Homefires (31 page)

Will he forget her?
The old familiar fear pierced my haze of pain. I honestly didn’t know what to say to him and when I tried – something always stopped me.

“Mom?” Heather stuck her head around the hall entrance, “can you help me hem these slacks?”

“Sure, honey.”

We sat on Krissie’s bed, our hangout place together, and reminisced about happy times as I stitched the bell-bottom trouser legs to accommodate Heather’s less than statuesque height. Actually, her five-foot-four is normal, but alongside Callie and Roxie, she felt like a, quote, “stunted dwarf.”

“You’re lovely,” I insisted. “Perfect.”

“Aww,” Heather protested, blushing, “Mamas always say that.”

“Maybe so. But to me – ” I looked her in the eye, “you are.”

My hands stilled when I saw the tears in her blue eyes. I lay the sewing aside and held out my arms. “Come here.”

She moved into them and snuggled to my bosom, silently shedding tears. I felt her heartbeat as she nestled there. My throat closed and throbbed. The pulse was so miraculous – so
profound
in that moment.
Life. Precious life.

“Mama,” Heather said hoarsely, pulling away and looking sadly at me. “I know you miss Krissie. But Mama – ” She took both my hands in hers and her lips trembled, “you
still have us.”

The words tumbled so straight from her heart they pierced my soul like a bullet. And I knew, in that moment, it was not selfishness or irreverence toward her sister but a need to be
validated.
Like me at her age, she was trapped in a dark drama, one not asked for nor deserved. One over which she had no control, that had reduced her to a
non-person.

“I’m so thankful to have you, sweetheart.” I squeezed her fingers. “Right now, I’m consumed with grief. I’m sorry. I can’t change that. Time will help. In the meantime, I want you to know this: God divided my heart into equal compartments and each one is reserved for you, Toby and Krissie. I love you differently but equally. No matter what happens, that space is
yours.
Forever.”

I resolved in that moment that I would henceforth attempt to shield her a bit more from the grimness surrounding her.

We embraced and lay there on Krissie’s bed for a long, long time.

Callie slid into the secretary’s role as effortlessly as an otter into water and every bit as gracefully. To me, she was still beautiful, despite her nose, slightly crooked since being broken – compliments of Jack – and the small scars on her neck and arm where he cut her. The nose alteration made her look – interesting. Anyway, that’s what I kept telling her, though I don’t think she fully believed me. Modest but fashionably fitted clothing replaced her minis and snug sweaters, while she traded her Farah Fawcett mane for a modest but luxurious shag style. She was determined to be a credit to Kirk and the church. But first, quote Callie, to the Almighty.

Her coming to Solomon was a balm to me and when she moved into her apartment, I missed her. When she and Moose reunited, it was a hoot of all hoots.

“What happened to you, Moosey?” she eyed him up and down just before we sat down to dine at Bessingers. “Some other little pig been beatin’ you to the trough?”

Moose explained that a bad case of flu had started the weight decline, after which he simply flowed with less food. With his weight down, he qualified to join the Air Force. “Found out I felt better not stuffin’ everythin’ ‘at didn’t move into my mouth,” he declared, then gazed adoringly at Roxie, who maintained her all-male vigilance like a trooper. “B’sides, if I hadn’t ‘a slimmed down, Roxie wouldn’t ‘a give me a tumble, would you, Roxie?”

“Huh
uh.
Not on your life, precious,” she droned in her nasal way, never looking at Moose, who didn’t seem to notice or care. Just being in her presence sustained him in some way I’d not yet divined.

Callie cocked one brow at me but kept her mouth shut. She was slowly acquiring the art of discretion.

“You and I could’ve danced on the table
naked
and she’d never have noticed,” she commented later in the ladies’ room on Roxie’s fetish with the opposite sex. “What’s got into Moose? Don’t he even
notice
she eyeballs every man in the place except
him?
I thought he had more sense. Course, Moosey
does
bring home a good paycheck, which could account for her sacrificial offering of self.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Forgive me, Lord,” she muttered without remorse.

“Well, she’s coming to church with Moose at least,” I said. “There’s always hope.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say
faith
. In this case, I’d sure have to dig for it.”

“You need to get back in school, honey. It’s been nearly two weeks since – Well, you need to get out of the house.”

I gazed unseeing out our rain-spattered bedroom window, toward the cemetery. I still hadn’t gotten past the nightly head count mothers do. I tried not to agonize that her grave was wet and cold.

Kirk thrust his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Neecy. Your Dad’s worried about you. When they visited last weekend, he said he’s concerned you spend so much of your time at the graveside.”

I whirled about to face my husband. “How dare you or anybody tell me
how
to grieve, Kirk Crenshaw. Do I tell you how? Huh?”

Kirk’s shock at my outburst registered in his face. “No, you don’t. Your Dad is just worried about you.”

“Well, Daddy can just get over it.” Anger caused me to tremble and brought tears to my eyes. “I walk in the cemetery every day, for goodness sake. I did before Krissie’s death and I still do. It’s my favorite quiet place to take a blanket and to sit and write under that shade tree. It’s my meditation place. And yes! I do want to be close to my daughter right now, okay? That doesn’t make me a nut case.”

I started to leave then turned again. “And I’ll go back to school when I doggone well please.”

Kirk remained in the bedroom for a long time before approaching me in the den, where, because of the weather, I was forced to remain indoors and stare at the television screen, unseeing, while Toby watched afternoon cartoons.

The phone rang. Woodenly, I answered it. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Crenshaw, this is Mrs. Carter, Krissie’s teacher. I’ve got something I think you’d like to have.” Her voice quavered with emotion. “Remember the little girl named Joanne, Krissie’s classmate? She was the black student Krissie befriended. I noticed her playing with Joanne often before her accident.”

“Yes. I remember.” Kirk kissed my cheek and his concerned eyes lingered on me before I forced a smile to reassure him. I heard him quietly close the door behind him on his way out.

“I asked the class to write an essay entitled ‘The Person I Admire the Most’ and Joanne wrote about Krissie.” She began to weep softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call and upset you, but you’ve just got to read this. You’d just have to know Joanne – who didn’t, before Krissie, trust or open up to anybody. She’s been abused and – ”

I listened to her snuffle and wiped my own tears away. “I’d love to have it.”

“Another thing, Mrs. Crenshaw. The Achievement Test Scores just came back today.”

“Her score was quite high,” Mrs. Carter stated with audible pride.

“Krissie was a bright little girl.”

I dozed the next morning after Kirk left to take Toby and Heather to school. Usually, he did hospital visitation after dropping them off at respective locations, leaving me alone for long spells, some of the most difficult to span so I tried to delay starting the day as long as possible. I heard the back door open.

Eyes closed, I listened to footsteps falling heavily down our green shag-carpeted hall.

A weight fell across me, jolting me to full wakefulness.

My hand touched Kirk’s head, pressed to my bosom. His arms grasped me and his body shook violently.
He’s crying.

“Oh Neecy,” he wailed. “
I miss her so-o-o.”

I stroked his head and felt fresh tears scald my red lids, swollen from earlier weeping. “I know, honey. I know,” I murmured, realizing he’d been holding all this in during recent days, only allowing the early morning valve release and then going about his day as though nothing were any different. Doing his denial thing. But denial had run out this morning.

In the midst of the squall, he sprang to his feet and dashed across the hall into Krissie’s room. I heard rummaging in her drawers and presently return with the clear plastic zip-lock bag bearing our daughter’s thick, glossy wheat-blonde tendrils she’d so painstakingly gathered from the carpet to save. He clutched them to his chest and fell across me again.

Kirk cried until drained and limp. “I was listening to the cassette of the Carpenters music,” he said hoarsely, “the one Krissie liked, that we play every morning on the way to school.” He gulped back a fresh sob. “That song –
We’ve Only Just Begun
...I can still hear her singing along with it. How am I ever going to make it through this?”

I hugged him to me, soothing and stroking his brow, wanting more than anything to ease his pain but knowing I could not. Some things aren’t fixable. Some things we all must walk through.

“Y’know,” I said softly, “I once thought my faith would insulate me from this kind of anguish. But it doesn’t. I think the
more spiritual we are, the more vulnerable we are to truly
feeling
things. Death hits us as hard as anyone.”

Kirk stirred and gazed up at me. “The Bible doesn’t say we won’t grieve. It says we won’t grieve as those who have no hope. Even Jesus wept when Lazarus died.”

We lay together in silence for long moments, absorbing that, absorbing each other, our affinity spiraling to new depths.

I sighed deeply as Kirk raised up on his elbow, still inclining himself across my midriff, “It’s amazing what well-meaning folks say to me right now. Pearl Stone said, ‘God knows best. He takes the best to come live with Him in heaven, don’t you know?
Cliches
.” I huffed a sad laugh. “I’ll never again utter those glib responses to somebody’s heartache. Those who’ve gone through losing a child are the ones who don’t say a thing except ‘I know what you’re going through. I’m sorry’ or they just simply hold you and weep with you. Worst of all, some folks think we’re past the worst in a few days and begin to avoid talking about Krissie altogether.”

Kirk reached to brush hair from my temple and said gently. “I love you, Janeece Crenshaw. Sometimes, your wisdom astounds me.”

I gazed at him, my love surging so, it could have washed us out to sea.

Kirk slowly shook his head, solemn as I’d ever seen him. “What if we’d never
connected
?”

I smiled. “But we did.”

His answering smile soon faded as great tears puddled his tired lids. “Oh Neecy,” he said hoarsely, “if only I hadn’t moved us down here. We could have stayed on at Hopewell for years to come. And Krissie would be alive. It’s all – ”