Raising Hope (37 page)
“You want me to push you on the swing?” asked Bobby. His voice was softer than I would have imagined it to be, and I tilted my head to one side and looked at him.
“I’m on the swing,” said Ruth, stamping her foot on the narrow wooden seat and holding on tightly to the ropes. She wore blue jogging shorts with three orange stripes down each side. Standing on the ground as I was, I was eye level with her legs rather than her face.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to an ugly red raised splotch just below her kneecap. It wasn’t like any cut or scab I had ever seen. It was a living thing, growing and angry and throbbing.
“Nothing,” Ruth snapped at the same time Tim said loudly:
“It’s im-pe-ti-go. Don’t touch it or you’ll get it, too.”
I snatched my hand back and looked at Bobby for confirmation. He nodded. “It is contagious,” he said.
Tim grinned. “We call her impetigo girl.”
“Cut it out,” Ruth said from between her set teeth. “Cut it out if you know what’s good for you.”
“Impetigo girl,” I whispered, thrilled with the secret I had learned, as if I had walked in on Ruth while she was on the toilet going to the bathroom. “Impetigo girl,” I said louder.
“Impetigo girl,” Tim chanted with me, and then Bobby, and pretty soon we three were running around the swing shouting it. My throat was getting sore from screaming, “Impetigo girl! Impetigo girl!”
“Stop it! Stop it!” shouted Ruth, stomping on the swing. Finally, she jumped right into me, knocking me to the ground and pinning my shoulders. She rubbed her knee on my legs.
“There,” she said as she got off me. “Now you’ll be impetigo girl, too. I just gave it to you.”
She stood over me, glaring fiercely, while I lay still and tried to catch my breath.
“See what you’ve done, you bitch,” said Tim. “She’s gonna tell.”
“If I’m a bitch, then you’re an asshole,” Ruth retorted.
Although I’d never heard such words, I knew instinctively they were bad. I knew I wouldn’t be the same Sara Lynn just for hearing those words, and the thought of that made me shaky inside, as if I wanted to cry. I sat up in the grass and held my knees to my chest. I was breathing hiccupy breaths, and my face was turning red.
“Sara Lynn, it’s okay.” Bobby knelt in the grass beside me. “She didn’t really give you her impetigo. Ma’s been putting ointment on it, and it’s not catching anymore. I swear.”
It was his kindness that made me cry soft little sobs with my head buried in my knees.
“Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh,” Ruth kept saying. She sank down to sit in the grass, too, and said, “Please don’t cry. I’m really, really sorry.”
My tears dried up in a minute, and, embarrassed, I busily plucked grass from the ground where I sat.
“Are you okay now?” Bobby said. He touched my shoulder with his boy hand, and I had to catch my breath. I thought of the goose-bumpy feeling I got when I stood in front of the air conditioner; I thought of the way my father touched my mother’s arm when he wanted her attention, the way he pronounced her name as a statement of fact. “Aimee,” he’d say to her, “Aimee.”
“I’m fine,” I said softly, still plucking grass strands.
“Well, good,” he said, and took his hand away from my shoulder.
“Don’t tell on me,” Ruth babbled. “I swear I was just joking around. Ma says I have a mean streak in me, but I really don’t. I just get a little carried away sometimes. Can you not tell?”
“I won’t tell,” I said, feeling generous toward her because of Bobby.
“You want to play some more?” asked Tim.
“Sure.” I scrambled up and wiped off the back of my dress. “I’ll play.”
“Horses!” cried Ruth. “Let’s play horses!”
“Something else,” I said, feeling like my old self again. “I don’t want to play horses.”
“Well, what do you want to play?” Bobby asked.
“House,” I replied.
They groaned.
“Okay,” Ruth said grudgingly. “We’ll play house. What do you want us to do?”
“I’m the mother,” I said immediately. “And you can be the father,” I said, pointing to Bobby. “You two”—I pointed to Ruth and Tim—“can be the kids.”
“How come you get to be the mother?” asked Ruth, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not fair. I don’t even want to play this stupid game, and you’re making me be the kid.”
“Wait!” I clapped my hands and jumped up and down. “I’ve got it! You can be the horse!”
“The horse?” said Bobby, looking at me skeptically.
“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded. “The family can have a pet horsie.”
“Yay!” yelled Ruth. She jumped down on all fours and began neighing.
“Good horsie,” I said, patting her back.
“Can it be my horse?” asked Tim. “I’m the kid, so it should be my pet.”
“Yeah, but don’t ride me,” Ruth warned him. “You’re too heavy.”
“Okay, I’ll be fixing supper in the house, and then the husband comes home. That’s you, Bobby. And you ask what’s for dinner. And then we call in our son, who’s outside playing with his horse.”
They did it. They didn’t like it, but they did it. And when they couldn’t do it anymore, when I pushed the Tellers to their very limit and saw I was going to have a mutiny on my hands, I twirled around so my dress flared out and said to Bobby, “You know, you never did push me on the swing like you said you would.”
“Race you there,” he said, relieved to be set free from playing house. He punched me lightly on the arm as he ran by me.
“Wait!” I hiked up my skirt and raced after him, but Ruth beat me to the swing. I looked at Bobby pleadingly.
“Off,” he told Ruth, jerking his thumb away from his body. “Off now.”
“I was here first,” she whined.
“I let you be the horsie in house,” I reminded her.
She swung a little and then jumped off. “Fine,” she said. She plopped down on the grass and watched me hop on.
Bobby swung me higher and higher so that my stomach kept lurching into my throat. As I wondered if I’d throw up, I laughed and laughed, shrieking, “Higher! Higher!”
“Let me push her,” Tim said. “I can go even higher.”
“No,” I said, looking back in alarm. “I only want Bobby to push me.”
“Sara Lynn has a crush on Bobby,” Ruth said from the ground, smiling evilly.
“She does not,” said Tim, pulling at one of the swing’s ropes. “She has a crush on me. I’m going to kiss her.”
“Yeew!” I said. I was going crooked now, and I jumped off the swing, screaming, falling on my knees and dirtying my dress.
“Get away from me!” I screeched as Tim began to chase me. “I have impetigo! Ruth gave it to me, and I’ll give it to you. I swear I will!”
“Yeah!” Ruth hopped up from the grass and chased Tim. “I’ll help you, Sara Lynn. Us impetigo girls have to stick together.” She caught up to him easily and wrestled him to the ground. “Impetigo girl to the rescue!” she hollered.
Bobby came over to help Tim up and warned, “Cut it out. She doesn’t want you to kiss her.”
“Fine,” said Tim, brushing off his pants. “I didn’t really want to, anyway.”
“Yay!” Ruth grabbed my hands and spun around with me. “We won!”
“Hooray for the impetigo girls!” I screeched, my voice getting hoarse. I glanced sideways at Bobby to see him looking at me, and I jumped higher and yelled louder, dancing around and holding Ruth Teller’s warm hands.
I reach for her hand now. “You ready, impetigo girl?”
“Oh God,” she says, laughing. “I remember that day.”
“It was one of the happiest days of my childhood,” I tell her.
“Why weren’t we friends after that?” she wonders.
I shake my head quickly and say, “I wish I knew. But we’re friends, more than friends, now.” Her hand feels cold in mine, and I give it a squeeze.
“Sara Lynn, give me away,” she says.
“What?”
“You know,” she says. “Give me away. I can’t walk down that damn aisle myself. Not in front of all those people. Let Hope lead the way, and you walk me down the aisle. Okay?”
“Sweetie,” I say, “of course I will. But I hate to think of giving you away. This is hard enough already.” My vision blurs, and I sniffle. “I can’t imagine you not being here.”
“Listen,” she warns, “if you start bawling, I’ll never do it. I’ll never go down there and walk that damn aisle.”
“Okay.” I blink back my tears and nod. “Okay. You’re right. Impetigo girl, you’re getting married today and I’m dragging you down to your groom. Ready?” I stand up and offer her my arm.
“I guess,” she says, gripping my arm tightly. As we head down the stairs, she says, “Jesus, I feel like the bride of Frankenstein in this confection of a dress.” And I laugh and laugh because she’ll always be with me, even when she’s not living here anymore.
M
y stars, Ruth looks beautiful. She’s standing up front with Jack, holding his hands as they say their vows. I nod, watching her. I knew she had it in her.
Now, I won’t say I was thrilled to pieces when she first moved in with us. Oh, that took some persuasion on Sara Lynn’s part. Indeed. But I love that girl. I love my cleaning lady’s daughter.
Ah, poor Mary. I surprise myself with the tears I’m blinking back. Someone cleans your house for so many years, though, and you get to know her. She’d be proud of her daughter. Proud of Ruth.
Has it been twelve years? Twelve years since Ruth and Hope came to this house and filled it with the life I hadn’t known it needed. I turn my eyes to see Hope, standing up under the bower by Sara Lynn. She’s my granddaughter, just as sure as if she were my own flesh and blood. And Ruth’s baby . . . well, I suppose that’ll be my grandchild, too.
I put my hand into my purse and reach my fingers around the ruby pendant I’m meaning to give Ruth today. Marge Costa leans over to me and says, “Can I get you something, Aimee? Are you looking for a handkerchief in your purse?” She holds a tissue up to me, and I shake my head.
The bride and groom are kissing now. Oh, it does make me cry. I tap Marge’s arm and say, “I think I will take that tissue.”
“Here you are,” she says.
I dab at my eyes as Ruth and Jack walk down the aisle. Ruth is leaving us, and I cry into my cheap little tissue even as I’m overjoyed for this girl I’ve grown to love.
Julia Rae married Harrison on the hottest day of an August many years ago, and I left home the very next week. I’d been wanting to get away since Julia Rae’s engagement, for it seemed that her life was moving forward at a rapid pace and mine was stuck where it had always been.
My family came to see me off, of course, all dressed in their best clothes. Mama stood crying silent tears, even though she kept smiling and saying, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Papa was gruff, wishing me luck at my new teaching job and telling me to make the family proud. Baby Caroline kept looking at the train’s large engine, saying, “I sure wish I was going somewhere.” Brother had been made to be there; he stood in his suit, rolling his eyes and whistling impatiently, as if he were missing the important business of his life due to my going away. Julia Rae came with Harrison, standing close to him in her new pink suit.
“Well, this is it,” Papa said heartily as the final whistle blew. “You call right when you arrive, now.”
“I will, Papa,” I told him automatically, but it was Mama I was looking at, standing straight with her red-rimmed eyes. I wanted to throw down my suitcase and say, “I can’t do this. I can’t leave you. How am I supposed to be able to manage without you?” But everyone was counting on me, and I’d look like a weak little fool if I went home instead of getting on that train.
I hugged everyone again, all except Harrison, leaving Mama to the last. “Bye, Mama,” I whispered, and I ached at the thought of leaving those arms that had buoyed me up forever.
“Go on now,” she said, giving me a little push. “Time for you to go.”
I boarded the train and found my seat, next to a gentleman as old as Papa, no doubt traveling for his business. I tried to arrange my mouth in a smile as I sat beside him and said, “Good morning.” I fiddled with my hands on my lap for a moment, and then I asked my seatmate, “Do you mind if I take the window just until we’re out of the station? I want to wave good-bye to my family.”
“Certainly,” the man said, and he closed the newspaper he had been reading and changed seats with me. “Keep the window for the trip. I don’t care.”
I looked for my family standing together on the pavement outside. I rapped at the window hard to get their attention, and it was Baby Caroline who spotted me and shouted to the others, pointing me out. Mama gently pulled down Baby Caroline’s finger and said something to her, and I knew she was admonishing my sister for pointing. I waved to them frantically, and they all waved back. Julia Rae was smiling, and she blew me a kiss. The whistle blew, and the train jerked forward as it pulled slowly out of the station. I put my clenched fists against my cheeks and was surprised to feel wetness on my hands. I was crying without effort as the train moved faster and faster and I watched my family recede into the distance. The man next to me cleared his throat and nudged me, and I turned to see him silently offer me his handkerchief. His kindness touched me, and I cried even harder as I took the handkerchief and buried my face in it. As I wiped my eyes, I had to press my arms against my fluttering heart to make it stay inside of my body, to keep it from flying back to the only people in the world who knew its rocky terrain.
I wouldn’t have met Eliot if I hadn’t gone away. Wouldn’t have had Sara Lynn. Wouldn’t have grown to love Ruth and Hope. Life has a strange way of surprising a person. There isn’t any way of telling how it will all work out.
I laugh out loud to think of myself, an old lady—yes, it’s true; I’m not afraid to speak the truth—with ties that bind me here, ties I dearly love. But I’m still that shy, awkward girl, boarding a train, scared to death of leaving my mama behind.
“Are you all right, dear?” Marge puts her hand on my shoulder, and I pat it briskly.
“Oh, I am,” I tell her, my heart full with the past and the future melding together to make . . . well, to make right now, of course; to make the present moment.
W
e all held our breath together as Ruth married Jack. I walked down the aisle first, and I was surprised to hear people in the crowd murmuring, “Oh, she looks so pretty.” It took me a minute to realize they were talking about me.