When September Ends (10 page)

“Back home we go to a Baptist Church.”

“Then you’re in luck, Sarah. Actually, there’s a Baptist Church just a few blocks from the house.”

She smiles widely. “That’s great. I can walk there on Sundays once you show me how to get there a couple of times. Maybe Scout can go with me?”

It’s a question and, to be honest, it’s probably a good idea at that for a couple of reasons.

“I think she’ll be receptive to that, Sarah.”

“And maybe…well, maybe sometime you may want to come with us, too?”

Ah geez.

“We’ll see.”

That seems to satisfy her for the moment. It’s not that I have anything against going to church, because I don’t. In fact, I feel remiss that I haven’t seen that Scout has been properly educated in her faith, which I guess I now know is Baptist, but the thought of us all going together as a…
family?
Not gonna happen.

Since I’d taken the day off of work to get Sarah settled in, I had spent the morning getting September’s old room ready for her, moving my computer and office files into my bedroom.

“This is your room,” I explain as she follows me down the hall. I place the bigger suitcase on the bed. “There’s plenty of hangers in the closet, and empty dresser drawers if you want to get your things put away. The bathroom is just across the hall. You’ll share that with Scout.”

“You mean…well, we’re not sleeping in the same room?”

What the fuck, woman?

I look at her quickly to see if she’s somehow joking with me, but her face is totally serious. “Uh…well,
no
.”

“I just wasn’t sure,” she murmurs, casting her brown eyes downward. “I mean, I know we’re married and all, but Mama didn’t know what to expect when I asked her.”

Nice, Ruth.

“Sarah, remember what I told you just before Scout and I left Meridian a couple of months back?”

She nods.

“Well see, you coming here to stay for a bit doesn’t change any of that. We are
technically
married, but eventually we won’t even be that anymore.”

“I get it,” she replies, and I hear a soft sniffle when she does. “Mama said something about once I’m done with my sessions with the doctor, I’ll be going on some type of disability. The doctor has to put it into writing I guess. I don’t fully understand.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds as if Ruth has a plan, so just go with that for now. I’ll let you get unpacked while I start dinner.”

“I can cook,” she offers. “Will you let me?”

“Well, starting tomorrow, you and Scout can do the cooking, how’s that? In fact,” I continue, glancing at the clock on the dresser, “Scout should be coming in from school shortly. The neighbor lady gives her a ride home, but now that you’re here, well maybe she can start taking the bus again.”

She brightens. “I’d like that. I’ll be here for her when she comes home and then we can cook dinner and do whatever else around here that needs to be done before you get home from work.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say, exiting the room. “I’ll send Scout in to help you as soon as she gets in.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” she calls after me as I leave her room. And although I’m not one for prayer, I find myself saying a silent one in my mind as I head towards the kitchen. I ask God for a speedy and full recovery for Henry.

I take one last look in the mirror on the closet door of my bedroom and release the sigh I’ve been holding in all day. There’s no putting this off.

It’s time I face her.

Her.

My mother.

Libby, Sarah, and now Scout’s new best friend it seems.

Jesse’s legal wife.

Scout’s called me several times in the week since my mother has made her home with them. She wants me to come over. She wants me to forgive Mama.

Her exact words.

Maybe it
is
time that I face her, not to forgive her because I’m not sure that I ever could, but face her as a woman. Let her know that she isn’t up against a thirteen-year-old anymore, but a woman who has every intention of doing whatever is necessary to continue loving Jesse.

My hair is brushed down, and my make-up is perfect. I’m wearing a new sweater and my favorite jeans. I’m pulling my boots on when there’s a knock at my door.

“Sepptemmber,” Brandon calls from the hallway, and then I hear him snickering. “Don’t hide from me,” he says in a sing-song voice.

Is he drunk?

I unlock the door, and open it, and clearly he’s partied out. Still wearing the nylon team soccer jacket he has had on since yesterday afternoon when the team had pounded Missouri Southern State in the District playoffs, he plants his forearms on either side of the doorway, and I notice a nearly empty bottle of beer dangling from one hand.

“Jesus Christ, Brandon, are you just now getting in?”

His eyes are bloodshot, and he gets a shit-eating grin on his face, before he nods. “Yep, you should have come with us,” he says, stepping over the threshold and walking past me.

“I had to work, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, sinking down on the loveseat and placing the beer bottle on the table. “Mind if I crash here?”

“What? Why?”

He brushes his unruly hair back from his forehead and sighs. “Because Danny has Katie with him crashed in my bed and I don’t feel like dragging their asses out of it.”

“Oh geez,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Go ahead. I’m leaving for a couple of hours, but why don’t you get a shower before getting into my bed.”

“I stink, don’t I?’ he asks, lifting an arm to sniff a pit.

“It’s not
that,
” I lie, “You’ve just been hitting it hard, and my sheets are clean.”

“Not a problem,” he says, staggering to his feet. “Let me grab clean clothes and my toothbrush and I’ll be right back. Don’t go away,” he says, pointing a finger at me.

I shake my head as he walks back out into the hallway, returning several minutes later with his clean clothes and a shaving kit.

“You’re not moving in, are you?” I tease.

He gives me a crooked grin, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby,” he replies, giving me a wink and moving closer.

“Eww, Brandon, you
do
stink. Go hit the shower and then sleep it off. I’ll see you later.” I hurry out before he delays me any further.

The whole way over to Jesse’s, I contemplate what to expect. Scout has been a different person in the last week since Mama came to stay. She’s been filling me in on what they’ve been doing, and how she takes the bus home now and Mama is there, baking something or starting dinner.

I scoff inwardly. Nothing like I remember, that’s for sure. She mentions that, after dinner, they usually play a game of cards or maybe checkers. Each time Scout shares those things with me, pangs of jealousy erupt within. I’m not sure if it’s because I feel proprietary over Scout, or maybe it’s because I want to ask where Jesse fits into this picture perfect family portrait.

I don’t dare ask because, no matter what Scout has revealed to Jesse about us, the fact that Mama has now come back into the picture clearly has trumped any of that.

When Scout phoned last night and mentioned that she and Mama were going to church services today, and asked me to come by for Sunday dinner, I couldn’t think of any excuse not to go.

Maybe my curiosity won out over my better judgment. Who knows?

Jesse has called me a couple of times during the week, but it’s been phone tag, always missing one another and simply exchanging messages. This will be the first time we’ve been face to face since our fuck-a-thon a week prior.

I pull up in front of the house and, even though it’s a sunny fall day, I feel the hint of winter in the air. It’s almost Halloween and I notice that someone has placed a fall ensemble of pumpkins, gourds spilling from a woven cornucopia, and a scarecrow made from cornstalks on the front porch. I can’t help but notice it’s one of Jesse’s old plaid flannel shirts the scarecrow is wearing.

How fucking quaint.

Scout must have spotted me from the front window, because I hear the sound of the front door opening and out she comes, bounding down the porch steps and running towards me, all smiles.

“Did you see what Sarah and I made for the front porch?” she asks excitedly, pointing behind her. “It was her idea, but I came up with the clothes for the scarecrow.”

“I saw that when I pulled up. It’s really awesome, Scout,” I say, feeling my heart starting to fracture.

Why am I doing this?

I quickly remind myself that I’m doing this for Scout and nobody else. “So, it sounds like you’re enjoying having Mama here.”

She stops and regards me silently for a moment. Somehow I know that she’s trying to come up with something to make me feel okay about going inside.

“I know you have memories of Sarah that I don’t have,” she starts, fiddling with her ponytail, and something inside of me is grateful for the fact she doesn’t refer to her as Mama. I need to make sure that I don’t either. “But September,” she continues, “please just
try
and be nice to her, okay? I really think she misses Grandma and Grandpa. Dad hardly speaks to her, so I’m all she’s got. I know she must feel lonely about it.”

I sink to my knees and look into my little sister’s blue eyes. They are pleading with me to understand, and to put aside my feelings, if only temporarily, for the sake of someone who hadn’t given a damn about us six years ago. So, how can a not-quite-eleven-year-old be so compassionate about something that is so damn complicated that even I can’t comprehend the dynamics?