Chasing Lilacs (13 page)

“Sugar, let’s not start the guilt again. You were a perfectly wonderful mother. Look at Sis here. She ain’t turned out half
bad.”

“I miss her so much.” Mama didn’t take her eyes off the picture of the crying Sylvia. “If only…”

“Uh, Mama, Goldie told me not to question why God does things. Actually she said ‘the Almighty,’ but it’s the same thing.”

“I don’t think I do that. I’ve prayed until I’m blue in the face, but the ache I feel, the longing to hold her, never leaves.”

Daddy reached down and took Mama’s hand. “I know, sugar.” He pulled her up and said, “What say I help you clear this stuff
away, and then Sammie can tell us about the first day of junior high.”

“Right. Just clean up the mess and everything’s fine again. I don’t think you’ll ever get it, Joe Tucker.” Her eyes narrowed
into slits, and I could almost feel Daddy flinch as if struck with an arrow.

I had my own ache inside. Selfishness, I know that’s what it was, but sometimes I wished Mama would remember me. Just me—Sammie.
I picked up my school things and went to my room, closing the door behind me. She hadn’t asked one word about my first day
in seventh grade.

Gathering up copies of the
Dandelion Times
to give Mrs. Gray, I could hear Mama and Daddy arguing. It was hard not to listen, so I crept over to the door and as quiet
as I could, I turned the knob on my door and inched it open a crack.

“I’m trying to understand, but the doctor said he wanted to see you back in a couple of months.”

“What does he know? Being committed the first time wasn’t my idea if you remember correctly. But then I don’t suppose you
do. You just want to take me back so they’ll lock me up again.”

“That’s a crock and you know it. Zeb Thornton said he takes his wife back periodically. Preventative, so the spells don’t
come back. All I want, sugar, is for you to be well. No more of this up-and-down business.”

Leaning closer to the crack in the door, I slipped and the door went shut with a thud. But not before I heard Mama say, “I
would rather die than go back to that place. You’ve no idea….”

Sweat beaded up on my forehead.
Daddy had Mama committed? My mama?
I couldn’t catch my breath, like the air was there, but when I heaved my chest, it wouldn’t go in.

Yanking on the doorknob, I walked into the front room and looked at both of them. Their eyes darted back and forth at each
other.

“What did you mean, when Daddy had you committed? Last summer? Getting shock treatments was Daddy’s idea?” It made sense now,
how he’d talked to Zeb Thornton and decided that must be what Mama needed.

Daddy cleared his throat, and I could see his neck turning red above his shirt collar. “It was a joint decision. Doc’s, your
mama’s, and mine, that’s all.”

Mama lowered herself to the couch, and that’s when I noticed for the first time that she still had on her terry-cloth robe,
hanging open, just like when she used to have her spells. She pulled her knees up to her chest and put her head down.

“Mama said it was your idea.”

“Sammie, you’re too young to understand. And I’m not trying to put her back in the hospital. Just get a checkup.”

“What if they do that shock thing again? Did you think about that? What if that happened and Mama couldn’t remember you like
she couldn’t remember Sylvia? Or that time about Patch? What if they zapped her so many times she couldn’t remember me?” I
ran over to Mama and knelt by the couch and let her robe rub against my cheeks. When tears ran down my face, I felt her velvet
fingers wiping them away.

Mama smiled at me and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry, honey. Your daddy’s just a fussbudget. Blowing
smoke, that’s what.”

She patted the sofa for me to sit beside her, and we sat there curled up together while Mama asked me about school and if
I’d picked a favorite teacher yet. I told her about Mrs. Gray and Gina inviting me for a slumber party.

Daddy sat in his rocker, and the way he kept his eyes on the television, it was hard to tell what he thought. One thing I
knew. I didn’t want Mama to go away again. Ever.

On Thursday, Daddy had to work late. Mama said she felt like taking a walk, so we strolled up and down the camp streets, waving
to the neighbors and laughing at Scarlett scampering here and there.
In front of Tuwana’s house, Mr. Johnson had his sleeves rolled up, rubbing a chamois over the hood of the Edsel.

“What a magnificent car.” Mama ran a finger along the window chrome.

“Best thing I ever done, getting this doll for my princesses. I declare, Mrs. Tucker, you might be the only soul in Graham
Camp who hasn’t had a ride. Wanna go for a spin?”

“Oh, could we?” Mama’s eyes widened, and just like that, we hopped in with Mr. Johnson reciting the Edsel’s features. Teletouch
drive. Electric windows. I knew them all by heart now. Mama’s hair blew in wild swirls around her head as we rode along with
the windows open, just like the long-ago day when I was a little girl. Mama laughed and thanked Mr. Johnson for the ride when
he dropped us off later at our house.

“Wasn’t that glorious?” Mama’s cheeks glowed pink from the cool evening. “So clever of Benny Ray to give his girls such a
nice surprise. There’s nothing wrong with being practical like your daddy, but spontaneity is fun too. Believe it or not,
your daddy used to drag me off on an adventure once in a while, take me dancing for no reason….” She hummed and did a little
spin on the sidewalk as Scarlett pranced at her feet.

“And you too. He’d come in from working on the rig, load us both up, and we’d go out for coconut pie at Findley’s Diner. He
loved showing us off.”

“I remember that.”

“I don’t see how. You were just a tiny thing. All that changed after Sylvia, anyway. Everyone thinks I had all the problems,
but your daddy changed too. Clammed up tight, that’s what.” She lowered herself onto the top step of the porch and gazed off
into the distance.

A whisper inside told me to put my antennae up and stand guard. Just the mention of Sylvia did that to me now. From the
corner of my eye, I watched Mama’s face, looking for signs she might be working herself up. After a minute she lifted her
shoulders and smiled at me. “I think I might have handled things better if your daddy had talked to me more. We all got our
ways though. Nothing for you to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

In my heart I’d never believed anything more than I did at that moment.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I woke up late and made a mad dash getting ready for school and gathering my things for Gina’s slumber party. The smell of
waffles made my insides growl as I yanked the pink sponge rollers from my hair. One side of my pageboy had a crease I couldn’t
get smoothed out. No time to fiddle with it.

“Thanks for making waffles,” I told Mama as I wolfed them down, dripping a blob of syrup on my white blouse.

“Here, let me help you.” Mama wet the corner of a tea towel and scrubbed the spot. “It’ll dry before you get to school.”

“Today’s the big day…. Mrs. Gray will tell us who gets to work on the school newspaper. Don’t forget, I’m staying after for
Gina’s slumber party.”

“I won’t forget.” She hugged me and handed me my books.

I gave her a peck on the cheek, and with my suitcase in one hand, an armload of books in the other, and my purse swinging
from my shoulder, I hurried to catch the bus. Just before I got on, I turned around and saw Mama standing on the porch. She
blew me a kiss.

“Running away from home?” Cly asked when I’d made my way down the bus aisle.

I collapsed into the seat, out of breath.

“Yes… I mean, no. I’m going to Gina Hardy’s slumber party tonight. What about you? Going to the game?”

Cly shrugged. “Doobie’s getting his learner’s permit today. We’re gonna see if his pop’ll let Doobie chauffeur, us. Save me
a seat, just in case.”

“I didn’t know Gina was having a sleepover,” Tuwana said. “I wonder why she didn’t invite me.”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say who she asked.”

“Hmmph.” Tuwana looked out the bus window.

The suitcase I’d brought wouldn’t fit in my locker, and lugging it between classes looked stupid. I trudged toward the office
to ask the secretary if she had any ideas. When I saw her empty chair, I figured I had to carry it around. As I started out
the door, Mr. Howard’s voice boomed behind me.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Yes… well… I don’t know.” Seeing his red hair and buckteeth shining made me wonder if I’d broken one of the Howdy Doody commandments
by barging into the empty office.

Mr. Howard cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “If you have a question, I’m listening.”

“I need a place to put my suitcase since it won’t fit in my locker, and I’m staying after school today and spending the night
with Gina Hardy and will need the things I’ve brought.” I smiled and pointed to the bag. “The things in my suitcase.”

“I see. You’re one of the camp girls, aren’t you?”

“Y-y-yes. Sammie Tucker. Seventh grade.”

“Well, Miss Tucker. No problem. Miss Golightly—she’s the secretary—will keep an eye on it for you. Better hurry on to class.
Don’t want you getting a tardy slip.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I fast-walked, imagining Howdy Doody eyes boring into my back, and whooshed into my seat just as the
bell rang.

By fourth hour, I still hadn’t heard anything about the school newspaper and had decided two things. One—Mr. Howard wasn’t
as bad as I expected. Two—I must not have made the cut for the newspaper. Make that three things: If Cly came to the football
game, I would make sure he had a seat beside me.

So with all the stuff tumbling around in my head and Mr. Apple, the history teacher, talking about the Boston Tea Party, I
almost didn’t hear my name called over the loudspeaker.

“Sammie Tucker, could you please report to the principal’s office?”

Mrs. Gray wants me for the newspaper! Please, please, please, let that be it
.

“You may be excused.” Mr. Apple cocked his head in the direction of the door.

My heart pounded in my ears as I hurried down the hall, and I forced myself to take a deep breath.
Stay calm. Mrs. Gray won’t be impressed by some ninny.
I slowed down and gulped one more big breath before entering the office.

Three people stood in a semicircle in front of the secretary’s desk. Miss Golightly, her face as pale as cottage cheese. Mr.
Howard, his cheeks flushed with perfect round circles, one on each side. And Goldie Kuykendall, wiping her hands on her aviary
apron, her Buster Brown haircut a mess, and a look of agony distorting her face.

“You know Mrs. Kuykendall?” Mr. Howard’s voice sounded croaky.

“Goldie, what’s wrong? What are you doing here?”

Her arms, sturdy and strong, reached out and pulled me to her chest, smothering me in aviary smells.

“Sammie, Sammie…” Trembling, she tightened her hold on me. My chest filled with dread, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

Breathing through my nose, I pulled away and looked into
Goldie’s round face, her mossy eyes rimmed in red. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Tell me.”

“Your mama… she’s gone.” She swallowed hard.

“Gone? Gone where? She’s left me and Daddy?”

“I don’t know how to tell you. She’s… gone. Gone to be with the Lord.” Goldie wrung her hands on her apron. “Come, your daddy
is waiting at home for you.”

She steered me toward the door, and as she did Mr. Howard’s voice crackled. “Your suitcase, Sammie. You might need your things.”

I clutched the handle and followed Goldie into the fluorescent blue hallway, through the double glass doors, and into the
midday sun. Inside I felt ice cold.

G
EORGE, GOLDIE’S HUSBAND
, tossed a cigarette butt out their Buick window onto the school parking lot. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Mr. Howard
was watching.
How weird to think of that.

Goldie took my suitcase and put it in the front seat before crawling into the back with me. No one said a word. I closed my
eyes, praying that when I opened them I would be in Mr. Apple’s classroom learning about the evil tax the British had imposed
on tea.

George started the car, grinding the engine. I turned my head away from Goldie and stared out the window where I saw a red
and purple and yellow blur of grade-schoolers on the playground. I gnawed on my lower lip until the taste of blood came into
my mouth.

“What happened?”
Was that my voice?
It sounded far away.

“Your daddy asked us to pick you up and tell you your mama was gone, to heaven, like I said.” Goldie patted my knee, her breathing
heavy. “He wants to tell you the rest.”

“He won’t tell me.” I turned and looked into her eyes. “I know he won’t. He’ll gloss it over, make up some story about everything
working out for the best. My mother is dead. That’s what you said.”

“I’m so sorry….”

“It wasn’t an accident, though, was it? You would have said,
‘Your mother was killed’ or, ‘There’s been a terrible accident,’ but you didn’t.”

Goldie’s face sagged with little bags around the corners of her mouth.

My insides twisted together as I tried to imagine what Mama had done.
How? Why? When?
My eyes burned, hot and dry. The blood from biting my lips had a metallic taste like the way a penny smells when you hold
it in your sweaty hand.
What did Mama do?

“Did she slit her wrists? Swallow some more pills? Please… you have to tell me.”

Goldie didn’t say a word. Just sat there, her jaw muscle twitching.

“She was my mother. I have a right to know.” Inside I didn’t want to know. If Goldie spoke the words out loud, it would be
true.
Mama killed herself.
I waited for the answer, my muscles bunched into knots.

“Your daddy should be the one to tell you, but…” Goldie stopped, looked at George, and then told me in a voice like sandpaper.
“Slim Wallace drove his truck along your street this morning, checking which incinerators needed to be cleaned out. He found
Scarlett yipping and squirming out by your row of garages. He thought your mama forgot to let her back in, so he picked her
up and took her to the back door. When no one answered, he opened the door and called. Scarlett nipped him on the arm and
jumped down, running back to the garages and pawing at the closed door. That’s where he found her.” Goldie patted my hand,
then picked it up and held it in her cold, clammy one. “Honey, your mama died from hanging herself.”