Veda: A Novel (20 page)

We went to the high school parkin lot and I got in the driver’s seat. “Okay now,” Charlie said, “put your right foot on the brake and hold down the clutch with your left.”

“Which one’s the clutch?” I asked.

“It’s that one over there, under your left foot.”

“Okay. Now what?”

“Turn the key… No, don’t grind it, just turn it until the engine starts, and let go. Now put your right foot on the gas pedal. That’s the long one.”

“But what about the brake? What foot goes on the brake?”

“You’ll use the same foot. Real slow now, push on the gas and let the clutch out at the same time.”

Soon as I did that, the car jumped like it was tryin to git out from under me, and died.

“Slowly,” Charlie said. “Slow-ly.” He let out his breath. “Let’s try again.”

Finally I got the car movin, but then I was goin way too fast so I stomped on the brake. Charlie sucked his teeth. “Try it again.”

We went over to that school three or four different days, and each time Charlie ended up mad, and I ended up cryin. I would of give up altogether if wasn’t for Bobby. He was livin in Modesto, but he come over and helped me. He didn’t make me nervous the way Charlie did, and I finally got good enough to drive on the street.

I don’t know how many fifty-year-olds git their first driver’s license, but the examiner that got in the car with me looked surprised.

“All right,” he said, holdin his pencil over a clipboard, “are we ready? Go ahead and start the car.”

I managed to turn the key and not kill the engine. That was good.

“Pull away from the curb.”

I did that.

“You didn’t signal.” He licked the end of his pencil and made a mark on the paper. “Go to the next corner and make a right.”

I had a death grip on the steerin wheel and I was afraid of what’d happen if I let go with one hand. But I had to signal, so I stuck my arm out the window, hand pointin up. The car lurched to the right and almost hit the stop sign. The man licked his pencil again.

I was wet under my arms and my heart was practically jumpin out of my mouth, but I made the corner. I drove for about three blocks before a car come at me from a side street and I stomped on the brake.

“Jesus, lady,” the examiner squawked, “you had the right of way. He wasn’t going to hit you.” Another mark.

Oh shit, I’ll never git through this.

“Turn right at the next intersection,” he said. “We’re going to see you parallel park.”

That was somethin I could do. Bobby’d made me practice it over and over till I had it down.
If I can just do this right, maybe he’ll forgit about those other things.

“Okay, stop here. Park between these two cars.” It was a good size space, plenty big enough for the Buick. There was a nice high curb with one of them big blue mailboxes on it. I pulled up beside the car in front and backed up till my bumper was even with its door. Then I started turnin the wheel, real sharp like Bobby showed me.
There
. I pushed on the gas. Maybe a little too hard. There was a WHUMP, and a loud scrapin noise.

“Jesus H. Christ, lady! You’re half way up the damn mailbox, for God’s sake!” He scribbled for a long time and then got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. He signaled for me to scoot over, and he got in. When we got back to the DMV office, he went over to where Charlie was waitin and handed him the keys.

“He looked kind of shell-shocked,” Charlie said on the way to the car. “I guess you didn’t pass.”

.

43

A
S MAMA GOT STRONGER,
she got even harder to deal with. She’d come over to my side of the house and tell me how messy it was. Tell me what to do and how to do it. She complained about germs, said I was goin to make ever’body sick. I found myself thinkin I liked it better when she was bed-ridden. At least then she wasn’t checkin up on me all the time.

I wrote to Bea. “You need to take Mama back to Oregon for a while.” I said. “I’m not well myself and I need a rest.” I was anxious for Mama to be gone, but I knew, in a way, I’d miss her. With her here, I had to be up by a certain time, fix her meals at a certain time, watch TV programs with her at a certain time. Without her, there’d be nothin to shape my day around.

So I put a notice on the bulletin board at the grocery store sayin I wanted to do after-school care. I could watch a couple little kids for a few hours a day till their mothers got off work. It’d give me somethin to do, and we could use the extra money. That’s how I got started watchin those two little third-graders, Suzy and JoAnn.

They reminded me of my girls at that age, so full of life, and I liked havin em around. Charlie got a kick out of em too. He’d tease em and show em things. I thought it was nice. But after a while it started to bother me. The way he was always ticklin and grabbin at em. Then one time I come in the front room and seen Suzy settin on his lap. It give me a bad feelin. I told her to git off, and after the girls went home, I laid into Charlie. “It ain’t right,” I said. “They’re too big to be settin on your lap.”

He got mad. Real mad. Just like that time in Central Point. Said I was makin somethin out of nothin and he resented it. After that I let it drop. Told myself I was just bein touchy. But I did keep a closer eye on the girls and I never saw em on his lap again.

Except for those couple hours on school days, it was just me and Charlie at home, and it felt strange. We had never been alone before. There’d always been the kids, and then Mama. But with just the two of us, Charlie started runnin around the house naked, wantin to fuck in the middle of the day. I made excuses, say I had a migraine or I was worried about the little girls walkin in on us if school let out early.

He had let himself go. Put on a lot of weight, and had this smell that hung on him from the cigars he smoked. But that was only part of it. The real problem was what I felt, or rather what I didn’t feel. When we weren’t gittin along, which was a lot of the time, I didn’t want to have sex. I couldn’t pretend I liked it. For me, sex had to mean somethin. But I guess it was different for Charlie. He wanted it, and if I put him off, he got mad, accused me of bein frigid like his first wife.

Mama was still in Oregon when Bea called to tell me my brother Laird had been killed. He’d just got out of the sanitarium where he went to cure his alcohol problem, and he had a relapse. Got drunk and was beat up by some thugs. He was found dead on the side of the road. It broke my heart. I loved Laird. He was closer to me than any of my brothers. He’d helped me out so many times over the years. Drove me to the hospital when my babies were born, helped me and Raymond move all them times, and played with my kids when they needed a man in their lives. Even with his drinkin problem, he was always there for me.

And Laird’s death just about killed Mama. When Bea brought her back, Mama was usin a walker again and seemed to have aged years instead of months. It wasn’t only that Laird was dead, but that he died without bein saved. “The Lord will come callin for you one of these days too, Veda,” she told me more than once. “I don’t want you to be caught up short the way Laird was.”

With Mama grievin the way she was and needin so much care, I had to give up watchin the little girls. Charlie wasn’t happy about Mama comin back and he was more peevish than usual. He talked back to the television when somethin provoked him, got riled up over things in the newspaper, complained about work. And when I tried to talk to him, he brushed me off like I was a mere cobweb.

.

44

C
OULDN’T OF BEEN MORE
than eight o’clock in the mornin when them ladies showed up. I was still in my robe, hair stickin to the side of my head, and I wouldn’t of opened the door except I could see who it was through the side window and, well, I just knew it was somethin bad. They both lived on our street. It was their girls I had took care of. They come in, no hello or nothin. “Veda, it’s Charlie,” one of em said. “He’s been doing things…”

I looked from her to the other one. “What things? What do you mean?”

“Showing himself…”

“What? Showin? Showin what?”

“Veda listen. Showing. Exposing himself, his penis.”

My legs buckled. I had to set down. “What? To who? Showin it to who?”

“Our girls. He stands out on your back porch and opens his bathrobe when the girls walk by. Our girls, Veda! And he’s done it more than once.”

There was a roar in my ears. I was scared I’d pass out. I knew he went out on the porch a lot in that ratty old plaid bathrobe of his. Said I kept it too hot in the house. Complained about it. Had to get some air, he said.
Was that what he was doin? No God, please.
My armpits felt clammy. “Why are you sayin this?” It came out a whisper.

“Veda, we’re going to the sheriff. We have to. But we wanted to tell you first. It’s nothing against you at all. But we have to report him. Do you understand?”

“No. No, I don’t understand. Why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that. It’s gotta be a mistake. The girls, did they say that? Are you sure they said it was him?” I started to cry. “Look, don’t go to the police. I’ll talk to him. They must of thought they saw—”

“Veda, they saw. These girls are eight years old. Something like this could damage them for life.”

I kept shakin my head. My face was wet with tears and snot. One of em handed me a Kleenex. “Veda,” she said, “it’s not you. It’s him. We can’t let him keep on hurting children.” She bent down and give me a quick hug. Then they left.

I set there cryin, tryin to think. Tryin
not
to think. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what would happen. Would the sheriff come to the house? Go to Charlie’s work? My mind bounced all over the place. I pictured him face down on the floor, in handcuffs. Cops, sirens, bullhorns. Seen him barrin the door, refusin to come out. Like on the TV. I got up and paced, huggin myself to keep my insides from fallin out.
Oh God in heaven
, I thought,
give me the strength to deal with this.
Bad as it was for them girls and their families, it would be a lot worse for ours.

My mind raced. Images roared through it like a freight train. Him walkin around the house naked. Him with his bathrobe just barely closed. Goin out on the back porch. Takin those little girls out to his shop to show em things. Holdin em on his lap…

I tried to pull myself together and went to look in on Mama. She was settin on the edge of her bed. “What took you so long?” she asked. “I need my bath.”

I filled the tub and checked the water temperature with my elbow, the way I always done for my babies, and helped her in. Then I soaped up a washrag and started scrubbin her back.

“Not so hard,” she said pullin away. “What’s wrong with you?” She turned to look at me. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? What is it?”

I dropped the washrag, leaned over to close the toilet lid, and set down on it.

“Come on,” she said, “spit it out.”

I put my head in my hands and started to bawl. I tried to talk, but I couldn’t.

“Okay,” she said. “Take a deep breath. Tell me.”

“It’s… Mama… It’s Charlie,” I stammered. “They say he’s been… Oh God, Mama, they say he’s been exposin himself.”

“Who says? Who told you this?”

“They come here to the house. Said they were goin to the police.”

“Who, Veda?”

“Eleanor and Betty. Said it was their girls. Those two I watched while you were gone. That little Suzy with the pigtails and the Burns girl.”

“Little girls make up things,” Mama said. “It’s best the police are in on it. They’ll find out if it’s true or not.”

“But what am I goin to do? I can’t act like nothin’s happened.”

“Veda,” Mama said, “what you do is you go in there and clean house. Bake somethin. Start supper. Do whatever it takes to keep busy. What happens happens. He’ll be cleared. Wait and see.”

Mama was willin to give Charlie the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to, but I kept thinkin about that little girl settin on his lap. About the thing in Central Point when them other girls accused him. Mama said to keep busy, bake. How could I do that? I couldn’t even think straight. My feet felt like cast iron skillets. I went back and forth through the house, pickin things up from one place and layin em down someplace else.

I put on a pot of beans, folded a few pieces of laundry from the pile on the couch. What would I say to him when he got home? If he got home. Should I warn him or just keep quiet and wait for the police to come? I was afraid to face him, to tell him. Afraid of how mad he’d be.

The clock ticked off the minutes. The hours. I could smell my sweat. Two or three times I went and soaped up a washrag and scrubbed under my arms. I wanted the day to be over, but at the same time I dreaded it. He would come home and want me to pay attention to him. I made coffee. He always liked to have coffee first thing.

It was a little after six o’clock when I heard the car, and then Charlie, gruntin and puffin as he come up on the porch. I always figured he did that so I’d see how tired he was, know how hard he worked. I checked the stove, the beans looked done. I made myself busy washin dishes I should of done hours ago. Buyin time. I couldn’t look at him. He would see I was upset. “What now?” he’d say.

From the front room where he took his coffee, he was tellin about one of his co-workers doin somethin or other. Hurtin himself, and how it was the guy’s own fault. Then a sheriff’s car pulled up and parked in front of the house. Charlie went to the door. Two uniformed men were on the porch.

“Mr. Steele,” they said flashin their badges, “we’ve had a report…”

It took all the money I could scrape together. What I had put away for groceries and what Mama give me from her Social Security to help out. Walkin into that sheriff’s office to bail out my husband was one of the most humiliatin things I ever had to do. The way the deputy looked at me made me ashamed. If Charlie’d been took in for drunk drivin or stealin or just about any other thing, I could of stood it. Maybe even if he killed somebody. I don’t know. I suppose it would depend on why. But there wasn’t no excuse for this. He come out and made a beeline for the taxi I had waitin. Neither one of us said a word on the ride home.