’t see anyone, only a shadow of a figure coming toward them.

“You must forgive him,” her mother said. Pearl looked back to see her mother’s solemn expression.

“Roy?” Pearl asked.

Her mother shook her head. She took one last look at the house before spinning away. Pearl’s lips quivered as she fought her tears. She watched her mother glide near the road, her blonde hair disappearing as she curved around the bend. Pearl squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to evaporate into the air before the next moment arose. It was too late. The dreadful noise sounded, slowly first, before turning into an earth-shattering squeal. Pearl fell to her knees, her skin tearing from the hard ground and jagged rocks. She covered her ears to drown out the sound, but it only increased, louder and louder until she could feel it in her belly down to her bones. She reached into the core of her body, pulling all her strength into her lungs to suck the air in deep, and screamed.
 

CHAPTER 22

The alluring melody of her mother’s voice broke through Pearl’s nightmarish screams. She thrashed her head back and forth as sweaty hair stuck to her face. She fought the sound and tried to wake herself from the nightmare, but when her eyes opened, she realized the purr of her mother singing was still with her.
 

She opened her eyes, taking in the warm light and buttermilk scent mixed with Virginia Slim cigarettes, and knew instantly that she was at Vernie’s. She pushed the sweat-soaked strands from her face and took in the scene around her. She was alone in the living room on the couch, although she could hear the whispers of Vernie mixed with her mother’s voice.
 

“Mom?” Pearl called out softly.
 

Vernie stuck her head out from behind the kitchen doorway.
 

“Oh, dear, did we wake you?”

Pearl took a hesitant breath as she sat up, the blanket falling from her shoulders to her lap. “Is my mom in there with you?”

Vernie’s eyes furrowed with concern. “Your mama? No, sweet Pearl, it’s just Darren and me in the kitchen.”
 

Pearl closed her eyes, listening closely as her mother’s voice became stronger. The strum of the guitar and familiar beat of the song brought Pearl back to reality. She sighed.

“Oh, it’s just my mom…” She opened her eyes and looked sheepishly at Vernie. “I thought she was here but…”

“Here?” Vernie came to her side on the couch and rested a gentle hand on Pearl’s forehead. “Pearl, dear, you’ve had an awful hard night. Why don’t you go lie in my room?”

Pearl shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She bit her lip. “You’re playing my mother’s record.”
 

Vernie gasped. “This is your mama?”

Pearl nodded her head.

Vernie clapped her hands together. She squealed in delight as she called out for Darren. He popped his head around the corner, his gun nestled casually in his hand.

“Darren, you are never going to believe this!” Vernie kicked her heels off the floor as she laughed. “This is Pearl’s mother!”
 

Darren looked confused, as though Pearl’s mother should be sitting on the love seat in the living room.

“On
my
record player!” Vernie said proudly. She turned to Pearl when she didn’t get the reaction from Darren she was looking for. “Why didn’t you tell me your mama was Joni Mitchell? She is one of my all-time favorites!”

Pearl’s eyes widened at the name. “Who?”

Vernie slapped Pearl’s knee. “Joni Mitchell!” She sighed. “Imagine that talent running through your veins.”

Pearl’s gaze darted from a puzzled Darren to an overjoyed Vernie.
 

“I don’t know that name,” Pearl admitted.
 

Vernie stopped her giggling and thought for a moment. “Hmm, that is strange.” She snapped her chubby fingers. “Oh! I wonder if she goes by another name—you know, for privacy.”

Pearl shrugged. It was always a possibility. The only CD she had of her mother’s was the blank covered copy her father had given her.

Vernie’s creased brow returned as she thought harder. “How long has your mama been making music?”

“About eight years, or I guess nine by now.” Pearl’s tone trembled at Vernie’s concerned look.
 

Darren caught Vernie’s eye and crept back into the kitchen.

“What?” Pearl asked.
 

Vernie turned her plump body to Pearl. Reaching for her hand, she sat there silently and caressed the burn marks on Pearl’s wrist.

“What?” Pearl said, an edge to her tone.

“Precious Pearl, this can’t be your mama,” Vernie said

Pearl pulled her hand away. “What do you mean?”

Vernie entwined her fidgety fingers together. “Joni Mitchell has been singing since I was in school.” She paused for Pearl to take that in. “Dear, I’m sure your mama wasn’t even born yet.”

Pearl sat back and listened to the hum of her mother singing. It was a song she had relied on for the toughest of days. It could bring her out of any dark spell. She wished for the magic of her mother’s voice to work now.
 

“You’re wrong,” Pearl said, her voice no stronger than a whisper.

Vernie sat quietly, not wanting to argue with Pearl. “You’ve had a hard day.”

“You’re wrong!” Pearl said, the anger reaching the tip of her tongue.

Vernie rested her hand on Pearl’s knee. “We can talk about this tomorrow. Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Rest?” Pearl asked. “How can I rest? You are trying to tell me that the voice I have listened to, cried to, spoken to for the last eight years is not my mother’s?”

“I’m sorry,” Vernie said sadly.
 

“You don’t know,” Pearl said snidely.

Vernie flinched at Pearl’s tone. She was not used to her sweet Pearl speaking so harshly. “You’re right, I don’t. But there is a way for us to find out.”

Pearl crossed her arms over her chest. She sat up tall, fighting the tears from falling.
 

“I have the record,” Vernie said slowly. “It has her picture on the front. Would you like to see?”

Pearl’s eyes widened. She nodded, now afraid of the outcome.

Vernie stood from the couch and crossed the room. She reached for a record cover, pausing in her step to stare at it. Her back to the couch, she hesitated, her fingers trembling, before handing it to Pearl.

Pearl took the album. A woman’s face graced the cover, her light hair tinged in a blue shadow. Her face was half covered, but Pearl knew. There was no way to mistake this stranger’s face for her mother’s.
 

Pearl let out a wounded howl as she threw the album cover across the room.

Vernie was at her side, but Pearl thrashed herself away from Vernie’s hold. She sobbed as the realization broke through. The voice, the melody, the songs she had held so close to her heart all these years were nothing but a sham.

“Pearl, listen, stop,” Vernie pressed, her tears rolling down her face.

“Get away from me!” Pearl screamed. She jumped off the couch, spinning herself in circles until her eyes found the front door.
 

“Don’t go!” Vernie cried out. “I’m so sorry, Pearl, I’m so sorry!” She cursed herself. “I should have never said anything.”

Pearl gasped for air, her hand over her chest as she felt her heart pound. Her ears rang; her mind screamed in rage and agony. She couldn’t hear a thing but her mother’s velvet tone, the voice that she now knew was not her mother’s.
 

“I have to get out of here,” she said, heading for the door. She grabbed her shoes and stumbled out onto the porch, Vernie quick on her heels behind her.

“No, Pearl, please, stay. It’s late. You need to rest.” She grasped at Pearl’s arm, and the girl whipped around. Her eyes burned as she glared at Vernie.