Shaking the Sugar Tree (23 page)

I had no clue what most of it was, but it was a lot, and it was a little scary, and it wasn’t for a heart condition. I could tell because there were no prescription labels on any of the bottles.

I spent so much time looking at the bottles in a sort of daze that Jackson eventually wandered to the bathroom to see what had become of me.

“Would you mind explaining this?” I asked, trying hard not to look like a disappointed parent, though that’s exactly how I felt.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like. Is this why you came to Mississippi? Somebody up there found out? Or you got fired? Couldn’t work up there anymore, so you came down here like a carpetbagger?”

He rubbed at his face nervously.

“I don’t do drugs,” I said. “I don’t hang around people who do drugs and I certainly don’t want them hanging around my kid. Been there, done that, and now I have to live with the consequences every single day of the rest of my life. Of all people, I would have thought you would have known that. I think I should go.”

“I can explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“You can’t just leave.”

“I can, and I will.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I just told you why.”

“Because of this?” he asked in disbelief, waving a hand at his stash.

“I need to go.”

“Don’t go.”

I turned away from him.

“Wiley, please! I love you.”

I didn’t answer. I went into the living room, collected Noah.

Jackson trailed after me, pleading, increasingly upset.

“You’re just going to leave?” he asked, incredulous. “Just like that? Won’t you give me a chance?”

I put my hands on Noah’s shoulders and held him close to me, as if he were Exhibit A to explain the reason why I merely shook my head.

“Wiley, please!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Noah was confused as I steered him out the door.

I
WENT
to my room and shut the door. I felt humiliated, betrayed, and somewhere beneath that I felt foolish and stupid and far too trusting. I turned on the fan, opened the window, sat on the bed, feeling miserable, hot, ill at ease.

I began to cry.

My first boyfriend was an alcoholic, like my father.
Exactly
like my father. A kind man, usually, but when he got drunk, the shit hit the fan….

I had promised myself I would never become involved with another addict. Of course I had gone right on to Kayla and her madness the following year, allowing myself to be sucked in, to flirt with it myself, to try it, to sit around naked with Kayla while we smoked meth and got high and wasted our lives like the fools we were.

The lifestyle didn’t suit me. I didn’t like being high, being out of control, feeling like ants were crawling on my face. I didn’t like coming down, being nauseated and dehydrated. I didn’t like being dependent on some substance that was expensive and dangerous and could very well land me in jail.

But by then, it was too late. Kayla was pregnant. The damage was done.

I cried into my hands, trying to be quiet. Why, I didn’t know. It wasn’t like Noah could hear me.

He came to my room, biting his lower lip.

I rubbed at my eyes sheepishly, trying to stop crying.

He came over to me, and I pulled him close and kissed his hair and held him. I cried against his chest the way he so often cried against mine.

Eventually I pulled back.

Why are you crying?
he asked.

I’m upset.

Are you mad at me?

No, sweetie.

Are you mad at J-a-c-k?

Yes.

Why?

I rubbed at my eyes, tried to get myself together.

Why?
he demanded.

Don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem. I’ll be all right.

Please don’t cry.

I’m sorry. I’m upset.

J. doesn’t love you anymore, Daddy?

It’s hard to explain.

Don’t you love him?

Yes, I do.

But he doesn’t love you?

We had an argument. We’re not going to see each other anymore.

Why?

Because we can’t.

Why?

I don’t know how to explain.

Are you sad?

Yes.

I still love you.

I know you do.

He leaned against me; put his arms around my neck, as if to say,
You still have me. I’m still here.

J
UAN
DROPPED
by the following evening just in time for dinner and was not shy about tucking into hot dogs and baked beans. We could hardly get a word out of him while he took the edge off his hunger. It was a welcome distraction from the gloom that hung over our small apartment. Jackson’s absence seemed like a death in the family.

Each time Juan flashed those soft-brown eyes at me, I felt a tingling in my belly. I loved the way his ears poked out of his hair, giving him an impish appearance.

Although he spent an hour playing Xbox with Noah as I cleaned up the kitchen, he had more than that on his mind. After Noah went to bed, his intentions were obvious.

I didn’t exactly put up much of a struggle when he took my hand and led me to my bedroom. He undressed quickly, then stood, watching me, waiting to see what I would do.

He was just as handsome as I remembered, his skin smooth and soft and warm. I eased him backwards onto the bed. I needed little encouragement as I shrugged off my clothes and got naked with him.

I was horny for him. Horny, but not in love with him. I didn’t think I could ever fall in love with him. There was something vital missing. Ease of communication, perhaps. Shared experiences. A similar outlook on life.

None of that mattered. I was lonely, horny, and mad at Jackson, and Juan was there, sweet and naked and real, and that was enough.

We cuddled for a long time on my bed, holding each other, exploring each other’s bodies. He was in no hurry. Neither was I. I enjoyed the feeling of his hands on my skin, the sight of his shy smiles, his passionate but inexperienced kisses. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm and the sweetness of innocence.

I love you,
he signed when it was over.

Without waiting for me to respond, he curled up in my arms, closed his eyes, and was quickly asleep.

A
FTER
MY
shift at FoodWorld on Friday, I found two voice mails on my phone. The first was from Jackson, asking me again to call him, to not shut him out. The other was from Mrs. Warren, tearfully asking me to get back to her and quickly. I sat in my station wagon in the blazing afternoon heat of the FoodWorld parking lot, the air conditioner on full blast, and punched in her number.

“Hello?” she said quietly.

“Mrs. Warren, it’s Wiley. I’m returning your phone call.”

“Oh, Wiley,” she said.

Then she fell silent.

“Is everything all right?”

“Kayla’s dead, Wiley. She overdosed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said somewhat automatically.

“We think she might have done it on purpose,” she added.

It took me a while to process what she had said, what it meant, not simply to me but to Noah.

She said nothing for long moments. I heard her struggle to control her emotions.

“Please come to the funeral,” she said at last. “The visitation will be Sunday afternoon starting at two.”

“What about your husband?”

“Oh, who cares?” she asked.

She hung up suddenly and I sat there listening to my air-conditioning straining to provide a hint of coolness, and failing.

What was I going to tell Noah?

I drove home, parked the car, walked down the street to Mrs. Humphries’ house, where I found all of them on the front porch. Mrs. Humphries and Mr. Eddie sat in the rockers, Keke and Noah were on the floor playing cards, and Tonya, Keke’s mother, and my best friend, was sitting on the railing.

Hello, Mr. C.!
Keke signed when she saw me.

Hello, K.

“Hey, Wiley,” Tonya said.

“How are y’all?” I asked.

“Wiley, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Humphries asked right away.

I glanced at Noah, who had also picked up on the expression on my face.

“Someone’s mother overdosed,” I said quietly, being deliberately vague for Noah’s sake.

“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Humphries said.

“Kayla?” Tonya said.

I nodded.

Tonya now glanced at Noah as well.

“Let me tell him first,” I said.

“Oh, Lord, Mr. Wiley,” Mrs. Humphries said.

“He was telling me today he wrote to Iron Man,” Tonya said. “Wanting him to find his mama. I’m so sorry, Wiley. Do you need us to do anything for you?”

I shook my head.

Daddy, what’s wrong?
Noah asked.

Let’s go home and eat,
I said although it was much too early for supper.

“I’ll go with you,” Mrs. Humphries said, getting up from her chair. “I’ll put on some food and you just tend to what you gotta do, Mr. Wiley.”

“I’m all right,” I said.

“Don’t you
I’m all right
me. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Wiley, why don’t you just come over here and eat?” Tonya suggested. “He can spend the night with Keke.”

Daddy, what’s wrong?

This was signed urgently, impatiently, Noah’s face screwed up in consternation and fear.

I looked at him.

“Just tell him,” Tonya said softly.

But I couldn’t. I wiped at my eyes and looked away from him. I thought of that day in the parking lot, the last time we had seen her, how she had rejected him, pushed him down, ran away, how much she had hurt him.

I was suddenly very angry yet filled with a sense of hopelessness.

I don’t know why Noah loved her so much, but he did. She gave him no reason.

“Do you want me to take care of it?” Tonya asked, putting a hand on my arm.

I nodded.

Tonya sat Noah down on the steps, crouched in front of him.

“There’s bad news about your mother, N-o-a-h,” she said, signing at the same time.

Is there something wrong?
he asked.

Tonya was honest, and told him that yes, there was.

What?

“Your mother died, N-o-a-h. We’re sorry. We know you love her very much.”

He glanced up at me as if to determine whether this could possibly be true.

I’m sorry, sweetie,
I signed.

“No!” he exclaimed angrily. “No!”

Tonya pulled him close in an embrace, knowing, from her own experience, about angry, frustrated deaf kids.

“You hush now, baby,” she cooed to him. “We’s all here and you’s all right. And Mama Tonya’s here and Mama Tonya loves you.”

He whimpered, moaned, clung to her neck, burying his face in her hair.

I sat on the step next to him, and he moved to my arms, pressing himself against my chest.

I sat with him for a long time as he sobbed.

“He’ll be all right,” Tonya said to me, her voice full of confidence. “He’s stronger than you think he is.”

“He never had a chance to know her,” I said.

“He knows her in his mind,” she said. “And, that’s just as real.”

“What happened, Wiley?” Mrs. Humphries asked.

I explained about the phone call from Mrs. Warren.

I knew no more than that.

“Her people is First Baptist,” Mrs. Humphries observed.

“Yes,” I said, thinking absently about the odiousness of Baptist funerals.

“I’m going to take him home,” I said.

“Call if you need something,” Tonya said.

I promised I would.

N
OAH
SAT
on the sofa in stony silence.

I called my mother and told her the news.

“Can you find out which funeral home they’re going to use?” I asked her

“You’re not going!” she exclaimed.

“Mrs. Warren asked me to,” I said, “and Kayla was Noah’s mother, after all.”

“Oh, Wiley,” she said, sighing heavily. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll call around and see what I can find out.”

“You might consider going with me,” I said. “It’s not like I want to go and face all those bastards by myself.”

“I’ll go with you,” she assured me.

“It’s almost like you’re my mother or at least some mother-like person in my life.”

“Knowing you, I’ll take that as a compliment and leave it at that,” she said. “How is Noah?”

“Not so good,” I said, glancing at him.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No,” I said.

“Why do you always push me away?”

“I’m not.”

“Every time you’re in trouble, you hole up over there and won’t let anyone see you or help you. Then you complain and accuse us of not being supportive.”

“I do not.”

“You most certainly do. I’m coming over there.”

“Mama, no.”

“I’m coming over there to see my grandson.”

“Mama!”

She hung up.

I frowned.

She was right about me holing up and dealing with stuff by myself, but I had my reasons.

Grandma is coming to see you,
I said to Noah.

Why doesn’t my mother love me?
he asked, his face screwed up with emotion.
I’m not dumb!

You’re not dumb,
I agreed.

Why?
he demanded with an angry gesture of his hands.

She did love you,
I said, lying.
But she was sick. She had problems. She didn’t know how to be a mother.

But why?

I don’t know,
I admitted.