Perfect Peace (20 page)

“He’s all right,” Gus yelled. “He can’t hurt nothin’.”

“Yes he can! He might scare the children away.”

“Oh, stop it, woman. You know better’n that. Ain’t nobody scared o’ Sugar Baby. Go ’head and have the party. I’ll take care o’ him.”

Emma Jean let the screen door slam. Then she brightened and said, “Okay, children. Everyone have a seat.”

The children chatted excitedly as they sat around the table. Emma Jean placed a three-layer lemon cake before them, complete with chocolate icing and eight candles bunched in the center. Their “oohs” and “ohs” were precisely what she had hoped to elicit.

“Okay, children.” Emma Jean clapped. “Now’s the moment we been waitin’ for.”

They bounced in their chairs with exhilaration.

“But first we have to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ So here we go.”

The children’s shrill voices gave Gus and the boys hope that the party was coming to an end.

“Now, Perfect, you have to make a wish and blow out the candles. If you don’t blow them out all at once, the wish won’t come true, so take a deep breath and blow hard as you can.”

Having nothing she longed for, Perfect snuggled Olivia in her lap, closed her eyes, and asked God to restore Bartimaeus’s sight. Then she blew out all the candles.

“Yeah!” the children shouted.

“Don’t tell nobody what you wished for,” Emma Jean warned, “or else it won’t come true.”

She served each child a hearty slice of cake, hoping it tasted as good as it looked. Mamie would certainly let her know. Then she scooped homemade vanilla ice cream from the churn and lumped it atop each slice. The eager children ate and asked for more.

Emma Jean stepped back, folded her arms, and smiled with pride. This was the party she had envisioned forty years earlier. The yellow ribbons, chocolate-frosted cake, neighborhood friends, homemade ice cream . . . she had dreamed it all. Why couldn’t Mae Helen have done this? It wouldn’t have cost much and, unlike Perfect, Emma Jean had promised to clean up afterward. Was it too much to ask for a simple birthday party, where a girl could feel special and loved for a change? Emma Jean’s anger rose until she resolved to simply let it go. What mattered most was that Perfect had been given the party, which Emma Jean had been denied, and now, Emma Jean chuckled, Mae Helen could
really
go to hell.

“Momma!” Mister screamed from outside. “Here come Aunt Gracie and Aunt Pearlie!”

“Pearlie?” Emma Jean burbled. “What Pearlie doin’ here?” The last time her oldest sister had been to the Peace house was a week after Emma Jean ran their mother away.

The sisters knocked like traveling missionaries, afraid their presence might be unwelcome.

“Hey in there,” Gracie called.

Emma Jean met them on the porch without taking her eyes off of Pearlie. The weight she had gained was unbelievable, but Emma Jean decided not to mention it. “Well. Ain’t this a surprise.”

Pearlie appeared not to have heard her.

“The party’s almost over now,” Emma Jean said. “The least y’all coulda done was try to make it on time for your niece’s eighth . . .” Emma Jean noticed that something was wrong. “What is it?”

Pearlie and Gracie joined hands. “Momma died this morning, Emma Jean. She’s gone.”

Emma Jean fought the tears she had thought wouldn’t come. “Oh wow.” She sat in a nearby chair.

“She had been in pain so long. Almost ten years. But she’s resting now.” Gracie rubbed Emma Jean’s back.

Emma Jean wiped her eyes. “This is good!”

“Excuse me?” Pearlie said in disbelief.

“Now, she’s gone to meet her maker—whoever that is!” Emma Jean smirked.

“Emma Jean, don’t do this,” Gracie said. “It’s okay to hurt. I know you and Momma didn’t get along, but don’t do this now.”

“Don’t do what?” Emma Jean asked indignantly. “Don’t be happy that I’m finally free?”

“Momma wasn’t your enemy, Emma Jean.”

“The hell she wasn’t! You don’t remember how she treated me? Huh?”

Pearlie said, “Nobody’s perfect, Emma Jean, but Momma tried her best.”

Emma Jean stepped toward Pearlie, but Gracie halted her approach. “Is you serious, Pearlie?” Emma Jean said. “You gon’ stand on my porch and tell me that Momma did her best by me?” Emma Jean’s anger radiated.

“Well, she’s dead now anyway, so ain’t no need in bein’ mad,” Pearlie sneered.

“You right about that! I ain’t mad about nothin’! In fact, I’m ’bout glad as I can be!” She danced a two-step across the porch.

“I don’t have to stand here and watch this . . . this . . .”

“This what! Huh? This what?”

“This performance!” Pearlie joined the shouting match. “Fine! You didn’t like her, and, yes, we all know you wasn’t her favorite, either, but you don’t even respect the dead?”

“Aw shit!” Emma Jean said, smacking her lips. “It’s the livin’ who need respect. What the dead gon’ do with it?”

“Oh, forget about it!” Pearlie said, and hobbled away.

Gracie sniffled. “You’re still our sister, Emma Jean, and we thought you’d want to know. That’s why we came.” She descended the front steps.

“Well, now I know.”

“Would you do me one favor, sister?” Gracie turned and asked. “Please?”

Emma Jean stared and waited.

“Come to the funeral. I know you don’t owe it to her and I know you’ve probably promised yourself you wouldn’t, but please come. Please.”

“You gotta be kiddin’! You got the nerve to ask me to stand over that woman’s dead body with everything she did to me? You askin’ me to respect her after she treated me like shit? Gracie Mae Hurt, you got some nerve!” Emma Jean was hysterical. “I can’t believe you askin’ me this! I just can’t believe it. You know what she did to me! You know!” Emma Jean’s finger trembled at the tip of Gracie’s nose. “And still you gon’ ask me to come watch folk lie about how great she was? What I went through all dem years wasn’t enough?”

“Momma?” Perfect whimpered, standing with the other children at the screen door. “What about my party?”

Emma Jean didn’t hear her. “Well, my answer is hell naw! I’ll be goddamn if I put on good clothes to watch de rest o’ y’all turn that woman into the saint she ain’t! She was mean, Gracie! And hateful! At least to me. And ain’t no way on God’s blessed earth I’m carryin’ my ass to no funeral for her. Shit! I didn’t go see her when she was livin’, so I sho ain’t goin’ now!”

“But this will be your last chance, Emma Jean, and I just didn’t want—”

“She beat me, Gracie! Don’t you remember that?” Emma Jean was screaming. “She slammed a cast-iron skillet upside my head! And, now, I’m s’pose to feel sorry that she’s dead? Huh? I’m s’pose to make everybody ’round here believe she was a good mother to me? Well, she wunnit! And I’ma tell you
this: I ain’t neva cussed nobody out, at least not all the way out, in my whole life but I sware ’fo God I’ll cuss yo’ ass out today if you ask me that again!”

Some of the children were crying.

“I’ll be goddamned if you see me at that woman’s funeral! Goddamned!” Emma Jean stormed past the children into her bedroom and collapsed across the bed. She hated that tears always came when she was angry. And why hadn’t she smacked Pearlie across the face? And why did Mae Helen have to die right before Perfect’s birthday?

Emma Jean collected herself and returned to the living room. Gracie was comforting the children as Perfect pouted that her birthday party had been ruined.

“Everything’s fine, honey,” Emma Jean said, fluffing her matted hair. “Momma just . . . um . . . had a moment, but she’s fine now. Anyone for more ice cream and cake?”

The children’s confusion wasn’t so assuaged. They stood statuesque as though afraid to speak or move.

“Oh come on, children,” Emma Jean said. “Relax. Everything’s fine. Come back and finish your cake.”

In slow motion, the children returned to the table and sat quietly. A few tried to nibble on soggy cake, but most simply wanted to go home.

“Miss Emma Jean?” Christina whispered. “I think I better be gettin’ on now. I gotta do my chores before dark.”

The others rode her courage, offering similar excuses.

“No!” Emma Jean cried. “You can’t leave yet! We haven’t even opened all the presents! And what about the games you’re supposed to play?”

No one said anything. Perfect folded her arms in disgust.

“Momma told me not to stay too long. The sun’ll be goin’ down pretty soon.” Christina tried to smile, but didn’t quite manage.

Eva Mae said, “We’ll come back and play another time. We promise. I think we all better be gettin’ on home.”

The children thanked Emma Jean for the party and promised to tell their parents how much fun they had had. Perfect went to her room and cried.

“All right,” Gracie said, once the children were gone, “you ain’t gotta come. But I’m afraid you’ll regret it later. Funerals have a way of bringing closure to things.”

“Gracie, I’m through talkin’ about this. My baby’s birthday party done been ruined and now I gotta get her back together. Whatever you and Pearlie
wanna do is fine with me, ’cause I don’t want nothin’ to do with no funeral. Y’all can throw her in the ground for all I care.”

Gracie left. She vowed never to press Emma Jean again about her feelings for Mae Helen. If Emma Jean wanted to carry hatred in her heart, Gracie resolved to let her.

Am I gonna start bleeding down there? Am I gonna start bleeding down there? Am I gonna start bleeding down there?

Emma Jean couldn’t get the echo out of her mind. She knew what it meant: her scheme was coming to an end. What did big-mouth Caroline know about a woman’s period anyway? Nasty heffa. She was just like her nosy momma, Emma Jean thought, always talking about things she didn’t have any business talking about. Now Perfect was asking questions that should’ve come years later.

“Oh well,” Emma Jean murmured, and shrugged. All of this was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before the secret began to unravel, and Emma Jean didn’t want to find herself in a whirlwind of lies from which she couldn’t escape. But what could she do now? Who would be sympathetic after all these years? Gus would probably run to the Jordan and scream his head off, she considered, but what about the brothers? What would Authorly say?

Emma Jean had to do something. She couldn’t just watch her life disintegrate. After all, she was Emma Jean Hurt—well, Peace now—and if she were going to give up on life, she would have done that a long time ago.

Yes, she had to take control of things, especially with that damn Eva Mae around. Caroline was bad enough, Emma Jean thought, but Eva Mae was downright dangerous. Emma Jean hadn’t said anything, but she knew about Eva Mae and Perfect’s disappearances. She didn’t know where they went or what they did, and at first it didn’t trouble her. They were both little girls, she told herself, so what harm could they do? But then, one day, she called for them, and saw the look of deception on Eva Mae’s face. Clearly the child was
hiding something, but Emma Jean couldn’t discern what it was. She almost asked Eva Mae,
What you and Perfect be doin’ down there?
but changed her mind, not wanting to disturb their obvious affinity. Only Perfect’s oblivious expressions calmed Emma Jean’s suspicions and convinced her that there was nothing to worry about.

That was then. The day of Perfect’s party, Emma Jean’s mistrust of Eva Mae resurfaced. What was she whispering to Caroline about? It had something to do with Perfect, Emma Jean guessed, since Eva Mae stared at Perfect throughout the party as though she owned her.
Yes, that girl is dangerous
, Emma Jean reminded herself. What if she knew already? What if she was taunting Caroline with the secret only Emma Jean—and Henrietta—was supposed to know? What if Eva Mae, with her fast self, had convinced Perfect to undress, and now was surreptitiously planning to make a public spectacle of her? Emma Jean shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t let anyone hurt her baby. There was only one way to protect Perfect, and Emma Jean had to do it before someone else did.

“What’s the matter with Momma?” Mister asked Authorly the day after Perfect’s party. They were gathered for the Sunday meal. “Why ain’t she eatin’?”

“I don’t know,” Authorly said with a drumstick in each hand. He’d noted her strangeness in church, the way she looked out the window as though in another time and place, and decided he’d ask her about it later. But now he sensed she wanted to be left alone.

Sitting on the couch with her forehead buried into both palms, Emma Jean knew there was no turning back. She wasn’t afraid for herself. Her entire life had been a struggle. It was Perfect she was worried about. Was she as strong as she’d need to be? Could she withstand the frowns and verbal abuse sure to come? She was only a little girl, Emma Jean told herself. But she had to do it. It was the only way to give Perfect a life, some hope that would sustain her, regardless of what happened to Emma Jean. It was what she knew had to be done.

She’d seen Eva Mae wink at Perfect during church and that’s when she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. There was something that girl knew and Emma Jean feared she’d tell it. Maybe Eva Mae didn’t know everything—she couldn’t have known
everything
—but she knew something. And if it was what Emma Jean feared, and if Eva Mae told, her whole family would be ruined and nobody would ever trust her again. No, she had to act today. It couldn’t wait.