Every Day After (13 page)

Her hateful glare might’ve driven a lesser person inside, but not me. She could pout and stare till her eyes popped out if she wanted. I wasn’t about to let her know she bothered me one little bit. I’d pull a handful of pesky weeds from the vegetable garden or sweep the front porch, and I took my sweet time doing it. This was my house, and I wasn’t going inside till I was good and ready. She must’ve been nearly as determined as me, ’cause she’d usually stay there for the better part of half an hour before giving up and stomping off.

I’d claim small victories in waiting her out, but I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that things were about to get worse. Much worse. I tried to sweep the worries into the back corner of my brain, but they refused to disappear. Fact was fact—Erin wasn’t gonna give up till she got what she wanted. And what she wanted was to get rid of me.

When Tuesday morning came, it promised a bluebird day. Since it wasn’t Saturday and I planned to be home most of the day, I let Mama sit on the back porch. I helped her into her rocker, and she began her forward and back rhythm. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The fresh air would be good for her. She hadn’t been out in days—not on the days school was still in, not on Saturday because of Dr. Heimler, and not Sunday or Monday because it’d rained. I laid her book in her lap and went to the front porch to await Erin’s arrival.

It’d been four days since school ended, and Erin still hadn’t tired of her harassing ways. I had. I was bound and determined that the next time she showed her scowling face at the end of my drive was gonna be her last. I was gonna jerk a knot in her tail.

I didn’t get the chance, because a new unwanted visitor pulled into the drive. This one was just as bad as, if not worse than, the other two. No regular car had a star symbol on the passenger door. And no regular car had a single red light mounted on the bumper. What if he’d heard about me and Mama and was coming to take me away?

I couldn’t hide. I was already out for the world to see. And I couldn’t run. Running makes you look guilty, and I couldn’t leave Mama here by herself. He’d find her for sure when he was looking around for me.

I decided to act as calm as possible and walk right up to his car. He might’ve been as big as all outdoors, but at least he wasn’t mean. In fact, other than his size, I’d never really understood how he’d become sheriff. He was just a big ol’ baby.

Once, I’d been walking to Hinkle’s to get a few things for Mama when I passed by a group of people gathered around a truck. In the middle of the group was Sheriff Dawson, bawling his eyes out. Apparently, Mr. Watson hadn’t been watching where he was going and had run right over Mrs. McClain’s dog. All I know is, even Mrs. McClain wasn’t crying near as bad as the sheriff.

The sheriff opened his door and stepped out. He towered above me. The top of my head barely reached his belly button. He yanked at his uniform britches, trying to get them around his potbelly. “Howdy-do, Miss Lizzie. Is your mother handy? I need to see her about some papers I’ve got here.” He fanned the two papers in his right hand.

I didn’t have a choice. I lied. To the sheriff. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could go to jail for that. “Well, sir, she had a pretty bad headache this morning, so she took some aspirin and lay down. I can take the papers to her for you.”

Sheriff Dawson chewed on his bottom lip. “I appreciate
that, but this is an official paper and I need your mama to sign for it. Maybe I should just come back later.”

Now, I couldn’t have the sheriff coming back later. What excuse would I use then? If I said Mama still had a headache, then Dr. Heimler would be called back over. I had to get the sheriff to leave the paper now. “Oh, I’ll sign for it, Sheriff,” I said real quick. “I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll take it straight to her. Promise.” I added, so he’d think I was helping him out, “Besides, I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to worry about than this.”

Sheriff Dawson swiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Well …”

“You just hand it to me and you can be on your way.”

He handed me the papers and a pen, but by the look on his face, I was afraid he was fixin’ to snatch them right back. “You can’t tell anybody but your mama I let you do this, Miss Lizzie. You tell her I didn’t want to disturb her.”

I slapped Mama’s signature onto one paper and handed it back to the sheriff. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

He eased back into his car, careful of his head and belly, and said, “All righty, then. Y’all have a good one.”

“Yes, sir. You too.” I smiled the biggest smile I could manage and waved him off.

Once he was out of sight, I ran inside and read the official letter. Each word I read was a knife stabbing into my gut. By the time I finished reading, my stomach ached and it felt hotter than blue blazes inside the house. Sweat
beaded on my forehead. I looked out the window at Mama. She was rocking back and forth, her eyes still closed. It wouldn’t do any good to tell her what the letter said. It might even make her worse. I had to handle it by myself. And there’d be no time to wait around on Daddy either, whether or not he showed up on my birthday. I didn’t have even that much time. I had to get started on a plan this very second.

I read over the words again:

Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins:

We are sorry to inform you that you are behind on your mortgage payments. Please bring your mortgage up to date within thirty days of delivery of this letter by remitting payment in the amount of $22.50 to Bittersweet Savings and Loan
.

If you fail to make this payment within thirty days, Bittersweet Savings and Loan will pursue legal action to foreclose on the mortgage, which will result in the sale of the property
.

All back payments shall be added to your current mortgage payment of $22.50, bringing your new mortgage payment to a total of $33.75 for a total of six consecutive months (or 180 days). During this probationary period, no payment to Bittersweet Savings and Loan should be missed. If a missed payment occurs, Bittersweet Savings and Loan reserves the right to begin foreclosure proceedings
.

We are happy to help you resolve this matter. Please contact Mr. Edward V. Cooper for personal assistance
.

Sincerely
,

Daniel B. Roberts

President, Bittersweet Savings and Loan

So that was the whole of it. I had underestimated exactly how far behind Mama and Daddy had gotten on the mortgage. Reading that letter forced me to face those horrible feelings I’d felt toward Daddy the morning he left. Feelings I didn’t want to face. Sharp disappointment and deep hurt. He’d known this was gonna happen before he left. And he’d still up and gone anyway. I tried to breathe out the feelings, but they stuck inside me like glue.

Still, maybe he was coming home soon. Maybe like I hoped. On my birthday. Surely he was making all kinds of money wherever he’d gone to. I bet he knew all along just how much time he had to make that money and hightail it home. But I couldn’t count on it. I’d already wasted a whole month waiting on Daddy to show, and I couldn’t waste another. I was the one holding the bank notice. I was the one who had to try to fix it.

 
Thirteen
 

Hard Work Means Prosperity; Only a Fool Idles Away His Time

My idea of how to fix it was something that I’d once sworn up and down I’d never do. I didn’t know if Daddy would approve or not, but he wasn’t here. I had no choice. I was going to fight any way I could, with or without Daddy. Mama needed me to. If Daddy was gonna have something to say about it, he should’ve been around to say it.

I hurried out to the back porch and moved Mama back inside. She struggled against me, but I couldn’t help it—I had to leave, so she had to come in. As soon as she was situated, I raced down the drive and turned toward town. Toward Hinkle’s.

My knees and ankles ached from my feet pounding against the ground, but I kept going, running farther and faster than I ever had.

Mr. Hinkle looked up at the sound of the bell. “Well, hello, Miss Lizzie. What can I do for you today?”

The big butterfly in my belly came back and began
fluttering around inside me, identical to the way it had the day I got my D. The outcome hadn’t been good then; maybe today wouldn’t be any better. I started to turn around and leave, but the thought of Mama stopped me.

“Mr. Hinkle,” I said before I could chicken out.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Every muscle in my body twitched with determination to keep the question I needed to ask inside me. But I had to be stronger than that. I took a deep breath and dug way down deep, deeper than I ever thought I could, and fought against myself. I forced my mouth open, letting the words escape. “I need a job. Any job. For any pay you can spare.”

There. I’d done it. And I was still breathing. Lightning hadn’t struck me dead or anything. Maybe Daddy had been wrong. Asking for help wasn’t
that
bad.

Mr. Hinkle froze, his eyes blinking faster than usual. He cleared his throat. “Well now, Miss Lizzie, I’d love to have you here, but it’s like this: there’s a depression going on, and we haven’t got much money to spare. I just don’t—”

“Please think about it, Mr. Hinkle.” The begging was coming easier.

Mrs. Hinkle came bustling out of the back room. Mr. Hinkle stiffened at the sight of her.

“What in heaven’s name are you two prattling on about? I swear I have to do everything around here. Look at you, just standing around going on about nothing all day. Injustice. That’s what it is.” She grabbed a few cans and stormed off into the back again.

Lord knows, I was crazy for asking to work on the same street as her, much less in the same store.

“Does everything around here?” Mr. Hinkle mumbled to himself. He looked at me, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Tell you what, I’ll consider it. But you’ve got to give me a day or two to think it over.”

Mr. Hinkle had gone crazier than a bess-bug if he thought I was leaving his store without an answer. I’d worked up the guts to ask for help, and that was a mortal sin in Daddy’s eyes. I wasn’t gonna spend the next few days wondering if my guts had been wasted.

“Please, Mr. Hinkle. I can’t wait that long. Why don’t I look around for a few minutes while you decide?” I strolled over to the candy case.

Mrs. Hinkle came back out and took a few more cans. “Elizabeth Hawkins,” she screeched, “if you don’t back away from that glass, you’re going to be the one cleaning it.”

I eased back and glanced over at Mr. Hinkle. He was slumped over the counter, his fingers plugged in his ears. I thought I could hear him mumble something, but I wasn’t sure. Mrs. Hinkle disappeared into the back room again, and Mr. Hinkle summoned me over.

“All right. I’ve reached a decision. I’m certain you’d be one of the finest workers I’d ever hired, truly worth every penny, but …”

I felt the urge to jump over the counter and wring the answer out of him. “Yes?” I whispered.

“There’s one thing that bothers me about this deal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You see, I’d have to take a lot of grief from Mrs. Hinkle if I hired you, and I’m not altogether certain my old heart could hold up to it. But I’m still willing to chance it if you’ll accept some terms.”

I nodded, maybe a little too fast.

He smiled, deepening the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’ve got to work every afternoon from twelve till four, except on Sundays. I’ll pay you ten cents an hour.” He eyed me. “What’s your reply?”

I tried to pretend I was thinking on the matter, but I’d never been good at disguising excitement. Working at the store would give me a regular income. “I accept.”

“All right. One more thing. We still don’t have a deal unless … You listening?”