Elvis Takes a Back Seat (15 page)

Ivy's news is not tragic, not like a death. I believe Ben knows that. But for a father it is the death of his hopes and dreams. Life will never be the same or as simple again. But has it ever been simple for Ben?

Knowing Ivy is pregnant answers a lot of questions Rae and I asked during the drive to Memphis. It explains her acute car sickness that never stopped, her mood swings, and her sudden yearning to find her mother. Did she seek the answers to the questions that haunt her, answers that might help her make the right decision concerning her baby?

“It happens all the time,” Myrtle says. “It's not the end of the world. Things can be done if she's not too far along. Although we don't promote that here. We like to preserve the sanctity of life. There are no mistakes, we believe, only consequences. And so, there are choices she can make. There's no stigma these days.”

She continues talking about young girls raising their own babies, adoption, and so many other things that make
my head feel woozy. I know Ben isn't hearing any of it. He's in his own dark world of grief, a place I know well.

“College,” he says in a rough voice. “She was supposed to go to college. She had good grades … such potential.”

Myrtle moves with lightning speed and kneels down in front of Ben, her hand on his knee. “Now you listen here, mister. She still has plenty of potential. She's a very smart girl. And she can still go to college. This is a little detour on that path. This doesn't have to change anything. Especially the way you feel about her.”

Ben bristles. “What do you mean?”

“Your daughter is back there, terrified that you will hate her, disown her.”

“She's all I have.”

“Then she needs to hear that from you. Not all that filth you were tossing out earlier.”

His eyes widen, as if he's suddenly seeing he's in a place of worship. Elvis decorations aside, it's still a house of God. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

“You should. And it's perfectly justified. You've had quite a shock. That's why I didn't stop you. You need to get it out, not stuff it in.” She looks at the rest of us. “Bad for the heart and indigestion to stuff emotions, you know.” She peers up into Ben's face. “Don't let her hear or see it. She needs your support. She needs your love.”

“I don't know if I can.”

“Why? Because you're angry? Embarrassed? Morally discombobulated?”

“What if I don't have what it takes? What she needs? I mean, I haven't been much of a father up to now. Isn't that how we got here?”

“Ben!” I slap his shoulder in rebuke. “You have been an adoring father, supportive, loving. Not permissive. I've watched you from the time Ivy was born, and you've done a great job. These things happen to girls from broken homes, to girls from all walks of life. To my own mother!” Reality sinks into me. “No matter their economic status, no matter their family background. Mistakes—”

“Ah-ah,” Myrtle waves her finger at me. “No mistakes. Consequences. She made a choice. A choice to be intimate with a young man. How many of us can boast we haven't done that? None of us are any better, none of us any worse. Just a choice. The Bible don't say anything bad against loving somebody. Who was it, honey?” She turns to Guy who's been leaning against the white grand piano and watching the whole scene dispassionately. “Who was against foolin' around?”

“I believe it was the apostle Paul.”

“Yes. Good advice, that's for sure. I mean, diseases, unwanted pregnancies, all sorts of problems. But it happens. Has since the beginning of time. And we all know that's true.”

“Elvis didn't invent it,” Guy says with a chuckle. “Sex, I mean. Although there were plenty of pastors and parents who acted like he did back in the fifties. Said he'd put sex in the mind of all those young innocents. But the fact is, the good Lord made us with all those surgin' hormones.”

“That's right,” Myrtle pipes in. “So we don't promote sex before marriage, but we don't condemn it either. But heavens, it certainly complicates matters when it ain't done God's way.”

Once again the room grows quiet except for some piped-in Elvis music—the King singing “Amazing Grace.”

I hadn't noticed the music until now. It has a soothing quality and somehow makes the chapel complete.

Ben nods, as if resigned, as if he's tidying up his emotions like tightening shoelaces on his running shoes.

“I had a baby when I was nineteen,” Rae says.

No one speaks, but all eyes turn slowly toward her once again. She lifts her chin a notch as if challenging anyone to condemn her for it. I wonder if anyone had.

“You weren't married?” Ben asks.

“No.”

“What did you do?”

She met his gaze without shame or remorse. It's then I realize her own experience helped her piece together Ivy's mysterious behavior. “I had the baby. But I gave her up for adoption. Then I tried to put my life back together.”

I want to ask if that was what she'd been running from, the memories, the pain, but I decide to wait until later. If it's the reason, it won't help Ben to know that now.

“I didn't tell you for the shock value,” Rae says, “or for sympathy. I just wanted you to know it happens and life goes on.”

“It's all about life,” Myrtle says.

Ben leans back. “So now what? What do we do?”

“I need to talk to Ivy again. Tell her you know the truth, that you love her, and convince her to come out.”

“Will she?” He looks hollow eyed, shaken but steady. This is a serious blow to him, but he's survived worse. I've only now realized how much worse.

“I don't know,” Myrtle says.

The track of Elvis spirituals loops around again. I'm growing weary of “Crying in the Chapel.” But there isn't much to do but wait and hope.

I bought an assortment of sodas for everyone at a nearby general store, along with cookies and chips, and brought them back to the chapel. It's given me something useful to do. But now it gives me something to hang onto while we wait.

Ben paces the floor. Rae tinkers at the piano. I sit in a pew, wondering and thinking through the surprising things I've learned about my friends and family over the past two days. What next?

“What are you doing?” Rae asks, looking at my hand.

I realize I'm tapping on the top of my Coke can, way over the three-time requirement. “Sorry.”

“Why do you do that? The tapping thing?” she asks.

“It's supposed to keep it from spewing Coke all over the place.”

Ben stops his pacing and looks at me.

“It works,” I say, defensive.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

“Stu. He said it diffused—”

“Figures.”

Is the tapping another practical joke courtesy of Stu? I sigh and pop the lid on the can. Bubbles spill up and over the top. As fast as I can, I slurp them down and manage to avoid a mess on the red carpet of the chapel.

Shaking her head, Rae turns back to play the piano, her fingers moving agilely over the keys. The irony strikes me then that Rae had a baby out of wedlock and my own mother got married because of a pregnancy that ended too early. I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with an older brother or sister. What would it be like to have a sibling in my life now? Would it have changed anything? My personality? Would it make my life, especially life without Stu, easier? No. But it might have eased the loss of my parents. But my one sibling did not survive the womb, so it's a moot point. But somewhere I have a cousin. In Oregon? California? New York? Here in Memphis even? I wonder if Rae knows where her child is.

The tinkering of the piano keys draws my attention. I wonder if Rae felt the same way, ill equipped to care for someone else. Did that help her give her baby to another family?

I watch her back, so straight as she sits at the piano, toying with the keys. Age has crept into her silvery hair and
formed graceful lines around her features. She's younger than my mother but is now at the age when my mother died.

“You play?” Guy asks Rae, leaning on the white piano.

“Not much. Not anymore.” With her pointer finger she picks out a tune that sounds familiar but which I can't place. “When did you open this chapel?”

“'Round seventy-nine,” he says.

She nods and keeps playing, her fingers moving rhythmically and skillfully over the keys. Occasionally she hesitates, as if trying to remember the notes. “I lived in Memphis in the early sixties … but haven't been back since.”

“We were here then, too. Fact is, Myrtle grew up here. I'm from Georgia. Things have changed since the sixties. Then again, not so much.”

She smiles an obscure remembering smile, like she's caught in her own memories. “I know what you mean. What made you want to open a chapel with an Elvis motif?”

“Well, I knew him. See?”

She misses a note but recovers.

“Myrtie and I knew Elvis, knew he was hurtin', but there wasn't much could be done. We couldn't help him. When he died, it affected me deeply. I wanted to be a help to others who are hurtin', to do something. I figured there were a lot of folks out in the world that had lost their way, needed help finding their way back to faith, to believe its yours for the taking. So we just decided one day.”

Rae smiles with her lips closed, still listening, still fooling with the keys.

“Kickin' around names, of course we thought of Graceland.”

“But that's already been taken.”

He laughs. “Sure, sure. But it wasn't about grace. The grace was already there. Folks, I figured, needed faith, to find their faith again. You gotta have faith to receive the grace.”

“Isn't it a free gift?” I ask, moving toward them.

“Sure, sure.” Guy gives me a welcoming grin.

Rae moves over and makes room for me on the piano bench.

“But,” Guy says, “if you don't know a fancy car is sit-tin' in your drive with a big red bow on it, what good does it do you? You gotta take the step out the door or peek out the window to see it. If I gotta big wrapped gift box for you, you gotta reach out and take it. It's still free, but it takes an action of faith. See what I mean?”

I think back to what Ben said, how he trusted, how I couldn't.

“Maybe.” Rae's fingers loosen up, scattering over the keyboard in a rambling fashion.

Guy and I watch her a moment. He grins and winks. “I think you still know how to play that thing.”

Her smile broadens.

I close my eyes, listening to the notes climbing and descending the scales. Then I look at Ben, sitting slumped in a pew, thumbing through a Bible. I wish I could help him, but he seems trapped in his own private thoughts. I know that place. Sometimes I need to be alone to get my bearings and find my own way out. Or maybe he's praying again. Something inside me envies his ability to pray, his unquestioning belief. Inside I know the ugly truth about myself. It's easier for me to sit back now and do nothing but watch and
empathize with Ben, especially when I don't know what to do to help him. Besides, I know there's nothing I can do or say to make the situation better.

Alone I carried the burden for nursing first Mother, then Stu. I've always been grateful I could help them, love them, care for them. But I also know this terrible fact about myself now: I don't want to take care of anyone else. It sounds selfish, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm tired. Exhausted from loving, from losing too much.

I wonder what Ben will do about Ivy's predicament. I don't know how he feels about abortion, if that will be an option, although it makes my stomach tighten into a hard knot. Will Ivy even want to have the baby? Will she raise it? Give it up for adoption?

Ivy's situation makes it easier for me to understand the predicament my mother was in. And Rae. I ache for all of them. I want to reach out to Ivy, but I'm not sure she will accept my compassion. I don't know what to do or say anyway. A part of me, a part I'm once again ashamed of, wants to turn and walk away.

Seeing the bag with the glasses I purchased on the pew, I carry them over to Ben. He stares at them. “I thought you could use these.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“You need reading glasses. And these, well, I thought they'd remind you of Stu.”

“They do that.” He laughs but then puts them on. I admit he looks ridiculous. But when he looks down at the Bible, he says, “Hey, I can read the words now.”

“Good.” I pat his shoulder.

The door where Myrtle disappeared earlier opens. Rae's
fingers pause, resting on the piano keys. Guy looks over his shoulder. Only Ben speaks as he takes off the Elvis spectacles. “Well? Can I see my daughter?”

Myrtle nods.

I move over to Rae and tap her shoulder. “Maybe we should leave. Let this be a private family matter.”

She stands with me, closing the piano as I give Ben a hug. “It'll be all right,” I whisper in his ear. “It will.”

“Ivy wants you two to stay,” Myrtle says.

“But …” Ben hesitates. I sense he wants to be alone with his daughter.

Myrtle's eyes deepen with sympathy. “It was her request.”

Ben motions for us to all sit down again. I move a few feet from Ben and settle back onto the pew. I don't want to be intrusive. Rae sits back on the piano bench.

“Okay,” Myrtle says, opening the door again. “Come on, it's okay.”

Ivy walks through the door, wearing the same thing she wore yesterday when I last saw her. She looks tired, her face mottled red and streaked with black mascara. My gaze automatically moves to her abdomen, where she has her hands clenched tight, but I can't detect any roundness or slight baby bulge. A part of me hopes she's mistaken, but remembering our constant stops on the drive to Memphis, I know she's not.

Ben walks toward her, his motions stiff and awkward. He holds out his arms to her. Then he waits, lets her make the next move. She glances at Myrtle, who gives a slight nod, then back to her father. Her eyes fill with tears that spill over to her cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” Ben says, his voice hoarse.

“I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry.”

He enfolds her in a tight embrace, rocking her from side to side as I've seen him do since she was a baby. But now he can lay his cheek on the top of her head. He shushes her.

“It's okay. It's going to be okay. I don't want you worrying about anything. Anything at all.”

* * *

EVENTUALLY BEN LEADS Ivy to a pew and settles her under the shelter of his arm. Rae stays at the piano, with Guy leaning on the upright. I sit next to Myrtle on the steps leading to the altar.

“Was it Heath?” Ben asks.

“Dad!” Her tone is that of a normal hormonal teenager.

I notice Ben's hands clench and every muscle tenses.

“Now Ivy,” Myrtle says, interrupting, “your father is going to have questions. That's natural.”

Ben gives her a nod of thanks, but his jaw flexes in an effort to withhold his riotous emotions.

“But maybe we could focus on a neutral topic,” Myrtle suggests. “For now.”

“Like the weather?” Ben asks. He peers down at his daughter, his brows pinched together. “Does he know?”

Ivy looks down at her hands. “Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

She shrugs. “He … he said it was my fault. That I was stupid.”

“We'll just see about that.”

Ivy places a hand on her father's leg. “Dad. Please don't. Just let him go.”

“She doesn't want anything to do with the baby's father,” Myrtle says.

“Well, what are you going to do? Deal with this alone?” Ben asks, frustration sharpening his tone.

Ivy hides her face in her hands and starts crying. Ben's anger melts. He glances at me, looking helpless.

“Ivy,” I say, “you're not alone. We're here to help you. And—” the words catch in my throat. I can't say what Ben said, that God's right there helping. I can't. “You know,” I add, “there are lots of options. But nothing has to be decided today.”

Ivy snuffles. Rae brings her a tissue, but the girl keeps her face averted.

“Ivy,” I say, “we just want you to know we're here for you. We care about you. And we'll be with you through this.”

Each of the adults surrounding Ivy murmurs agreement. Then the room grows silent, except for Elvis singing “I Believe.”

“Rae had a baby out of wedlock,” Ben says.

Ivy looks up then, stares at Rae, as the rest of us do.

“It's a bit old-fashioned to say it that way.” She shrugs. “But it's true.”

“I'm sorry,” Ben says, “I shouldn't have—”

She waves her hand to stop his apology, her charm bracelet jangling. It's then I notice one of the charms laying flat against her wrist. The silver sparkles. It's in the shape of a baby's bootie. “It's all right. It's the truth.”

“How old were you?” Ivy asks, curious yet wary.

“Nineteen.”

“Oh.”

“But this was forty years ago. So I was very naive. And times were different. It's more accepted now. It wasn't then.”

“What did you do?” Ivy asks.

“I had the baby. I had no choice there. Then I gave it to someone else to raise, someone who had a home, who was ready for a baby, who needed a baby. I never had that need. Although sometimes in the years since I've had a longing. But need … is different. I was too young, too stupid to raise a baby. I would not have been a very good mother.”

“How could you do that?” Ivy glares at Rae. “Just walk away!”

I hold my breath, expect Rae to put the girl in her place. I sense Ivy's anger should be directed at her own mother. But Rae is the closest target.

“It wasn't easy. But I couldn't imagine myself as a mother,” Rae says. “I knew my limitations better than anyone. And I had to think of what was best for the baby.”

Ivy wraps her arms across her stomach.

My heart contracts, thinking of two girls, pregnant, trying to make the right decision. And so young to make such a grown-up one.

“It's the hardest thing I've ever done,” Rae says, her voice cracking, her gaze sliding toward me.

Ben gives a small shake of his head, as if he's still coming to grips with the news. I suspect he hopes for adoption, for Ivy to give up her baby. But I give him credit for not having asked that of her yet.

In my bones I feel Rae's loss, as I lost a baby of my own but not of my own accord. At least her baby had a life to live. But I know the agony, the emptiness that never goes away.

“My mother thought like you,” Ivy says, her tone bitter. “She didn't want to be a mom.”

Ben leans away from his daughter to look at her face. “You don't know that.”

“She left, didn't she?” Ivy's tone is jagged with anger.

“There's a difference,” Rae says, “in not wanting to be a mom and in not feeling capable.”

“I'm not going to abandon my baby!” She covers her belly with her hands. “I'm not! Ever.” She glares at Rae. “No matter what any of you say.”

* * *

“IT'S TIME TO GO,” Ben says. “We're all tired and we need some rest.”

My heart feels heavy as I look at Ben's defeated expression. He's wise not to respond immediately to his daughter's challenge.

Myrtle and Guy seem pleased with the results of the reunion. Guy retrieves Ivy's backpack and suitcase from the back room and hands them over to Ben. Myrtle gives everyone hugs.