Unbeweaveable (11 page)

Chicken Head

When we arrived back at the house Beverly was gone. Renee reminded me that today was Friday.

“She still does that?” When we were younger, Beverly used to volunteer her services every Friday to teach dance to underprivileged kids. I couldn't believe she still kept that up.

“Yep, she still teaches. You want to come down and watch her?”

I shook my head no. I started down the hall to my room, needing to unpack my meager possessions. I stop when Renee calls my name.

“You turning in?”

“No, but I need to get some unpacking done.” Her face fell and I asked, “Is that a problem?”

“No, but I thought we could chill together in the living room, maybe rent a movie? We have video-on-demand with our cable.”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Well, have a nice night then.”

I walked down the hall into my room and immediately went to my bathroom to glance at my bald head again.

He scalped me. I was bald as a newborn baby.

Yeah, I had a few strands on my head, but it was so
short.
With everything that I had lost, my career, my apartment and my
life
—nothing hurt worse than losing my weave. I felt the nape of my neck and closed my eyes, remembering the long tresses that flowed past my neck down my back in luscious curls. I used to roll it, hot curl it, flat-iron it—what was I supposed to do with my hair now? I picked up a few strands and grimaced when I saw they were barely an inch long.
I could just ask Renee to buy me a wig, or help me find a hairstylist that could hook up a weave…

I shook my head. It was bad enough that I had to ask for money, food, a place to stay. I couldn't ask for one more thing, even if it meant I walked around like a chicken head. I knew my hair would only stay as flat as it was if I wrapped it up in a satin scarf. I went back in my room and searched my luggage for something to wrap my hair with at night, then remembered that I hadn't packed such a thing; I hadn't needed anything like that before.

I walked back to the living room to ask Renee if I could borrow one of hers.

“A wrap?”

“You know,” I asked, “one of those things you wrap your hair with at night so it stays flat?”

“Oh, you mean a head scarf. Mama wears them sometimes. But she does hers for fashion mostly. Go check in her closet.”

I walked down the hall opposite to my room. “Are you sure it's okay?”

Renee waved me off, too engrossed in an episode of
Iron Chef
to pay attention to me. I continued to walk down the hall and pushed her door open.
Her room
smells like her
. Fresh and clean like expensive scented soap and baby powder. It was decorated in different ranges of violet and lavender, with vases of white hydrangeas spotted all over the room. I quickly went to her organized closet with its glossy white shelves and drawers with blown-glass knobs. I saw a silk blue paisley scarf playing peek-a-boo out of the drawers and I pulled it out and wrapped it around my neck. I looked up at all the hat boxes that I were stacked on top of each other, and couldn't help but smile. This was one of the best parts of the beauty pageants that Renee and I used to put on: trying on Beverly's outrageous hats. They were huge creations that shielded her face from the sun, and came in every color of the rainbow. Some were decorated with fruit, flowers, or feathers and we felt like little queens roaming the house with her hats on. She wasn't a religious woman, so I never understood why she had so many, but we loved playing with them, regardless if she wore them or not.

I saw a hat box that was decorated with pink and green flowers that I remembered playing with.

“The pink hat,” I breathed.

It was my favorite hat to play with growing up. It was a baby pink straw hat, light as air in my hands. I reached out on my tiptoes and put my hands underneath the box, trying to be as careful as possible. The box teetered on my fingertips and came crashing to the floor. The lid slid open, revealing its contents.

Old papers and envelopes scattered on the floor beneath my feet.

Guess I found your love box,
I thought while I bent down to pick up the letters. Amid the letters were newspaper clippings from Texas State. I picked one up and read the wrinkled page. It was a big picture of a young man, grinning wide into the camera, holding a trophy. The headline read:

Paul Stevens Wins Meet, On the Way to State!

Paul Stevens won today's track meet against Georgetown. When asked what drives him to succeed, he says, “Everything in life, I go all the way. That's the only way to live.” We have to agree with him. Congratulations, Paul!

I smiled looking at the photo. Mama showed it to me several times when I pestered her about my father. Even in the black and white photograph you could see my father's complexion was dark; you couldn't see the outline of his face against the night sky. I put the paper back in the box and what I found next made my heart seize.

“Everything okay?” Renee asked, her footsteps coming my way.

I stuffed the manila envelope in my jeans and pulled my shirt down to hide it. I was throwing the rest of the papers in the hatbox when she came into the closet.

“Did you find it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, waving the blue scarf in front of me like I was asking for surrender. I stood on tiptoe and put the box back where I found it. “I was just looking at the hat I used to play with all the time—remember when we were younger? Yeah, I was just looking at it.”

“The pink one? I remember that one. You used to love that hat. I'm surprised that she still has it.”

“Well, she does. I was just looking at it. The hat, I mean. Nothing else.”

“Sorry I was so short with you before—I don't like to be disrupted watching my show. What's wrong?” she asked, searching my face.

“Nothing.”

“You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“What? Huh? Oh, I was just thinking how I used to have a closet something like this. A closet full of clothes. Just got me thinking about all the stuff I used to have.”

She smiled at me.

“Let's go shopping for some new outfits! We could make a whole day of it.”

“We'll see,” I said, walking out of Beverly's bedroom. Clothes were the furthest thing on my mind. Could she have lied all these years? The writing was clear as day,
irreconcilable differences
. Beverly filed for divorce a month after I was born. Why would she have to do that if my father was dead?
The dead don't
need divorces…

Just a Theory

I went to my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I shoved my clothes off the bed and sat down, pulling out the envelope with the divorce papers inside. I looked them over carefully, line by line. Beverly filed for divorce on May 5, 1980. Almost a month to the day after my birth. I looked at Paul's signature on the divorce decree, a scrawl that resembled fine chicken scratch.

Why hadn't Beverly told me that they divorced before he died? Why all the secrets? I grabbed the phone on my nightstand and called the one person who might help me find the answers.

Norma picked up on the second ring. “Hey,” she said, groggy, “I forgot about the three-hour time difference.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. It must be good, though, if you have to call so late. What's up?”

“So I'm in Beverly's closet, right—”

“For what?”

“Never mind that. I'm in her closet and I find an envelope with her divorce papers inside. Divorce papers from my father.”

“How did you just stumble across that? Were you snooping?”

“No, just listen, it gets better. So they're dated a month after I was born.”

“So?”

“So? Beverly told me that Paul
died
a month after I was born. Dead people don't get divorced.”

“Interesting. But he still could have croaked after the divorce.”

“But why lie about it? Why not tell me that you were divorced when he died?”

“People lie for all kinds of silly things, Mariah. Maybe your mom was embarrassed about the divorce, maybe she didn't want you to know that she wasn't in love with him when he died—”

I snorted. “It's still not a reason to lie. Do you know I only have one picture of him? One. That's not right. She never wants to talk about him. She cries every time I bring him up—I'm starting to think she did all that on purpose.”

“Everybody grieves in different ways.”

“It doesn't sound like grief to me. She lied to me.”

“Technically she didn't lie. She just didn't tell you.”

“That's still a lie of omission.”

“Okay, somebody's been watching a lot of
Law
&
Order
.”

“Look, you always said it was weird that I couldn't ask questions about my dad. Back me up here, wouldn't you be angry?”

She yawned. “Probably. Okay, tomorrow morning just ask her about it.”

“Just flat out?”

“Flat out.”

“That could be a problem.”

“Why?”

I told her the story of how I found the divorce papers.

She laughed. “I knew you were snooping.”

“But you see the reason I can't flat out ask her.”

“Well, you're going to have to figure out how to bring the subject up.
Without upsetting her
. If she starts crying, you'll never get the goods.”

“All right. I'll figure something out.”

“Good. Can I go back to bed now? I'm sleeping for two.”

“I thought it was eating for two?”

“Same thing.”

Divorce

Norma was wrong. The next morning, it seemed more plausible that Beverly
would
lie about something like that. Anyone could be capable of lying. I showered quickly, eager to get the day started. I didn't sleep at all last night, I just kept thinking of all the stories Beverly told me about Paul. She described his funeral so clearly—down to the outfit she had worn.

I toweled off and got dressed in dark blue jeans and simple yellow cardigan. I brushed my hair, feeling more like a boy by the minute, and walked into the kitchen. Beverly was in the kitchen pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was fully made up, as she was every morning. I said hello as I waited patiently for her to finish with the coffee pot.

“Good morning,” she said, returning the pot to its warm holder. I grabbed a mug from a cabinet and poured myself a cup, not adding any sugar or cream.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked, not caring if sarcasm leaked into my voice.

“Yes,” she said, sitting down on a barstool that didn't look like it was anything more than decoration. “I slept quite well.”

“I didn't think you got much sleep.”

“No, I sleep fine most nights.”

“Do you ever miss Anthony?”

Her eyebrow quirked up. “Of course I do.”

“It's been—”

“Five years,” she said.

“Wow. I forgot how long it's been.”

“Why the sudden interest in Anthony? You were barely that interested when he was alive.”

I shrugged. “I'm glad that Renee got to know her father. Not all of us can be so fortunate.”

Her hands flew to her throat and played with the strand of pearls around her neck. “I'm sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry? You didn't have anything to do with my father dying.”

“No, but…” She looked away. “I wish things had turned out differently for you.”

“I do, too.” I took another sip of my coffee. “When was the last time you visited Grandpa?”

She coughed. “It's been years. Why?”

“I haven't seen him in years, either. I was thinking of visiting him now that I'm down here.”

“Why are you curious about visiting your grandfather? You never seemed that concerned about him before.”

“And that needs to change. I think I'll take a ride out there and visit him.”

“No,” Beverly said, slamming her coffee mug so hard on the granite, I thought she cracked it. “He's an old man, and he isn't right in the head. Leave him alone.”

“Why are you getting so upset?”

“I'm not getting upset. I'm just saying that he's full of old stories. Sometimes he doesn't make any sense. He's over seventy now and he deserves some peace. I don't think it's a good idea.”

“I'm going,” I said, daring her to try to stop me.
You're hiding something,
Beverly. Why? What are you afraid that I will find out?

We stared at each other for a few minutes and she looked down.

“Fine. I could never tell you anything, you were always so headstrong. Just don't come home upset about all the stories he puts in your head.”

She picked up her coffee and slid off the stool in one quick motion.

“Beverly, did you divorce my father?”

She stopped, her back to me. Never turning around, she threw over her shoulder, “You've heard the story a million times, Mariah. I'm not re-hashing it again for you. Your father died.”

“I know that part. I'm talking about before he died. You sure you didn't get a divorce then?”

She turned then. “Why are you asking all these questions all of a sudden? Is there something you want to ask me? Because if it is, stop dancing around and ask.”

“I thought I did just ask you.”

“Okay, what did you ask me?”

“A divorce. Did you get one?”

“No,” she said as she left the kitchen.

Off-Limits

Renee came into the kitchen a few minutes after Beverly left and helped herself to a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” she said.

I nodded.

“Mama was real excited about the three of us going shopping; now all of a sudden she doesn't want to go. You want to explain that to me?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did you say to her this morning? I thought you were going to fix your attitude—”

“My attitude is fixed. This is just my winning personality shining through.”

She sighed. “She was crying.”

I said nothing, just took another sip of my coffee.

“You don't care, do you? You don't care how much you hurt her?”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe she's the one doing the hurting?”

“How has she hurt you? Explain that to me.”

“She lied.”

“About what?”

I started to tell Renee everything. But then that would mean she would think I was snooping around in Beverly's room, something I was
definitely
not doing.

“Nothing. You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so let's drop it.”

She sighed. “You hungry? I could whip us up something to eat. Bacon and eggs, maybe?”

“No thanks. I'll just have some toast.”

“Toast it is.”

I watched her get the bread from the stainless steel bread box and slide it into the toaster oven.

“Is this the kind of wife you were? Doting?”

“Excuse me?”

“I could have made the toast myself.”

“I know, but I like doing it.”

“I can see that.”

A few seconds later and a soft ding said the toast was ready. She grabbed the slices, slathered a thin spread of butter on them, and then placed the toast on a saucer and handed it to me.

“You make it sound like a sin to take care of your man. Yes, I doted on Peter but he doted on me, too. Marriage is a partnership, something you need to learn.”

“Thank you for enlightening me on why I don't have a man.”

“The sad part is that you've fooled yourself into thinking that you don't even want a man. But you're lonely. And you can't fool yourself into thinking you're not.”

I stood. “I just lost my appetite.”

Beverly came rushing back into the kitchen, her eyes red from crying. She stood for a moment looking at me, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Where is it?”

“Where's what?”

“Don't play dumb, Mariah. I knew for you to be asking all these questions that you had to have been snooping in my bedroom.” She turned and looked at Renee. “I told you before she came down here that my room is off-limits. I don't want
anyone
in my room!”

“Mama, calm down. She just asked me for a head scarf and I told her that she could go in your room and find one.”

“Well, that was just a lie for her to go digging around in my things. Where is it?”

“Where's what?” Renee asked. “What are you two talking about?”

“My divorce papers.”

“Divorce papers? From who?”

“My father,” I said.

“Mama, I thought that he died—”

“He did die!” she shouted. “I just didn't want you girls to know that I divorced him first, okay?” Tears streamed down her face. “I didn't want anyone to know what I did, how much I hurt him by leaving—” She stopped and snatched a paper towel from the kitchen counter and wiped her face.

My throat clenched. “I'm sorry. I thought…I don't know what I thought. I just wish you had told me. When I ask you about him, you never said anything about getting a divorce.”

“I was embarrassed! I didn't want you to know about it! Some things are just for me, Mariah!” she said, beating her chest. “For my eyes only! Haven't you ever heard that expression?”

“Yes, but…” I looked down. “I'm sorry.”

“I want those papers back. Now.”

I left the kitchen and went into my bedroom. The folder was sitting on top of my dresser and I picked it up and walked back into the kitchen. Beverly was crying on Renee's shoulder while Renee rubbed her back and glared at me.

“Here.”

Beverly turned and snatched them from me. She opened them to make sure all the papers were inside.

“They're all there. And for the record I didn't go in your room to snoop. I really did need something to wrap my hair.”

“Well, I hope you found everything you were looking for.” She turned on her heel and left.