The Happy Hour Choir (28 page)

Chapter 34

O
nly one sealed envelope remained: mine. Tiffany had opened hers immediately; so had Sam and Bill. I didn't know if Luke had opened his because I had been studiously avoiding him since the funeral and wake. I hadn't left the house. I hadn't showered. And Tiffany had learned very quickly not to question me on any of those points.

Seven days after Ginger's funeral, smack-dab in the middle of December, Luke Daniels knocked on my door. Tiffany had already gone to work so I ignored him.

“I know you're in there,” he said.

“Go away.”

“We've missed you at church.” His shadow shifted from one side to the other. “I've missed you.”

I got up and walked to the door. There was no easy way to have the conversation we were about to have, so it was best to go ahead and get it over with. I opened the door, and he came in. He crushed me to his body and planted kisses on the top of my greasy head. “I've missed you so much, and I've been so worried about you. Why won't you answer any of my calls?”

I couldn't meet his eyes. “I don't want to see you.”

“Beulah Land, didn't you say less than a month ago that you loved me?”

“Yes.”
In a moment of weakness.

“Didn't I tell you that I love you?”

“Yes.”
But only your God knows why.

Something behind his eyes shifted from Luke the man to Luke the minister. “We need to support each other. We need to pray for strength and understanding.”

My rage boiled over. “And that's why I haven't called you.”

Later, my therapist would tell me this episode demonstrated how denial had moved to anger and that my rage was a perfectly natural part of the grieving process. I told her I didn't care much about process. I was pissed off, and it had been a long time coming.

“I love you, Luke, but I can't do this preacher's girlfriend thing. I played piano for the church. I went to Bible study. I even started praying, sometimes about big stuff like Tiffany or Ginger, and sometimes about small stuff like making sure that the dressing came out right on Thanksgiving.”

“Stop.” Luke held out one of his carpenter's hands. I wanted to take that hand in mine, to lace my fingers through his. Instead, I put my hands against my sides and let them curl into fists.

“No, I will not stop! God hates me, so I don't see why I shouldn't hate Him back.”

And those, ladies and gentlemen, are fighting words for a preacher.

“Beulah, you sit down and you listen for a minute,” he said. He tried to lead me to Ginger's chair, but at the sight of her empty chair, I wrenched my wrists from his grasp.

“No! No more listening. I don't want to hear another sermon. I don't want to sing another song. I want to know why all the people I love have to die. And I want to know why I had to be raped and why Tiffany had to play house with her stepdaddy. I want to know why doing something supposedly good, like a Bible study, had to run Bill out of business. And I want to know why pregnant mommas lose their babies and why in the hell something as ugly and painful as cancer has to exist.”

I panted. I was hoarse.

“Beulah—”

“It's not fair. I did the right thing. I kept that baby even though I didn't want him, even though it wasn't really my mistake. And just when I learned to love him and to want him, he was taken away from me. You tell me how that could possibly be fair.”

Luke tried to pull me into his embrace, but I pushed him away.

“And I came to this house because my momma kicked me out. I learned to love and respect Ginger, and what happened to her? She got cancer. I helped her through that as best I could even though I was still hurting over losing Hunter. You ever been a caregiver to someone with cancer, Luke? You ever shuttled someone back and forth on two-and-a-half-hour trips to the hospital with every muscle in your body stiff because you're straining to make sure they're still breathing? You ever cleaned vomit out of places you didn't know could get vomit in them? You ever seen a chemo port, how nasty it looks? You ever been with someone when they get a mastectomy? Looked at flatness and scars and skin that stretched flat over ribs? I was with the world's sweetest lady while she experienced pain and nausea and lost her hair and did it all without one single, solitary complaint. And I wished every day I could take her place because the pain of the treatment would have to be better than sitting beside her and holding her hand and knowing it was the only damn thing I could do for her.”

“Are you about done?”

“What kind of cruel joke was it to have me get all the way to Nashville, to get so close, only to have to drive back? She wanted to live to see Tiffany's baby. She was
supposed
to live long enough to see Tiffany's baby! And I didn't even get to tell her good-bye or that I loved her one last time.”

“Stop!” He took me in his arms. I tried to beat him away with my fists because he was the enemy. He was a man of the church, a representative of how I was supposed to meekly accept the skewed injustices of my life. But he grabbed my wrists and he pulled me tight and let me cry.

When I had no more energy to scream or cry, I looked up at him and said the stupidest thing I have ever said in my entire life: “Luke, I think you need to go now.”

“I'm not leaving,” he murmured into my hair.

“No. I'm done. I thank you for everything you've done for me, for Ginger, for Tiffany. And I love you, but I can't be with you. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me.”

Ever the preacher, he added, “I know you feel this way now, but—”

“No, there is no but. Not this time. Because right now I hate your God.”

He kissed me on the forehead, on one cheek then the other. “Your God still loves you. And I do, too.”

“Get out before I start hating you, too!”

He stiffened at that, but he kissed me on top of the head once more and walked out the door.

Chapter 35

I
couldn't sit in Ginger's chair, so I took the box of Kleenex and sat on the floor using one after another until the box was empty. Then I threw the empty box against the wall and went to the kitchen pantry to get more.

But I stopped by the oven.

I could put my head in an oven.

My eyes traveled to the knife drawer. Ginger had always sharpened her knives until the old blades were razor thin.

Then my gaze settled on the basket full of prescription drugs. There had to be enough pain pills left to kill a horse.

No heat, no blood, just blessed oblivion.

And what would go well with blessed oblivion? I took Ginger's whiskey from its new hiding spot in the pantry and poured a couple of fingers into a coffee mug printed with cardinals. I lifted the mug in salute and took my first swig before rummaging in the pill basket for the best chaser.

Then Tiffany slammed the front door so hard two of the panes of glass fell out and shattered on the front porch. Cold air whipped in behind her.

“Beulah Land!” she bellowed.

I waltzed into the living room with my drink.

“You're home early,” I said with a sniff.

“Of course, I'm home early. I had to come home and deal with you.” She stood with her hands on her hips, her nine-month-pregnant belly sticking straight out in front of her. Her brown eyes burned in narrow fury, and red splotches of rage covered her face and chest. I noticed, with some glee, that her blond roots were showing, since she couldn't keep dying her hair my shade of red while she was pregnant.

“What have I ever done to you? Other than take you in and clothe and feed you?” I regretted the words as soon as I said them. Ginger had never said words like those to me, and I'd deserved far worse than Tiffany.

“It's not about what you've done to me. It's about what you've done to Luke.”

“What? The favor of telling him to find a girlfriend who actually believes in God?” I gulped down the rest of my drink, thankful for the fire in my throat and the dizzy, queasy sensation in my head and belly.

“And to think I wanted to be just like you.”

My blood ran cold even as my gullet burned hot.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, grimaced, and placed a hand on her belly. “I thought you were smart, smart enough to take care of me and Ginger. Frickin' brilliant on the piano and kind to people, especially the ones folks ignore. Then you find someone like Luke, and you have the gall to spit in his face.”

“Maybe I told him to get away from me because I'm a magnet for disaster. Maybe bad things always happen to the people I love, so if I were you, I'd get to packing. Maybe I need to declare that I hate you just to keep you alive.” I threw my mug against the front door, and it shattered. “There, I hate you, Tiffany Davis, now get out of here before something happens to you or—or—or—or . . . to the baby.”

Tiffany looked at the mess behind her then back at me, the mess in front of her. “
You
are a drunken idiot. Get yourself together. Read the damn letter.”

“I don't want to read the letter. Who knows what Ginger's going to ask me to do in that damn letter. And there is nothing I can do to bring her back.”

“Did you ever stop to think for one single, solitary minute that Miss Ginger didn't want to come back? Did you ever think that Miss Ginger might be happier where she is? Well, you would know the answer if you read the letter. Of course, you're too busy being a chicken to do that.”

Then Tiffany folded her arms and clucked like a chicken. I was about to laugh at the ridiculous sight of a pregnant woman clucking and flapping her wings like a chicken, but her water broke.

“Oh,” she said as she looked down at the reddish clear liquid trickling down her legs.

“We've got to get you to the hospital,” I said. I reached for the car keys from where they hung on the hook inside the kitchen.

She took the keys. “
You
aren't driving anyone anywhere. I'll drive myself to the hospital, and
you
will sit here until you sober up. This conversation isn't over yet, by the way. Read your letter while you wait.”

“I'm not reading that damn letter.”

She looked up from the drawer where she'd gathered an armload of kitchen towels. “Miss Ginger was right. You are the most stubborn person on the face of the planet.”

Clutching her stack of kitchen towels with as much dignity as she could muster, she crunched her way over a sea of broken glass in front of the door then another on the other side of the door. Her calmness in the face of our argument and her broken water was surreal, but she slammed the front door behind her, which caused me to jump and sent another pane of glass tinkling to the porch to shatter.

 

I took a shower, drank a half a pot of coffee, then called Mac to ask for a ride to the hospital. Tiffany had taken the Caddy, and the Toyota wouldn't crank. He agreed to give me a ride, but he gave me the cold shoulder all the way there. He wasn't pleased with me, either. I couldn't tell if it was for leaving the Happy Hour Choir, my meltdown at Ginger's wake, leaving Luke, or all of the above.

I wondered how Mac and Tiffany had found out so quickly that Luke and I had split. But, of course, Luke would have gone to The Fountain to calmly tell everyone I'd quit the choir. He had a good poker face, but they could have easily deduced the rest or even asked him point-blank questions he wouldn't have lied about.

Mac's pickup sputtered in the drop-off lane of the Women's Center portion of the hospital. “Sure hope you know what you're doing.”

“Don't have a clue. Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded and drove off. His truck backfired then belched exhaust.

I kept expecting someone to stop me on the way to the waiting room, but they didn't. The first person I saw when I walked through the door was, of course, Luke.

I swallowed hard and sat down a few seats away from him.

“That should be you in there with her, you know.”

“I know.” I picked up a magazine. “She's not real happy with me at the moment.”

“I don't think many people are,” he said with a sigh.

We both looked up to see
It's a Wonderful Life
on television. I smiled.

“You like
It's a Wonderful Life
?”

My smile twisted bittersweet. “I loved it, but Ginger hated it.”

Luke couldn't resist. “Why?”

“She said it might've been better if Jimmy Stewart had jumped off the bridge already.”

“Better or easier?”

“Whatever.”

“That doesn't sound like Miss Ginger at all,” Luke said. Realization dawned in his blue eyes. “You haven't read your letter.”

I scowled and said several words better suited to the delivery room than the waiting room. Fortunately, there were no children there at eight o'clock at night. “What is it with you and Tiffany and this letter business? What could Ginger possibly have to say that I haven't already heard?”

“Maybe some things you still need to hear.”

Before I could respond to that, Sam burst through the doors into the waiting area, his eyes wide with panic. “Beulah, thank goodness you're here. Tiffany kicked me out, said she'd do it alone if she had to.”

“No need for that.” I didn't tell either of the two men I had done it alone because I'd been too stupid and too stubborn to let Ginger come with me. Knowing now what I didn't know back then, I would hold my worst enemy's hand through labor rather than let anyone else birth a baby by herself.

Sam grabbed my hands as I went to pass him. “Thank you, thank you.”

I looked away. He had too much trust in his eyes, and I knew only too well how thin and fragile life felt in those moments when you hung in the balance for the audacity of trying to create a new life all your own. I barreled through the double doors down the imposing hall lined with tall doorways and stopped the first nurse I saw. “Excuse me, I'm looking for Tiffany Davis?”

“I want an epidural.
Now
.” Her voice was an unearthly growl, but I still knew Tiffany when I heard her.

“Never mind,” I said with a smile. The voice had come from two doors down, and I walked with purpose, pausing for a moment before I stepped into the small birthing room. As my eyes blinked to adjust, I took in the lower lighting, the comfortable décor. The hospital had come a long way since my stint there.

“Beulah, thank God. Tell this woman to—” Tiffany's face screwed up in agony, and she held her breath as the contraction gripped her. Obviously, she hadn't paid any attention in Lamaze class, either. Pain washed away, and she panted for a second as she reached for the thought the contraction had displaced. “—get me a damned epidural.”

The woman at the foot of Tiffany's bed looked as though she could stand serenely through a hurricane. I could picture her in hemp clothing with a flower in her hair, a true earth mother. “Tiffany, you're already four centimeters dilated, which is really good for a first-time mother, and the epidural could slow your labor. Are you—”

“Get. Her. The epidural. Now.”

I like to think I channeled Ginger Belmont to get Earth Mother moving.

“Beulah, thank God.” Tiffany grunted and clamped down on my hand as another contraction rippled through her. She panted in its wake. “She's the nurse midwife. If I'd known she was all about natural birth, I would have waited for the doctor on call to get out of his emergency C-section. Hell, at this point, I would take an emergency C-section.”

Regret washed over me. I should have gone with Tiffany to her classes. I should have made sure she knew all of the doctors and what they favored. But I had been selfish because I hadn't wanted to relive any of this. I tamped down my panic. I had done this part just fine, so I could help Tiffany get the baby into the world. After that, she was on her own.

I stood beside her for another few minutes, holding her hand and mentally coaching her to breathe deeply and evenly.

“Beulah!”

She was going to break every bone in my hand if the anesthesiologist didn't get there soon. I gritted my teeth. Giving up piano was the least I could do, considering some of the things I'd said to her.

“How did you do this?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don't want to do this.”

“Darlin', you don't have a choice at this point,” I said as I pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Truth be told, that's how most of us get through childbirth: There comes a point where you don't have any choice.”

She nodded bravely.

“Hello, ladies!” The anesthesiologist breezed into the room. He explained the procedure to Tiffany then pushed me to the side. When Tiffany gave me a questioning look, I nodded that it was just as I had done before. She hunched over the side of the bed, her profile noble with teeth gritted and eyes determined. I couldn't bear watching the needle, so I watched Tiffany's knuckles turn white instead.

“You did a fabulous job,” the anesthesiologist murmured. “Now it will be a lot easier for your sister to take care of you,” he added with a wink.

I stepped tentatively over to Tiffany's side.

“Now, I can be mad at you again,” she said with a sigh. “Sis.”

I shrugged off the “Sis,” but it secretly pleased me. “You have every right to be mad at me,” I said. “But what say we have a baby now, and you can be mad at me later?”

She turned those wide brown eyes on me, and I saw fear for the first time. “Please?”

“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile to my face. “But I want to know how Sam got kicked out.”

She shook her head from side to side. “That midwife heifer was carrying on about all of my pain-relief options, and she finished up talking about the miracle of natural childbirth. She had Sam scared to death of complications and groggy babies, and he had the gall to agree with her. He thought I should ‘give it a try.' He had to go.”

I chuckled.

“It's not funny. Besides, he was white as a sheet and looked like he was about to toss his cookies.”

“Well, do you want me to go get him now that you've had the epidural?”

“No!”

I took a step back.

“I mean, no, please don't.” Tiffany sighed and shifted, struggling with the lack of feeling in her lower body. “I don't want him to see me like, well, you know.”

I nodded. I knew. I had given birth to Hunter all by myself because I hadn't wanted anyone to see me splayed up on a table, not even Ginger. If I could have done it without the doctor and three nurses between my legs, I would have given that a try.

“Maybe if we really do get married,” she said. “When he's already promised for better or worse.” Her brown eyes locked with mine, and her mouth twisted into a little smile.

“I think that's a great idea,” I said, heartened by her “if.” I loved Sam dearly, but my baggage had a similar pattern to Tiffany's, and I didn't want her to be in too big a hurry. “Do you want me to at least let him know that you're doing okay now that you have the epidural?”

“Oh!” She sat up on her arms before she thought about what she was doing. “I suppose he might be worried about me, huh?”

“D'ya think?”

“Yeah, go tell him I'm fine,” she said as she gently lay back. “I think I'll take a catnap.”

“That's a good idea,” I said as I patted her shoulder.