Billie Standish Was Here (10 page)

He let it go. But after a minute passed he said, “How you and your mother getting along these days?”

I would have chosen a whipping over this conversation and it must have shown because, after a few seconds, he nodded as though he'd been answered. He reached for the latest
Missouri Conservationist
on the tea cart by the refrigerator.

I wasn't sure which of us he was letting off the hook, but I was grateful anyway. We finished eating in quiet.

“BILLIE!” Mama yelled. The screen door slammed and I went running. I'd heard often enough that if I intended to eat any of that food I could sure as hell help carry it in and put it away. It took several trips that day just to get everything inside.

“Well!” she said. “That ought to hold us a while!” She was standing with her hands on her hips, surveying the bounty with no little satisfaction. There was color in her cheeks beyond her suntan. She almost looked pretty.

“What's this?” I held up a can of something I didn't recognize.

“Oh. Hearts of palm,” Mama said and then laughed. She laughed! “I haven't had those since . . . oh, way before you were born when your father used to take me to the city for dinner and dancing.”

He did? I could feel my jaw drop.

“On the way to town Lydia was talking about the old Savoy Grille and it reminded me.”

I nodded and put it in the pantry, my head buzzing. Mama dancing?
Daddy
and Mama dancing? There was a picture I couldn't bring into focus. And now Mama was humming!

We finished the chore without talking, but the lack of tension in the room felt like the absence of a third person. Mama hadn't been this lighthearted even when the river crested and she and Daddy were playing Smarter-Than-Thou with the neighbors.

I was crying behind my bedroom door before I had any idea why, but it didn't take long for the hurt to start taking shape. Mama had never had a real friend that I could remember, and now she was starting by taking mine.

I knew deep inside that wanting to keep Miss Lydia all to myself was childish, but I couldn't shake it. It wasn't fair.

Miss Lydia had said we could talk about anything and I was sure ready to take her up on the offer just then. I couldn't go see her without making some excuse, though, and I didn't want Mama to see that I'd been crying. I've seen nature shows on TV and I know what happens when a wounded gazelle gets too close to a lion.

I was going to have to wait to find out what was going on in Miss Lydia's mind, but I couldn't stand back and do nothing in the meantime. She was too important to me. I could at least try to let her know how I felt.

One wastebasket full of crumpled paper later, I settled on a note I could give her.

Dear Miss Lydia,

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,

So please don't take my sunshine away.

XOX,

Love,

Billie Marie

Daddy and Mama yelled their good nights toward my door around 10:30, and I gave it an hour before I peeked out and listened to make sure they were asleep. I held my breath until I nearly passed out before I was sure of Mama's soft sleeping sigh in between Daddy's ripsaw snores.

I tiptoed to avoid the two squeaky boards in the hallway and let myself out the back door quiet as a cat. Then I lit out for Miss Lydia's like the bogeyman was after me. I slid the pink envelope underneath her front door where she'd see it as soon as she came down the stairs in the morning.

Back out in the street, I heard a dog bark somewhere near the schoolhouse edge of town and it called attention to how quiet the night was. Even though the moon was nearly full and all the streetlights were in a rare state of good repair, there was no movement, no life.

Cumberland looked almost pretty with its edges softened, like a village you might see in a snow globe. I looked at the sky halfway expecting to see a reflection of the town in glass. All I saw was the Big Dipper and about a million other stars. I decided to take a walk.

I love night air in the summertime. The sun takes most of the humidity with it when it goes down and you feel about ten pounds lighter. But it's more than that. Air at night feels different from even the least humid day. It feels promising. Hopeful. Almost electric. Nighttime air feels like a clean slate.

I walked every block. The Sykes family had a dim lamp on in one room, a reminder of their new baby. Elsewise, the houses appeared as uninhabited as they had been the fourth day of June, when I'd had the friendship of a lifetime just waiting for me to come claim it. Before the world had been turned upside down and shaken for the pieces to fall where they might.

When I eased back into my room, I was surprised to see that the clock read 2:35. I caught my reflection in the mirror by the light of the moon and remembered I hadn't worried about what was going on inside me since that morning. I turned side to side to check out my shape before I slid back into bed. Then I lay flat on my back and poked at my middle until I fell asleep. As far as I could tell I wasn't turning into a pumpkin yet.

T
  he phone was ringing when we got home from church the next morning and Mama picked up while I went to change. My unmade bed looked so inviting I decided to lie down for just a minute since I was right there anyway. Next I knew, Mama was shaking my shoulder and asking what was wrong with me.

I said, “I'm tired, that's all,” and hoped it was true. I'd watched three pregnant women nod off during Mass just that morning.

“Well, dinner's ready, so come on. That was Lydia on the phone a while ago. She needs you to do something for her after you eat.”

“What does she need?”

“She didn't allow and I didn't ask.”

I ate in slow motion, still tired and newly filled with dread. The note I'd left for Miss Lydia now seemed more like an accusation than a declaration of affection. I was afraid it had been a terrible error in judgment.

I dragged myself across the street as soon as I'd stashed my plate in the sink. When the back door opened, my eyes filled with tears. “Why, lands, child!” Miss Lydia scooped me up and pressed me against her.

“I'm sorry. I really am,” I blubbered.

“Whatever for, Billie Marie?”

I looked at her face and saw that she meant it. “I—I wrote you that note, and—”

Her laugh interrupted. “—and it was just about the sweetest thing I've ever read,” she finished.

“But I was afraid you'd think—”

“Come in here.” She pointed to a chair and I slung myself into it. She creaked her way into hers and slid something small across the table. It was a ruby the shape of a heart. About the size of a ladybug and set on a jeweler's pin.

“This is for you,” she said.

I gasped. “Oh, no, I couldn't—”

“You can and you will.” Her chin came up.

“Oh, but now I feel terrible.”

“Well, then, you just get over it. Listen to me.
Listen to me
.” I looked up. “How'd your mama act when she got home from town yesterday?”

I looked away and swallowed. “She was smiling and singing like she'd made a new best friend.”

“And you felt left out, didn't you?”

I nodded my miserable head.

“Was she harder on you or nicer than usual?” Miss Lydia's eyes were bright. They got like that whenever she latched onto an idea.

“Oh, nicer, for sure,” I answered.

She nodded. “And what'd she say about me asking you to come over here today?”

“Nothing. She just said you needed me to do something.”

“She didn't say anything about me being senile, or how they oughta send me to St. Joe and put me away?”

My face burned and all I could do was shake my head.

“Honey, look at me.”

I didn't want to, but I did.

“When you get to be as old as I am, you can see a whole lot of things you don't necessarily lay eyes on. I've known your mama since she was a kitten and I'd lay money she can't surprise me. Now, say I need somebody to take me to town. If she does that and I pet her till she purrs and it makes your life easier—well, it works out for all three of us, doesn't it?”

I don't know what my face looked like, but it made Miss Lydia laugh. “Don't underestimate old age, Billie Marie. Young people like to think they're smarter, but that doesn't make it so.”

I looked down at the pin, bashful to touch it.

She followed my eyes and smiled. “My grandmother gave me that when I was eight and told me to give it to my own girl someday, so that's what I'm doin'.”

I felt too much to hold inside and burst into tears.

“Aw, now. Don't cry about it or I'll take it back.” I looked up and saw she was joking. “But anytime you even begin to doubt me, you look at that and remember. I love you like my own.” She paused. “Better than my own.”

We sat there for a long time with a big old cloud of Curtis hanging over our heads. Nothing more needed to be said.

She finally pushed away from the table and reached for the counter. She handed me an envelope. “Before I forget, run this up to the post office and put it through the slot, would you? That way Lewis can send it out first thing in the morning after he figures out he can't read it through the envelope.”

“Sure.” I glanced at the ruby pin and back to her. She nodded. I picked it up and closed my hand tight. I ran around and gave her a hard, quick hug. “Thank you,” I whispered.

She hugged back ferociously. “Thank
you
,” she said.

I went home and started on the Sunday dinner dishes. Mama came and leaned in the doorway and asked what Miss Lydia had wanted. I told her about the letter. She wanted to know who Miss Lydia was writing to that was so important. I said I didn't know, that I hadn't looked.

But of course I had. And I couldn't imagine what business Miss Lydia had with Dr. Vincent Matassa at Riverside Hospital in Kansas City.

T
  he next Saturday I went to town with Mama and Miss Lydia so we could buy me school clothes. I had been afraid Mama would take me on a weekday, shut up in a car with her and nowhere to hide. And once her Lydia glow wore off I knew I could expect her to start building herself back up by chipping away at me.

But instead of sitting beside Mama feeling like I was caught in a steel trap, I sat in the backseat and enjoyed the show.

Miss Lydia gushed, “Why, Miriam, I'd never thought of it that way!” It's likely she really hadn't, either, whatever the topic. That didn't make it a compliment, though, and I knew it. It was fun to listen. Like breaking a code.

“You are
always
thinking, aren't you?” she said.

I nearly burst out laughing at that one. It was like telling the parents of an ugly baby, “Well now, just
look
at that face!” and watching them swell up with pride.

Mama walked into Penney's with her chin up and shoulders back. She had offered to drop Miss Lydia off elsewhere, but Miss Lydia allowed as how she'd like to come along if we didn't mind.

There was one metal folding chair next to the three-way mirror outside the fitting rooms. Miss Lydia settled in there while Mama and I browsed the racks. We loaded up and I headed in to try everything on.

The first outfit I came out in was an orange poorboy sweater and a plaid skirt that even I thought was too short. One look at Mama and I started stammering. “I—I didn't know! I just went by the size, and—.” I tried to cover my bare thighs with my hands, then by pulling on the skirt.

“Go change into a decent blouse NOW!” Mama hissed. I was so surprised I turned to the mirror first. The sweater was a narrow tube that stretched to fit and my nipples were about to pop through and say howdy. I crossed one arm across my chest while the other hand still pulled at the skirt. It was the kind of dance you might do if the bishop caught you trying on a bikini.