Every Day After (18 page)

“But what about Mama?” I jerked away from her grip and started toward Mama.

She grabbed me again, this time by the back of my shirt, and spun me around. “Oh, no you don’t. You get to packing whatever you’re planning to take. Dr. Heimler will take care of your mama.”

Dr. Heimler didn’t say anything. He only nodded. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I wanted to ask, but I was too afraid of the answer. An answer I couldn’t change no matter how badly I wanted to.

Mrs. Sawyer marched me back to my room. On my way I peeked one last time into Mama’s. I made sure to keep it spotless. Nothing was out of place. The bed was so precisely made it looked as though it’d never been slept
in. Even the homemade feather mattress atop the store-bought cotton one had been fluffed and smoothed to perfection. Mama would’ve done it that way if she could, but she couldn’t, so I did it for her.

My room wasn’t so lucky. My bed remained unmade, a wrinkled pile of blanket and quilt, topped off with a crooked, crumpled pillow. Books and papers were scattered about the room while my bookcase stood empty. For some reason, I could keep the entire house spotless, except for my room.

Mrs. Sawyer clucked her tongue at the sight. “I was right. You most certainly cannot stay here and live in a mess like this.”

She’d failed to notice that the rest of the house was perfectly clean. I dug through the mess, gathering the belongings I wanted to take, and pretended not to hear her. I wanted to pack up my entire room—walls, bed, and all—and take it with me. The trouble was in fitting it all into my suitcase. I finally settled on two changes of clothes, a blanket, the slingshot Ben had given me, and my journal. I stacked them into my suitcase, and Mrs. Sawyer escorted me outside.

“Can’t I say good-bye to Mama?”

“Lord, no. We’ll never get you away from her if you start all that. I think it’s better for everyone if you just go on with the sheriff.”

Better for everyone? Who was “everyone”? I was pretty
sure it wasn’t Mama or me. I could feel my chin tensing.
Don’t let them see you cry. Don’t let them
. The words rolled through my head.

Sheriff Dawson helped me into the backseat of his car. He was about to close the door when Erin came running up behind him.

“Would you excuse us, please, Sheriff?” she asked.

The sheriff nodded and went to settle in the driver’s seat.

For the first time since she’d come back, Erin spoke to me. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Lizzie,” she whispered. “But that’s life. Only some people get what they want, and right now I’m one of those people.”

Erin slammed the car door in my face before I had the chance to reply. She and Mrs. Sawyer turned to go inside—inside my house, to look down on my mama. My arms and legs ached to run and punch and fight, but I could only watch as our house shrank smaller and smaller and finally disappeared from view.

 
Eighteen
 

’Tis Perseverance That Prevails

Poor Mama. I’d failed her. I’d let Erin win. Wasn’t any doubt about it now. My chin again began to tremble, and this time there wasn’t any stopping it. Salty tears streamed down my cheeks. Sheriff Dawson glanced back at me through the rearview mirror.

“I hate doin’ this to ya, Lizzie,” he said. “If there was a soul alive to look after you, I wouldn’t. But as things is, I just ain’t got a choice.”

I didn’t say anything back. I wasn’t about to tell him it was all right for him to be dropping me off with strangers and leaving my mama alone with a doctor who’d send her off to heaven-knows-where. It wasn’t all right. But since he was a nice man in all other respects, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. I’d known even before he said it that he didn’t
really
want to take me away. He just didn’t know how to stand up to certain people. “Certain people” being Mrs. Sawyer.

I couldn’t bear watching Sheriff Dawson’s big eyes
looking back at me, so I opened my suitcase and pulled out my journal. The car bounced through a hole and the cover fell open. This time I didn’t look away from that first entry. I read.

March 30, 1932

It was cold this morning—too cold for late March. Still, I jumped up just the same as always, and ran into the kitchen expecting to hear:
Lizzie, I’m not going to tell you one more time to quit running through this house.
But Mama didn’t say it. Instead, I found her slumped over the kitchen table, her head in her hands
.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” I asked, patting her jerking back
.

Her soft sniffles erupted into sobs. She stood without looking at me, staggered onto the back porch, and collapsed into the rocker
.

A wrinkled note lay on the table, wet with Mama’s tears. I picked it up and read the familiar handwriting flowing across the page:

Dearest Rose,

Please understand. I can’t bear to live like this—watching us all sink further and further into a hole. I feel so helpless. I can’t
eat. I can’t sleep. And I can’t stop it by staying.

I love you both. I’m terribly sorry, but I have to go.

Give this to Lizzie for me.

Love always,
Will             

I looked around for the “this” Mama was supposed to give me. It had fallen into a golden pile beneath Mama’s chair. The locket
.

For the first time in more than a year, I looked inside it. The pictures of Grandmother and Grandfather had been replaced with pictures of Daddy and me. I put the locket around my neck, then I folded the note and put it in my dresser
.

As I copied the note into this journal, I couldn’t help but wonder where Daddy’s gone, and when he’ll come home. I guess there’s no way to know. Why doesn’t he tell us? Is he afraid Mama will take me and try to follow him? Is he afraid she’ll try to make him come home? I hope he writes soon. I can’t stand not knowing
.

On days after that, whenever I felt unsure Daddy would come home, I’d pull that note from my dresser and read it over. He hadn’t said he was never coming back. Just that
he couldn’t stop the bad by staying. I kept telling myself he’d be back. Lying to myself. Gripping on to hope with all that I had. But, like a block of ice left in the scorching summer sun, melting slowly at first and then faster and faster, my hope began to shrink smaller and smaller. The smaller it shrank, the faster it disappeared. Now hope evaporated. My lungs froze, refusing to inhale ever again.

I slammed the journal shut and shoved it back into my suitcase, trying to forget the memories of that day and the foolishness of my hope.

The words Mama had murmured that late afternoon on the porch played over and over in my mind:
Down for hair, just like your father
. Eventually those words faded to only four:
Just like your father. Just like your father
.

Mama knew. She’d always known. I was like Daddy. But I wanted to be, didn’t I?

Mama’s face appeared. Not the face she now possessed, but the face she’d once had—a face full of life and smiles. A face full of care and grace. The gripping in my lungs loosened and I inhaled. There was a chance Mama could still be that person. If Daddy had never gone, neither would she. Daddy had failed her. He’d left when she needed him to fight harder than he’d ever dreamed he’d have to.

Well, I wouldn’t fail her. I wouldn’t leave her. I’d fight. For her.

Then I knew, more surely than I’d ever known anything before, I didn’t want to be like Daddy. I wanted to be better.

I had to get away from the sheriff. Escape. I wasn’t about to end up in some orphanage. Nope. Not me. Besides, what bright side could any ol’ orphanage possibly have?

I wiped the tears away from my face. The car jolted through another big pothole, and then, like a miraculous gift from God, I got an idea. A darned good idea. Mama! I grabbed my stomach and went to moaning and groaning.

“Lizzie, you all right back there?” Sheriff Dawson slowed the car a bit.

“Ugh,” I groaned. I lay over in the seat. “I don’t feel so good.”

The car slowed a bit more, and the sheriff edged toward the side of the road. “What’s wrong? You need me to pull over?”

I didn’t reply. I wiggled and squirmed.

“Lizzie, I need you to tell me right now if you’re gonna be sick.” Sheriff Dawson gagged and took a deep breath. “I ain’t so good at cleaning stuff like that up.”

I puffed my cheeks with air like I was holding something down.

“I’m pullin’ over right now. You’re gonna have to get out and do that.”

I looked up at him and nodded. His face had gone pale and he was taking more deep breaths than he should have been. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and fanned his face with his hat.

As soon as we stopped, he ran around and opened my
door. I grabbed my suitcase before I jumped out, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy gagging and heaving and finding the nearest bush. And, my Lord, the noises that came from him once he found that bush.

I don’t know when he finally realized I was missing. I was too far gone to care, running like mad through the woods away from his car. Running toward home.

 
Nineteen
 

A True Friend Is Known in the Day of Adversity

I ran till I thought I really
was
gonna be sick. I stopped long enough to give my legs a break from the beating my suitcase was giving them. I’d formed a plan while I was running, and I had to believe it would work. I pulled out my slingshot and studied it. Ben had never failed me, though I’d let him down more times than I could count. I prayed he’d let me make up for those failures.

Back in Bittersweet, I headed straight for Ben’s. I jogged faster and faster. Then I started to run. I didn’t have much time. I might already be too late.

Air heaved in and out of my lungs, and my shoes slapped hard against the dry ground. Mailboxes, houses, trees, they all streaked past in blurs, a mottle of colors and shapes. Then Ben’s house appeared. The chickens scattered as I entered the yard. My head bobbed as I slowed my stride, causing the house to appear as if it were jumping for joy to see me. I felt the same.