Part 8 (2/2)

”No,” I said before she could finish. I didn't want Gloria Jean or Ida Belle or anybody else believing I was seeing ghosts or even looking for them, for that matter, but I sure as heck didn't want to believe it was the florist, either.

”Your daddy will come along to you soon enough, maybe in your dreams tonight,” she said, seeing the disappointment in my eyes. ”The dearly departed always have a way of checking on us, especially when they have to leave so sudden like poor Brother Cline did. Sometimes we know it, and sometimes we don't. But I do know one thing for darn sure: Your daddy loved you very much, and he would not leave this world without making sure you was okay.”

My eyes were filling with tears again. ”Yeah, that's what Flora said.”

”Well, you'd be wise to listen to Flora, 'cause I tell you any woman who can roll a biscuit as light and feathery as she can knows what she's talking about. That's right.”

I desperately wanted to believe her, and standing there in that dirty white ap.r.o.n of hers, Ida Belle seemed almost official, like what she was saying had to be right. But I knew it didn't always happen that way. Mama never came to me. G.o.d knows I begged her to. But she just walked out of this world and never looked back, no good-byes, no nothing.

The clock on my daddy's desk told me that I had been lying on that floor for more than two hours. I imagined by now Flora was back home frying chicken and cooking a pot of green beans, and if I didn't get there soon, she'd have my sister sitting at that table and be feeding her like a little baby.

I hugged Ida Belle good-bye and realized that in all the years I had known this woman, we had never really talked about much more than Wednesday-night suppers. Dying has a funny way of making you see people, the living and the dead, a little differently. Maybe that's just part of the grieving, or maybe the dead stand there and open our eyes a bit wider. Either way, I left the church feeling like a young girl again, my daddy walking next to me, holding my hand, just like he used to do.

As I got closer to the house, I saw five or six cars parked in the driveway. People were already coming to pay their respects, again. I guess they figured that crowding into my house and making small talk and eating chocolate layer cake was going to make me and Martha Ann feel better. I'm sure Miss Mabie was enjoying hosting the party. After all, she was a professional socialite of sorts. But the thought of facing all those people was making my stomach ache.

I glanced over at Gloria Jean's house, hoping to see the LeSabre parked in the driveway. Nothing was there but a hungry, old squirrel tiptoeing over the gravel and nibbling on some sc.r.a.p of food that somebody must have dropped from another ham platter intended as a gift to the grieving family. Well, the Lord certainly giveth and taketh away, I thought to myself while watching that squirrel guarding his newly found treasure. Then I wondered why such odd thoughts kept popping about in my head at a time like this, leaving me to feel like a big pot of corn kernels sitting on a red-hot stove.

Lord, surely Gloria Jean would be back from Dalton any minute now. I'd never picked out a casket myself, but I couldn't imagine it was a real time-consuming purchase. Suddenly I was feeling kind of desperate to see her.

As I turned back toward my house, I heard a creaking noise coming from Gloria Jean's porch. I knew that sound. I'd heard it a hundred times before, that worn-out metal glider of hers moving back and forth, desperately screaming out for a shot of WD-40. Thing is, there wasn't enough wind blowing to cause that rusty old thing to move on its own. And even though it wasn't night yet, the sun had already found a place to hide, making it hard for me to see anything other than that d.a.m.ned squirrel feasting on a dirty old piece of meat.

I looked a little closer and saw something in the gray darkness that had been looming over my head since the day daddy died. It looked like a woman, a skinny little thing at that. But when I looked again, she was gone. I'd been spooked enough for one day, that's for sure. And there probably wasn't a jackrabbit in this county that could have hightailed it to my house any faster than I did.

Gloria Jean was walking through the front door up ahead of me, and I ran past all the men gathered on the porch, once again ignoring their attempts to tell me how much they had loved Brother Cline. And though I was certain Mrs. Huckstep would not approve of me running through a wake of any kind, homespun or not, I needed to tell Gloria Jean that she had company. I needed, truth be told, to be next to her.

”Hey there, hon,” she said, pulling me into her arms and giving me a tight squeeze. ”How ya doing?” she asked but never waited for an answer. ”Lord child, you are going to be so pleased with your daddy's casket. It is downright beau-ti-ful. It's a shame we have to put something so good-looking six feet down in the ground where nothing but some old earth worms can admire it.”

”Gloria Jean,” I said with a slight, cautious smile, ”only you would think of a casket as a fas.h.i.+on statement.”

”Well, honey, you need to go out in style, that's for darn sure. I even picked one out for myself while I was there. Blue velvet interior. Thought it'd feel like home.”

”Hey,” I said, almost frantic to change the subject, ”there's a woman on your front porch. She was sitting there real quiet just before you got home. Then she just up and disappeared.”

Gloria Jean looked at me with that worried expression of motherly concern painted all over her face. ”Honey, you feeling okay?” she asked, once again not waiting for an answer. ”I talked to Ida Belle. She said you got a little spooked today down at the church. You know that's natural, sweetie, what with the kind of sadness you're feeling right now. I shouldn't have ever left you there alone.”

Gloria Jean lifted her arm and wrapped it around my shoulders again. She was right about one thing. She shouldn't have left me. I needed her. But I wasn't imagining anything, either. I was right about that.

”This is different. I'm telling you the G.o.d's honest truth. There's a squirrel in your driveway and a woman on your porch!” My voice now sounded insistent and mad. She pushed me back a bit so she could look me straight in the eyes.

”Okay, okay, I believe you,” she said, sounding honest and concerned. ”I guess I better go check on my two guests then before they rob me blind, stealing all my nuts and fancy jewelry.” She laughed softly at herself and then hugged me once more before heading back out the door. ”Now don't run off. Wait for me right here.”

I followed Gloria Jean toward the door and I would have run after her but I got caught in a small band of Euzelians who were starting to swarm in my living room again. Thankfully Mrs. Blankens.h.i.+p emerged from the middle of the hive and took my hands in hers and led me safely into the kitchen. I couldn't help but notice how soft and comforting her touch felt. She told me she was here for me, day or night, and to let her know if there was anything she could do to help in this trying time. She still looked so perfect with her blond hair rolled into its usual braided twist on the back of her head. I had always loved looking at Mrs. Blankens.h.i.+p. She said Hank would be stopping by later, and then she went to pour me a gla.s.s of iced tea.

Mr. and Mrs. Tucker were standing side by side just inside the kitchen door. He was holding his arm around her waist, or as much of it as he could. They actually looked like they belonged together even though she was at least twice his size. He offered to personally deliver anything from the store that we might need. All I had to do was call. Mrs. Tucker asked if I had tried her hash potato ca.s.serole. I'd be sure to, I told her.

Uncertain of where to be, I found myself wandering back into the living room. Martha Ann was sitting on the sofa talking to, of all people, Emma Sue Huckstep, who, I noticed, was still preening on her doughnut-shaped pillow. ”Hey there, Emma Sue,” I said, trying to hide the smile that I knew was growing on my face as I watched the little princess position herself more comfortably on her specially ordered throne. ”Gee, I heard about your cheerleading accident, Emma Sue. Boy, I bet that hurt.”

”Well, it did, to tell you the truth, but Doctor Bowden said I'll be back to cheering in a couple more weeks, in time for the basketball play-offs.”

”Yeah, I'm sure the team misses that winning spirit of yours. And, hey, be sure and tell Walter to hang on to you the next time.” And with that said, I realized I had nothing more to say to Emma Sue. I turned to Martha Ann to see if I could get a sense of how she was feeling. She actually looked as though she was enjoying her conversation, that in some way it was making this day a bit more normal for her.

”I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Don't let me get in the way,” I said, unable to refrain from adding just a tinge of sarcasm to my voice, which Martha Ann clearly did not appreciate.

I was headed toward the kitchen when Gloria Jean came scurrying back through the front door, her face looking like she had seen a ghost of her own. And before I could ask what was wrong, she told me to come with her. I did as I was told, but on the way to her house, Gloria Jean suddenly turned and stared right at me. She looked so serious and somehow I knew that look was all about me.

”Honey, sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't. And sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't but the thing is so big they just don't know how to make it right. You know what I mean?”

No, I didn't, but I nodded like I did. For once, Gloria Jean really didn't seem to be making any sense at all, and that made me more uncomfortable than anything she was saying, or trying to say.

”Look, I know you've had a whole lot to deal with the last couple of days, more than any girl your age should have to face. But I've got some news for you that is either going to knock you flat down or is going to bring you some comfort, but only you are going to be able to decide that.”

”Something bad has happened, Gloria Jean, I know it. It's that friend of yours, what's she done to you?”

Gloria Jean held my shoulders in her hands. ”Sweetie, she didn't hurt me, or at least she didn't mean to. Now you have to be strong,” and she paused for a moment to see if her words were making any difference, ”for Martha Ann and for your daddy. Promise me?”

”s.h.i.+t, Gloria Jean, you're scaring me. And I've had enough of that today.”

Gloria Jean grabbed my hand, squeezing it with her fingers till it almost hurt. She dragged me into the living room and in front of a woman who promptly jumped up from the blue velvet sofa. The stranger stood real still, almost seeming afraid to move any closer, like a lizard under a cat's watchful eye.

”Catherine Grace, my friend here came to town when she heard the news about your daddy.”

”Oh, you knew my daddy?” I asked the woman. She nodded. ”Are you here for the funeral?”

But again, the woman only nodded. Finally, Gloria Jean answered for her. ”Yes, yes, she did know your daddy, many, many years ago. But, honey, it's actually you she's come to see.”

I stared at the woman and speculated about the right thing to say to a stranger who seems to know more about you than you'd care for her to know.

”I'm very sorry, Catherine Grace, about your daddy, I mean,” she stammered breathlessly. ”I know this must be a hard time for you. It's just that, well, I've waited,” and she stopped, as if searching for the right words was exhausting her.

”Hey, I don't mean to sound rude or nothing, but I'm feeling kind of funny here. I mean you knowing my name and all, and I don't know anything about you, not even what to call you. Gloria Jean?” I was looking for help, and yet Gloria Jean could only look at the woman as if asking for permission to make an introduction. She seemed so pale and sickly that I wondered if she was going to faint right in front of me.

”Gloria Jean, your friend don't look so well,” I whispered to her. ”And this is really creeping me out. I want to go home.”

”Catherine Grace,” Gloria Jean said, waiting no longer for a cue, ”this is-” And then the woman interrupted her.

”No, Gloria Jean, let me do this,” she said with some unexpected strength. Then she steadied herself by holding on to the arm of the sofa, took a deep breath, and finally said what she'd come to say.

”Catherine Grace, I'm your mother. I'm Lena Mae.” She lowered her head, afraid to look me in the eyes.

I heard what this woman said. I mean, I heard the words, but I couldn't understand what was coming out of her mouth. ”Lady, you are out of your mind, or incredibly mean, or both. I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are or what kind of sick joke you're pulling. d.a.m.n it, Gloria Jean! Why did you let this nutcase in your house?” I found myself shouting, my own voice echoing in my ears.

”Catherine Grace, I know this must be a terrible shock,” Gloria Jean said, ”but listen to me. You've waited years to see your mama, and here she is. I know the timing might be bad but Lena Mae thought now she might have a chance to see you, to explain, maybe even to help.”

”What? Help?” I still couldn't make sense of what anybody was saying to me. I just heard words, words, more words but nothing was meaning anything. I tried to run out the door, but Gloria Jean stepped in my way and held me in her arms.

”Your daddy,” the woman started talking again, ”your daddy said that if I left town, I couldn't come back. He wouldn't have it. I didn't want to leave you like that. You have to believe me,” she said, talking real fast now, like a little girl who has waited too long to tell the truth. ”I just couldn't stay, Catherine Grace. But then I couldn't come back. I didn't know-”

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