By the middle of July, when Daddy came by the house he would even come inside. But he always knocked first.
I noticed Momma made sure there was always a fresh batch of iced tea on Saturday mornings. The twins told me she’d send them out to the garden with cold drinks a couple of times during the day. And she’d set sandwiches on the porch and he’d come and eat on the steps with them. One time the girls even talked him into a picnic in Mysteria Mansion.
Part of me wanted to be home on the days that Daddy was there. But at least I had my ride to work and back again in the truck with him. From all I could tell, my daddy was more at peace with himself.
One Friday evening he came by the house earlier than usual. Otis was with him. Momma was taking clothes off the line, so Daddy went out back to help her. I invited Otis inside for a glass of tea. I told him I couldn’t believe how my momma and daddy were getting along.
I knew Otis wasn’t a doctor or a preacher or anyone who might really know—but still I believed him when he said my daddy would be all right.
“I reckon a man is just born for guilt,” he said. “Guilt for leaving his family in time of war. And guilt for what he does to other people’s families. Then he finds himself in danger of ruining the family he wanted to stay home with in the first place. It’s a terrible thing, living with all that guilt.”
Otis shook his head. It seemed like he was trying to shake some sadness out. “It’s a good thing I don’t have me a family to ruin,” he said.
“Tell me the truth, Otis. Is he getting better?”
Otis looked at me. “I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m a fancy doctor,” he said. “But if you’re asking for my humble opinion, I think he’s making progress. For one thing, he don’t seem to have nightmares so much anymore.”
I didn’t tell Otis what I read in Life magazine about mental hospitals. It scared me too bad to even mention it. But I said, “You know what, Otis? I think you might be doing him more good than any doctor ever could.”
Momma and Daddy come up on the porch then. Daddy had the basket with the clothes in it. He held the door for Momma to go in first. He stood outside their bedroom door and waited to see what she wanted him to do with the basket. She gave a little nod and he took the clothes in there and put them on the bed.
Did he notice how she changed the room around—like she was getting a fresh start without him? I figured he must be seeing lots of differences in Momma. It seemed like the bigger she got with that baby, the more sure of herself she was.
I could see Daddy in their room folding the clothes just like he belonged in that house. And all of a sudden I wished in the worst way that he didn’t have to go back to Otis and his mother’s.
Momma invited both of them to stay for supper. Daddy put on an apron and peeled the potatoes while the twins set the table and Otis poured the water. Momma made cornbread and heated up some leftover pintos. I chopped the onions for the beans, and they made the tears run down my cheeks. But I felt like having a good cry anyway. And it wasn’t on account of being sad. It was because my family was all in the kitchen together and no one was yelling or tiptoeing around in fear.
Otis told us stories while we ate. The girls giggled and Momma smiled.
“Comfort,” said Daddy. “Pure comfort, that’s what this meal is.” But from the way he looked at us sitting around the table and how his eyes landed on Momma’s big belly, I had a feeling he was talking about a lot more than food.