Breaking TWIG Page 9

  "Are you pregnant, Becky?"

  I didn’t answer.

  Frank pushed the seat back. "I heard you throwing up this morning."

  "Do you think Momma heard?"

  "I don’t know. Helen’s a heavy sleeper."

  Momma and Frank’s reconciliation hadn’t lasted long. Donald had come home for the Thanksgiving holidays and brought his college roommate, Bruce, with him. On Friday, Momma dragged Frank off to look at new cars. I stayed home to pot a batch of poinsettias for our store. Around noon, Donald and Bruce came in the greenhouse to tease me about Johnny.

  They predicted Johnny would get killed in Vietnam. The more upset I became, the more they taunted me. Donald asked me how I liked my honeymoon and dared his friend to grope me. After backing me into a corner, Bruce proceeded to accept the dare. Donald stood there laughing, drinking beer, and urging his buddy on. I was hysterical—crying, screaming, begging them to leave me alone—when Frank walked in. He picked up a rake and went after them. Donald knocked out a panel in the greenhouse wall. He and Bruce jumped through it and high-tailed it down the street.

  The boys, as Momma called them, didn’t return until after midnight. Frank sat waiting for them on the front porch with their suitcases. He told them to go back to college and suggested Donald visit his grandparents at Christmas.

  Helen had hated Donald since the day he’d put glue in her shampoo. But for some reason, she spoke up for him. I suppose tormenting me wasn’t a major offense in her book. She told Frank he was too hard on the boys. Frank responded by moving into Grandpa Eli’s old bedroom. She begged him to come back to her bed, but he refused. He told her I was the only reason he wasn’t leaving for good. The way she stared at me, if looks could kill, I’d have been dead.

  "Momma can’t find out, Frank. She’ll kill me for sure."

  He chuckled. "She'll pitch a fit, but Helen won’t kill you."

  My eyes begin to sting. "You still don’t understand her. She’d rather tell the neighbors I fell and broke my neck than to have them know I’m carrying Johnny’s baby."

  "How can I help you, Ladybug?"

  "You have to release me from my promise not to run away."

  "I can’t do that."

  "You have to. I’ve got to get away before she finds out."

  "And go where, Becky? You don’t have any other family." Frank started up the truck and turned the heater on again. "Have you told Johnny?"

  "Johnny’s cousin, Emelda, gave me his address. I wrote to him before Thanksgiving, as soon as I missed my . . . as soon as I knew. I haven’t heard a word from him since he left."

  "Don’t get upset. He’ll write as soon as he can. The first few months you’re in the Army, they barely give you time to catch your breath, much less write home."

  I hung my head so my hair would hide my face.

  "Don’t cry, Ladybug."

  "I’m not crying. You know I hate crying."

  "Yeah, I know." Frank pulled me into his arms.

  "What’s going to happen to me?"

  He kissed the top of my head. "You’ll be fine. We’ll get through this together."

  "How? I’m not giving up Johnny’s baby."

  "I didn’t expect you would." Frank wiped the tears from my face. "My sister in Alabama always wanted a daughter."

  "Momma might kill me, but I doubt she’d adopt me out."

  Frank laughed. "That’s not exactly what I meant."

  "What then?"

  "Three of Christina’s sons are grown and have left home. Only her youngest is left, and he’s graduating next May." Frank pushed my hair out of my eyes. "I bet she’d be tickled to have you stay with her."

  "What about her husband?"

  "Barney lets my sister run the house as she sees fit. He loves gardening, but couldn’t get his boys interested in it. I’m sure he’d appreciate your help."

  "And I would help, Frank. I’d earn my keep."

  "I’ve no doubt about that." He handed me his handkerchief. "Blow your nose."

  "What about Momma?"

  Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "School lets out for Christmas next week. I’ll tell her I want us all to visit my sister over the holidays. When it’s time to come home, we’ll tell her about the baby. Since there’ll be other people around, maybe Helen won’t explode."

  I shook my head. "I wouldn’t bet my life on that."

  *****

  Helen pulled a lipstick from her purse. "I don’t know why Frank insists we go to Alabama for Christmas. Donald will be in Florida. We could have a fine holiday right here."

  "I thought you liked Donald now."

  She rolled her eyes. "I swear, Becky Leigh, you’re so dense sometimes. I hate that boy worse than a cat hates a bath."

  "Then why did you take up for him at Thanksgiving?"

  "That’s my business." Momma gave her lips a fresh coat of cherry red, then smacked them twice. "Haven’t you ever heard of killing your enemy with kindness?"

  "You plan on killing Donald?"

  "I haven’t decided what I’m going to do to him. But he owes me for ruining my hair and that debt will be paid." She dropped the lipstick into her purse, snapped the bag shut, and turned to me. "You hide and watch, Sugar. Hide and watch and learn."

  Normally, I’d feel sorry for anyone who had the misfortune of finding themselves caught in Momma’s crosshairs. But in Donald’s case, I made an exception. Despite Reverend Murray’s sermons on turning the other cheek, I hoped Momma would think of something awful to do to Donald. That thought probably generated another black mark next to my name in God’s record book. But one more wasn’t going to make Hell any hotter.

  Helen grabbed the keys to her new powder-blue Thunderbird, a Christmas present to herself. "Let’s go, Becky. I don’t want to be late."

  "I still don’t understand why we have to go to Brockton to see a new dentist."

  "I told you, Doctor Varholt is booked up. We need to get our teeth cleaned before Christmas." She opened the front door. "I hear Doctor Nixon is good. Come on."

  I didn’t move. "I told Celia Lundy I’d help her wrap Christmas presents today."

  "Call her and say you can’t come. I’ll wait in the car. Hurry up."

  I’d made up the story about Celia in hopes that Momma would let me stay home, but she’d called my bluff. I picked up the receiver and dialed the number for our store. Agnes Shaver, Frank’s secretary, answered.

  "Mrs. Shaver, may I speak to my stepfather, please?"

  "He’s in a meeting with representatives from the new pottery supplier, Becky. He’s not very happy with them."

  Frank was an understanding man, but when it came to business, he could be a bear. He insisted on a quality job and excellent service from his employees and suppliers.

  "Please tell him Momma is taking me to the dentist in Brockton."

  "To Brockton? Why Brockton?"

  "Momma says Doctor Nixon is a really good dentist."

  "I’ve heard some things about him."

  "What’ve you heard?"

  "Just some rumors. I have to go, Becky. I’ll give Frank your message."

  "Thank you, ma’am." As I hung up the phone, I wondered about the rumors and decided to call Mrs. Shaver back. Then, Momma started honking the horn. I knew better than to keep her waiting.

  *****

  Helen flipped down her visor. "I’m glad we have this chance to talk, aren’t you?"

  "Yes, ma’am," I said, adding another lie to my ever-growing list. Brockton was a half-hour drive west of Sugardale and Momma had been bending my ear since we’d pulled out of the driveway. Mostly, her yammering was gossip. How the blue topaz ring Mr. Mercer got his wife was really just blue glass, and how Betty Powell wanted to be friends again now that Anna had moved back to Texas.

  "We don’t get many chances to do things together. Mother-daughter things."

  I stared out the passenger window. "No, ma’am." I stopped short of adding, "Thank God."

  "Stop patting your foot
so hard, Becky. You’re shaking the damn car."

  Whenever I’m nervous, I get an almost uncontrollable urge to rock or swing. Being cooped up in a car with Momma made me anxious. My stomach felt like a boy scout was using my intestines to practice his knot tying.

  Helen cracked her window a bit. A thin stream of frigid air seeped into the car. She undid her top two buttons and pushed apart the sides of her turquoise cotton blouse.

  I pulled my coat together.

  "We’ve had a rough year, Becky. I may have gone overboard on the whipping I gave you last autumn. But a child who deliberately lies to her mother deserves to be punished. Doesn’t she?"

  Momma had a knack for asking damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t questions. I gave her as dubious a nod as I could get away with.

  "I’m glad you agree." She rolled down her window a tad more. "A mother’s primary responsibility is to do what she thinks is best for her child. It’s a difficult task, especially when she’s the sole parent."

  "You were never alone. You had Papa and Frank."

  "You could wrap your daddy around your little finger, and Frank never loved you like I’d hoped he would."

  "Frank cares about me."

  "Sure he does, but he’s never acted like a father to you. He just wants to be your friend. A true father knows love must be balanced with discipline."

  "Maybe Frank figured since you were so quick to hand out the discipline, he’d be the one to give out the love."

  Helen’s knuckles paled as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. "What a mean thing to say. I don’t know where you learned such cruelty."

  I looked out my window, rolling my eyes as I listened to her ramble on about how much she cared about me. I might not be the smartest squirrel in the tree, but I know a nut when I see one. And my momma was nuts if she thought I was buying her fake declarations of affection.

  She rolled her window up and turned the heater on high. "A child belongs to its mother because she gave the child life. The mother must do what she thinks is best."

  Who was she trying to convince? Herself or me? I wanted to ask her if she had any cheese to go with the bologna she was trying to feed me, but didn’t dare ask while in slapping range. She turned the heater on, then off, then on again, as if unable to decide whether she was hot or cold. Maybe she’d caught the flu bug that was going around.

  "Do me a favor, Becky."

  Here it comes, the true reason for this mother knows best speech. "What kind of favor?"

  "Stop tapping your damn finger on the arm rest. You’re gonna drive me crazy."

  In my opinion, that would be a short trip.

  *****

  Helen pulled up in front of the dentist’s office. "We’re here."

  Dr. Nixon’s office was at the edge of town in a small building that had obviously once been someone’s home. The house was painted yellow and trimmed in a milky white.

  "Aren’t the decorations pretty?" Momma asked.

  I nodded. On one side of the walkway, a snowman waved to us. The other side of the yard presented a nativity scene with Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus lying in a manger. A split-rail fence laden with fat, multi-colored bulbs surrounded the snow-frosted yard. The last remnants of the day’s brilliance muted the radiance of the Christmas lights, causing an eerie glow to settle over the otherwise beguiling scene.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out of place. Then I noticed the window boxes. Dead tendrils of last summer’s flowers hung down the sides of the boxes. Stems that once propped up fragrant blossoms were now bare twigs reaching up past the clinic’s windows, resembling prison bars. I wondered why, when everything else was so neat, the window boxes had been left as a testimonial of sorts to death. The muscles in my shoulders tightened.

  "I guess we should get out," she said.

  I waited for Momma to open her door, but she sat staring at the dentist’s office. Her hand moved to the door handle, back to the steering wheel, then back to the handle. She never liked going to the dentist much. She wasn’t afraid. It was more of a control issue. It’s hard to be in charge when a stranger is shoving his hand into your mouth.

  "Let’s get our teeth cleaned after Christmas, Momma."

  "You should wear your hair pulled away from your face." She pushed my hair behind my ears. "You look like you’re twelve instead of sixteen. If you pulled the sides of your hair up, you’d look more your age. I could show you how."

  "I like my hair the way it is."

  She frowned. "If Frank made the suggestion, you’d try it."

  "Are we going to the dentist or not?"

  Her attention turned back to the office. "I suppose. We’re here. Might as well get it over with." She got out of car and slammed the door.

  Momma was behaving especially odd today. During breakfast, she’d raved about my biscuits. I’d been baking the same biscuits for three years without a single compliment from her. She was up to something. When I got home, I’d alert Frank.

  Grandpa Eli had always told me to listen to my heart. But it’s hard to hear anything when Momma’s yelling, "Get out of the car, Becky Leigh."

  Once on the porch, she lit a cigarette, smoked half of it, flicked it into the snow. She slipped her arm around me. "Don’t worry, Sugar. I’ll take care of you."

  A chill brushed the back of my neck.

  CHAPTER 13

  I heard voices. A man and a woman arguing. At first, I thought the voices were in my head. Then I realized it was Momma and Frank. As usual, they were arguing about me. I opened my eyes just a sliver. Frank sat bent over in a gray, straight-back chair, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his fists. On the opposite side of the strange room, Momma stood staring out a window, smoking a cigarette.

  "How could you do this, Helen?" Frank asked.

  "Was I supposed to let her throw away her future because of one stupid mistake?"

  She sucked on the cigarette, then blew smoke at the ceiling. "I never dreamed it’d turn out like this. That damn dentist was supposed to know his business."

  Frank stood. "It was her decision to make, not yours."

  "How can she decide what’s best for her? She’s sixteen and crazy in the head for that Mexican boy. She tried to kill herself over him. Killing yourself over a man. That’s plain crazy."

  I wanted to touch my stomach, to touch the place where my baby slept, but my arms wouldn’t move. Had we been in an accident on the way home from the dentist? Was I paralyzed? Why couldn’t I remember?

  Frank ran his hand across his face. "I had it all worked out. My sister in Alabama agreed to take care of Becky until the baby came."

  "And then what? Do you really believe she would’ve given it up?"

  My nose twitched as the smoke drifted over the bed. I tried to make sense of my stepfather’s words. I guessed his sister had changed her mind about my staying with her.

  Momma crushed her cigarette out on the windowsill. "There’s not one damn ashtray in this room."

  "You’re not supposed to smoke in here."

  "We all do things we’re not suppose to do, don’t we, Frank? Like you helping her keep this secret from me."

  "Just how did you find out?"

  "That’s my business." Helen turned back to the window. "Becky’s young. She’ll get over this. Trust me, I know."

  "The doctors say she might never—"

  "What the hell do they know?" Momma asked. "Besides, maybe she’s better off."

  I might never what? Never move my arms again? Never walk again? I wished Momma would quit interrupting Frank. She always hogged the conversation.

  He eased back into the straight-back chair. "What is it, Helen? What makes you claw at people until you strip them of everything decent? Until you strip them to the bone?"

  She pulled the window blind up all the way. A sunbeam spotlight shot across the room highlighting my stepfather. "You know the saying, Frank, monkey see . . . monkey do. We’re all monkeys doing what we’ve been taught."


  "Who taught you to be such a predator?"

  She whirled around to face him. "My daddy, of course. Didn’t you know daddies have the most influence on their girls? Just look at Becky. She lives in the garden because her daddy lived there."

  "Gardening is good for the soul," Frank said. "But you wouldn’t know about that."

  She laughed. "If you’re trying to say I don’t have a soul, then you’re right."

  "You admit it?"

  "I had a choice once, to have a soul or to survive. I chose to survive." She lit another cigarette, blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. "If Becky lives, it’ll be because of what she’s learned from me, not anything you or her daddy taught her."

  If I lived? I must be worse off than I thought. I didn’t feel too bad. My arms wouldn’t move and my throat felt as if I’d drank a glass of cotton, but I wasn’t in much pain. I tried to remember what had happened. I recalled the dentist saying he needed to put me to sleep to pull a bad tooth, a tooth that didn’t hurt. Then, there was the matter of the dream. In it, Dr. Nixon’s assistant had spilled something red all over her clean white uniform. Strawberry punch? Red paint, perhaps?

  Helen lowered the blind. A shadow crept across the room. "I’m going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?"

  "I can’t believe you, Helen," Frank said. "I knew you were a shrew, but don’t you have any morals? Any conscience?"

  "You’d better look to your own house before you start pointing fingers at me."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Who do you think told me about the dentist?" Helen asked. "Your son."

  He jumped up. "You can’t blame this on Donald. He’s away at school. This was your doing."

  "What do you think he’s been doing at college? With the lousy grades he gets, it’s sure not studying."

  Frank glared at Momma, as if daring her to say another word against his son. But my mother had never met a man she was afraid of, or one she couldn’t destroy if she so desired.

  "What did you say, Frank? I didn’t hear you."

  "I don’t believe a word out of your lying mouth."