Saving Cicadas (5 page)

I scooted to sitting on the dirt and on the buckling roots in front of the hole. Rainey's head was down, foot over her shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

She lifted her head and sat up, pressing her foot down into the ground. She looked like she'd been sleeping. The cavern around her was dark, and I knew for a fact that bats lived in the upper part of the hole. I'd seen them. And one time we saw a real live skink in the bottom part. How she could love being in here, I just didn't know. It creeped me out.

There was a baby doll lying naked in Rainey's lap, its tiny dress lying in the yellow grass behind me. The sight of it hurt me.

“Is that your baby?” I said.

“Uh-huh. It like the baby Jesus. He like God. I listen for God in here.”

“You're listening for God in a hollowed-out tree?”

“Yeah. 'Cept for the bats squeak sometimes. God don't squeak.”

“Well, what
does
he say? What does he sound like?”

The wide space between her almond-shaped eyes grew narrower, and she squinted up into the void at the hiding bats.

“He sound like the wind.”

“Huh,” I said. I did not know that.

“You feel like coming out now? Mama made a truckload of egg salad.”

“No thanks. I had cheese toast.”

“Okay.” I thought of going back inside, but I didn't really want to be alone. “Mind if I sit here with you? I promise I'll be quiet.” I leaned up against the bark and closed my eyes with the sun on my face. It felt so warm, and the backs of my eyelids turned orange and glowy. “Let me know if you hear from God again,” I added. “Tell him I have a few questions for him.”

“Okay,” she said. From the rustling in the tree I could hear her moving back into position. After a minute or so she sat back up again. I startled when something cold pressed into my arm.

“God said you want the baby, so here.” The bald-headed doll's little eyes stared up at me from my forearm.

“No, Rain. You keep it.” I pushed the doll away, leaned back and closed my eyes again. “Let me know if he says anything I don't already know.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said. And we sat in silence for an hour or so—until Mama came to check on us. She left the door open and let the screen swing shut. I got up to talk to her, to put my arms around her or something, but I could hear she was on the phone.

“Oh, hey, Alisha,” she said. Mama worked with Alisha. She wasn't my favorite person. She drank too much and smoked, and sometimes when Mama'd been hanging around with her, going out on her nights off and all, Mama turned . . . different. Like somebody else. “No, took a test already,” she said. “Yep. Ohhhh, yeah. I don't . . . I just . . . I can't believe it. I don't know yet. Please don't say a word. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

To be honest, I still didn't know who the father was. It's not like Mama ever brought anyone to the house. Not in a very long time anyway. She tried to keep men away from us, I think, so we didn't get attached to one and have him leave and break our hearts. It had appened with Daddy. Mama was tapping her foot and pulling her hair on the side of her head while she talked. It was a bad habit. One of these days, I figured it would fall right out.

“No, he doesn't know,” she told Alisha. My stomach churned, thinking of her secret. I wondered when Mama was going to tell the father. She had to. Or did she? It was strange, knowing women had so much power over men.

Mama sighed and said, “I just don't think I can do this again. I will. Listen, we're, um, we're going to take off for a while. No. I don't know. I have to go. I've got to think about all this.”

“Mama?” I whispered, seeing how upset this was making her. Rainey was next to me now, watching Mama and looking confused. “Five weeks or so,” she said, turning away from us and trying to talk softer. “I've got—what?—a month, two tops, to figure this out. I just can't believe it. Not again. Listen, I need to go. I'll call you when I get back, all right? I really . . . have a good . . . Bye.”

Mama strangled the phone and made sure it was dead before she pressed it to her forehead and turned away from me. She took two slow steps into the house, then said, quiet but firm, “Go pack your bags.”

“Why?” Rainey said, alarmed.

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“We're leaving.”

“Where we goin'?”

Mama sighed again. “Rainey, I don't know. Just do what I said, all right? Pack some bags. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“We go on ba-cation, Mama?” asked Rainey.

My mother faced me, and her pretty blue eyes were extra-double-bagged and droopy. “Yeah, something like that. I don't know. We're just . . . going anywhere. Far away. Just . . . not here.”

Rainey, not one to spring things on, looked panicked. She put her hands over her ears like she always did when she was really upset. So Mama took her hands and brought them to her lips. She smiled and kissed them. “It's summertime, baby. Let's go see the world, okay? Life is out there, waiting. We just have to find it.”

Rainey lit up. An adventure didn't sound so scary.

“Like Dora! We get the treasure. We go over the bridge, cross the forest . . .”

And just like that, our world changed. Mama was the heart of our family, the center of our world. Rainey and me, we loved Mama, and we'd follow her anywhere—to heaven and back or further if needed. As long as it made her happy. It was all Rainey and I ever wanted—for Mama to be happy. Right now, she was anything but.

Chapter Seven
TRAVELING IN STYLE

There was something special about our transportation. After my daddy left, my mother visited this used-car salesman named Carl down at the car place. Carl was about as exciting as a rock, but the pickins were slim in Cypresswood. Mama might have seen him only once or twice, but before she broke it off with him, Carl sold her a white 1996 Crown Victoria Police Interceptor. She said it was a steal but paid real money for it, so it wasn't really stealing. Police cars have to have all the police stuff stripped off of them before being sold. Carl made sure the car was stripped, and then he added a few things back in for my mother after the sale, hoping to get on her good side again.

Mama got rid of Carl right quick, but our car turned out to be a keeper. It had a siren and front lights that flashed and everything, stuff that came in handy every now and again.

Rainey was sitting in the middle of the wide backseat, her feet bouncing up and down on the rubber floor.

“Put your seat belt back on, honey.” Mama was looking in the rearview mirror.

Rainey moved to the seat directly behind Mama and worked on stretching the belt around her puffy hips. She'd always been a little on the heavy side, never giving second helpings a second thought.

“Do you need help?” I asked her. But I knew what she'd say.

“I can do it myself.” So I watched as she stretched and fumbled. Finally, I heard a click and relaxed.

“Nice day for car ride,” I heard her say.

“Sure is.”

“I'm having fun.” I turned and watched her pull her feet up cross-legged, cradling her left foot. The look in her eyes showed she was worried, so I smiled at her to let her know everything was going to be okay. Then I heard the distinct sounds of my grandparents shuffling over.

“. . . from a perfectly good nap, Grayson. Why do I have to go anyway? This is about her. It's her life.” It was Grandma Mona and my grandfather, Poppy. Poppy was the only man in my world. Usually, he was the voice of reason and the total opposite of Grandma Mona. I wasn't sure how he put up with her to begin with, but they'd been apart for a good long while. I wasn't clear on the particulars, but they'd only gotten back together a year or so ago.

“Because we're a family, Mona. And families stick together.”

“Coming from somebody else, I might believe that,” she said.

“Just get in the car.”

“Mama,” I whispered, “you really want them to come?
Grandma Mona
, I mean?”

“I heard that,” said Grandma Mona. “Don't think I didn't hear it.” My grandmother slipped in to the middle seat beside Rainey, and Poppy sat behind me, next to her. He was a little man, shorter than Grandma Mona, but he had a big heart. And he loved me, this I knew. He still had dark hair, not so much on the top but more on the sides. His hands were small and aged. I reached back over the seat and patted the headrest. Poppy touched my hand and squeezed it, letting me know he was right there behind me. Always there for me. I felt the warmth of his hand, and it calmed me.

“Okay then,” said Mama, buckling herself in and turning around one last time to smile at Rainey. “All aboard. Who's ready for a little adventure?”

“Me!” said Rainey, grinning full throttle.

The rest of us—me, Grandma Mona, and Poppy—sat quietly, eyes closed or staring out the window. God only knew what we were really in for.

The sky was bright blue-jay blue with clouds dotting around here and there. The sun was shining on the back of us, so no need yet for sunglasses. I was quiet, studying my mother, who was concentrating on her driving so intently that at times her eyebrows touched. She looked tired as usual, but had attempted to put some makeup on—mascara, pink lipstick. I wasn't sure why.

“We know where we're going yet?” asked Poppy.

“Who goes on vacation with no destination?” said Grandma Mona. “And with gas prices so high . . .”

I turned around and glared at them both to be quiet and not to push. Mama sat back and positioned her hands on the wheel. I was afraid she'd cry again, and I didn't think I could stand that.

“What did you tell Bob?” asked Poppy. Then, turning to Grandma Mona, he whispered, “What'd she tell Bob? Did he let her off work?” “She told him where he could shove his little two-bit job.”

“No she didn't. Really?”

“I don't know, Grayson,” she said. “Priscilla doesn't confide in me with these sorts of things. Knowing her, he's holding the job for her until she gets back.”

“That's good,” he said. “Girl's got to have a job. Having another baby and all.”

I squeezed my eyes closed. I was praying my mother didn't lose it, listening to those two. They could go at it for hours, talking about you behind your back like you weren't even there. It was maddening.

We pulled into the parking lot of Hardee's and waited in the drive-thru behind about seven cars. The line moved slower than a funeral procession. I never did understand why fast-food lines seemed to move so slowly. When we got up to the window, I imagined myself on the other side, scooping up hash browns, dishing out change. I'd probably be slow at it, too, someday. A bagful of sausage-and- egg biscuits later, we were back on the road.

“Who's hungry?” Mama sang.

“Me!” said Rainey.

“Not me,” I said. I was too jittery to eat. Mama reached a biscuit over her head to Rainey, while Grandma Mona and Poppy stayed quiet. Eating wasn't on their minds either.

Traffic was picking up, and my mother turned on the radio. A country music crying song was on.

“I can't stand this music,” said Poppy. “Don't you have anything with a horn in it? How 'bout some jazz. Dizzie or Chet.”

“Sorry, Poppy,” I said. “Nothing like that in this town. We do have a couple cassettes though. How about John Mayer?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Mama, play John Mayer,” said Rainey.

“Okay, honey. Just a minute.”

Mama ripped open a packet of mustard with her teeth and squeezed it on her sausage biscuit while driving. She took a mouthful, and I smelled her coffee, breathing it in. The smell had wafted to the backseat too.

“You really shouldn't drink that coffee, Priscilla.”

Mama's cheeks looked like a chipmunk's.

“But she has to have her coffee, Grandma Mona,” I said, sticking up for her. “One cup of coffee won't matter much.”

“What do you mean it won't matter? Are you pregnant or not, Priscilla?”

Poppy said, “Leave her alone, Mona. You know she is.”

“Then it matters,” said Grandma Mona. “I'll have you know I didn't drink alcohol or smoke when I had Priscilla. I did, however, drink a pot of coffee a day. Draw your own conclusions.”

Mama picked up the coffee and inhaled. She wrinkled her nose. Thinking, thinking . . . We were all watching to see if she'd drink it when she rolled down the window and poured it out. Just like that. Brown spray flew up against Rainey's window.

“Oh, that's nice. Look at that,” said Grandma Mona.

“A perfectly good cup. Gone,” said Poppy. “She acts like money grows on trees.”

“I hope you're happy,” Grandma Mona said to my mother.

“I hope you're all happy,” I said. “You're upsetting Mama. Why don't we just play the quiet game? Whoever's quietest wins.”