James drew in a long breath. What was next? Something important or more pain?
That boy
? Mama? He shook his head. “I need a trade.”
“You need a job. Baseball’s your trade.”
James snorted. He sounded like Magdalena. He didn’t mean it, though. He didn’t mean to be cynical when what Mr. Morgan said felt right inside.
“You can work here. I’ll hire you to help in the back. Maybe even teach you to cook. You can bus tables at first. Fair enough?”
“It’s probably not in my blood.”
“What?” Mr. Morgan stopped tapping his finger.
“Nothing.” James looked up. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m as sure about this as I am that baseball’s your trade. You can begin tomorrow. In the meantime, go find your mama. No doubt she’s worried about you, and she’s not a woman to keep worrying. She’s too fine for that.”
There was a noise behind Mr. Morgan. James looked up. Ida was standing there. The lights were still dim, but he could feel the look on her face, one even shadows couldn’t hide. “I need you to light the oven,” she said.
“Sis, I want you to meet your new employee.” Mr. Morgan turned and looked at her, raising a hand and gesturing toward James. “He starts tomorrow.”
Ida looked at him, murmured a small welcome, then disappeared to the back.
“Well, I have work to do.” Mr. Morgan stood, and James followed.
“How did you know, sir?” James asked. “How did you know my mama might be worried about me?”
“It’s a restaurant. I hear everything eventually. You will too, when you work here. But let me tell you something, and always keep it in mind.”
James nodded, and Mr. Morgan continued.
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Or you’ll end up like…” Mr. Morgan nodded toward the back where pans were banging even louder.
“Ida?” James whispered. “What did she hear?”
“Doesn’t matter what she heard. Or thinks she saw. Her problem is believing. See you tomorrow.”
Mr. Morgan disappeared into the back. James didn’t know where Max lived, but surely Mama had gone home by now. He didn’t want to see Max anyway. Pop would be going to work soon, so James would go home first. He’d find Mama and let her know he was fine. Just like Mr. Morgan said to do.
Chapter 35
James 1957
James liked the new smell on his skin. He drew in a deep breath—pine soap mixed with a little bit of grease, cooking grease. He smelled like a fried potato. The burnt metal odor from Pop’s shop had almost faded, thanks to the number of hours his hands and arms were submerged in water, washing dishes, scrubbing floors, shining counters and tables. Pop said it was a sissy job. He’d always said that about Mr. Morgan and the restaurant. Now he said it every night, now that only Pop smelled like iron that had been burned.
Mama’s face was tight as she brought supper to the table. It had been that way ever since he’d taken the job with Mr. Morgan. Her eyes had grown huge when James first told her Mr. Morgan had hired him. She shook her head back and forth, tears pooling in the rims. “Please don’t,” she’d whispered. But now she never said anything about it. She offered faint smiles, and once she even said maybe he could cook for her someday.
James stood near his chair watching her. Mama put the last dishes on the table, Betsy at her side, aligning the silverware and plates. Gail was married, tormenting poor Jackson with her preciseness, Carla was with her fiancé, planning their wedding, and Magdalena was with Max. Mama paused, ran her eyes over the table. James could see her mentally counting out each setting, each dish on the table, and the seconds until Pop came into the room.
Mama realigned the meat platter near Pop’s plate just as he strode in from the back room, rubbing his hands together. James had heard Pop’s entrance so many times he didn’t have to turn to know what Pop was doing. Mama brushed her hands down the sides of her apron. She nodded at James and Betsy, and they moved behind their chairs.
Pop paused at his, one hand on its back as he surveyed the steaming bowls and platters. He dragged his chair out, sat, then jerked it forward. They all did the same, no sound other than wooden chair legs raking across the wooden floor, followed by the clink of ladles against pottery as Pop began to fill his plate.
“That girl of yours got herself married again.” Pop finished and slid the last dish down the table. It stopped in front of James. Pop took a mouthful of potatoes.
“What?” Mama’s eyes were wide as she stared at Pop.
Pop finished chewing and slid his spoon beneath the mound of potatoes on his plate. “I said she got married again. Magdalena.” He shoveled in another bite. “She married some old guy this time.” Pop looked at Mama now, as if what Magdalena had done was Mama’s fault. He shook his head and switched to his fork and knife and dug into his meat.
“Max?” Mama looked at James.
James couldn’t tell by her expression if she approved or not. Mama had said nothing when Magdalena married Joe Deeter, and she’d said nothing when Magdalena divorced him. Joe had slapped Magdalena for scratching his car, and she left him, scratching it again as she walked away. She’d told James what really happened one afternoon at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant when she’d come in alone. James didn’t care for Max. He couldn’t forget his comment that he’d need a trade. But when Magdalena told him about Joe and said Max would never do something like that, mostly because he was afraid what Magdalena would do back, James thought he might forgive Max. At least Max was safe for his sister.
James gave Mama a nod. It would be Max. Magdalena was quick to change men, but it was unlikely she’d have two old ones this close together.
“We should do something for them.” Betsy spoke. James looked up. She was leaning toward Mama.
“Shouldn’t,” Pop said around a bite of biscuit. “She won’t need a thing, marrying an old man like that. She’ll have everything. He’s got a car, a house, probably got some money stashed away.”
Betsy looked down at her food.
“The girl married for money this time. Not sure why she married before.” Pop reached for the platter of biscuits and snatched another.
“She married for love. Or at least looking for it.”
James turned toward Mama. He couldn’t believe what she’d said. She was staring at Pop.
“Earl didn’t love her, but that’s what she wanted. She was done looking for it here, so she went elsewhere.”
Pop laid down his biscuit. He gazed across the table at Mama. James couldn’t tell if he was baffled by what she’d said or angry that she’d said anything at all.
“Here?” Pop finally snorted. “You go
out
and find a man to love you. It’s not going to be at home.”
“Exactly.” Mama stood. “She had to go out because no man here loved her. Women do that.”
“You women all addled in the brain? Of course there was no man here to love her.”
Mama stepped to the side of the table. She eased around Betsy, her eyes on Pop. She came to his side and stopped. He looked up into her face, something James had never seen him do before. Everyone always looked up to Pop. He never looked up to anyone.
“The first love of every little girl’s life is her father. That’s where she first feels loved and knows she’s special.”
Pop frowned, his eyes narrowed.
“Why do you think your daughter chose a man your age?” Mama leaned close to Pop. “That little girl who rode pretend ponies to get away, who was determined to drive, who wore makeup when you told her not to, who sassed you just to get your attention…did all of that to no avail. When she couldn’t get love here, she went out to find it.”
Mama had painted the clearest picture of Magdalena James had ever imagined. She’d drawn her precisely from the inside out, so precisely it was as if Mama saw inside Magdalena, reading the lines of the life her daughter had lived.
“That your excuse too, then?” Pop spat, a sneer on his face. “No father? No grandfather? And your husband wasn’t enough, so you had to…”
The sound of Mama’s hand on Pop’s face was like a gunshot. Pop’s head rocked to the side, a red imprint the shape of a flame blazed on his cheek. Before Pop could regain his balance and get to his feet, her hand shot out again, hit the same red mark like it was a target.
“That first one was from me. The second was from Magdalena. I’m done slapping you. Forever.” Mama stepped past him, her feet moving quickly, nearly at a run. And then she was gone, the outside door slamming behind her.
Chapter 36
Lana 1940
Cletus’ welding shop emitted sounds even more brash than before. Harsh metal clanged as pieces fell against each other, while fiery hot flames hissed and sizzled in the background. These were man noises, Cletus noises, sounds without feeling.
Lana stood, her children with her, in front of the wide open doorway lit only by tiny bursts of fiery flames inside.
“Wait here.” She looked at Magdalena and then at the others. “I’ll get the money, and then we’ll go.”
She bundled the smaller ones close together before she stepped into the darkness. Clusters of men looked up as she wove between them. She didn’t glance their way. She was searching, only interested in the tallest one, and this time she’d find him.
When she reached the back of his shop, she turned. She hadn’t found him, Cletus wasn’t there. Her eyes, adjusted to the faint light, looked around again, across men who refused to look up or offer a hand. To her left, in the far back corner, she spotted a doorway, closed and likely his office, built like a notch cut out of the shop’s floor space. Her heart began to pound like a fist knocking against his door as she walked that way.
She glanced toward the large lighted square where her children stood outside waiting for her. The youngest were distracted, engrossed by the fire and noise, but Magdalena was staring at her, as if even in the dark she knew just where Lana stood.
Lana nodded, even though Magdalena couldn’t see her. Then she rapped with her knuckles, loud and sharp. No one answered, so she knocked again. Her knuckles burned; the wood scratched the skin where her bones hit the door. Men were watching now. She could feel their eyes, the sounds of their work diminished.
Lana felt someone at her side. They weren’t tall enough to be him. She didn’t look. She rapped harder, refusing to be dissuaded. Cletus’ workers couldn’t make excuses for him this time. The person pressed close and she knocked harder, her face down, her knuckles numb. A hand touched her arm. A small hand with long fingers. It wrapped around her forearm, and she paused. The shop was silent.
“It’s okay, Mama.” Magdalena pulled Lana’s arm from the door. “I got the money.”
“You? You got the money?”
Magdalena nodded. Her fingers squeezed Lana’s arm, and she drew Lana toward the large front opening. In Magdalena’s other hand, the off-green color of dollars peeked from her fist.
Magdalena towed her through a sea of faces. The men were silent, but they knew, at least one of them knew. Lana stopped, wrenched the money from Magdalena’s fist, and threw it on the shop’s floor. “We won’t have this!” She kicked the money across the packed dirt. “I won’t, and she won’t either!” Lana grabbed Magdalena by the elbow and rushed to the street. She gathered her children and hurried them away, down the walkway and around the corner to the main street. They stumbled forward when they reached it, the little ones at her feet and the stores a blur at her side.
“It’s okay, Mama, really it is.” Magdalena tried to slow her.
“It’s not okay.” Lana spoke in a hiss. It wasn’t okay Cletus was missing, it wasn’t okay his workers protected him, and it wasn’t okay she had to beg and look foolish.
“Mama…” Magdalena stopped. They were beside Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. Lana watched Magdalena’s hand on the door as she pushed it open.
“Come on, Mama.” Magdalena eased inside. “We can sit and relax.”
“No. Let’s go home.” Lana saw past Magdalena into the restaurant. It looked warm inside, and she felt it touch the iciness in her heart. “We shouldn’t…” She just wanted to go home, be away from town, away from Cletus’ shop and him, wherever he was.
“Please, Mama.” Magdalena stepped inside, holding the door open. Her brothers and sisters looked up at Lana expectantly. She’d promised them an outing. She’d promised when she really had nothing to offer at all.
The ice inside Lana’s heart fought everything behind Magdalena and on the faces of her children. Small crystals bound together fought the eagerness of their eyes and the warmth of Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. She was so cold, so tired, so empty. “Okay,” she conceded. They’d sit, she’d relax, and then they’d go.
“This way, Mama.” Magdalena led them to a booth, shiny chrome surrounding bright red seats and a matching tabletop. “Sit here. We can all squeeze in.”
Lana stared at the table as her children crowded in. They looked foreign for a moment, happy and excited, clambering to have fun instead of to hurry or hide. A cry rose inside her. The scream. She stared at the nearly full seats, just enough room for her at the end of one side or the other. The scream stirred. It wanted out, but not here, not now.
“Would you like a chair? I can sit you at the end of the table.”
Then she saw them, as if she were seeing them for the very first time. Eyes that said so much without ever a word, dark eyes against dark skin, crowned with black hair. Mr. Morgan, posed like a prince, waited for her answer. The cry simmered. It stirred. Something about the way he looked at her set it on fire. Tears dowsed the fire on their way up, leaving only a sob to escape from her throat.
It was like Jim’s kindness and Grandma’s hug all at once. Mr. Morgan moved close and held her, he let her cry while he said soothing things to her children. She could hear them stirring and felt Magdalena at her other side.
“I’m going to make food for all of you,” he said near her head. “I promised your family a free meal a long time ago. Now’s the time.” She felt him look down. “Magdalena, would you take your mother to the back? I have a small room back there that’s comfortable. Sometimes I stay the night there, even.”
Magdalena touched her. Lana let her lead her away, to the back, to the room Mr. Morgan said was comfortable, and he was right, it was. Comforting.