Bombshells, page 21
Pointing the way to where?
Hell, for sure.
Mama always said that suicide was the one unforgivable sin.
Like the rest of my sins can be forgiven.
Like it matters. I’m already in hell.
Can I just check out? Can I leave without ever talking to Norah again? Without telling her how much I love her? Can I stop my suffering without asking Mellie, sweet Mellie, for forgiveness?
She’s only twelve. Can she understand enough to begin to forgive me? She knows about Michael and the car crash, but nobody knows how much pain I’ve lived through since then. Not even Norah.
Oh, she understands that my heart was broken and my back was injured. She knows I take medicine to help with the physical pain.
Even if I could explain to her how I feel inside, she wouldn’t get it. How could she? Her life is perfect. She has her children. She has Clay.
I pick up the knife. Hold the point to the bluish vein in my wrist.
Press.
My flesh resists, like a thick-skinned tomato against a dull knife. I push the point in about an eighth of an inch before I feel the burn, the pain just before it punctures. I pull the knife away.
Norah has never felt the point of a knife on her wrist and wondered what it would be like to push it all the way through, to watch the blood well up, to make the cut deeper and wider. No, Norah has never hurt like this.
But she would hurt like this if she knew what I’d done on Saturday night, what I’d wanted to do on Saturday night. What Clay almost did to her. Yeah, she’d understand a little bit then.
If Norah had spread herself on a picnic table and let an ugly cop use her body so she wouldn’t have to pay a ticket or go to jail, Norah would understand this pain.
I gather up the pills in the palm of my left hand. They look like candy. How many can I swallow at one time? Maybe four at time. Five swallows and they’ll be gone. Then I’d fill up the bathtub. Maybe put in some bubbles. That would feel nice.
The last thing I’d feel is warm water and tiny bubbles bursting against my skin. The last thing I’d hear is that crinkling, popping sound of bubbles around my ears.
No, I think I want to hear music. I put the pills back on the counter and go to my records. I choose five and stack them on the spindle, turn on the record player. The sound fills the room, but I turn it louder. It needs to be louder for me to hear it in the bathtub.
In the kitchen I gather up the pills again, top off my glass. I balance my hands like I’m weighing something on a scale. Red sins in one hand, amber sins in the other. All heavy, so heavy.
The shrill ringing of the phone scares me out my skin. I scream. The pills jump from my hand to scatter across the kitchen floor. My drink sloshes all over.
The ringing continues as I kneel on the floor to pick up all my pretty red pills. One, two, three…seventeen. Three missing. They probably went under the stove. I stand up, place my seventeen pills on the counter and get the flashlight out of the drawer.
Finally, the phone stops ringing.
I gather the last, lost pills from beneath the edge of the stove and blow the dust from them. I can’t throw them away. I don’t want to put them back in the bottle. I fill my glass again and put the three pills in my mouth. Swallow. I’ll only have four more swallows to finish the job.
My head is floating like a balloon with no string attached. I need to go to bed. I’ll think about sins tomorrow. The phone rings again. It seems like it’s going to ring all night if I don’t answer it.
“Hello?” My voice sounds weak.
“Lola? Are you okay?”
“Who is this?” The voice sounds so far away. “Norah? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s Norah. Tell me, are you all right? You sound terrible.”
“I’m okay. I’m just tired. I’m so tired.”
“I imagine so, leaving my house and driving so late at night. Or should I say early in the morning?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, I’m glad you got home safely.”
“Yeah.” I lean against the wall and slide down to sit on the floor. My eyes just won’t stay open.
“Listen, I’m sorry for whatever Clay said or did to make angry enough to leave like that.”
Adrenaline shoots through me and my eyes flash open. “What did Clay say?”
“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me what he said to make you mad, but he’s been such a bear all day. If he was like this after I went to bed last night, no wonder you took off in the middle of the night.”
I need to focus. I have to keep talking, make sure the lie keeps going. “I remembered this meeting today. You know I have trouble sleeping. I decided to hit the road.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’ll have any trouble sleeping tonight.”
“No.”
“Lola.”
Norah stops talking and once more that hot energy surges through me. It’s that feeling of being caught doing something wrong and it makes me feel like such a child. What I did wasn’t the crime of a child.
“What?” I need to know that things are all right there. That the damage I caused isn’t permanent. That Clay still loves my sister. That someday Mellie can forgive me, even if she can never understand what was going on between her Daddy and me. I want my sister’s family to settle back into their routine, somehow.
“It’s just that nothing seems to be right. Nothing is normal. Did you watch the news?”
I can’t help but sigh with relief. She’s upset about the Cuban situation. “I missed the news because I was at my meeting,” I lie. Again. One more can’t hurt. I was sitting in my living room drinking, instead of watching the nightly news broadcast.
“It seems to be getting serious. Myra Mayfield called this afternoon. They’re being evacuated from the base in Guantanamo Bay. She asked if she and the two kids could stay with us.”
“Evacuated?”
“Of course, I told her they could stay with us. They have no place else to go right now. They’ve been promised base housing as soon as it’s available. That’s one of the reasons Clay is so grouchy. He doesn’t want them to stay here.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say, my head is so fuzzy.
“I just wanted to let you know how much I love you, Lola. I wish you were still here. The girls missed you all day today.”
“Really?” I know Mellie was glad I’d left and she didn’t have to see me again. “Was Birdie too disappointed about not getting a ride in the convertible?”
Norah manages a bit of a laugh. “What do you think? She was convinced someone stole your car until she found the note in your room.”
“I’m sorry, Norah. I’m so sorry for…” I swallow back the sob pushing up through me. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. We’re sisters. We love each other, no matter what.”
I put my hand over the receiver so she won’t hear the sob I can’t keep back any longer.
“Lola? Are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Well, I just wanted to talk to you. You know, before everything gets too crazy with the Mayfields here. I wanted you to know how much I love you.”
“Oh, Norah. I love you, too. You and your family, you’re all I’ve got.”
Norah is crying now. “If—you know—if things get out of hand, with…”
“Kennedy is going to take care of it. We shouldn’t worry.”
“I just wanted you to know, in case we don’t get a chance to talk again.”
I hear Clay’s voice in the background. Norah says, “I need to go now. Birdie is upset about something, and you need to get to bed.”
“Yes, I do. Bye, Norah.”
“Bye, Lola.”
I sit on the floor for several more minutes, letting my thoughts—not quite so drunken anymore— ramble. Thoughts of weighty things like love and whether it can stand some of the awful things people can do to each other. Finally, I lay down on the cool, wood floor of the living room. My eyes won’t stay open any longer.
Monday, October 22,1962
Jacksonville, Florida
MELANIE
Everybody’s edgy this morning. I still feel sick when I think about what Aunt Lola and Daddy did, so I try not to think about it.
Birdie’s baby-talking to DC in the living room, while I’m trying to fix my hair for school. Birdie and DC seem to be the only ones in a good mood. Mama and Daddy are discussing the arrival of the Mayfields. Loudly.
Daddy’s voice sounds clearly all the way from the dining room. “It’s just too much for you. Why don’t you give yourself a chance to rest and recover? DC is only two weeks old.” I hear Daddy’s coffee cup land in the saucer harder than usual.
“I’m fine. Besides, Myra and the kids need someplace to stay. She said Brooke and Kevin are really looking forward to seeing their old friends again.”
“I’m sure they are. But we need to think about our own family.”
Yeah, Daddy. You should’ve thought about your family on Saturday.
I hate it that I feel that way about my father. When will I ever be able to think of him as my good old Daddy again?
He continues, “How will our kids feel about it?”
I hear Mama’s chair scrape. “They’re looking forward to it. Melanie and Kevin were practically best friends. And Brooke is so sweet, she’ll be a big help with DC.”
“What about feeding everyone?” It sounds like Daddy slid his plate into the sink. I stand quietly in the bathroom, waiting for this discussion to end. I don’t like the way the tension is building.
Daddy’s voice continues over the sound of running water in the kitchen. “How are you going to take care of DC, do the wash, and cook for three extra people? Just think about it.”
“Myra will help me out, you know that. Stop worrying.”
“I’m afraid it’ll be too much for you. And the minute it is, I’ll have to tell them to leave.”
“Just like whatever you said to make Lola leave here before dawn?”
“What did she say?” Daddy’s voice sounds even more harsh. It doesn’t sound like Aunt Lola told Mama what happened. I can’t imagine Mama being this calm and only arguing about the Mayfields if Lola had told what she did, what I saw. After I fumed for a while, what Daddy said about not telling Mama made some sense to me. I don’t want Mama to be hurt.
“All Lola said was that she had a union meeting to attend and that she couldn’t sleep. She thought she’d get a head start. Not sleeping took its toll on her. She sounded so tired last night. She could barely talk.”
The refrigerator opens and closes. More dishes clink against the sink.
Daddy shouts good-bye to us, then slams the front door.
“Mama, DC stinks,” Birdie sings.
I creep out of the bathroom, and peek around the kitchen wall to see Mama. Her shoulders are shaking. She’s crying.
This morning, the dark circles under her eyes look like bruises. “I’m coming,” she mutters under her breath. “I’m coming.”
I feel so sorry for her. She’s tired and sad and I don’t know how to help her. But I can change DC’s diaper.
“Mama, I’ll change him. I’ve got time.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
Distracted, Mama says, “How about corn flakes for breakfast this morning?”
“Goody. I love cereal for breakfast.” Birdie dances around the playpen when I put a fresh-smelling DC in it, placing him on his back, like I’m supposed to. He watches her with big eyes. I wonder when he’ll understand that he has his own personal circus.
I open the cabinet and get two bowls. “I’ll fix it.”
Mama stands behind me and kisses the top of my head. “You’re a big help, you know that?”
She walks out of the kitchen before I can answer.
There’s a knock on the door.
Thank goodness. Flossie is here.
FLOSSIE
Birdie runs to meet me at the door and hugs me around my legs, just like she’s done every time she’s seen me since that awful first day of school. Melanie stands in the kitchen with two bowls in her hands. The baby’s lying in the playpen. I don’t see Miz Adams anywhere.
“Hey, Flossie,” Birdie says. “We’re having cereal for breakfast this morning. We never get to have cereal on school mornings.”
“I’m guessing Miss Birdie likes cereal?” I laugh as I take off my hat and put it in my shopping bag. “How about you, Melanie? Do you like cereal?”
She shrugs. “Mama’s really tired today.” Her expression says a whole lot more.
“Well, I can cook some breakfast for you girls. Want some bacon and eggs?”
Birdie jumps up and down, making her full skirt flounce. “No! I want cereal. I want cereal.”
“Cereal’s fine with me, too,” Melanie says. She walks over to stand real close to me. “Try to help Mama rest today if you can, Flossie.” Her voice is low and so grown up. “We had a busy weekend and company is coming tomorrow.”
“More company? I don’t understand why folks think a new mama and baby need visitors all the time.”
“Not that kind of company. The Mayfields are leaving Guantanamo Navy Base because of all the Cuban stuff. They don’t have any place else to stay.”
“Well, now, isn’t that something? I’ll do my best to get your mama to rest some. It does sound like she’s gonna need it.”
I can’t help but think how odd it is that Miz Adams hasn’t come back to the kitchen. It’s not like her to leave her children to get ready for school by themselves. I haven’t been working here for long, but it doesn’t take all that long to understand how a family does things.
Cleaning folks’ houses is a quick way to get know people real well. I see their dirty laundry, the dust under their beds, and bills left lying around. And I know this isn’t the way Miz Adams usually does things.
I also understand that Melanie is feeling bad about something.
When I started this job, I knew it was short term. I swore I wasn’t going to get attached. Honestly, with some families there’s no temptation to think of them as any more than a job. But the Adams’ aren’t that kind of family.
I’m near to lovin’ these girls, whether I want to or not.
The baby starts to cry, and I lean over to lift him out of the playpen. Miz Adams comes up behind me.
“Good morning, Flossie.” She sounds like she’s struggling just to get the words out. “I’ll take him. He’s ready for a bottle.”
“You got him started on formula?”
Birdie pauses, before spooning cereal into her mouth. “DC had bottles this weekend. I gave him part of one. He really liked it.”
Studying Miz Adams, I notice that her skin is pale and she has dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is kinda lank. Mellie’s right, this woman is plum wore out.
“Miz Adams, why don’t we rearrange our work schedule a bit? I’m all caught up on the dusting and such. Let me take care of feeding the baby this morning while you take a shower. Then he’ll be ready for a nap, and you can lie down with him and rest while I take care of the laundry and the kitchen. How does that sound?”
“That sounds like a really good idea, Mama,” Melanie says.
Mis Adams shakes her head. “I don’t need to sleep.”
Melanie gets up from the table and puts her arms around her mama. “Please, Mama. You need to rest up before the Mayfields get here. Please.” The poor girl sounds like she’s ‘bout to cry. I can’t help but wonder what went on this weekend.
Miz Adams pats Mellie on the back, and clears her throat. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to have an extra nap today. But it’s time for you girls to get going. Birdie, do you have your lunch box?”
Birdie jumps up. “Yes, ma’am. I just need to brush my teeth.”
I pat the baby’s back. “You go ahead and take your shower. I’ll make sure they get going. Miss Mellie and I have things under control, don’t we?”
Pure thankfulness wells up in Mellie’s face. She kisses her mama’s cheek. “Bye, Mama. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Miz Adams walks down the hall, her shoulders slumped with tiredness. Poor thing. And company coming, too.
“Flossie,” Melanie says.
Her voice is soft and strained. “What’s on your mind, honey?”
“Just,” Melanie looks down at the floor and then up to my face. Her eyes are filling with tears, but she blinks them back. "I just want to say thank you.”
I pat the baby and sway back and forth with him, wishing I could do the same with Melanie to make her feel better. “You know I’m here to help out however I can.”
“I know.”
Then Melanie throws her arms around my neck, squeezing her baby brother between us in a fierce hug. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Birdie grabs my legs in a hug like she usually does. “Bye, Flossie.”
Then both girls are out the door and the house feels so empty. I get the baby’s bottle from the warmer and we settle in the rocking chair. He latches onto that bottle like he’s been starving for days on end.
Sometimes I can feel when things are out of kilter and it sure feels like something’s out of kilter here. I can’t help but wonder what happened in this house since I was here on Thursday.
Atlanta, Georgia
LOLA
The damn phone is ringing again. Why can’t they just leave me alone?
My eyelids feel like they’ve got weights on them, and I hurt all over, like I’ve been beat up. Slowly it comes to me that I’m still lying on the kitchen floor.
I haven’t moved since I talked to Norah on the phone. Is she calling me again so soon?
My eyes open and it’s daylight. I slept on the floor the whole night. Shit. No wonder I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.
My stomach churns and I lurch toward the bathroom. I’ve got the mother of all hangovers. After retching myself inside out, I rinse my face with cold water. Then it comes to me.
