Seasons of Her Life (15 page)

“Did you hear this letter from
your
daughter, Irma? Did you hear every word?” George demanded in a voice so cold and tight-sounding, Irma shivered from the blast of his breath.

Irma inched back, struggling to a sitting position. “There's nothing you can do now,” she whimpered.

“Yes, there is,” he said in his strange, cold voice. His work boot with the reinforced toe lashed out, kicking her full in the ribs. Irma fainted and still he kept kicking her. A long time later, she didn't know how long, she heard a voice calling her name and then strong arms were carrying her upstairs. She heard Opal crying and Grace Zachary cursing. Paul must be carrying her. Someone was making strange mewling sounds. She had to talk, to say something. For Opal.

“Paul,” she whispered, “take me upstairs. Grace and Opal can ... help me. Please. If I need a doctor, have him come here. Please, Paul.”

“Do what she says, Paul.” It was Grace's voice. “If you try to put her in the car, you might hurt her more. Opal, call the doctor and tell him ... tell him your mother fell down the cellar steps. Hurry, honey.”

In the Connors house, Grace waited while Opal washed her face and brushed her teeth. Doctor Ashley had just gone. It would be a long, uphill battle, he had said, but Irma would recover fully if she looked after herself. Despite his assurances, however, Opal looked frightened. Maybe she'd want to talk, Grace thought.

“I have to say my prayers, Grace. You don't mind, do you?”

“Heck, no. I'd blister your hiney if you didn't.” Grace giggled. She listened with tears in her eyes as Opal went through her long list of God-blesses, ending with “I know You need Bubba, and I think it's okay that You decided to let Ruby get married.” She made the sign of the cross and hopped into bed.

“Is Mom okay, Mrs. Zachary? She won't die, will she?”

“Your mom is okay. I mean, she's going to be okay in a while, but she has to stay in bed. I guess your father will have to take off work and see to her. Your mom says he's gone to Washington, so I expect he'll be back tomorrow. Don't worry. I'll sit here with you till you fall asleep.”

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” Opal said sleepily. “Bubba bought me a present last week. I don't care about the present, really I don't, but I wonder what it is. What do you think it is, Mrs. Zachary?” she asked sleepily.

Jeez, what did she know about grandmother presents? She shifted her mental gears and remembered what she'd wished for on her younger birthdays. There was a smile in her voice when she replied, “Probably a golden unicorn with a big diamond on the end of his horn. Maybe a string of rubies around his neck and, oh, let's see, maybe emeralds on his back hooves and opals, real opals on his front hooves.” It was make-believe, and Opal knew it was make-believe. The smile on the girl's face almost broke Grace's heart. What was a crumby carnival locket compared to a golden unicorn?

It was late when Grace finally stirred herself to leave Opal's room. She tiptoed down the hall to check on Irma before going home. “Thank you, Grace,” Irma whispered.

“My pleasure,” Grace said softly. “I'll be back in the morning to make breakfast and see Opal off to school.”

The lights burned in the Zachary kitchen all night. The radio played softly, the kitchen was fragrant and warm. Grace and Paul sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and holding hands. At four o'clock the three-tiered cake was cool enough to frost with thick, creamy icing. Paul stuck hard-candy rosebuds into the cake and attached pink candles.

“There, what do you think?” Grace asked a moment later when she fastened the large red bow to the tiny box.

“I think it beats a goddamn unicorn is what I think.” Paul laughed. “Let's take it up now and put it on the kitchen table. I'll carry the cake and you fetch the present and some pop.”

“For breakfast?”

“What the hell kind of party will it be if you don't drink pop with the cake? You gotta do it early, because old George might make it back by noon.”

Like giggling children they walked through the yard to the Connorses' back porch. Grace opened the door quietly and held it for Paul so he didn't mess the thick icing. He set it in the middle of the table. Grace laid the small present next to it. The pop was set on the shelf in the refrigerator—four bottles, one each for Opal, Irma, Grace, and Paul.

They held on to each other as they made their way home. Grace slipped on the wet grass, pulling Paul down with her. They rolled down the little incline, their arms around each other, until they came to a stop on their own property. “What d'ya say, honey, we've done it everywhere else, why not here?”

“If you don't mind getting your ass wet, neither do I!” Grace said, rolling her panties down over her hips.

Their lovemaking was sweet and tender, their caresses sure and deft. They were never more one than now. Spent, they lay cradled in one another's arms. They spoke softly in hushed whispers about getting up, bathing, and going to the party.

Paul rolled over and came to his feet. “I'll start the tub,” he said softly.

 

It was ten minutes of seven and the occupants of the house on Kilbourne Place were scurrying around, dressing and waiting their turn for the bathroom. Ruby was still in her pajamas, telling Ethel she could go ahead of her because she wasn't going to work today. “I have such bad cramps I can hardly stand up.” Ethel smiled and thanked her for her turn. Ruby walked toward the kitchen for her coffee and bowl of cereal.

When the doorbell rang, bedlam broke out in the apartment. Ethel ran down the hall, with Ruby right behind her. Doors opened, bathrobed figures, their hair full of curlers, careened behind Ruby and Ethel. A ringing doorbell meant company, and all personal belongings had to be moved or shoved into a closet. Ruby picked up her manicure set and nail polish and stuffed an afghan under her arm. Ethel heaved the metal free-standing hairdryer over on its side and stashed it behind the sofa. Jane plumped the pillows as she pushed day-old newspapers under the same couch with her foot. Amber confiscated two Coca-Cola bottles and three teacups and paper napkins and ran to the kitchen with them. Anna straightened the magazines on the table as she kicked the wastebasket into the closet. Sally stuffed two unmatched socks in her robe pocket as she picked up slippers and a pair of shoes for two left feet.

“Three minutes!” Ethel chortled. “We're getting better each time we do this.” Her face was so gleeful, Ruby laughed.

They were getting better. In the beginning their routine was like something hatched from a bad egg, but now everything was so smooth, it was almost effortless.

It was fun living with this bunch of girls, although only Ethel and Amber were close friends. The other four girls and Ruby all had outside friendships and didn't pal around together. That's why it worked, Ruby decided. They were considerate of one another, and each knew that if she didn't carry her share of the load, she would have to move.

“This place is like a zoo in August,” Anna grumbled good-naturedly.

From her bedroom doorway Amber called out. “Is anyone expecting a caller this early?” A chorus of nos from every direction was her answer. She carefully avoided looking at her sister. “Then I'm not going down to answer it,” she muttered.

The doorbell rang again. And again.

“Whoever it is probably has the wrong house,” one of the girls called from the back of the apartment.

The bell continued to ring until Amber went to the living room window. By craning her neck she could see the tall figure standing by the door. She swayed dizzily.

Amber ran down the hall, her eyes wide with shock. “Ruby,” she said, “Pop is at the front door. He knows! My God, Ruby, he knows. I swear to God I didn't tell. Ask Ethel. I didn't, Ruby!”

Ruby's face drained. Amber was too panic-stricken to be lying. My God, what was she going to do? “Maybe something happened at home and he came down to get us,” Ruby said miserably. “How long are we going to let him stay out there? I bet he drove all night and has been watching the house. He knows we haven't left yet,” Ruby said, trying to be logical as her mind raced.

“Hide, Ruby. I'll ... I'll tell him you left last night. Ruby, I don't want to go home. Neither do you. What are we going to do?”

“Face him.
You
don't have to go, you're twenty-one. I'll tell you something else. I'm not going, either!” She buttoned the top button of her pajamas and walked down the hall.

“Ruby, wait,” she called. “Please, just wait a minute. You don't understand. If we don't go, he'll . . . Mom will ... Ruby, listen to me, you were too little, but I remember ... my God, I remember.” She told her then what she remembered about that awful day. Ruby's jaw dropped as she listened. The horror on her sister's face told her it was true.

The phone rang. One of the girls picked it up and called out to Ruby. “It's someone named Grace Zachary.”

Amber leaned against the wall, her face a mask of fright. My God, Nangi was coming to give her a ride to work. “Oh, God,” she dithered.

“Amber, come here. Hey, everybody, don't go out yet, that's our father ringing the bell, and he's a real ... prick,” Ruby said nastily. “Amber, you better come here and listen to this.” Both girls leaned their heads together with the phone between them. Their faces were blank when Ruby replaced the receiver. Both girls ran to the living room window.

“My God, he looks so normal,” Ruby cried. “Bubba's dead and he's here.” She wondered if he was going to demand the ring back. Today was Opal's birthday.

“Nangi is getting out of the car, Amber. Amber, look at me. Did you hear? Nangi is getting out of the car, and holy shit, there's Andrew Blue. Amber, for God's sake, say something. You have to help me.”

“What? What can we do?” Amber wailed.

“Offhand I'd say this is the time to use your guts. The longer he stands out there, the worse it's going to be. The girls have to go to work. What's it going to be, Amber?”

“Let him in,” Amber croaked.

The girls, Ethel in the lead, walked down the steps. She opened the door. The girls filed out; Andrew, Nangi, and George Connors stood aside and then climbed single-file up the stairs.

They gathered in the living room. Nangi, horrified, took up his position next to Amber. Andrew stood in the center of the room, every bit as tall as George and every bit as muscular.

How clean-cut he looked, Ruby thought. How normal and handsome. His fists, Ruby saw, were clenched. Right then she wished he would lay her father out cold. They all waited.

“Get your things and be quick about it!” George ordered. Amber automatically started to rise. Ruby moved swiftly behind her chair and forced her back. She was happy to see Nangi grasp Amber's shoulder.

“No. We're not going,” Ruby croaked.

“Don't sass me, girl. I said get your things. Who is that nigger?” he demanded of Nangi.

“He's not a nigger,” Ruby defended. “You can't make Amber go, she's twenty-one. And I'm not going because I damn well don't want to. We know what you did to Mom. Amber told me what you did to her a long time ago. Grace called us. You broke Mom's ribs and punctured her lung. She can't move and something's wrong with her ear. If we go with you, you'll do the same to us.”

“I told you girls to get your things. I won't tell you again. If you want, I'll fetch the police. Now, you give me the name of that boy you're planning on running off with. Now, girl. Don't try my patience.”

Andrew Blue moved to stand next to Ruby.

George's eyes narrowed. “I was testing you, girl. I have it right here,” he said, pulling Ruby's letter to her grandmother out of his pocket. “Calvin Santos, another one of
those
,” he said, jerking his head in Nangi's direction.

George backed up toward the telephone. He picked it up slowly, his eyes on the little group. They listened as he asked the operator to put him through to Andrews Air Force Base. He gave his name, the address on Kilbourne Place. He asked in a cold, brittle voice to be connected to Lieutenant Calvin Santos's commanding officer.

Ruby felt herself sway sickeningly. Calvin's worst fear was coming to pass, and she was helpless to do anything. “Forgive me, Calvin,” she murmured under her breath. In desperation she locked her eyes with Andrew and mouthed the words “Do something. Help me.” Her shoulders slumped. Andrew Blue's face was a study in horror. Her head jerked when she heard her father's belligerent, angry voice identify himself to the faceless voice on the other end of the phone.