You know when something goes down the wrong pipe and you nearly choke to death? You can’t catch your breath and you feel like you’ll die if you don’t get air and your eyes stream tears?
That’s how I felt.
Only without the choking and the tears part. It was still hard to breathe.
Who was this Tommie?
Where did she live (close!) that she could be here so often?
Why wouldn’t JimDaddy have anything to do with his girl—almost my age, by the way—from his first marriage?
Better yet, why hadn’t he told Momma?
I slowed. Numbed.
Or. Had. He?
I stood. Took one hundred years to make it to the door. Another hundred years to twist the knob and get down the hall to Baby Lucy’s room, where Momma was putting my sister down to rest.
“Momma?” I said, when I stood in that doorway. My voice was cotton.
It was getting close to dinner. Now the window was a mirror. I walked across the room and pulled down the shade. Shivered.
Was Tommie back to her home yet? How did she get here? Walk? Ride a bike? Hitchhike?
Momma looked at me, her long hair cascading down her back like a wild waterfall. Baby Lucy, lying in her bed, showed me her tooth.
“What is it, Evie?” Momma finished the diapering. Snapped Lucy’s sleeper. Lifted her and kissed her on the face.
Lucy rested her head a moment on my mother’s shoulder. Jabbered at me, then yawned.
“Momma.” My voice fought to be heard. “JimDaddy was married before. Wasn’t he?”
Momma stiffened. Only her eyes moved, looking at me and then away. At me again and away.
It was true!
Adulterer? Murderer? Certainly a divorcer.
My room had been someone else’s, and that someone was Tommie.
I whispered, “Why didn’t y’all tell me?”
Momma thawed. Patted at Baby Lucy, who cooed like she was answering the question, if I could understand baby talk.
“Listen,” Momma said. She raised one hand.
Why, she was trying to come up with something! Are you kidding me? I wasn’t sure if I should be mad or furious at her.
“Listen.”
“I am.”
In the corner of the room, the rocker moved all slow, with a creak creak creak.
My heart leaped. Thank goodness for ribs and skin and such. Otherwise I might be heartless at that moment. All three of us stared at the rocker.
“It does that sometimes,” Momma said, her voice a murmur.
And I answered, “Oh.”
Baby Lucy spoke to the chair. Pumped her little fists.
I swallowed a few times.
Could it be that she had the Gift fourteen-plus years early? Was that allowed with us Messengers?
“What’s going on, Momma?”
“How should I know? It just happens.”
The chair still moved.
“I mean . . .” Should I sit in it? Stop the rocking? A part of me wanted to run. But Momma didn’t seem afraid. “I mean about JimDaddy.”
“Oh.” She shrugged.
“Did he tell you he was married before? Did . . . did you know?”
Momma nodded. Swallowed. Said, “We should wait till JimDaddy gets home to talk about all this.”
The rocker eased to a stop.
Momma pushed past me and headed to the front room, carrying Baby Lucy.
“You need to tell me. What about his wife? What about his daughter?”
Momma slowed her step as she went down the hall, then sped up again.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
But Momma wasn’t saying nothing except wait until JimDaddy came home.