Veda: A Novel (18 page)

Charlie found fault with all her boyfriends until she started datin Pete. Charlie liked him. We all did. Home on leave from the Air Force, Pete was polite and intelligent. Good lookin too. I watched him and Rosalie with somethin like envy. The way he looked at her, and how she was so protective of him. He give her a ring at Christmas, and they set the date for the end of February. I was almost as excited as she was.

I never liked February, but havin the weddin to look forward to lifted me out of its grayness for a time. Rosalie made decisions about invitations, flowers, and cake, while me and Ruthie sewed bridesmaid dresses. All the plannin made me remember how hopeful I was about my own weddin. And how disappointin it had been. The yellow dress. The weddin night at my folks’ house. The divorce. Things would be different for Rosalie and Pete. I just knew it.

And the weddin was perfect. Rosalie was beautiful. The bridesmaids pretty in their red dresses. And Kathy, my baby, already eight years old, so cute and serious walkin down the aisle with the basket of rose petals. Afterwards, in the church basement, Pete’s buddies made toasts and told stories on him while we had cake and punch. Charlie took pictures with his new Kodak camera. And when the bride and groom drove away, I bawled my head off.

With Rosalie gone, the gray returned. Fog rolled in and set on the ground for days. It turned cold, the kind of cold that creeps in and hangs on, damp, like wet wool. But it wasn’t just the cold and the fog, somethin else gray and heavy took hold of me, weighed me down. A sadness. A sickness of spirit. I missed Rosalie. I needed her to prop me up and make me laugh.

My head ached. My back ached. I was face to face with that awful brown livin room we never got around to paintin, Charlie’s old recliner that spit out hunks of foam-rubber whenever he plopped down in it, cigar butt-filled ashtrays, and a sink full of dirty dishes. Just seein all that made me so tired I’d go back to bed and stay there.

The days ran together. I’d hear Charlie leave for work, hollerin at the kids to git up. I’d hear cupboard doors open and close. Arguments. Ruthie makin lunches, helpin the little kids look for shoes, books, homework. Hear her gittin milk money outta my purse. I’d fall back asleep.

Then I’d hear em come home. Droppin books. Openin the refrigerator. I’d look at the clock and think,
Oh shit, I’ve done it again
. I knew how much they hated comin home to a dark, cold house with breakfast dishes still on the table, oatmeal stuck to the bowls. I hated it too. I hated the kind a mother I’d become. I’d drag myself out of bed. Go to the kitchen, tell em I was sorry, and start supper.

There was some days, though, when I felt better. When I got up and combed my hair, put on lipstick. I’d mop floors, clean closets, take down curtains, and scrub walls. The kids’d come home and find things upended and the house smellin like Lysol. They didn’t know what to make of me on those days. But I knew it made em happy.

Rosalie’s husband got out of the service and took a job in Redding. When they told me Rosalie was expectin a baby, I couldn’t of been more pleased. I got out my sewin machine and spent the next few months makin flannel nighties and baby blankets. And when Pete called to say they had a seven pound, six ounce baby girl, I packed a bag and went up to Redding on the bus.

Baby Sarah was almost as beautiful as her mama had been. I watched Rosalie hold her and nurse her, rememberin how much I loved doin that for my own babies. I left after a week, full of pride, and knowin it was time to let Rosalie and Pete be alone with their baby.

.

38

B
OBBY JOINED THE AIR FORCE
and left for basic trainin the summer after he graduated, and even though he was the quietest of my kids, I felt his absence. Then Ruthie’s boyfriend, Mike, joined the Navy and when he came home at Christmas, he bought her a ring. She was still in school and he was bein sent overseas, so they didn’t set a date, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I lost her too.

Sam had started high school. He wanted to play football, but Charlie wouldn’t let me sign the permission slips. The insurance cost too much and there’d be too many trips back and forth to town. He said he doubted Sam would make the team anyway. I thought Charlie was way too harsh. Always sayin things like that. Tellin em they wasn’t good enough. Sam had been hopin to play football for such long time. It just wasn’t fair.

That spring Mr. Harmon told us he wanted the ranch back. No hard feelins, but his son had got married and needed a place to live. We moved back to town and this time we got a nice house. It was fairly new with light colored walls and big windows that let sunlight in. It was so bright and nice that even our old furniture looked better. There was a lawn, and a lilac tree outside the front door, and bein there made me feel like a whole different person.

And then Rosalie’s husband changed jobs. They moved back to Winslow and rented a little house right across the street from us. I was happier than any time I could remember. Baby Sarah was startin to walk and talk, and Rosalie was pregnant again. This time with twins. It couldn’t of been more perfect.

But things never stayed perfect, not in my life anyhow. Charlie got told the creamery was closin. He’d either have to transfer to a plant farther south or be out of a job. Leavin Rosalie and the babies was like havin to cut off one of my own arms. For days I wallowed in self-pity. I needed Rosalie, needed the babies. I was sick of movin and sick of not havin roots.

“It’s not that far,” Charlie said. “Less than two hundred miles. We’ll come back to visit.” But I knew it wouldn’t be like that. We’d visit at first, but then Charlie’d git tired of the drive and wouldn’t want to do it anymore. I was angry and I wanted to blame somebody. I wanted to blame Charlie. But the plant was closin. I couldn’t fault him for that.

Ruthie had graduated and had job, so she decided to move in with Rosalie and Pete. The four younger kids, Sam, Janie, Eddie, and Kathy would go with us, of course. Since we’d moved back to town, Sam had finally got his chance to play football, and Janie’d got on the cheerleadin squad. I hated havin to uproot em.

Charlie drove down alone to find us a house. I told him it didn’t matter to me what he got. I wouldn’t have Rosalie. I wouldn’t have my grandbabies.

What he did git, though, was nicer than what we could afford, and he had no business takin it. The rental agent was his new boss’s wife, and he didn’t want her to think he was cheap. After payin for the UHaul truck, the cleanin deposit, and all the hook-up fees, we had to borrow from the kids to buy groceries and gas. Sam got hit hardest. He’d spent the whole summer before we moved haulin hay, and he’d saved up close to five hundred dollars. He planned to buy a car soon as he turned sixteen. I felt sick ever’time Charlie asked him for a loan. I knew he wouldn’t git it back, and Sam knew it too. I seen it in his face.

It took me a long time to meet any of the neighbors. We’d see cars on our street, but ever’body came and went through their garages. The kids made friends at school and Sam got on the football team, but Charlie wouldn’t spring for contact lenses, so Sam spent most of the season warmin the bench. But in the spring he started runnin track. He was good at that. Real good. He’d always been a fast runner, ever since he was little.

.

39

I
T’S LONG DISTANCE,”
Charlie said, handin me the phone. “It’s your sister Bea.” My heart sank. She almost never called unless somethin was wrong.

“Mama fell and broke her hip,” Bea said.

“Oh my God, is she—”

“She’ll be fine. She’s in the hospital, but she’ll need someone to stay with her when she gets out. I can’t because of my job. Can you come?”

“Of course I’ll come. I can help git her settled someplace, but I can’t stay. I have a family to take care of.”

“That won’t … Veda, she says she won’t go to a nursing home. Can you take her? You know, to live with you?”

I hesitated. “We don’t have room, Bea. Our place is small, and I still have four kids at home.”

“I know, but I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you and Charlie look for a bigger place? One with a mother-in-law apartment.”

I looked around for Charlie, but he’d went outside.

“We can’t afford—”

“Listen,” Bea went on, “we would all help scrape together a down payment. I have some money, and Wilbert has the settlement from his accident. We’ve talked about it, and the others say they’ll pitch in too.”

“I don’t know, Bea.”

“You’re her favorite, Veda, you always were. Think of all the times she took you and your kids in and gave you a place to live. Fed you when you didn’t have any money. What do you say?”

I didn’t need her to tell me how much I owed Mama. I knew that. And I wanted to help. But have her live with us? I didn’t know how that would work.

“I don’t know.” I said again. “It’s not just up to me. I have to talk to Charlie.”

For two days I put off bringin it up, but the more I thought about it, the better it sounded. If we bought a house, we’d be set. We wouldn’t be throwin money away on rent for the rest of our lives. And Mama would be company for me. Finally, when I screwed up my nerve and asked Charlie, he jumped on the idea. Said he knew of a place that was just the ticket. With a separate apartment like Bea talked about. Said it was kind of run down but could be nice if it was fixed up. Mama’d be able have her own kitchen and bathroom, and I’d be right there close if she needed me.

I went up to Grants Pass on the bus. The medication Mama was on made her groggy, and when it wore off, she was in a lot of pain. She needed help with ever’thin. Charlie went ahead with the business of buyin the house, so after a couple weeks I needed to git back to sign the papers. My sisters agreed to take turns bein with Mama till she was well enough to travel.

While we waited for the sale to close, I started to git cold feet. Havin Mama live with us sounded like a good idea when I talked Charlie into it, but after bein up there in Oregon with her, and seein how much help she needed, I was startin to have doubts. Besides, I’d forgot how hard she was to be around. Much as I loved her, we hadn’t always got along. She had strong opinions. Sometimes she sounded just like Raymond, and I had never learned to stand up to her.

The house was a long step down from the one we’d been rentin, but I liked knowin it was ours. We painted the rooms where Mama would be. Put up curtains, rented a hospital bed, built a ramp up to the porch, and installed grab bars in the bathroom.

Mama’s doctor in Oregon said she could travel if we took it slow. We drove up to git her, and on the way back, instead of hightailin it straight through the way Charlie did when it was just me and the kids, we had to stop every night. It took us three whole days, with Charlie in a black mood, Mama moanin ever’time we hit a bump, and me tight as a piano wire tryin to keep peace. Then, once we got home and got Mama settled in, Charlie complained about the extra expense. Especially the sky high electric bills that come from Mama wantin her rooms kept at eighty degrees all the time.

Takin care of her was even harder than I thought. She couldn’t do anythin on her own. Go to the toilet, git dressed, move from the bed to a chair and back again. And I knew if I complained about how much work she was, it’d just add fuel to Charlie’s fire.

On top of all the work, Mama wanted my company all the time. Whenever I went to do things in my part of the house, she called me to come back. Wanted me to git this thing or that thing, read the Bible to her, turn on the television, or just set with her and listen to her talk.

It pained her that I’d left the church, and she was always leanin on me about goin back. I might of done it, too, if I hadn’t been afraid of facin folks, of facin the Lord. I done a lot of things I wasn’t proud of… sleepin with men after Ed left … takin up with Charlie … gittin pregnant when he was married to somebody else. I just couldn’t bring myself to walk into a church with all that sin on my shoulders.

Mama had been with us for nearly a year when I hit a wall. I was tense, angry, depressed. Me and Charlie weren’t gittin along. If I tried to tell him how tired I was, or how upset Mama made me, he told me it was my own fault, that I needed to leave her on her own, not let her make me her slave.

Maybe he was right. I mean, I did let her walk all over me. And Mama was probably right too. About my needin to give my life back over to the Lord. To quit fightin it and let the Lord show me direction, let Him give me peace. Accordin to her, it was my sins weighin me down and makin me tense. She said I had to lay it all at His feet—ask forgiveness and then accept it.

Some of what I done didn't seem all that sinful. Like divorcin Raymond. Me and the kids might of starved if I stayed with him. The other things, though, I was worried about, and tellin myself I done it all for the kids’ sake wasn’t true. Some of it had nothin to do with them. I was lonesome and needed somethin for me. I was weak. Maybe bein weak was my biggest sin.

I’d lost the person I thought I was. The person I wanted to be. Some days I was so depressed it was all I could do to git out of bed. If it wasn’t for Mama bein there, I wouldn’t have. I’d go in her room, and she’d complain about how late I was, about bein left alone so long. And then Charlie’d come at me from the other direction sayin I spent too much time with her. I felt pulled apart.

There was a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard that my brother Laird put there when he was visitin and forgot about. After he left I pushed it behind things so it was hid. I didn’t mean to touch it, but I liked knowin it was there. Sometimes I looked at it and put it back where it was. But one day I was really upset and I took a sip. It stung at first, and then there was this warm feelin that I liked, that I remembered from when me and Ed used to go out dancin and he’d buy me drinks. I took another sip, and it made me feel a whole lot better about things. After that I took a drink from time to time. Just one, or maybe two, to git me through the day. And sometimes I’d talk to myself. Not out loud, just in my head.

God damn Charlie. Why can’t he see I need help around here? He could wash a dish once in a while. Or go set with Mama. Talk to her. He could help me fix up the house. Git rid of this crappy furniture, these ugly drapes. Throw out his dirty old chair. Buy paint for the walls. Instead he gives me a little money for groceries and pisses the rest away.