“Katie”
I didn’t want to hear it.
“Katie. It’s time to go. Tell Amy goodbye. We’ve got to be going.”
Mama hardly ever came to get me at my friend’s house. I usually got to come home myself when it was time.
Mama gave Amy a tight smile and waved me toward the back gate. “Take mama’s hand so you don’t get lost, girl. We want to stay together.”
We walked hand in hand down the alleyway back to our house. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t think anything because sometimes she knew when I thought. I did have one quiet idea, though.
I started to skip. Sometimes we skipped down the street or down the alley going to church or to the little store, or to the park. It was always a good day when we skipped.
On the second hop, she tightened her grip and leveraged me back down to the ground. Her arm was lead, and I sank. “What in God’s name are you doing, child?”
“Where are we going, mama?”
“Don’t you worry. It’ll be fine.”
There was all kinds of talking in my head, helping drown out my own words. I didn’t want her to hear.
We slipped the latch at my back gate and started toward the house.
“Go in and help Ruth and Timothy with their coats.”
“Mama?”
“What, child!?”
“It’s August. It’s awful hot.”
She shook her head at me and stared as if I’d just walked in from Mars eating a bicycle sandwich. “Laney, just do it. They’ll need something. I don’t care if it’s windbreakers. I won’t have them going out half dressed. Shame on you.”
As soon as she said Laney, I knew what story we were in. Laney was her younger sister who died of a brain tumor when she was thirteen. That was in 1955 though, twenty years ago.
I walked off, but watched her for a few steps. I wanted to remember her face right then.
Maybe she would stay outside while I got them ready. Maybe while she was outside, I could call daddy at the plant. You can see the phone through the kitchen window, but maybe if I was fast.
I got Timmy and Ruthie and herded them into the kitchen. Then I remembered coats. “Go get your windbreakers.” I told them. They were younger than me and they weren’t as puzzled by the coats. I was twelve. I turned thirteen in December. Ruthie was just barely eleven and Timmy was only seven. “Go get your windbreakers. Bring them here, but don’t put them on yet.”
Their shoes were on, I noticed as they walked away. “Take your shoes off and change your socks. Come back in here with your other shoes. Don’t put them on, though. Just bring them back.”
Mama came in through the back door and looked around. “Where are they, Katie? We haven’t got all day.” Her eyes made me want to cry, but I knew that if I did, that would mess everything up. She would get angry, and then everything would go wrong fast.
I had to be the happy helper. “I told them to go change their shoes and socks, mama. They were horrible. And they should comb their hair. They look a sight! It’s just horrible. They should look nice for … they should look nice when we go out.”
She walked to me like through soft clay, then stopped and stroked my cheek. She tugged my chin up and looked in my eyes. “You love Jesus, don’t you, baby?”
I nodded and made all my muscles smile. I knew I would mess things up bad if I tried to make words come out.
“I know you do, baby. Everything we do is for Jesus, isn’t it, Laney?”
I nodded again.
She smiled as sweet as I’ve ever seen and stroked my cheek again. “I’m going to freshen up. Get them ready. It’s going to be a good day. A good day for people who love their Lord.” She swung her arms in the air as she walked away. She was humming the start of “The Hills are Alive …” when she disappeared into her bathroom at the end of the hall.
I scrambled up the stool by the kitchen phone and popped the receiver off the cradle. Daddy’s work number was right next to the phone on the grease board. 555-3136 x471
I dialed as quietly as I could without dawdling. It rang three times before it picked up. “Alliance Electronics, Dallas, how may I direct your call?”
“Frank Grant, please.”
“Department?”
“He’s in …. I … I don't know ... I don’t know! Uhh - extension 471!”
“Connecting you now.”
The phone rang some more. The water was running in the sink in mama’s bathroom still.
A hard, scratchy voice answered. “Radar Diagnostics, Roger Davies.”
“Frank Grant, please.” I knew the name and the face. He had come to picnics sometimes with his family.
“Is this June … ? No, uh, Katie …?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is there …”
“Please, please get him.”
“Hang on. I’ll find him.”
The water stopped.
I waited as long as I could. I listened as hard as I could, like my ear was right on the door. When I heard the handle jiggle, I tossed the phone into the towel drawer and closed it as much as I could. The drawer squeaked, but only a little. I jumped off just as the door opened, and raced into the living room.
“Mama-mama – I’ll get them ready now! Why don’t you just finish your crossword and we'll be ready real quick, I promise!”
I tried to sound more cheery than scared, but I had no idea if it was working, since I was more terrified than scared to start with. Her eyes had questions. She looked over my shoulder at the dining room table.
That’s where her crossword was, not by her chair in the living room.
If she walked into the dining room, she might ….
“I’ll get it!” I practically yelled, and then laughed a silly laugh to cover it. I danced back with it before she could move, and steered her toward her chair by the living room window.
I yelled down the hall. “You two hurry up in there! Mama’s about ready to go! No more fooling around!” then walked down the hall to their rooms.
“Katie! Get those children ready! Time’s a wasting!”
"I know, I know I know" I thought, but there was no way I'd say any of that aloud. I wouldn't even mutter it.
I’d do it, I’d get Timmy ready, then we’d go to Ruthie’s room and get her ready, and then if mama hadn’t come down the hall to grab us yet, I’d make them climb out Ruthie’s window and run to the neighbor’s house. Mr. Robinson was a good neighbor. He knew.
“Ok, ok, ok … shoes now, Timmy. Please, Timmy, shoes.” He was clueless, but my quiet panic was stirring him up. His eyes were big. He couldn’t remember the other times, but he didn’t like the looks of this time. All I could think to do was say over and over again, “It’s okay, Timmy. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay ….” That had to make him even more skittish, but I didn’t know anything else, I really didn’t.
His shoes were on and I ran his comb through his hair.
“We’re almost ready, mama” I yelled back up the hall as we scampered from Timmy’s room to Ruthie’s.
She wasn’t there. Timmy and I looked at each other. She didn’t go up the hall. Her windows were closed. Her closet door was closed. We looked at each other. He figured out, but didn’t want to say, but I could tell from where he wasn’t looking. I popped the closet door open and there she was, standing, shoes in hand, shaking her head. She wasn’t crying, but a very heavy thing was pulling her down. She did remember.
I tried very gently to pull her out of the closet. She leaned back and shook her head. I looked down and said over and over “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Then mama’s voice, soft as rain, came crashing through the roof.
From the doorway, she said, “It’s okay babies. It’s time for us to go.” She smiled like she had just got back from the botanic gardens.
“Ruthie, you can put those on in the car, sweetie. You won’t really need them anyway.”
Her face turned dark and dull. “Now let’s go. Get your windbreakers on and let’s go to the car.
She never left us from then on as we gathered our coats and trudged toward the front door. We were scared, but too scared to cry. We were scared enough to just do.
She was singing “What a friend we have in Jesus as we went out, locked the door, and walked to the car in our unzipped windbreakers. She sang soft. She always wanted to be in the church choir, but granddaddy told her one time that she sounded like a chicken screaming, so she gave that up. Laney, she always told us, had a pretty voice right up to the day she died.
She made sure we were buckled in. The new car had seat belts, and we never went anywhere in it without being buckled in. Daddy always said “Around the block or around the world, always buckle up for safety!” whenever we pulled out of the driveway. We weren’t going around the block.
She checked her hair and her lipstick in the rear view mirror, then slipped on her gloves. She was one of the few ladies I’d ever known who wore gloves as late as the 1970s.
She started the car and said, in a very chipper tone, “Ok, darlin's, let’s go find us a bridge.”
We rolled back and heard a screech, but it wasn’t us. It was Daddy and Mr. Davies, in Mr. Davies' car. Daddy got out of the passenger door and out of the way just before she backed into the side of Mr. Davies' car. She wasn’t trying to hurt daddy. She just didn’t see them arrive. She was thinking about a bridge again. When she’s thinking about a bridge, hardly anything distracts her.
She tried pulling forward and backing up again, this time hard, but that still didn’t move Mr. Davies heavy old Buick out of the way.
She sighed and turned off the car. She was taking off her gloves when Mr. Davies pulled her out of the car and made her lay down on the grass with her hands out like she was flying. All he said was, “Let’s just wait her for the police, Mrs. Grant. They’re almost here. They'll help.”
Timmy and Ruthie didn’t have to see or hear that. Daddy got them out on the passenger's side quick and had them go through the fence to the back yard. All I had to do, though, was look through the open car door and see her. I saw everything about her. I could even see up her skirt to her underwear. She was always very careful about crossing her legs like a lady so they weren't ever, ever exposed. She was so exposed, but her panties didn't even matter in it all.
Then we went inside and daddy talked to us and made Koolaid and hung up the phone. While we drank our Koolaid and ate some crackers, daddy made up a suitcase for mama.
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