Breaking TWIG Page 4

  Papa had always told me, "Your momma could charm the snakes out of Ireland if she wanted to." He was right. She could get anything if she set her mind on it.

  A beautiful woman on the outside, Momma’s curly blond hair framed flawless pale skin and sea-green eyes. Her manicured hands deftly applied her makeup and arranged every curl for maximum appeal. But it was her tilted-head grins and throaty laughs that caused men to get all sweaty and just plain silly around her.

  She needed only to giggle and Mr. Pryor would wrap up his best cut of meat for her. A smile from her cranberry-colored lips always netted her a free soda water at the gas station. Even Reverend Murray had been seen pulling at his collar after Momma cast him one of her sideways grins. She delighted in passing out lots of smiles to everyone—to everyone except me. The only things she gave me were those same green eyes and the back of her hand.

  Momma’s favorite activities included getting her hair fixed, flirting with any man breathing, and showing off her handsome husband. One summer afternoon, she invited her friends over to help plan a church fundraiser for foreign missionaries. The ladies moseyed outside, stood on the back porch, and gawked at Frank as he and I worked in our garden.

  "You’ve got a fine garden, Frank," Carol Hickman said.

  The other ladies agreed.

  My stepfather grinned and the women giggled. He threw a fifty-pound bag of potting soil over his bare shoulder and nodded at me. "Becky deserves the credit for this garden. I’m just the hired hand."

  The women tossed me a quick smile before turning their attention back to him.

  "I could use a hired hand at my house," Mrs. Burke said.

  The women laughed. Several added, "Me, too."

  Helen descended the porch steps like the queen she thought she was, holding a glass of tea and wearing a new scarf fashionably tied on the side. She strolled over to Frank, rubbed her hand across his naked back and cooed, "Sorry girls. Frank only works in my garden." She made him kiss her full on the mouth.

  Frank’s face turned red; he retreated to the garage. Momma and her friends snaked back into the house to enjoy the lemon cake I’d prepared earlier. Lucky me got stuck finishing the work.

  Yes, my mother enjoyed being Mrs. Frank Wooten. She even convinced me she loved my stepfather. I should’ve known better.

  CHAPTER 5

  Momma had lots of rules. Don’t tell anyone what went on at home. Never touch her things. If coming home early, I should call first. Two weeks into my junior year, Principal Lott dismissed school early because of a gas leak. I forgot to call Momma.

  I went home, changed my clothes, and had started back downstairs when I heard a strange moaning coming from Momma’s bedroom. I pushed her door open. "Momma, are you okay?" It’s hard to say who was the most shocked—momma, the naked man under her, or me.

  "Close the damn door, Becky," she yelled.

  I did as I was told. Standing in the hallway, I tried to wrap my brain around the scene I’d witnessed. Frank’s face flashed in my mind.

  Momma came out wrapped in a sheet. "What are you doing here?"

  "I live here."

  "Don’t get smart with me." She slapped me hard.

  I tumbled down three steps before I could grab the banister and stop my fall. Pulling myself up, I wiped the blood off my mouth and pointed to my bedroom. "I want to go to my room."

  "Go," she said.

  I tried to slip past her.

  She grabbed my arm. "Didn’t I tell you to call first if you were coming home early?"

  "I . . . I forgot."

  She smacked me again.

  I raised my free hand and pulled my head in like a turtle to fend off her next two blows.

  The door to her room opened and the stranger stepped out, zipping up his trousers. Tall and skinny except for a paunch, he had a receding hairline and a small scar above his right eyebrow. He tried to button his shirt, but his shirttail caught in his zipper.

  "Get to your room, girl." Momma turned to the man. "Don’t forget your damn jacket."

  Out my window, I watched her lover cut across our yard, get in a gray sedan, and speed away. Minutes later, she strolled into my room and offered me a glass of ice tea. "I brought you a drink, Sugar."

  I wasn’t thirsty, but I knew better than to refuse her hospitality. Papa always said, "When Helen starts calling someone ‘Sugar,’ he’d better watch his wallet." Momma wanted something from me, but it wasn’t money.

  "Now that you’re sixteen, Becky, I think it’s time we had a woman-to-woman talk." She sat down on my bed. "I love Frank, but sometimes love isn’t enough."

  I sipped my tea.

  "You’ll soon discover a woman has needs just like a man. If she doesn’t get those needs met regularly, she wonders if she’s still attractive. She starts to doubt herself as a woman." Momma pulled her cigarettes from the pocket of her pink, silk robe, lit one, and took a long drag. "Understand what I’m saying?"

  "Doesn’t Frank meet your needs?"

  "He works all day. When he gets home, he showers, eats, and heads outside to that damn greenhouse." She took another drag. "When he finally comes to bed, he’s asleep before I can kiss him goodnight."

  "Can’t you wake him?"

  "Shouldn’t have to." She walked over to my desk. "It’s his duty to stay awake and tend to my needs."

  I cringed as Momma rubbed out her cigarette on the back cover of Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, a gift from Grandpa Eli. "So your affair is Frank’s fault?"

  "This was a one-time fling, Becky. Get that through your thick head." She stuffed the half-smoked cigarette back into the package. "Children think their parents are perfect, but we’re not, Sugar. We make mistakes sometimes."

  I’d figured that out the time she broke my arm. "What do you want from me?"

  "Are you going to tell Frank?"

  I didn’t answer.

  "In my own way, I was trying to help him. He said we needed more insurance on this house. That fellow I was with sells insurance. I wanted to get us a better rate."

  Did Momma think me that big a fool? Or was she so crazy she believed her own lie?

  "So this is our little secret, right?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma’am."

  Momma headed for the door. "I’m going to take a bath. Make up my bed. Remember to change the sheets."

  I waited until I heard the water running before slamming my door. That woman had no shame. I decided not to sit by her in church anymore in case God decided to strike her dead. He might miss and hit me.

  *****

  I could barely look at Frank that night, but Momma acted like her usual self. After washing the supper dishes, I headed upstairs.

  "Aren’t you going to help me in the greenhouse, Ladybug?" Frank asked.

  "I would, but I have lots of homework tonight."

  "Don’t worry about it then. Just keep them grades up."

  From the verandah, I watched him walk to the greenhouse. Momma was the biggest fool in Cascade County. I’d rather her beat me half to death than hurt Frank. I felt so bad that I decided to write Claudia a letter.

  When we were young, Johnny and I played a game where we pretended to be different people. My favorite pretend person was a gal I named Claudia. She had the perfect family, always knew the right thing to say and do, and never lied or told half-truths like me. Folks listened to her; they respected her. She was nobody’s Pick, nor was she a Picker. Whenever I wrote in the journal Frank gave me, I’d pretend I was writing to Claudia.

  Dear Claudia,

  You’ll be shocked to hear I caught Momma in bed with another man. I know you wouldn’t approve, but I agreed not to tell Frank. It would only hurt him and he'd leave us. I’m selfish enough to want him to stay. By remaining silent, I’m helping Momma perpetrate the lie that she loves him. She is incapable of love.

  Donald and his college buddies spent the summer in Europe, drinking beer and chasing women. I’ve dreamed of visiting Paris to see the splendid buildings and beauti
ful gardens. Such a trip is wasted on that dummy.

  It’s not right. Momma gets to have a lover and a husband, and Donald gets to go to Europe. Frank works himself to death to support them. For his trouble, he gets an adulterous wife and a son who’s a rapist. I work hard, do what I’m told, and yet I’m not allowed to see Johnny. That’s the way it is between Pickers and Picks. Picks give and Pickers get.

  Goodbye for now.

  Your best friend,

  Becky Leigh Cooper

  P.S. Is life ever fair?

  CHAPTER 6

  The first Friday in October, I came home to an empty house—or so I thought. After pouring myself a glass of milk, I sneaked a couple of teacakes from the cookie jar. When I turned around, Momma was standing there, Papa’s belt in her raised hand.

  She struck her first blow. "I warned you about seeing Johnny, didn’t I?"

  Momma hit me so hard, I dropped my milk and cookies. Glass shattered and crumbs scattered across the floor. I spun around, slammed into the screen door and fell out onto the back porch. I tried to get up, but she kicked me in the ribs. My head hit the edge of Papa’s rocker. A stabbing pain sliced through me.

  "How long have you been seeing him, Becky Leigh?"

  I rose to my knees. "Just a little while . . ."

  "Liar!" Her fist smashed into the right side of my face.

  Down I went. Blood streamed from my head. Each time I tried to get up, she knocked me down. Finally, I rolled onto my side, pulled my knees up, and folded my hands over my head in a futile attempt to protect myself.

  With both hands, Momma swung Papa’s belt. Then she grabbed the broom and whacked me with the handle. "I’ll teach you to defy me." She continued beating me until the broom handle broke. "Clean up the kitchen and then go to your room."

  My head throbbed and my ribs stung. I struggled to breathe. Yet somehow, I managed to clean up the mess. I considered calling Johnny to come get me, but he’d moved to Kirbyville to work and attend junior college. Besides, if he showed up, someone might end up dead.

  I dragged myself upstairs, put on my pajamas, crawled into bed. I washed the blood off my face with tears. It was hours before God granted me the relief sleep brings. A tapping on my door woke me.

  "Are you awake, Ladybug?"

  I didn’t answer Frank. He couldn’t see me like this.

  A squeak of the door hinge announced his entrance. Light from the hall split the blackness of my room. The mirror on my dresser reflected his movements as he placed a tray on my nightstand.

  "Helen said you were sick. I brought you some soup."

  "I’m not hungry."

  "Try a little, Ladybug. Can you sit up and eat a bite?"

  "No."

  "How about if I helped you?" Frank pushed his hand against my back.

  My body jerked. A yelp escaped my lips before I could stop it.

  "What’s the matter with you, Becky?"

  "Nothing. Go away."

  "Not until I see what’s the matter." Frank turned on the light.

  I pulled the sheet over my head, but he yanked it back.

  "Damn, Ladybug, what happened to you?"

  "Where’s Momma?"

  "She’s gone to a baby shower." He helped me sit up. "How did you get that cut on your forehead?"

  "I fell . . . down the stairs."

  "Then why did your mother tell me you were sick? Let me see your back." He pulled up the back of my pajama top. "What the hell? Helen did this, didn’t she?"

  "Momma found out I’ve been seeing Johnny. Leave it alone, Frank, or you’ll make matters worse."

  "Make matters worse? Have you seen your face?"

  I shook my head.

  He retrieved my hand mirror and held it up in front of me. "Look."

  A right eye swollen half-shut. A puffy cheek stained blue-black. Dried blood caked over a two-inch gash along my hairline. "It’s not so bad," I said.

  Frank shook his head, threw the mirror down, and walked into the hall. He returned a few minutes later. "I called Doctor Condray. He’ll meet us at the clinic. That cut needs stitches." He wrapped my chenille robe around me.

  My stepfather refused to listen to my protest. He picked me up, carried me to his truck, and away we went into the darkness.

  *****

  When we returned, Helen met us at the front door. "Where have you two been?"

  Frank pushed her aside, led me to the sofa. "I took Becky to the doctor’s."

  "What kind of lie is she spreading now?" Momma asked.

  "Becky said she fell down the stairs, but I know you beat her."

  "I gave her a well-deserved whipping. She’s been seeing Johnny behind my back."

  "You didn’t whip her, you beat her." Frank pushed up my bangs. "She had to have stitches in her head."

  She shrugged. "That’s not so bad."

  "It’s not as bad as the concussion or the broken arm you gave her before. Is that what you mean, Helen?"

  "I don’t know what Becky told you, but—"

  "She didn’t tell me anything. Dr. Condray did."

  "He had no right to tell you that," she shouted.

  Frank rubbed his temple. "You’re right. Heaven forbid I know the truth."

  "If she hadn’t disobeyed me, she wouldn’t have got a whipping." Helen crossed her arms. "Whatever she got, she deserved."

  "How can you call yourself a mother?"

  "I don’t appreciate your tone, Frank."

  "Your mother and I need to talk, Becky. Can you make it upstairs by yourself?"

  I nodded.

  "I’m not discussing this matter anymore." She turned, started to walk away.

  Frank grabbed her arm. "We’re going to talk. About this and a whole lot more."

  *****

  I stood in the doorway watching Frank pack. "Are you going on a business trip?"

  "Nope," he said without looking at me.

  I knew he was leaving Momma, but couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Apparently, neither could he. If no one said the words out loud, perhaps they wouldn’t come true. I sat down on the bed next to his suitcase.

  Frank turned away, went next door to the bathroom.

  While he was gone, I sifted through the half-packed case. Underwear, socks, pajamas, three dress shirts. On the doorknob, two pair of slacks and a pair of jeans hung on wooden hangers.

  He returned, tucked his toothbrush, deodorant, and shaving kit into the pocket in the lid of his suitcase, and then retrieved a blue shirt from his closet.

  "I bought you that shirt for Christmas."

  Frank flashed a quick smile. "That’s why it’s my favorite."

  "We went Christmas shopping in Kirbyville and had lunch with Anna and Johnny. On the way home, we chopped down a Christmas tree. Remember?"

  "I remember."

  "You promised to teach me to ice skate, but you didn’t. I guess you never will."

  He stopped packing and looked at me. "Helen and I may be separating, Becky, but you and I will still be friends."

  "You know that’s not true. If you leave Momma, she’ll never let me see you. You know how she is." I slid off the bed and walked over to the window. "I told you taking me to the doctor’s would make things worse."

  "Don’t blame yourself. Helen and I have had problems for some time now. Truth be told, I’ve been thinking about leaving for over a year." Frank plopped down on the bed. "I kept hoping she’d change, but I see that’s never going to happen."

  "But you’re not just leaving her, you’re leaving me too."

  "You’re the reason I’ve stayed this long, Ladybug. I thought I could protect you, but apparently I can’t."

  "Take me with you," I begged.

  "I’d like to, but that’s not possible. You’re Helen’s child and you’re underage. Besides, I don’t have a home to go to."

  "Where are you going to live?"

  "At my office for now." He ran his hands through his hair. "I’ll need to find a job before I get a more permanent plac
e."

  "A job? Aren’t you going to run the store?"

  "The store belongs to Helen. I doubt she’ll want me to stay on as manager."

  "But think of all the hard work and long hours you’ve put into the store, Frank. You’ve doubled the business in only three years." I grabbed my side.

  He picked up his cufflinks, watch, and tie clasp from the dresser. "You should be resting, Becky. Doctor Condray said your ribs were bruised."

  "And he said that stinky ointment he gave us needed to be applied to my back twice each day. Who’s going do that? Momma won’t."

  Frank sighed. "I’ll come by before work and after supper."

  "Don’t bother," I yelled and stormed out of the room.

  *****

  I paced my bedroom floor. When Frank left, Momma would be furious and blame me for everything. I couldn’t take another beating tonight. I packed a small bag, grabbed a jacket, and sneaked down the stairs. Once outside, I climbed into the back of Frank’s pickup, curled up in the left hand corner near the cab, pulled a tarp over me. My side felt like something had ruptured. But if I could make it to Kirbyville and find Johnny, I’d be okay. He’d help me escape my crazy mother.

  The truck door opened, slammed, and the engine started. The Ranchero peeled out of the driveway.

  *****

  The full moon had an iridescent white ring around it. Grandpa Eli called such a halo circled moon a liar’s moon. Figuring it would be safer to travel as a boy, I slipped on my jacket, turned the collar up, and pushed my hair up under a blue knit cap. I walked down the center of the highway, following the white stripe that would lead me to Johnny and freedom.

  I’d thought they’d be more traffic on a Friday night. Even so, when a car finally did come by, I hid behind a tree. But I couldn’t walk the forty miles to Johnny’s. By the time the third car came along, I’d gathered enough courage to accept a ride from a chicken farmer from Canton. He gave me a ride as far as the all-night diner just north of Kirbyville. I sat down at the end of the counter, away from the other customers.