CHAPTER
four

My Bible lay open where I’d left it earlier in the morning, the cracked black leather contrasting against the pink Formica tabletop. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I’d read in it just a couple of hours earlier. I couldn’t manage to make my eyes focus on the words.

Lifting my head—how heavy it seemed, how hard to move—I saw that Marvel sat across from me, the telephone receiver to her ear. She rested her forehead on her hand and spoke words I couldn’t understand to whoever was on the other line. The curly cord stretched from where the telephone hung on the wall.

Done with her call, she half stood and hung up, saying something to me as she eased herself back into the pink vinyl chair. I felt like I had cotton balls in my ears, her voice sounded so muted, far away.

“Hm?” I hummed, trying to focus.

“Should we try to find out where Clara is?” she asked. “Maybe get ahold of her?”

“Who?”

“Your sister?” Marvel put her hand on mine. “Oh, honey. What a shock you’ve had.”

“I don’t know,” I said, my mind catching up.

“Would you like me to try?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve talked to her.”

“But don’t you think she’d want to know?” She had her finger holding a place right under Clara’s name in my address book. “Do you think she’s still at this number?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head, which only ended up making me feel dizzy.

Had it been six years? Seven since I’d last seen my sister? I couldn’t do the math just then. The fog that had encased my mind wouldn’t let me. What I did know for sure was that it was long ago. Too long.

I didn’t like to think of the last time I’d seen her. It was the day of our dad’s funeral and we were both worn down and exhausted. I couldn’t remember what had started the argument, but it hadn’t taken long for it to erupt into a full-blown battle.

My sister possessed a fiery temper, the likes of which I could never match even if I’d tried my darnedest.

Needless to say, if there’d been a winner it was Clara. She out-yelled, out-stomped, and out-insulted me. When she’d run dry of accusations, she left. But not before telling me that she was through with me.

Oh, but the strings that held a family together could be flimsy.

“She wouldn’t care,” I said.

Marvel nodded, shutting the address book. I knew that she understood.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

I pointed at the swinging door. “Are they still . . . ?”

“The men?” She shook her head. “No, they left a little while ago.”

“I don’t remember them leaving.”

“How about we get a few things together for you.” Marvel got up, putting out a hand for me. “Come on, Betty.”

“Where am I going?” I let her pull me to standing and lead me to my bedroom.

“To my house,” she answered. “You can’t stay here alone. Not tonight.”

“All right,” I said, my own voice sounding like it had come from miles away.

“I wouldn’t sleep if I knew you were here by yourself.”

She packed my things, knowing as if by instinct where I kept my hairbrush and cold cream and everything else I could possibly need for a few nights away from home. I just stood in the middle of the bedroom, watching her move around me, dropping nighties and stockings and a dress or two into a suitcase.

I thought about how we’d just bought that luggage a few months before. Norman had insisted, saying that we’d need them when we went on our anniversary trip in June. Twenty-three years of marriage usually wasn’t reason for a vacation, no matter how small. But we hadn’t gone anywhere for our twentieth, and Norm wanted to play catch-up.

Instead, that brand-new suitcase would be used for the first time that day after . . .

Well, I didn’t want to think about it.

“All set.” Marvel sighed, picking up the case and nodding toward the door. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

But we left the room anyway.

To get out the front door and to Marvel’s car we had to walk through the living room. Everything was pushed around, out of place. The coffee table and couch had been moved against a wall and Norman’s chair faced the wrong direction.

My shoulders slumped, I struggled to catch a breath.

“What is it, honey?” Marvel asked.

“It’s all wrong,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I know. They had to.”

“Why?”

“To get him out,” she answered.

“I need to straighten things up.”

“It can wait. We’ll fix it later.” She tugged at me. “Come on. Let’s get you to the car.”

An overwhelming urge to scream flooded over me.

As an act of will, I kept my mouth shut.

Maybe it was a little bit of shock taking hold, but I didn’t feel a thing as we drove the two miles from my house to hers. In fact, I stayed numb until I was sitting at their dining room table with Pop.

“How are you doing?” I asked Pop.

“Not good, kiddo,” he answered. “Not good at all.”

Then he covered his eyes with his hand and cried.

It was more than I could bear.

Marvel came down the stairs after getting her boys to sleep, her arms full of bedding. She smiled, but the bags under her eyes told me enough. It couldn’t have been easy to tell Nick and Dick the news. They were only ten. Such a blow at that age.

“Are they all right?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Stan’s with them.”

“Poor boys.”

“I’m more worried about Pop.” She crossed the room and dropped the stack of sheets and blanket and pillow on the coffee table. “And you.”

I inspected my fingernails, hoping she wouldn’t get me crying again.

She cleared her throat and blew out a breath.

“I’ve told Stan a hundred times that we should have a bed in the guest room. But you know how he can be,” she said, tucking a fitted sheet into the gap between the cushions and the couch. “Are you sure you’ll be all right down here?”

“Of course,” I said, knowing that I wouldn’t sleep well wherever I ended up and wishing—really wishing—that I could have stayed at home. “Thank you.”

“Just come get me if you need anything.” She fluffed the pillow before leaning it against the armrest.

“I will,” I said, well aware that I wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, I knew where she kept everything. “What would I do without you?”

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.” She kissed me on the cheek before heading for the stairs, her steps slow and weary. “Love you.”

“You too.”

I waited until she was out of sight and I could hear the muffled voices of her and Stan travel through the vents before I sat on the couch. My weight pulled the sheet out from where it had been tucked in. It didn’t matter one way or the other.

Pulling the pillow to me and holding it tight with my arms, I buried my face into it and cried as quietly as I could manage.