“You mean… Cly’s… gone?”
“Flew the coop. Probably had a fight with his uncle.” PJ shrugged.
My stomach gurgled. “Cly said he’d been getting along okay with Norm. Something must’ve happened.” Something no one knew about.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t imagine. Just then a new batch of noises came from the front room.
Oohs
and
aahs
drifted toward me. Standing on tiptoe, I saw Sister Doris, Brother Henry’s wife, and her whole brood—baby Penelope in her
arms, Matthew, Mark, and Luke scrunched around her at the edge of the furniture.
“Sorry about bringing the whole gang,” Sister Doris said. “Henry got a call, so here we are.” Luke pulled on his mother’s
saggy dress, one I’d seen her wear dozens of times, a tent outfit that hung from her shoulders and hid the plump parts. “What
is it, Lukie?” She bent down and cupped his face in her hand. He whispered something to her. “All right, dear, just a moment.”
Sister Doris handed Penelope to Poppy Brady, who was wedged on the sofa between Mama and Mrs. Zyskowski. “Potty training,”
Doris whispered, and guided Luke toward the bathroom.
Poppy didn’t have any children. She was just barely married to Fritz, not more than a few months. She stiffened like she’d
been handed a lizard instead of a baby. Penelope started wailing. Poppy held the baby up under the arms, leaving her plump
sausage legs dangling in the air.
“It’s okay,” Mama said. “I’ll take her.” She held out her hands and curled the baby close to her breast, cooing softly as
their eyes met. Penelope settled right down, and Poppy announced it was time for her soap opera and whooshed out the door.
I slipped into Poppy’s spot. “Cute, isn’t she?” I ran my finger over a dimpled fist clutching Mama’s finger. Mama made baby
sounds and snuggled Sister Doris’s baby even closer.
“Such a sweet girl, my precious cream puff.” Mama’s lips brushed Penelope’s milky white forehead. The baby whimpered, a kitten
kind of mewing sound. “There now, no need to fuss, my darling Sylvia. Mama’s here. Shhh. Everything’s fine.”
What did Mama say? Sylvia? Surely it just slipped out.
Peeking around, I hoped no one else noticed. Everyone chatted nonstop, going on about how the summer had flown by and school
would be starting in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
Penelope yawned and stretched one leg out. Mama shifted a bit, never taking her eyes from the baby. Another whimper, then
Penelope wiggled and fussed louder. Mama picked her up and held her on her shoulder, but the pink bottoms of Penelope’s feet
pumped against Mama.
“Don’t cry, Sylvia. We’ll fix you up. Mama’s got you.” She spoke louder this time, and the whole room got quiet. Except for
Penelope’s screaming.
“Tara, Tommie Sue, please see if the ladies would like another sandwich.” Mrs. Johnson busied herself picking up empty punch
cups and stray toothpicks from the cocktail table.
“Penelope, that’s the baby’s name. Remember I wrote you a letter about her.” I didn’t even know if Mama heard me the way she
kept talking to
Sylvia
, cooing and making shushing noises, kissing her neck, jiggling her up and down. My skin crawled with chill bumps.
By now Sister Doris had finished taking Luke to the bathroom and sat in the armchair nearest Mama’s end of the sofa. Doris
smiled and acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Mama to be holding her baby and calling her another
name. I made a motion to Doris, pointing to Penelope, trying to see if she
wanted to take the baby back. She shook her head no and looked at Mama with soft brown eyes. Her sturdy hand moved to Mama’s
knee, and she patted it softly.
When Penelope screamed loud enough to hear two houses away, Mama stood and paced around the cocktail table, soft, rocking
steps trying to calm the baby, but it didn’t help. After a while Sister Doris stood also and gently cupped Penelope’s bottom
in her hand and took her from Mama.
“Must be hungry. My, this girl likes to eat.”
Mama blinked a time or two, then flicked her hair away from her face and said, “You know, Alice, I would love another of those
lemon bars. And when you have time I’d like the recipe.”
Tuwana raised her eyebrows like maybe Mama’s nerve treatment didn’t take either. She didn’t say it though, and right then
my heart swelled with gratitude for Tuwana.
Mama stood poised with a lemon square. When she raised the sweet to her mouth, dots of powdered sugar swirled like the teensiest
snowflakes. Floating, twirling, like the inside of my head spinning with thoughts of Sister Doris and Penelope, Mama and Sylvia,
Cly and his uncle Norm. I sat glued to Mrs. Johnson’s new couch with the smell of furniture polish and baby powder and the
clatter of forks and punch cups and didn’t know what to do. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, hoping when I opened them
everything would be all right.
My insides felt like the day when Mama swallowed the pills. Something was bad wrong, but I didn’t know what. When I opened
my eyes, Mama stared in my direction, a strange look on her face. Detached. Vacant.
M
AMA DIDN’T MENTION BABY
Penelope when we left the party, but the minute we got home she took a bubble bath. At supper she told Daddy all about Alice
Johnson’s furniture and how much she enjoyed visiting with the ladies. I sat there thinking that Mama’s shock treatments had
done something to her brain so when unpleasant things slipped out, they got erased, never to be remembered again. I couldn’t
figure out anything else it could be.
And what about Doobie’s mom, Mabel Thornton? What did it mean that her nerve treatment didn’t take? Did you have to go back
and get a booster once in a while or what? Maybe Doobie acted like such a doofus because he worried about his mother the same
way I did mine. All this time I thought he just orbited another planet, like Saturn or something.
When Scarlett scratched at the front door, I followed her out and sat on the front porch while she did her business. She romped
and rolled over and over in the grass. Her front paws bounced back and forth, begging me to play chase.
“Oh, all right. I’ll take you for a walk.”
Another thing. Cly. Why did he leave? What happened between him and Norm? Maybe his dad called and wanted him to come back
early.
I let Scarlett lead the way while we walked. She raced up the
middle of camp. When she chased a cat, I followed. The next thing I knew, we were in Mr. Wallace’s yard. Across the street,
the MacLemores’ drapes were drawn, the front door closed. I was pulling on Scarlett’s leash to take her back home when Mr.
Wallace drove up in his truck.
“Evening, Sammie. Out for a walk?”
“Sorta.” Mr. Wallace might know something. He and Cly got along. I took a deep breath. “Actually, I was wondering about Cly.
I heard he might be leaving.”
He gathered his lunch box and started toward the house, motioning for me to follow.
“Maybe you oughta ask him yourself. He’s keeping me company awhile.”
“Here? At your house?”
He nodded and pushed open the front door. “Say, young man, you got a visitor.”
Cly’s ears reddened when he saw me. Scarlett raced ahead of me into Mr. Wallace’s front room and sniffed Cly’s leg.
“Sam. What’re you doing here?”
“What’s it look like? I came to learn how to play backgammon.” Where that came from was beyond me.
Mr. Wallace’s leathery face, lined like a faded road map, broke out in a grin. “Well, son, aren’t you gonna ask your guest
to sit down?”
“Uh… sure. Have a seat.” Cly pointed to the couch.
Now I felt stupid.
What do you think you’re doing?
Scarlett jumped on my lap and licked my face. “I guess you want to know why I came.”
“To learn backgammon, you said.” Cly stood with his hands jammed in his pockets.
“That’s just part of it. Earlier today, I heard you’d left, gone back to California….”
A look passed between the two, something I didn’t understand.
“Not exactly…”
Mr. Wallace cleared his throat. “Think I’ll go check on the garden. Give you two time to talk.”
The house had an old-fashioned feel to it. Furniture with worn spots, a braided rug over the pine floor in the front room,
a floor lamp beside a spindled rocking chair. A painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall. Angled between the couch and
the rocker, a small coffee table had a game board on one end and a Bible, whose cover had a dull, worn-out look, on the other.
“This where you play backgammon?” I pointed to the table, feeling even more stupid since it was so obvious.
“Yeah.” Cly lowered himself into the rocker with his legs stretched out in front.
“So what did you mean
not exactly
?”
“It’s a long story.” He looked at the rug like the braided coils might give him the answer.
“I’m listening.”
“California’s not all I made it out to be. My old man…” He stopped and looked at me. “Sorry, I know you don’t like that expression.
My
father
got himself arrested two days ago. Armed robbery this time. And assaulting a cop. Probably drunk too.”
“How awful.”
“When Norm got the call, he got bent, cussing, and all that. He yelled about where did that leave me, said he had half a mind
to ship me back to California and let the state deal with me. Aunt Eva started crying and said I was staying put, right here.”
A thin line of sweat bubbled above Cly’s lip.
“That was a nice thing for her to say.”
“Get real. I know when I’m not wanted. It’s bad enough getting knocked around by your old man.” He didn’t bother correcting
himself this time. “I decided not to stick around and get the shaft by old Norm too.”
“So how’d you end up over here with Mr. Wallace?”
“He saw me thumbing a ride on the Mandeville highway. He said I oughta consider my options and brought me back here.”
“Your aunt Eva wants you to stay. That’s something.”
“Yeah, she kept going on about how much I’d like school in Mandeville, but jeepers, how would she know?”
“What about your mother? Couldn’t you go live with her?”
His eyes bugged out like I’d just asked him if he wanted to eat a plate full of worms. “My mom split when I was two years
old. We ain’t seen her since.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think what else to say.
Just then Mr. Wallace came in, and Cly jerked his head toward him. “Slim’s letting me stay here till I figure out something
about Norm.”
Mr. Wallace knocked the dust off his work pants and hung his cap by the front door. “Norm’s not all bad. He just ain’t had
the pleasure of raising a kid.”
“Some blast.”
“We’ll see.” Mr. Wallace washed his hands in the kitchen and hollered. “I thought you two were gonna play backgammon.”
Cly pulled out the board and showed me how to set up and the basic moves, how to block points and cast off when we’d worked
our men around the board. By the second game, I’d gotten the hang of it and beat Cly by two. Scarlett started prancing around,
so I scooped her up and thanked Cly for the lesson.
“Anytime, cat.”
When he opened the door for me, I saw him look across the street at his uncle’s house, but I could tell he didn’t want me
to see him looking, so I turned to Slim. “Thanks, Mr. Wallace.”
“Just call me Slim. That’ll do.” He gave me a nod. I felt bad for
Cly, but Slim seemed awful nice—nothing like Tuwana always went on about. I couldn’t wait to call and tell her Cly might
be going to Mandeville to school.
The phone was ringing when I got home. Daddy answered and handed me the receiver. Tuwana plunged right in on the other end.
“PJ had her facts all screwed up. Cly didn’t run off to California. It’s worse. He’s staying with Slim Wallace.”
“Really?” I decided to hear what wild story Tuwana had now.
“Yes, really. He had a fight with his uncle, but Slim stepped in and took over. Norm’s all broken up about it. Now there’s
no telling how things will turn out.”
“Slim’s not so bad.”
“Mother says nothing good will come of it. What with his reputation and all.”
“Tuwana, you are the only one I know who thinks Slim has this dark, criminal background. Not one shred of evidence exists
to support your theory. He’s helping Cly patch things up with his uncle. Furthermore, Cly’s staying at Graham Camp and going
to school in Mandeville this year.”
“Oh really? And how would you know this?”
“I have my sources.” It came out snottier sounding than I intended, so I added, “Actually Cly told me himself.”
Tuwana snorted into the phone. “Cly MacLemore? Going to Mandeville school? Trust me, Texas is not ready for Cly MacLemore.”
“Well, they’d better get that way. I think he’ll be in Doobie’s class.”
“Speaking of which, PJ didn’t get that story straight either.”
“How’s that?”
“Doobie’s mother.”
The hair on my neck prickled.
“When Mrs. Thornton called the plant office screaming and
carrying on about needing her husband to get her to the hospital, she didn’t have a nervous breakdown collapse.”
“Relapse, Tuwana. The word is
relapse
.”
“Whatever. She had kidney stones, and Mr. Thornton called back later and said he wouldn’t be to work until the neurologist
figured out how to get them to pass.”
“Urologist. That’s what a kidney doctor is called.” I knew because I’d had a bad kidney infection in third grade and had to
go to a specialist… a urologist.
“Stop correcting everything I say. You’d think you were a walking encyclopedia. Here I am, telling you what’s going on, and
what do I get? Vocabulary lessons. Next time I won’t bother calling you at all.”
“I apologize. I just wish for once you’d get your facts straight.”
Tuwana slammed the receiver in my ear.
The next day and the day after, I tried to call Tuwana to apologize for being a snit, but she was always out. Or told her
sisters to say she was out.
Then out of the blue, she was on the phone, jabbering as if nothing had happened, hysterical about cheerleading tryouts and
whether or not to wear mascara to school. More than once she recited a list of the teachers who gave detentions for any no-good
reason. Her nervous talk didn’t do anything to erase my fears about leaving Mama alone when school started.