The next morning I rolled over in my bed, listening for the sounds of Mama moving about the kitchen. I expected to smell the perking coffee and frying bacon.
But then I remembered she wasn’t there.
Without allowing a single thought of missing her, I got myself up and to the kitchen. Making breakfast would be my job.
Daddy and Ray sat at the kitchen table to plates of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast. Daddy said he hadn’t had anything that tasted so good in a real long time.
That surprised me. It seemed he had to force every single bite down. Bert came by, wanting Ray to help him build a wood cage for some poor, unfortunate critter he’d come across.
“You wanna come see it, Pearl?” he asked.
I knew he was asking only because he felt sorry for me. Ray must’ve told him about Mama. It didn’t matter to me, really, Bert knowing. Most the town couldn’t hardly talk about anything else.
I told him I wasn’t feeling so good. It was mostly true.
Stacking the dishes, I managed to get them all the way to the kitchen before dropping the lot of them. They made a great crack and smack against the floor, just missing my bare toes, sharp breaks in each of Mama’s good china plates.
Dropping to my knees I did what I could to fit the pieces back together, wishing I had the power to un-break them.
“Pearl?” Daddy said, walking toward me fast.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to …”
“What happened?”
“They were too heavy.” I held up a shard of plate in each hand. “I can fix them.”
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head and bit at my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, darlin’,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m not mad at you.”
My eyes blurred and I couldn’t keep hold of myself anymore. Daddy didn’t shush me and he didn’t tell me everything would be all right. We both knew that might not be true.
What he did do was wrap his arms all the way around me and pick me up from the smashed plates. He let me sob from the deepest part of my aching heart.
When I’d calmed a little, Daddy had me sit on the davenport. He pulled the rocking chair up close so our knees almost touched. He breathed in and out of his mouth and bit at the inside of his cheek. More than once he shifted in his seat like he couldn’t seem to get comfortable.
“Is it my fault?” I asked before he got the chance to say anything. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“It’s my fault she left, isn’t it?”
“Darlin’ …”
“I made her upset.”
“Pearl, if she was so upset she’d leave, it was her own fault.” He leaned his elbows on his legs and let his hands hang between his knees. “She’s a grown woman, honey. She’s smart enough to watch after her own feelings.”
“But she is gone, isn’t she?”
“It’s just, your mama …” He pushed his lips together so hard his mustache almost reached clear to his chin. “Yes. She is.”
“Isn’t she ever coming back?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I do hope so.”
“What if she doesn’t?” I folded my hands and held them on my lap. “What if she stays gone forever?”
My shoulders sunk into the back of the davenport and I let my head drop so I was looking at my hands. Tears drip-dropped onto my lap. Daddy moved forward in his chair so he could get closer to me.
“Go on, darlin’. Say what it is you’re thinking,” he said. “It’s all right.”
I didn’t have words to ask what was so bad about me that both my mothers’d had to leave. And there wasn’t a way for me to tell him how scared I was that he’d catch on and take off, too.
“Why would she leave?” was all I could manage.
“Now, I don’t know.” He kissed my cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a couple tears from under my eye. “But there’s always a chance she will come home.”
“How do you know that?”
Daddy shut his eyes hard like he was trying with all his might to hold together. Then he sat back in his chair and turned his head so he could cough a little into his fist.
I half expected him to tell me a story from the Bible the way Meemaw would’ve. I thought she’d have told about how Peter turned away from Jesus but came back later on, full of sorrow. She would’ve said how Jesus forgave him. Part of me wished Daddy would say something like that just then.
But Daddy’d never been one for preaching.
“I ever tell you about the time my pa was sick?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I answered.
Daddy had only ever mentioned his pa a handful of times, if that. And when he did it was a quick word about him doing this or that to make Meemaw go out of her mind with his teasing her. I’d always liked hearing about him. Daddy’d told me if I’d ever met him I might have called him “Pawpaw.”
I missed him. Or maybe I missed the idea of having a grandfather. Even Mama’s father hadn’t lived to see her wedding day. I guessed that was just the way of things.
I leaned forward, careful not to touch the bandages on my knees for fear they’d rub my sores and hurt something awful. I didn’t want anything distracting me from Daddy’s story about his pa.
“Guess it’s about time I got around to telling you more about him, then,” Daddy said, his eyes on the floor at his feet. “He was a good man. Real good. Born and raised in Red River.”
“Did he know Millard?” I asked.
“Course he did.” Daddy smiled with the far-off look in his eyes he got when he was telling a true story. “They got into lots of trouble together when they were younger. At least that’s what I understand.”
Using his hand, he wiped under his nose.
“He loved Meemaw, my pa did. Did all he could to show her.” He nodded. “I don’t know that he ever said the words to her. He wasn’t a talker, my pa wasn’t. He did show her every day. I do believe she understood.”
Daddy reached into his shirt pocket and took out a cigarette, holding it between his fingers.
“I was right around sixteen when he took sick. It was summer. Wouldn’t let us send for a doctor. He had too much pride.” Daddy licked his lips. “Went to work every day no matter how sick he was feeling. He said that’s what a man did. Said he had to provide for his family.”
He held that cigarette between thumb and finger, rolling it one way and then the other.
“He got so skinny. Lord, I thought Meemaw’d go crazy with all the times she had to make his clothes tighter. I punched the extra holes in his belt myself. He just wasted.”
I sat, staying quiet so Daddy could tell his story without me interrupting him.
“He got so he couldn’t get himself outta bed. There wasn’t hardly anything left of him.” Daddy cleared his throat again. I didn’t think it was from being hoarse. “Right before Christmas that year Meemaw told me I oughta go tell him good-bye. I tried to be a man and be strong. Couldn’t, though. Just could not.”
I reached for the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette and held it in mine. One thing I’d learned was that holding hands was safe-making. It gave courage. The way Daddy squeezed my fingers real gently told me he thought so, too.
“My pa let me cry and he patted my knee. Must’ve took it all out of him to do that patting. He couldn’t hardly keep his eyes open.” Daddy shook his head. “When I was all cried out, he told me he was proud of me. Said he wished he’d get to see me as a man. I promised I’d do my best to make him proud.”
He put that unlit cigarette back into his pocket and put both his hands on mine.
“It was real hard on Meemaw, having Pa die like that, watching him waste away to nothing the way he did.” He scratched at his stubbled cheek. “It took her a real long time to be herself again. Lord, do I ever miss him. Both of them.”
“Daddy, is Mama going to be all right?” I asked.
He sighed and nodded.
“She’s not dying, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shook his head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is there’s hope. Just so long as she’s still breathing, there’s hope she’ll make her way back home.”
“Why did she leave us?” I asked, my voice sounding small and thin. “She just did,” he answered. “Sometimes folks just do things for no good reason.”
I cried and he held my head to his chest and I heard his heart pounding.