Later that afternoon we all met at the house to get ready for Graham’s graduation. He had the highest GPA of his graduating class, but because of his antics with the cherry bombs, wasn’t allowed to be valedictorian. Or to graduate with his class. I got the kids upstairs to get dressed, Willis in our room to actually put on a tie, and answered the door when the doorbell rang. Vera, Willis’s mother, stood on the front porch.
‘I brought a pie,’ she said, thrusting said pie in my general direction as she moved around me into the house.
‘Thanks,’ I said. It was pecan. Vera Pugh’s home-made pecan pie. My favorite. I took a deep whiff then hurried into the kitchen to hide it from myself.
‘I hope that young man has learned his lesson,’ Vera said, sitting at the kitchen table, tiny feet not touching the floor.
‘I hope so, too,’ I agreed.
‘What was he thinking?’ she said.
I shrugged. I could hear the pecan pie calling to me. It was a siren’s song – so sweet.
Willis came out of the bedroom. On seeing me still in my robe, he said, ‘Are you going to get dressed?’
I shot him a look. About this time he noticed his mother. ‘Oh, hey, Ma. I didn’t know you were here.’
‘If you’d known, I hope you wouldn’t have talked to your wife in that manner, young man!’ she said. I didn’t have the easiest of relationships with Vera Pugh, but right then I could have kissed her.
‘I’m off to get dressed,’ I said.
‘About time,’ Vera said.
I ignored her as best I could. This was certainly a dress-up occasion but I wasn’t about to wear my little black dress again. This called for something festive. OK, I admit it, I’d gone wild when I bought the black dress. For a woman who heretofore had worn nothing but blue jeans and T-shirts everywhere but to church, I had a vastly different wardrobe to go with my new body. I picked one of the four dresses I’d bought – a white spaghetti-strapped sundress with a skirt with a graduating floral design that ended in a riot of color at the hem. I found a necklace that went well with it and stepped out of the bedroom into the kitchen.
Willis and Vera were still sitting at the kitchen table, and had been joined by three of my four children. Megan, of course, was the tardy one.
‘Whoa!’ my husband said on seeing me.
Vera beamed. ‘I always said you should wear more dresses. You look very nice.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. I may have blushed. Or maybe not.
‘Yeah, Mom,’ Graham said, ‘you’re looking good.’
‘Love the dress, E.J.,’ Alicia said, and Bess just smiled at me.
Megan finally came down and, upon seeing me, said, ‘Nice dress. Can I borrow it?’ Her highest form of compliment.
We managed to get the entire crowd into the minivan and headed to the high school. The extra graduation ceremony (the one paid for by the parents of the four cherry-bombing bad boys) was to be held in the school’s theatre. We dropped Graham off at the back and drove to the front. Since there were only four boys graduating, the parking spaces were plentiful. Willis parked the minivan in front and we trooped in.
One of the women from the committee was in the foyer, right at the doors leading into the theatre. She was handing out programs, which were quite small. We found seats near the front, next to the parents of Graham’s partners in crime, and I glanced at the program. All this trouble and they’d misspelled Pugh. Graham’s name was listed as ‘Graham Pug.’ Good thing this was the end of high school; if it had been the beginning, he would have been stuck with the moniker for four years.
It appears we didn’t merit the principal, or even the vice principal. The diplomas were handed out by the school counselor, who appeared totally bored with the entire thing.
But that didn’t matter. We got to stand up as a family when Graham appeared and cheer like he was a Beatle. After, we went out to dinner as a family at an Olive Garden that had just opened in Black Cat Ridge.
I sat back and watched my family, the kids picking on each other, Willis laughing at them, and even Vera with a smile on her face. I was happy. That never bodes well.
The next day Willis had taken a half day off work, which he occasionally does when he’s not hip deep in it. Although things had gone well the night before, for some reason he seemed to no longer be speaking to me.
‘I discovered a new restaurant in Codderville yesterday,’ I said. He was sitting on the sofa in the family room, a Popular Mechanics magazine in front of him. He made no reply to my opening gambit.
‘I only had iced tea and the menu was vegetarian, but it looked cool. Reminded me of college,’ I said. ‘Molly’s Munchies. Have you heard of it?’
Direct question. Would he be childish and not answer? Or would he be adult and let this go? Or somewhere in the middle.
‘Yes,’ he said, taking the middle ground.
‘You ever go there?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I loved the patchouli and Grateful Dead posters. Very retro.’
‘Um,’ he said.
‘How was the food?’ This would get him. No way could he answer with a yes or no!
‘OK,’ he said.
‘I want to rip off your clothes, stick your junk in hummus and lick it off,’ I said.
He put down his magazine and stared at me. ‘You always think you can sway me with sex, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘You always think no matter what you’ve done, I’ll forgive you just for a romp in the hay.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
He stood up. ‘You’re mostly right,’ he said, coming over and picking me up in his arms. ‘Lose another ten pounds and this would be a lot easier,’ he said. I forgave him as we headed into the bedroom.
Twenty minutes later we heard Megan coming in the front door and scrambled to get dressed.
‘You promised me hummus,’ Willis said.
‘Next time,’ I countered.
‘I’m supposed to forgive you now, right?’ he said.
I stopped, blue jeans halfway up. ‘Forgive me? For what? Not obeying you? Remember I took that part out of our marriage ceremony!’
‘Are we going to start this again?’ he demanded.
‘I believe you started it!’ I shouted.
‘Don’t shout at me!’ he shouted.
‘You stop first!’ I shouted.
He pulled me to him John Wayne-style and slapped a big, fat, sloppy kiss on me.
‘I think we’re going to have to stay in bed until this thing is over,’ he whispered in my ear.
‘Probably,’ I whispered back.
‘Mo-om!’ Megan said, opening the door. Willis and I sprang away from each other.
‘Oh, gross!’ she said. ‘Were y’all doing it in the middle of the afternoon?’ she said, following that with a retching sound.
‘We were taking a nap,’ I said. ‘Daddy came home because he wasn’t feeling well.’
Megan shook her head. ‘And then you lie to your innocent child. I’m not sure which is worse,’ Megan said, still shaking her head as she turned and left the room. ‘Azalea and D’Wanda’s brother is taking us to the mall. I’ll be back by curfew.’
I knew Trisha was actually paying Megan money to watch TV while she was gone (God knows and I know Megan wasn’t actually watching Trisha’s daughters). I could only hope that what Megan brought home from the mall was at least PG13 and not triple X. My daughter had inherited my chest, which is not a terrible thing for an adult woman to deal with, but a teenage girl has to deal with teenage boys and a thirty-two D cup is more than teenage boys can handle without an immediate cold shower. She had tried to leave the house with three buttons unbuttoned on a shirt, only to have me button them right back up again before she got out the door. Yes, I know, she just unbuttons them once out of my sight, but I do what I can. I buy two-size-too-big T-shirts, only to catch her washing them in hot water. I take them away and give them to her sisters. It’s a battle I’ll be waging until she goes off to college and/or gets pregnant and they droop.
I left the bedroom and headed into the kitchen, opening the freezer. ‘Graham’s doing the night shift tonight, and Bess and Alicia are doing something at the church—’
‘It’s a sleepover,’ Willis said. ‘A lock-in. Why isn’t Megan going?’
I shrugged. ‘She said she was going to the mall.’
‘You let that child run wild,’ he said.
I looked inside the open freezer. ‘Nothing in here worth defrosting,’ I told Willis, while looking at a plentiful assortment of defrostable food. ‘How about we go out to eat?’ I slammed the freezer door and turned to look at my husband.
He was back on the couch, magazine back in his hands. ‘You really think I’m going to take you out to dinner and ignore all of this?’
‘All of what?’ I said, my voice cold as ice.
He threw down the magazine and stood up. ‘You know what! I don’t want you involved in another goddam murder, E.J.! How many times and in how many ways do I have to say it?’
‘Tell you what,’ I said, straightening my jeans and grabbing my purse, ‘I’ll check and see if Trisha or Berta – oh, hell, both! – would like to go out to dinner! I’m a little tired of dealing with you!’
‘You’re tired? Put yourself in my shoes! Every time you walk out the door, I’m not sure if you’re coming back! I feel like the husband of a cop or something, and I’m not! At least they get a paycheck! You’re just doing this for . . . I don’t know, what, E.J.? Why are you doing this? For kicks? Is that it? Is it fun for you? Because it certainly isn’t fun for me! You’re going to get yourself killed and I’m going to end up being a single dad to four kids, two of whom I never wanted!’
We both stopped. Neither of us spoke. His last words hung in the air like a guillotine.
Finally I put my purse down. ‘You need to leave,’ I said quietly. ‘The suitcases are in the hall closet. Get one and pack it. And leave. Right now.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ he started, but I was out of there, upstairs to my children’s rooms, sitting on Bess’s bed, stroking her new comforter and wondering if my entire adult life has been a lie.
I know they were doing it. I can’t believe my mother lied to me! Parents should not lie to their children! It’s just rude! And to see my dad all flushed like that! So gross! I still feel like I could throw up a little, ya know?
Donzel, Azalea and D’Wanda’s brother, picked me up with the twins in the back seat, me riding shotgun. He was always doing that. Donzel’s, like, almost twenty but I was pretty sure he had a crush on me. Problem: he was a total dweeb. Glasses, zits, and he was, like, short! Way shorter than me. What was he thinking? Had he no shame? How embarrassing would that be for me? I mean really! So I put on my seat belt, but still turned all the way around to talk to Azalea and D’Wanda.
‘So after I talked to y’all, I went in her closet,’ I said, continuing the saga of Mrs McClure and her dirty laundry, ‘and she has leather pants!’
‘Gross!’ Azalea said.
‘She’s so old!’ D’Wanda said.
‘I know!’ I said. ‘I can just imagine her in those pants,’ and here I shielded my mouth and whispered so Donzel couldn’t hear me and start thinking dirty thoughts about me – which I knew he did all the time – and said, ‘and one of those nipple-less bras with some sheer top over it!’
‘That’s so gross I think I’m gonna puke!’ D’Wanda said.
‘What’s she gonna show, anyway? Skinny-assed white chick!’ Azalea said.
‘I know! Right?’ I said. ‘It’s not like she’s got anything up there to brag about!’
‘But ya know, there are guys out there who like skinny chicks!’ D’Wanda said.
Being twins and all, both Azalea and D’Wanda had basically the same body type – very big boobs and very big butts. And, well, big in the middle too, but in a very attractive way. They are my BFFs, you know.
‘Y’all gonna buy something at the mall?’ Donzel asked.
Azalea, the nice twin, said, ‘Hush up, Donzel, nobody’s talking to you!’
‘Jeez,’ I said and rolled my eyes, which started D’Wanda giggling, and when D’Wanda giggles, everybody giggles. It’s called infectious laughter. It’s like a medical condition or something.
After we calmed down, I put my hand up to shield my mouth again, and told Azalea and D’Wanda, ‘My parents were doing it when I came in a while ago!’
Azalea covered her mouth with her hands, and D’Wanda said ‘Gross!’
‘I know!’ I said. ‘I thought I was gonna puke!’
The twins looked at each other then leaned forward and D’Wanda said, ‘We saw our mom doing it with her boyfriend one night!’
‘Y’all hush, now!’ Donzel said. ‘You never saw any such thing!’
‘We did, too!’ Azalea said. ‘And it was disgusting!’
Boys just don’t understand. We women are sensitive about these things. Parents shouldn’t be doing that after they have all their children. It’s like, you know, overkill.
I fell asleep on Bess’s bed. When I woke up it was dark. I felt empty, like my life’s blood had been drained from my body. How was I supposed to go on? For ten years Willis had been living a lie. Yes, I know I pushed Bess on him. But there was no other choice. None whatsoever. I had worried then that he might leave. I thought I didn’t know if the man I married was strong enough to take on a damaged child like Bess. It was a hard time for all of us. But last year, with Alicia, I didn’t even consider him – I just took her on. What was one more kid? When Willis’s former sister-in-law had showed up and dropped her four-year-old in our laps, neither of us had hesitated to take him in, even though it hadn’t lasted that long. And when a teenage girl I saved from committing suicide moved in with us, he seemed OK with that, although she hadn’t stayed that long either. But Alicia was official – our official, government-sanctioned foster child. I guess we’d be responsible for her college education. Scratch that – Willis would be responsible for her college education. He’s the one with the job, his own company. I write romance novels and, although I make a fairly good income, it was supplemental. Not something we could actually live on.
What had I done? Thrown my husband out because, in anger, he’d finally admitted something he’d held secret all these years? Something I’d never thought to ask him? I’ve been a knee-jerk, pinko, bra-burning liberal most of my life, and for the first time in that now rather long life, I had to ask myself, what kind of wife was I? I think the goal had been equality, a full partnership between a loving couple. I’d gone over my half, way over, leaving Willis at best a third. We had discussed bringing Bess into our home ad nauseum, but at the end, there was no choice. It had to be done. And I loved her like she had been yet another one to cause a fifth-degree episiotomy. I hadn’t given two seconds’ thought to bringing Alicia into our home. And maybe I should have. OK, I definitely should have.
Willis had brought up Graham’s crush on Alicia as a reason not to legally adopt her – had that been the real reason? The only reason? Now I don’t think so. What had my ridiculous and ill-advised generosity done to my family? Bess and Megan were hardly around each other anymore. Before Alicia they’d been real sisters – fighting and bickering but getting together to torment Graham. Now that dynamic was gone.
I sat down heavily at the breakfast-room table. Bess and Alicia were at the lock-in at the church, but Megan was at the mall with Azalea and D’Wanda. Twin girls who would always pick each other over Megan.
I began to tear up, and before I knew what was happening I was bawling like a baby.
How could I continue worrying about Berta Harris? How could I fulfill my promise to Ken Killian? My marriage was in trouble. I was in trouble. I dried my eyes and dialed Megan’s cell phone number.
‘What?’ she said upon answering. Obviously my name had come up on her screen.
‘Are you at the mall yet?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said, ‘your husband met me there and drove me to the church! He’s making me go to this lame lock-in!’
‘Are you inside yet?’ I asked.
‘Mother! I’m walking in now!’
‘When you get inside I want to speak to Lisa,’ I said, mentioning the name of the youth minister.
‘Jeez! OK, I’m inside. I’m looking for Lisa. Oh, there she is.’
‘Hello?’ came Lisa’s voice.
‘Hi, Lisa, it’s E.J. Pugh. Sorry Megan’s late getting there.’
‘That’s OK, we don’t lock the doors for another hour,’ she said.
‘You might want to keep an eye on her, or tell her sisters to. Bess will rat her out in a New York minute. I’m afraid Megan might try to leave,’ I said.
‘I’ll keep an eye on her for the next hour, then she’ll have no chance to leave. When we say lock-in, we mean it!’ Lisa said and laughed.
‘Thanks, Lisa. See you in the morning.’
I hung up and considered where my husband might be. He didn’t have any single friends to take him in, and his married friends had wives that were friends of mine, so that wouldn’t be OK for him. Then I thought of the one place he’d go where he’d always be welcome. His mother’s.
I got in the minivan and drove to Codderville, to the tiny two-bedroom house my husband had been raised in. Vera, his mom, and I weren’t exactly friends, but we tolerated each other. She loved my kids, so therefore she had to accept me. This might be awkward, I thought. I knocked on her front door, and I could see through the glass in the door and the sheer curtain that Willis was coming to answer it.
When he opened the door, I said, ‘Can you come out? So we can talk?’
He nodded and stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind him. We sat in wicker chairs, away from the porch swing we usually sat in when spending time on his mother’s porch.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It was a gut reaction.’
He nodded his head but said nothing.
‘Thanks for taking Megan to the lock-in. I was going to do it, but when I called her she was already at the church,’ I said. Still he said nothing.
‘Are you going to talk to me?’ I asked.
My husband shook his head. ‘I don’t have anything to say,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you come on home and we can talk about it later, or not at all. Your choice,’ I said.
Willis shook his head again. ‘No, I’m not coming home,’ he said. ‘I’m going to stay here.’
‘For how long?’ I asked, feeling bile rising.
‘I’m not sure. I might get an apartment.’
I stood up. My only other option was to take to my knees and plead with him to come home. I couldn’t do that. Looking at him, I figured it wouldn’t work anyway.
‘What do you want me to tell the kids?’ I asked.
‘You’ll think of something. Tell them I have my cell if they want to call.’ He stood too, turned his back on me, and walked back into his mother’s house.
What can be lamer than a church lock-in? It’s like a slumber party but with boys – and at our church, that meant a bunch of twelve-year-olds – and they literally lock you in! Me and Bess and Alicia were the only fifteen-year-olds there. None of the older kids ever came to these things, but Bess and Alicia came as volunteers to help Lisa with the younger kids. I bet my mom and dad didn’t even know that! You can’t force someone to be a volunteer, can you? I mean, isn’t that, like, voluntary, for crying out loud?
‘Hey,’ Bess said when I found them. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Mom and Dad made me come,’ I said.
‘Jeez,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘How do I know? They’re acting weird. I caught them doing it,’ I told her and Alicia.
Bess scrunched up her nose. ‘Oh, gross!’
Alicia turned red. ‘Y’all shouldn’t talk about that.’
‘Why not?’ Bess and I said, almost in unison.
‘It’s not right. They’re a married a couple. Of course they . . . do it.’
‘Well, duh,’ I said. ‘But do I have to watch?’
Bess covered her mouth with her hands and squealed. ‘Oh, I’m gonna puke!’ she said, laughing.
Alicia, Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes, said, ‘This is not a laughing matter. Megan, you should always knock before you enter someone’s bedroom.’
Bess removed her hands from her face and pointed a finger at Alicia. ‘Sounds like someone’s had this problem themselves!’
I laughed. ‘Uh oh, Alicia, which one of your foster moms did you catch?’
Alicia walked off in a huff. ‘Was it something I said?’ I asked.
Bess laughed. ‘Oh, don’t mind her. She just gets uptight about things. She’s not like us.’
‘You mean she’s not totally weird?’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ Bess replied.